Chapter Text
Friday, June 28, 1985
Will Byers shifted forward on the sagging cushion of the basement sofa, tugging at the heel of his sneaker while wiggling his foot down into the shoe. The faucet in the bathroom sputtered to a stop and, seconds later, Mike emerged, wiping his hands on the legs of his gray sweatpants.
He hadn’t noticed it in the dark last night, but with the morning sun slicing through the blinds, Will could see a new smattering of freckles dusted across Mike’s pale face, high on the apples of his cheeks and across the bridge of his nose. The very tip of Mike’s nose glowed pink and peeling.
When Mike stepped close enough, Will lifted his finger and gave the sore spot a gentle poke.
Mike swatted him away. “It’s not fair,” he groaned, flopping onto the cushion next to Will. “That you get tan and I just burn.” He leaned his head back against the arm of the couch and stretched his legs out onto Will’s lap.
“Well,” Will said, dragging the word out, “there’s this thing they invented to help with that, actually. It’s called sunscreen.”
Mike lifted his legs and let them fall heavy against the tops of Will’s thighs.
“Ow!”
“Now we’re even,” Mike said. His legs slid off Will’s lap, and the warmth went with them.
Will bent down to tug on his other sneaker, concentrating hard on threading the laces evenly. “Forgive me for not wanting you to get skin cancer.”
Mike scoffed, but Will could hear the laugh beneath it.
Nothing had changed, really. The four of them — five, with Max — still claimed Mike’s basement as their headquarters. And even after Dustin left for camp last month, and even after Lucas and Max had started sneaking off together more and more often, Will and Mike still found each other.
At least, they did sometimes. Usually late at night, once Mike was done hanging out with El. Or early in the morning, like this one, after an impromptu sleepover. Before it was time for Mike to start hanging out with El again.
It had become an every day thing. Every day for the past six months. Not that Will was counting — not like Mike had counted the three hundred and fifty-three days he’d been apart from El.
No. Will had been drawing. Getting into new music. Planning his very first D&D campaign as dungeon master. And thinking. A lot.
He rose from the couch and slung his backpack over one shoulder.
“Thanks,” Mike said, stepping closer. “It’s just that I promised I’d be over there first thing.”
“No, yeah, I get it,” Will said. “I’ll see you tonight, right?”
“Yeah,” Mike said, and he pulled Will into a hug by the exterior basement door. “I’ll be there.”
Will nodded against Mike’s chest. Once he was released, he stepped outside into the bright morning. The sun already felt hot against his arms. Behind him, the door clicked shut. He let out a long breath, then walked his bike off the grass and swung a leg over the saddle.
At least he was allowed to ride his bike again.
His tires hummed against the pavement, the chain clicking with each turn. A warm breeze rushed past his ears, lifting the hair at his temples. For a block or two at a time, he let himself coast.
Back at his house, the driveway was empty. That meant Jonathan was already at the Hawkins Post with Nancy, and his mom was long gone to Melvald’s. Will poured himself a bowl of Cocoa Puffs and carried it to his bedroom. He dug his Supercomm out of his backpack and clicked it on. A sputter of static hissed through the tiny speaker.
“Lucas, do you copy?” More static. Between mouthfuls of cereal, he tried again. “Lucas?”
“Hey, hey,” Lucas said. “What’s up, Byers?”
“Nothing,” Will answered flatly. “I’m bored. What are you doing today?”
There was a long moment of silence. Then, Lucas’s voice came through again. “Sorry man, me and Max are going back to Lover’s Lake this afternoon.” He paused. “Like, just the two of us.”
Will cringed. “Again?”
“Just to swim!” Lucas added quickly. “But I’ll see you at the movie later, yeah?”
“Yeah,” Will murmured. “I’ll see you.” He pressed down the antenna and tossed the radio toward the foot of his bed. It hit the mattress at an odd angle, bounced once, and landed on the floor with a dull thunk. Will sighed.
He wished Dustin were home early from camp, so he could dump his frustrations onto him: the way he always felt like a third wheel now that everyone had paired off; how they were always ditching him during their last summer together before high school. But Dustin wouldn’t be home for another day, and nobody else was around, so Will did what he’d done most afternoons since school let out: he opened his sketchbook and drew. Faces, mostly. He knew he should be practicing hands, but he didn’t feel like stressing himself out today.
He started on Lucas’s profile by mapping out the curve of his forehead. But when he tried shaping the eye sockets, the features sat too high on the face. He rubbed the graphite away with his eraser until the paper smudged into a gray haze, and then he quit that attempt.
Will flipped the page. Without thinking, his pencil tip traced the outline of Mike Wheeler’s face. He sketched the prominent bridge of Mike’s nose, slanting just so, framed by a messy mop of dark curls.
He shifted his hand an inch over and drew Mike’s face front-on. The lines flowed easily: Mike’s sharp jawline, the hollows under his cheekbones, those expressive, deep-set eyes. The graphite couldn’t really capture the color of them, all dark brown and searching.
It wasn’t fair, how easy Mike was to draw. He was kind of beautiful, actually. Kids used to make fun of Mike’s appearance. They made fun of Will, too, but for different reasons. Troy Walsh had coined the insult “Frogface,” which Mike especially hated. But he’d never been ugly, even if it was true Mike’s mouth used to be a little wider. He’d grown into his proportions since then.
Will blinked down at the page. His pencil tip lingered on the curve of Mike’s lips, full and slightly parted.
Heat flooded his stomach. He slammed the sketchbook shut and shoved it under his bed.
He padded down the hall to Jonathan’s room and sank onto the floor beside the boombox. Jonathan had taught him how to make mixtapes. He’d even taken Will down to the record store to pick out sweeping, orchestral scores, the kind that swelled under sword fights and spaceships in movie soundtracks. He promised it would make Will’s campaign feel epic.
For as long as they’d known each other, Mike had been the dungeon master. He was a natural storyteller. He loved the rules and the writing and the research. Will usually just helped draw maps. But since the Mind Flayer nightmare, Mike had stepped back from dungeon master duties and nudged Will forward. He’d been too busy with El to plan a new campaign. And maybe he also thought it would give Will some sense of agency. So, Will spent hours over the past couple of months outlining kingdoms and weaving backstories for the heroes. It distracted him, at least, having something to do with his hands. As Mike had known it would.
Around lunchtime, Will returned to the kitchen and poured himself another bowl of cereal. As he reached for the fridge to fetch the milk, something familiar caught his eye. A piece of paper, held up by a rocket-shaped magnet.
BOB NEWBY
SUPERHERO
Will reread the words he’d written seven months earlier. In the drawing, above the words, Bob smiled in perpetual flight with his arms out like Superman, tie askew and red cape billowing behind him. In the drawing, Bob was very much alive. Will ran his fingertip over the lines on the page. Then he closed the fridge door gently and carried his dry bowl of cereal back down the hall to Jonathan’s room.
Making the mixtape took most of the afternoon.
It required patience and silence — two things Will had always had in abundance. Once he set up the turntable, he pressed the record button on the boombox and the wheels of the cassette began to turn with a soft whir. He leaned back against Jonathan’s bed and waited.
Jonathan had plenty of blank tapes in his room, and he’d given Will free rein to steal them and make mixtapes for himself. Will had started branching out lately. R.E.M. and Talking Heads had been on repeat.
He’d especially gotten into The Smiths. Jonathan kept a tape in his car with a light blue sleeve that Will couldn’t get enough of, partly because one of the songs had his name in the title. Even Mike liked that one. Or at least, he liked to tease Will by singing it loudly and badly. Just last weekend, they’d been in the car with Jonathan and Nancy on the way to the community pool — one of the rare times Will had managed to drag Mike away from El during actual daylight hours. He did, of course, rush off to Hopper’s cabin to see her after only an hour in the water, but that was beside the point.
“William, William, it was really nothing!” Mike had belted, theatrically dropping his voice and clutching an invisible microphone. Will had slapped at his arm, groaning and begging him to stop, even though they both knew he didn’t mean it. Mike’s voice shot up into a shrill falsetto in the later chorus. But then the song ended, and Jonathan flipped the tape. Will felt his own smile freeze, then fade. He’d pressed his forehead against the window, feeling the vibration of the road beneath them.
Good times for a change… See, the luck I’ve had can make a good man turn bad…
“God, this shit is depressing,” Mike had sighed.
So please, please, please… Let me, let me, let me… Let me get what I want this time…
“Well, when you chauffeur me around,” Jonathan had said mildly, “you can pick the music.” Mike just huffed and fell back against the seat.
Lord knows it would be the first time.
He was winding a pencil through the cassette hole, rewinding to check his work, when the front door creaked open and Jonathan shouldered his way inside, camera bag slung across his chest.
Joyce was only a few minutes behind him. They ate freezer lasagna at the kitchen table while Jonathan recounted his assignments from the day. He said the darkroom at the Post was bigger than the one at Hawkins High. It had actual ventilation, for one thing, so he didn’t feel like he was suffocating in chemical fumes. The enlarger was newer, too, with a built-in timer that actually worked. Joyce nodded like this was fascinating. Will thought it sounded kind of cool. The fact that his brother had a summer internship made him seem so much more grown-up.
“Dustin’s back tomorrow?” Jonathan asked, and Will nodded.
Joyce’s face lit up. “That’s exciting! I bet he missed you guys.”
“Campaign ready?” Jonathan asked.
“Yeah, I think so,” Will said. “I finished the music today.”
“It’s gonna make all the difference,” Jonathan insisted. Will just smiled at him.
After dinner, Joyce smuggled a small pile of snacks and sodas into Will’s backpack. Tonight was his turn to supply contraband, and he’d always taken the responsibility extremely seriously. The thought of unzipping the bag later like some kind of black-market candy dealer left him feeling dizzy with excitement. Then he set off, the weight of the sodas clanking against his back as he pedaled toward Starcourt Mall.
Lucas and Max were already outside the main entrance when Will rolled up. Max spotted him first and lifted a hand in greeting. He coasted the last few feet and hopped off, locking his bike beside Lucas’s on the rack. He strode over to where they were waiting, and Lucas pulled him into a quick, one-armed hug that smelled faintly like sunscreen. Max followed, squeezing him tight before stepping back.
“Have you heard from him?” Will asked.
Lucas snorted. “What do you think?”
As they lingered near the doors, Will found himself glancing automatically toward the parking lot every few seconds.
Finally, Mike cruised up in blue jeans and a yellow T-shirt with the sleeves rolled up. He wore a patchwork denim vest thrown over top. Will watched him dismount, thinking absently that yellow was a good color on him — Will’s favorite color, actually.
“You’re late,” Lucas chided.
“Sorry,” Mike breathed, locking up his bike alongside the others on the rack.
“Again.”
“We’re gonna miss the opening,” Will grumbled.
“Yeah, if you guys keep whining about it,” Mike said casually. “Let’s go!”
“If you guys keep whining about it,” Lucas mocked. “Nyeh-nyeh-nyeh.”
“Just please stop talking, dude,” Mike said, shoving him lightly. He fell into step beside Lucas, with Will and Max close behind as they pushed open the glass double doors.
“Let me guess,” Lucas said. “You were busy.” He smacked his lips twice in a gross imitation of a kiss.
“Oh, yeah, real mature, Lucas,” Mike droned.
“‘Oh, El,’” Lucas started, “‘I wish we could make out forever and never hang out with any of our friends.’”
Will couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out of him.
“Lucas, stop,” Mike warned.
“Will thinks it’s funny.”
“Because it is,” Will said, still chuckling.
“Yeah, it’s so funny that I want to spend romantic time with my girlfriend,” Mike said, throwing his hands up dramatically.
“I’m spending romantic time with my girlfriend,” Lucas pointed out, slinging an arm around Max as he slowed his pace.
At the escalator, Mike led the way, nudging past other shoppers on the way down.
“Hey!” a girl shouted.
“Excuse us! Sorry! Sorry!” Mike called over his shoulder, threading through the crowd. Lucas and Max followed, with Will close behind.
“Sorry, sorry, sorry!” Lucas added.
“Excuse me, I’m sorry,” Max said.
“Sorry,” Will echoed, shrugging sheepishly as they reached the bottom floor and cut across the aisle toward their destination.
“Hey! Watch it!” someone scolded.
“Yeah! Watch it, nerd!” a familiar voice called. In the center of the mall, Lucas’s little sister Erica Sinclair sat on a long bench with a cluster of friends, all eating ice cream cones.
“Isn’t it past your bedtime?” Lucas taunted as they rushed past her.
“Isn’t it time you died?” Erica shot back.
“Psycho!”
“Butthead!”
“Mall rat!”
“Fart face!”
Lucas blew a raspberry at Erica, and Max grabbed his arm, pulling him into the ice cream parlor.
“Oh, now that was mature,” she chided.
Mike strode ahead, hammering the service bell like ten times, even though Robin was already looking straight at them. She leaned against the counter in the same ridiculous sailor uniform as always: blue-and-white striped shirt, red neckerchief, a white hat tilting sideways over a bob of sandy brown hair.
“Hey, dingus, your children are here,” Robin called.
A fuzzy shape appeared behind the window, and then the glass slid open to reveal Steve Harrington, also dressed in his Scoop’s Ahoy uniform. “Again?” Steve asked. “Seriously?”
Mike dinged the bell once more in response.
Steve sighed and waved them back, which he always did, despite complaining about it every single time. Will was beginning to understand what Dustin had seen in him. He was, in fact, pretty cool. And his new coworker Robin seemed nice enough.
“Come on, come on,” Steve said, ushering them through the back door that led to a long, white hallway. “I swear, if anybody hears about this—”
“We’re dead!” they chorused.
At the end of the hall, Mike swung open the final door and peeked outside. Then he glanced back at them. “All clear.”
They hurried through the doorway. The pre-movie jingle was already playing as they entered the theater where the sneak preview of Day of the Dead was showing. Mike slid into a row, then Will, then Max, then Lucas.
“See, Lucas?” Mike whispered as he settled into his seat. “We made it.”
“We missed the previews,” Lucas muttered.
“Still made it,” Max said. “Fart face.”
Nearby, someone shushed them.
Will dug into his backpack and began pulling out the snacks he’d smuggled. Mike’s hands appeared too, plucking a bottle of orange soda and dropping it into his own cupholder. Will retrieved a can of 7-Up and a bag of Skittles and handed them to Lucas.
“Skittles?” Lucas whispered a moment later.
Max cupped her hand. “Thanks.”
The movie started… only to sputter fifteen seconds in. The reel spun off with a sad whirring noise, and the screen went black. The crowd erupted in frustration.
“Come on!” Mike and Max groaned in unison.
The darkness stretched for nearly a full minute before the film reel clicked back into place, the image blinking onto the screen to the cheers and applause of the audience.
And then Will felt a tingling at the back of his neck, crawling cold and sharp beneath his skin. He brought his left hand up and felt goosebumps there. The images came unbidden: the Mind Flayer, just before it had gotten him on the school field. Being tied down in Hopper’s cabin while his family tried to burn those disgusting particles out of him. He'd have a reminder of that exorcism on his lower abdomen for the rest of his life.
“Hey.”
Will gasped. Mike’s face was suddenly very close. He let his hand drop from the back of his neck and held it awkwardly in his lap as he met Mike’s eyes, which proceeded to flick low across Will’s face.
“You okay?” Mike asked softly.
“Yeah,” Will said lightly.
Mike’s eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. “Are you sure?”
Will nodded and let his gaze dip, for a fraction of a second, to the bottom half of Mike’s face. “Of course.”
“Okay.”
Their eyes returned to the screen, but Will’s face felt hot. It wasn’t the first time he thought he’d caught Mike glancing at his mouth during a close conversation. But it was the first time Will could remember lying to him on purpose.
Saturday, June 29, 1985
It’s so obvious that Nancy Wheeler sleeps in Jonathan’s room and sneaks out through his window in the mornings. For one, Will has seen her slinking around the side of their house and diving into Jonathan’s passenger seat, just before Jonathan supposedly “leaves to go pick Nancy up for their internship.”
Plus, the walls in their house are thin.
Last night was no different, judging by the way Jonathan rushed out of his room in yesterday’s jeans and a wrinkled short-sleeved button-down. His hair stuck up on one side, and there was a faint smear of lipstick pressed on one cheek. Will couldn't even escape it on the weekends now that the couple had signed up for Saturday shifts at the Hawkins Post.
Will hadn’t anticipated his brother would turn to a career in journalism, but it actually suited him. Back in the fall, Jonathan and Nancy had secretly recorded Dr. Owens and leaked pieces of the tape to major newspapers. After that, the military took responsibility for the death of Nancy’s friend Barbara Holland. For obvious reasons, they went with “exposure to an experimental chemical asphyxiant” instead of “killed by a Demogorgon,” and Hawkins Lab shut down for good.
Good riddance.
“Hey, hey, hey!” Joyce called, hurrying over to Jonathan. “Wait up.”
“Oh, no, I’ll eat at work. I’m late.”
“No,” she said, swiping at the mark with her thumb and smiling wide. “Your cheek.”
“All right, all right,” Jonathan mumbled, his cheeks even pinker now. “I gotta run. See you later.”
“All right,” she said, and then Jonathan was out the door.
“Ugh,” Will groaned from the kitchen table. “Gross.”
“Well,” his mom said, dropping back into the seat beside him, “I don’t think you’re gonna think it’s gross when you fall in love.”
Will’s hand stilled on the bottle of syrup. “I’m not gonna fall in love,” he murmured.
“Okay,” she said simply. Then she set her fork down and stood up again before heading toward the refrigerator. “Hey, what happened here?” Will looked up to see her kneeling on the floor, gathering fridge magnets and loose papers into a small pile. One of the magnets, a little brown bear, clinked softly against the linoleum as she picked it up.
“I don’t know,” he said. He was still stuck on what she’d said just before that. She didn’t understand that it wasn’t possible for him to fall in love. It felt like something inside him had been switched off. Or, rather, it had never really turned on in the first place.
Dustin had been the first one to bring up those feelings. And eventually, Lucas and Mike admitted they had them, too. By middle school, the conversations among his classmates were constant: which girls were filling out, which ones weren’t, who they preferred to think about when they—
Will had tried to make it happen. He’d stolen Playboys from under Jonathan’s mattress. He danced with Kelly Stetler at the Snow Ball last year. He listened carefully whenever Dustin and Lucas talked about their crushes, like maybe if he paid close enough attention, something would click into place. But it never did.
Will met the others at Dustin’s house at two o’clock. As planned, Mrs. Henderson had left the door unlocked before she set out to pick Dustin up from the airport in Indianapolis. Max and Lucas had insisted on crafting the welcome-home banner, and they did an okay job. But they painted outside the lines, and the capitalization was all over the place. It proclaimed: “WELcoME HoMe DusTiN!”
Just as they were debating which room to hide in, Dustin's voice crackled across their radios. “This is Gold Leader, returning to base. Do you copy? Over.”
Will glanced at Mike, already smiling. But Mike was looking at El, who clasped a hand over her mouth and giggled. Dustin tried again. And again. His voice burst out of every walkie at once, tinny and overlapping and slightly off from one another, like one of the badly dubbed foreign films Jonathan was always watching.
Mike slapped his hands over his ears. Will and Lucas dug through their backpacks and turned their radios off, and the chorus of slightly out-of-sync Dustins relaxed until just a singular voice sounded from Mike’s Supercomm. “This is Gold Leader, returning to base. Do you copy? Over... I repeat: This is Gold Leader, returning to base. Do you copy? Over... I repeat: This is goddamn Gold Leader…”
Mrs. Henderson’s voice cut him off, slightly muffled in the background — “Dusty!” — and then it was back to static.
Max sighed. “Can he be more dramatic?”
“He just missed us,” Will said.
Max gave him a fond sort of look before she reached forward and mussed his hair. “You’re a good friend, Will.”
Will rolled his eyes at her, but he felt a surge of happiness at her words. Beside him, Mike rolled his eyes, but for real.
A few minutes later, tires crunched into the Henderson driveway, followed by the low rumble of an engine idling. Max held up a hand and Mike turned off his radio. They all flattened themselves against the living room wall, trying not to laugh as a key slid into a lock somewhere in the house. A door creaked open, and then footsteps approached from down the hallway.
Will found himself pressed close to Mike’s right side, close enough that he could feel the heat coming off him, could feel the brush of his denim shorts against his arm every time either of them shifted. He tried not to move.
“Go,” Mike whispered.
Eleven squeezed her eyes shut, her face tightening with concentration. And then the noise began. At first it was a faint whirring sound. Then a rhythmic beeping joined in, followed by cymbals crashing and an electric zapping noise. A train whistle blew. The sound of lasers firing joined the distorted symphony of chaos erupting down the hall. And then, the noises began to get closer.
From somewhere down the hall, Dustin’s voice drifted toward them. “It’s just a dream,” he mumbled. “You’re dreaming.”
The toys kept screaming, louder and louder as they moved closer and closer, leading Dustin right where they wanted him.
Will stared at El. He had never seen her use her powers before. She kept her eyes closed, and a drop of blood slipped from one nostril.
Max crept to the edge of the hallway and leaned just far enough to peek around the corner. She froze, then slowly drew back, eyes wide with triumph. She held up a fist.
“Now,” Mike whispered.
El’s eyes fluttered open and the noise died instantly as Dustin’s toys powered down in the center of his living room. Max passed out the party blowers with military precision, and they all balanced them between their lips. Lucas held the banner up as they tiptoed into Dustin’s living room behind him, barely keeping it together. They saw his back first, bent down obliviously, studying the toys on the floor. Max counted down with her fingers.
Three, two, one…
They burst forward in a blur of color and sound, party blowers shrieking.
Dustin screamed. He flailed wildly, pointed an aerosol can, and sprayed Lucas directly in the face. Lucas immediately began screaming, too.
“What the hell!” Dustin cried, lowering the can.
“No, you what the hell!” Lucas spat back, clawing at his eyes.
“Is that hairspray?” Will asked.
It took a solid minute for everything to settle. Dustin apologized profusely, through repeated shouts of “What did you expect?” Max dragged a nearly blinded Lucas toward the kitchen sink, where she turned on the faucet and helped him angle his face under the water.
While they rinsed out Lucas’s eyes, Dustin ushered Will, Mike, and El down the hall and into his bedroom. He wore a bright green Camp Know Where T-shirt with a yellow collar, and a matching green-and-yellow hat. He looked really happy.
“Wait ’til you guys see this,” Dustin said, digging into a box that sat beside his suitcase on the floor.
Beside Will, Mike stood with his arms crossed. One of El’s wrists threaded through his elbow, her other hand holding onto his, like they couldn’t stand to not be touching for a single second.
“I call it… the Forever Clock,” Dustin said. He spun a knob on the back of a contraption that looked like a miniature wooden windmill and held it out. “All right? Powered by wind. Very useful in the apocalypse.”
He passed it to Will, who took it automatically, turning the little blades between his fingers.
“Then, I give you… the Slammer,” Dustin said, holding up another invention. It appeared to be a hammer welded to a motor. The head vibrated uselessly, trembling more than swinging. Dustin thrust it toward Mike, who leaned back a bit, unimpressed. But Dustin didn’t seem to notice. He just chuckled to himself. “Pretty neat, huh?” Then he reached behind him and dragged a heavy-looking duffel bag off the bed. “But this…” he said, breath hitching with the effort as he swung it forward, “this is my masterpiece.”
The bag hit the floor with a dull thud. They all dropped down to the carpet together. Will, Mike, and El knelt in a row across from Dustin as he slowly unzipped the bag between them.
“I would like you to meet… Cerebro.” He looked up at them, smiling expectantly.
Mike squinted. “What exactly are we looking at here?”
“An unassembled, one-of-a-kind, battery-powered radio tower,” Dustin said proudly.
Will leaned forward, studying the wires and components packed inside. “So, it’s a… a ham radio.”
“The Cadillac of ham radios,” Dustin corrected. “This baby carries a crystal-clear connection over vast distances. I’m talking North Pole to South. I can talk to my girlfriend whenever and wherever I choose.”
Will’s eyes flicked to Mike instinctively. Mike was already turning toward Eleven, who stared at Dustin with wide, unblinking eyes. “Girlfriend?” they all asked at once.
Dustin’s eyebrows did a funny little dance. “Suzie,” he said, pushing to his feet. “Come on, I’ll introduce you guys.” Then he re-zipped the bag and slung it onto his shoulder.
He handed Mike another bag, this one full of metal poles, and Mike had to unhook his arms from El to take it. He handed Will a similar bag before marching toward the door.
“Wait, so her name is Suzie?” Mike asked as they trailed after Dustin through the house.
“Suzie with a ‘z’,” Dustin said. “She’s from Utah.”
“Girls go to science camp?” Will asked.
“Suzie does,” Dustin said. “She’s a genius.”
“Is she cute?” Mike asked.
“Think Phoebe Cates, only hotter.”
Dustin reached for the front doorknob as they passed the entrance to the kitchen.
“What’s going on?” Max asked. Lucas was still bent over the sink, face under the running water.
“We’re going to talk to Dustin’s girlfriend,” Will said, shooting her a little smile before he stepped outside behind El.
“Girlfriend?” Max and Lucas exclaimed at the same time. Will could hear their footsteps pounding on the tile floor behind him.
They biked until the pavement gave way to tall grass, then ditched their bikes at the base of the hill they called Weathertop. In Lord of the Rings, it was the highest peak in Eriador and the site of Frodo’s stabbing by the Witch-King. So, naturally, it was the name Mike had bestowed on the huge hill at the edge of town.
When they began their ascent, their shiny, sweat-slicked foreheads reflected the late afternoon sun. By the time they were halfway up, dark patches were blooming at everyone’s collars and underarms.
“Aren’t we high enough?” Lucas panted from a few paces ahead.
Dustin led the pack, powering uphill with a backpack on his shoulders and the duffel bag handles in his closed fist. Max and Lucas followed close behind. Will trailed them. And behind him, Mike and El lagged even farther back, swinging their arms and giggling like they were in their own little world.
“Cerebro works best at a hundred meters,” Dustin called over his shoulder.
“You know, I’m pretty sure people in Utah have telephones,” Max said.
“Yeah, but Suzie’s Mormon.”
“Oh, shit,” Lucas said. “She doesn’t have electricity?”
“Oh, my God,” Max groaned. “That’s the Amish.”
“What are Mormons?” Will asked.
“Super religious white people,” Dustin said matter-of-factly. “They have electricity and cars and stuff, but since I’m not Mormon, her parents would never approve. It’s all a bit Shakespearean.”
“Shakespearean?” Max asked incredulously.
“Yeah. Like Romeo and Juliet.”
“Right.”
“Star-crossed lovers,” Dustin went on.
“I got it,” she said.
From behind him, Will heard Mike’s voice drift up the hill. “Hey, guys!”
Will stopped short and turned around to face him. In the past few minutes, Mike and El had drifted much further behind the group.
“This is fun and all, but, uh…” Mike started, tapping the watch on his wrist with his index finger.
“I have to go home,” El finished.
Dustin gestured toward the peak, finally in their sights. “We’re almost there,” he insisted.
“Sorry, man,” Mike replied in a voice that did not sound at all sorry. “Curfew.” He turned to El and lowered his voice. “Come on, let’s go.”
“Good luck!” El called, already letting Mike pull her back down the hill. She skipped after him, both of them laughing, their voices bright and careless.
Dustin checked his own watch. “Curfew at four?”
“They’re lying,” Lucas said flatly.
“It’s been like this all summer,” Will snapped.
Max shrugged. “It’s romantic.”
“It’s gross,” Will said.
“It’s bullshit,” Dustin muttered. “I just got home.” He exhaled, then squared his shoulders. “Well. Their loss, right? Onwards and upwards. Suzie awaits!”
Lucas and Max groaned but fell into step behind him again. Will lingered there for a moment. The sound of Dustin’s bag zipper clinked faintly with each step, growing softer as it moved further up the hill.
And then he felt it again. That tingling sensation at the back of his neck. Will’s breath caught as coldness spread through him in a slow, creeping wave, jarring against the warm summer air. He tightened his grip on the bag and reached his other hand up to the nape of his neck. There, goosebumps prickled beneath the damp curls of hair.
He had the sudden, terrible feeling that he wasn’t alone.
Will turned, heart hammering, scanning the hill behind them. But there was nothing there besides the empty slope, stretching down toward the road and, far in the distance, the shrinking figures of Mike and El as they disappeared around the bend.
“Will, come on!” Dustin called.
Will swallowed and forced himself to turn back around. Then he kept climbing. He caught up to the others just as they reached the summit of the hill.
“Made it,” Dustin declared.
“Yeah,” Max said, bending at the waist and letting out a tired exhale. “Only took five hours.”
“Why couldn’t we just play D&D?” Will muttered under his breath.
“I’m so thirsty,” Lucas groaned. He unstoppered the green plastic flask he’d been carrying and tipped it back, gulping loudly until it was empty.
Max glared at him. “Did you seriously just drink the rest of our water?”
Lucas froze, horrified. Then, in a panic, he spat the remaining mouthful back into the flask and held it out to her. Max recoiled and walked away from him with a grimace on her face.
They unpacked in a loose circle, dumping wires, rods, and metal pieces into the grass. Then they began the process of wrapping strips of aluminum foil around metal prongs and tightening wing nuts with their fingers. Dustin barked instructions like a foreman, stepping back every few minutes to squint critically at the angles. Will held a pole steady while Max threaded wires through a narrow opening.
A little more than an hour later, Cerebro stood before them, rising above the hill like something out of a science fair dream. Its base transceiver sat in the grass, while a huge antenna branched from the mast above it.
“Pretty impressive, right?” Dustin asked, holding his arms out and stepping back to admire his invention.
“Yeah,” Max said. She actually sounded sincere as she tipped her head up to look at it.
“Now, you ready to meet my love?” Dustin asked, dropping to the grass and reaching for the microphone.
“Okay, sure,” Max said, at the same time Will said, “Yeah.”
Dustin switched the radio on and pressed the call button. “Suzie, this is Dustin. Do you copy? Over.”
Radio static hissed back at them.
“One sec,” Dustin mumbled. “She’s probably… She’s still there.” He pressed the call button again. “Suzie… this is Dustin. Do you copy? Over.”
More static. Will glanced sideways at Max and Lucas. They met his look and shared a small, helpless eye roll.
“I’m sure she’s there. It’s just…”
“Yeah,” Lucas said encouragingly.
“You know, maybe she’s, like, busy or…”
“Yeah,” Lucas said again, a bit more forced this time.
“It’s around dinnertime...”
Lucas halfheartedly hummed in agreement.
“…here,” Dustin finished. There was a two-hour time difference between Hawkins and Salt Lake City.
“Yep,” Max said softly.
“Suzie, do you copy? This is Dustin. Over... Suzie, do you copy? This is Dustin. Over.”
The sun dipped lower in the sky as he kept trying. Long shadows stretched across the hill. Will reclined in the grass, his knees bent and feet flat on the ground. Above him, he saw Max and Lucas sit down and stretch out, too. He picked absentmindedly at blades of grass.
“Suzie! This is Dustin. Do you copy? Over.”
It went on like that for a long time. The sound of crickets mingled with radio static was nearly enough to lull Will to sleep. He folded his hands across his stomach and let out a deep breath.
“Suzie! This is Dustin. Do you copy? Over... Suzie, this is your Dustin. Do you copy? Over.”
When Will opened his eyes again, the sun had completely set.
“Suzie—”
“Dustin, come on!” Max cut in. “She’s not there.”
“She’s there, all right?” Dustin said. “She’ll pick up.”
Will propped himself into a sitting position, leaning back on his elbows. “Maybe Cerebro doesn’t work.”
“Or maybe Suzie doesn’t exist,” Lucas said, punctuating the words with splayed hands.
“She exists!” Dustin cried, his voice cracking.
“She’s a genius and she’s hotter than Phoebe Cates?” Lucas asked. “No girl is that perfect.”
Max whirled around to face Lucas. “Is that so?”
Lucas’s mouth fell open as he sat up to meet her. “I mean… you’re perfect,” he stammered. “I mean, like, per— perfect in your own way. In your special— your own special way.”
Max stared back at him, expression unreadable. Then her lips quirked up. “Relax, I was teasing. I’m obviously perfect, and Dustin’s obviously lying.” She rose in one quick motion and held out a hand to Lucas, who let her haul him upright. “Come on, Don Juan.”
“Where are you going?” Dustin asked.
“Home,” Max said. She and Lucas didn’t hesitate as they began their descent.
“Well,” Dustin said as Will pushed himself to his feet, “guess it’s just you and me, Byers.”
Will hesitated. Around him, the tall grass rustled softly in the warm evening breeze. “Um… it’s late. Sorry. Maybe tomorrow we can play D&D. Or something fun. Like we used to?”
“Yeah, sure,” Dustin said, deflated.
“Welcome home,” Will said, trying to sound brighter than he felt. He turned and started down the hill. Behind him, he could still hear the faint hiss of Cerebro’s idle static.