Chapter Text
“I’m not sure, Will. I can’t decide between the long skirt and the shorts for today. Which outfit is better, Will?”
El, with her long hair still fluffy and mussed from sleep, looked back down at Will, who was sitting on her bed. The sun bleeding through her sheer purple curtains bathed the room in a soft lilac hue.
It was the first day of their junior year. Here he was, already fully dressed from a full-bodied anxiety, helping El with her outfits. Will already had everything in his bag, including his extra sweater for when the classroom got too cold. Her playlist was on, which was an amalgamation of her music and her friends' and family’s music tastes. Some easy song by beabadoobee was playing, one that Will didn’t immediately recognize. She was undoubtedly using Mike’s Spotify account, which Will knew Mike might be pissed about later.
When Will thought about it, El and Will didn’t start out close, immediately clicking and making sense together. They started as Mike’s girlfriend and Mike’s best friend, and it was the inherent centeredness around Mike that both linked and divided them. Then they were thrown together into Lenora in freshman year, an unfamiliar environment where the only familiarity was each other. Living together was now similar to breathing, an automatic routine of establishing and maintaining each other.
Today, El had picked 3 outfit choices for school: a striped sweater with short jean shorts, striped socks, and ballet flats; a long floral skirt, an off-the-shoulder fitted tee, and Converse; and an outfit similar to the first except with the tee from the second. It was funny how much she had grown. El had never wanted to wear any sort of dress or skirt, even just a few years back. She had surprised Will one day in 9th grade when she came home from the thrift store holding one, with a determined look on her face.
“Pick the second outfit. First is nice, but it’s a little too warm today for a sweater. Also, your bangs are splitting,” Will said.
“What about shoes? Does the color of the flats go better with the shirt?”
“Uh… hm—I’d say the blue laces on the sneakers work better with the outfit.”
El looked over at the choices laid out on her bed, then nodded and stuffed the rest of the clothes in the drawer. “Thanks, Will. Are you nervous at all?” El asked in her usual blunt way, in front of a mirror, brushing through her brown hair. She began fixing her split bangs, pulling the threads of fringe back together.
Will clicked his tongue, staring at her dresser, which was covered in little stickers, some crafts, and a very small amount of makeup products. “Are you?”
El shrugged. “Not particularly. But are you?” El deflected once again, a game they sometimes played.
“To be honest,” he sighed, “Sometimes I didn’t know if I would make it to this point.” It came out more depressing than he expected, dampening the feel-good mood in the air. “Shoot, sorry, I didn’t mean to–”
“I get it, Will.” The brushing ceased. El turned around, a look in her eyes. The look that said I see you.
“Sorry, El. I’m okay. I just, uh…I don’t know.” Will said, rubbing the back of his neck. El pushed her window curtains back, the full force of the sun blinding. The morning sunlight was shining on El, sweet honeyed eyes sticking to Will’s gaze.
“Bad dreams? You can tell me, Will.” El often pushed Will, but never to the limit, somehow always aware of his tells. Jonathan, Hopper, and Mom would steer around such topics, not pushy at all, waiting until he approached them. El always drove directly at him.
Initially it scared him, but it simply turned out that his minimization paired well with her bluntness. Will had found that she was never invasive and always in a good place.
“...sort of. Well, yeah. I was just… sometimes, you wake up, and you’re 12 again and you’re starving and cold, and locked somewhere you don’t know and… It’s just unbelievable that I’m here right now, you know? Instead of…” The sentence went unfinished, but they both knew what he was talking about.
El looked at him for a moment, then turned away, continuing to brush her hair more gently now. She inhaled, and there was a projected confidence in her voice, the one that came out only when you try to be strong for someone. “Sometimes you wake up, and you’re still the kid in the cult watching people die. Sometimes you wake up, and you grab onto your hair to make sure you still have it, and that it is still long. But other times…you wake up, and you have overwhelming love, and a family, and a brother. We’re here together, aren’t we? We’re… family.”
El was so strong. But she was so gentle as well. Will watched her, then took in the rest of her room. How El it was. How she was finally able to have a room all to herself, a dresser that she could fill with her own stuff, and a music taste that, despite being influenced by others, was uniquely her own.
“Yeah, we are.” Will smiled with a warm feeling in his heart, then stood and walked to the doorway. “Thank you, El. I’ll leave you to get ready, then. See you at breakfast.”
“Okay, see you. I hope it’s Eggos today.”
Will rolled his eyes. “You always do.”
—
They had arrived a bit too late to meet up with Mike or the rest of the party, so El and Will simply went to their classes. When El and Will walked into school, everything looked about the same as when they had left it. Hawkins High was still green and orange and too warm inside. The tiger mascot on the wall was still staring El down in the same curious gaze. The students were the same, dressed in new trends and with new flashy bags, but the same otherwise. She knew what the students were thinking. She always knew what they would think even before they had.
No, El and Will had always stood out, but this year, El knew she was so visibly a black sheep. She was aware of every movement, every look. Her bangs were a good inch or so shorter than they were last June, and she was wearing a dated floral skirt from the thrift store, and her t-shirt was clearly something from Joyce’s generation. When all the other girls around her were wearing shiny new clothes and somehow knew how to do their makeup flawlessly and had fresh dye jobs, El was nothing but a sore thumb.
She thought she had found her style this summer. She really liked her purple flowy skirt with the flowers on it. The light converse she wore all summer had dark blue laces. The well-loved shirt from when Joyce gave her the old bag of clothes she wanted to save for a daughter, and never had the heart to get rid of. The number of clunky bracelets El had collected. El liked the subtle purple shimmer of eyeshadow she had on, the messy mascara that others might call spider lashes.
El was not normal. This year, she was not trying to be someone she’s not. Still, she couldn’t help but feel overtly conscious and judged as people stared at them down the halls. Her neck was sweaty, but she didn’t dare put her hair up, because the cool breeze beating on the back of her neck would be much more jarring than a too-warm hallway. She itched the inside of her wrist, where she knew 011 was etched into her skin.
“This is where my first period is, El,” Will said, interrupting her self-consciousness. “See you at lunch?”
“Okay,” El’s voice shook. “See you.” El continued her trek through the hall, reaching her class as quickly as possible.
Science. She greeted the teacher, put her bag down, and sat down at the seat she was assigned to, next to some girl who had not yet arrived. She searched through the class, seeing if she knew anyone there. She didn’t. The class filled quickly. A mere minute before class started, the girl finally walked in and sat next to El unassumingly.
She looked a bit tired, El noted. But the girl was dressed sort of differently from everyone else she had previously seen. She had a side part and black short curly hair clipped with a few pins in it, light blue earrings, and was wearing flared jeans with a Peter Pan collared pink shirt that complemented the flush of her darker skin tone. She was stylish. She was pretty.
“Hi,” El smiled.
The girl looked El up and down once, offered her a small smile, and said with a finality in her voice, “Hi.”
El hesitated, looking away as her smile dropped. What was I thinking? A full-bodied heat spread from her face to her toes. Embarrassment. That’s what El felt. Then, she glanced over once more at her seat partner, and insight blinded her.
Her eyes narrowly avoided it, but her brain had immediately honed in. The pink shirt, the one with the Peter Pan collar. It looked awfully similar to the one she had worn those years back, Nancy’s old spring dress. The one she had to disguise herself with. The one that was not authentic to her, but a shadow of the past being used to cover her up. The one that was pretty, prettier than El had been. The reason was that she had never worn any form of dress for a good few years. And here this girl was, the personified version of this dress, judgmental and not willing to talk to someone like El.
El had not had that issue with skirts since 9th grade, but as the minutes passed by in class, she only grew more self-conscious and worried.
As soon as class ended, she left with such speed that she had forgotten to say bye to the teacher. So much for first impressions.
Her next class was Ceramics, a building away. Once again, she slipped through the halls to get to her next class, feeling incredibly uncomfortable and like she was being watched. But she hadn’t realized she was going to run into someone until it was too late.
El turned the corner, bumping into someone’s patched-up backpack from behind. “Oops, sorry, I didn’t mean to bump into you–”
“El? Hey, El! How are you?” The boy turned around. It was Dustin. The first thing El noted was how cool Dustin looked. He was dressed in slightly ripped dark baggy jeans and wearing a shirt that El knew matched one of Steve’s. He was also wearing a slightly tattered battle vest, covered in various patches of bands and knick-knacks Eddie probably gave him. His hair was longer now, and he held his hat in his left hand.
He was so unapologetically Dustin.
“Oh. Hello! I’m... okay. How are you? You look cool today.” El smiled, relieved.
Dustin lit up more than he had before, a bigger smile breaking out on his face. “Thank you! You too. I really like the skirt and shoes today. Stylish.” Dustin spoke with a kind voice and no hesitation, very obviously genuine.
El blinked in surprise, then looked down at her outfit. “Thank…you.”
“Where are you headed, El? I have…ceramics.” He finished a bit defensively, like he was ashamed. “Okay, I know, I don’t seem like that kind of guy, but I needed my art credits, and–”
El broke out into a laugh, brushing her hair out of her eyes and around her ear. “Dustin, me too. We have ceramics together.”
Dustin blinked. “Really? Okay, what are we waiting for? Let’s head over.”
And as Dustin and El walked through the halls, she noticed how many glances and stares and occasional judgements they would get, and found herself not caring at all. El walked with a little more confidence, keeping up with Dustin.
—
Dustin was, at first, terribly reluctant to take Ceramics.
Dustin was never super good at finicky, artistic endeavors. He worked well with computers and circuitry sure, but clay was a whole other world he was unsure of.
But then he had run into El, who was wearing a faded State Fair tee. What ended up happening was that Dustin and El stuck together throughout their entire Ceramics period, laughing and joking. He was super glad that El had ended up in his period. He was sure El would be good at Ceramics. There was something about her, in the way that she worked with her dextrous fingers and her attentive gaze, that made her great at art. Will too. He supposed it ran in their… not their blood, but he supposed it ran in their family.
His next period was AP Physics. Dustin had been excited to take this class since 7th grade. Mr. Clarke, unfortunately, was not teaching at the high school level, though Dustin still kept in touch with him. Clarke had affirmed to him that the AP Physics teacher at school was great and did an amazing job, and that Dustin would have just as engaging conversations with her as Clarke did.
Although maybe back then, Clarke hadn’t known Dustin would present like this. Maybe he had thought Dustin was going to turn out like Steve. Steve was cool, popular, and one of Dustin’s closest friends. Steve was like his older brother.
Steve had influenced him plenty, too, but Dustin knew he had turned out more visibly like Eddie.
With his favorite band patches all over his bag stitched in errant white thread, some with scary or possibly satanic imagery. With his long curly hair and tattered, unprofessional clothing, big jeans, and spiked clothing.
To a traditionalist, Dustin might as well have been a nightmare. And that was exactly what the teacher seemed to be.
Dustin had gotten a weird glance as he walked in. Then, the teacher immediately said, “Excuse me, young man, are you in the wrong class?” The teacher eyed his bag, adjusting her skinny glasses.
Dustin blinked at her audacity. “What? No. I have AP Physics with Ms. Ringwald, right? My name is Dustin Henderson. Mr. Clarke sent you a recommendation email about me, didn’t he?” Not like many students were racing to sign up for AP Physics.
Ms Ringwald blinked, slightly bewildered. “You’re Henderson? Hm. Interesting. Apologies. Well! I’m pleased to meet you, Dustin. Sit down, please.”
That was… rude.
A lot of people in the class looked just as he did before he had met Eddie or Steve or heard good music, overwhelmingly normal and nerdy. Dustin walked over to the table he was assigned to, piercing glares not affecting him. Some of the kids in the class had even made remarks to him before in the past.
The other nerds at his table gave him a second look as he sat, but Dustin ignored it. We have the same interests, Dustin thought. Too scary to be a nerd, too nerdy to be considered normal.
“Sit down, everyone.” She said in a firm voice. She began her lecture, discussed her syllabus, and spoke at a very quick pace. “Now, does anyone volunteer to pass papers out? We have a first-day worksheet to complete. I expect you’ve all completed the summer reading, hm? This is to see how prepared you are for this class. Due tomorrow.”
Everyone in the class groaned as some poor soul stood to pass out the worksheets.
“Dude, a worksheet already? It’s the first day.” One of the kids at Dustin’s table said as he pulled the sheet towards him.
“I know, right?” Another one of the kids said.
Dustin skimmed the paper, then picked up his pencil. It was mostly beginner facts, ones that he had discussed before with Clarke and had read in the summer reading. Dustin knew most of the stuff on the paper, and the parts he didn’t, he put together on his own through his previous knowledge. Dustin filled the sheet out as fast as his brain worked.
“Whoa, how are you done so fast?” The kid next to him said, peeking over at his paper.
Dustin smiled, “What can I say? I like Physics. Hey, also, the keychain on your bag is sick,” Dustin said, beginning to walk away.
“Wh–huh, thanks. You… like Deltarune?”
Dustin was still a sucker for RPGs. Or anything remotely like DnD. Dustin shrugged. “Favorite video game.”
Dustin turned the page in at the front, prompting Ms. Ringwald to talk to him. “Wow, Mr. Henderson. Done already? Mr. Clarke was right, then.”
“Yeah. I just enjoy physics, Miss. It’s one of my passions.” Dustin flashed her a smile, hoping to come off as friendly.
“I can see that. And looking over the paper…you seem to have completed everything correctly,” Ringwald said, shock imminent.
“Yeah.”
“Well, I’m very impressed, Dustin. Good job being the first one done. Although I must ask…is that a tattoo?” Ringwald pointed to his arm, which had an inked-in drawing of butterflies done by El during the last period while the teacher had been finishing his introduction.
“Huh? No. That’s just pen, Miss.”
“Oh. Alright, then,” Ringwald closed her mouth.
Dustin took that as the end of the conversation, going to sit back down at his table. This class was going to be weird.
—
“God, these glasses still suck,” Max muttered to herself, taking them off and slipping them into her shirt collar. They were for reading and slipped off her nose constantly, got jostled too often, and were sort of ugly in Max’s opinion. But shitty sensitive eyes and shitty glasses were what she still had from that accident those years back, and considering the other choices, she took it gratefully.
To make it worse, Max’s legs were acting up again today despite what her physical therapist had told her near the end of last year. It’ll get better, they said. Max figured it was a false hope she was given to keep her previously stagnant recovery moving. She had to go to physical therapy a lot in her sophomore year, but her legs were finally as normal as they could probably get, though she would still have to live with the occasional shooting pains.
Kate Bush’s Hounds of Love was playing in her headphones. For whatever reason, Max was feeling especially nostalgic today. She thought back to the first day she had been in school, when shitty Billy and his shittier father had still been around. Max was a bit disappointed to realize the only people paying attention to her the day she arrived at Hawkins Middle School were a group of four boys. Boys who had stalked her for a week before gaining the courage to talk to her. Dustin, Lucas, Mike, and Will. She was a lot cooler than they were. She knew that objectively, since she was from California and knew skateboarding tricks and was overall much more worldly than they were. But it really never mattered, because Dustin and Lucas had come up to her all dorky on Halloween, dressed in vintage Ghostbusters costumes and invited her gleefully. Since then, Lucas had taken it upon himself to integrate her into the group against Mike’s wishes.
From that point on, it had been the Party.
Max had never been shy. She simply gave her attention to people who were worthwhile. Really, though, sometimes Max craved those girl friends, that feminine attention. Sometimes she wished she had those formative female experiences like many other girls did. She wished girls would smile at her in the halls and not give her dirty looks. Those normal group sleepovers with hot chocolate and pillow fights, and without that older brother who had always been 5 seconds away from snapping for no reason.
But she had El. And she figured that one El, one girlfriend that she clicked with and connected with so heavily, was exponentially better than that.
Ah. That’s where it was. Max stood at her locker, finally finding El’s bracelet she had borrowed and accidentally left there the previous June. She slipped it on her wrist, adjusting her weight where she stood to take pressure off her left foot.
“Hey, Max.” A voice rang out from behind the locker door. Max closed it, revealing Lucas’s familiar face. Her eyes got stuck on his for a moment, trailing down his face, to his lips, then she pulled her gaze back to her locker.
Lucas. Oh, Lucas was a complicated thing. Max knew logistically she just praised him in her head, but it was different once he was actually in front of her. They had dated until 9th grade, even though they had really just been on and off for those months, and then life happened. Billy had happened. Then Lucas and Max broke up and never fixed it. But he had helped her throughout her recovery, just as much, or even more than, the rest of the party. A situationship, if you will. She would never admit it, but she still got nervous as he walked by, heart beating faster.
“Hey, Lucas. What’s up?” She pulled off her headphones and spared him a glance. “Your locs are coming in now, huh?”
Lucas grinned shyly. “Yeah, uh, they really are. What class do you have now?”
“Spanish. You?”
“French. That’s right next to the Spanish classes! Great, we’ll walk together.”
Max rolled her eyes, smiling slightly. “That’s presumptuous. I didn’t even agree to that,” But they walked anyway.
We never really talked about it, Max realized. But it was most definitely too late to start, and so they had this friendship built on a failed relationship. Max wasn’t sure if she was okay with that.
Through the hallway, Max noticed that Lucas had seemed to be getting a lot more attention this year. She noticed girls looking at him a lot more (not that she usually did), and noticed that Lucas had dabbed up a lot more people in the hallways than he had last year. Sometimes he even got the occasional whisper from people who saw him, people who were talking about him. What hurt the most was the vindictive glare that she had gotten from some random girl behind Lucas’s back. And here he was, walking with Max, who people sometimes called a rando or an unknown when they thought that not speaking much meant she couldn’t hear them. Max wasn’t sure what warranted that treatment. (It was probably the fact that she didn’t speak to much of anyone outside of the Party. Or the fact that she had a black profile picture and no highlights or much of anything on social media.)
Huh, Max thought to herself. She glanced back up at Lucas, who was yapping mindlessly to her about the weird teacher in his previous class. He’s choosing me.
—
It was finally lunchtime. Lucas yawned, pulling his hair out of his locs. He stood up and stretched as he got up from his seat. Grabbing his bag and walking out, he saw Max waiting for him on her phone, and so they wordlessly walked out of the hallway. God, Lucas missed Max.
They were friends, but they were also…something else, maybe. He wasn’t totally sure. He glanced over at her, appreciating the red frames of the glasses she had forgotten to take off.
“Hey, Lucas! Max! What’s up? I missed you guys!” Dustin grinned, running after them. You guys, as if we’re a thing, Lucas noted and smiled giddily to himself.
“Dusty-bun! What’s up, man? Haven’t seen you since yesterday! I missed you, boo!” Lucas grinned back, a childish elation taking over him as it often did.
“Dorks,” Max rolled her eyes. Maybe Lucas would have felt hurt if it wasn't coming from the girl who knew the lyrics to every song on her favorite album.
(Was it weird to say Lucas memorized the lyrics on it, too? Uh, yeah. That's totally weird. Lucas would never do that. He doesn’t even listen to Max’s music taste.)
“Yeah, but you are too,” Lucas shot back. The three made their way back to the table, the one they claimed last year, with hidden graffiti of their initials underneath the table. Dustin checked to see if it was still there.
“Yep. Home sweet home.” Dustin relaxed, manspreading comfortably on the bench and taking up the entire seat.
“Dude, move the hell over!” Max teased, pushing him to make room for her. Lucas was about to put his bag down and sit next to Max, but then he noticed in the corner of his eye two people walking over to him.
Chance and Patrick called out, “Yo, Lucas!”
“Oh,” Lucas said, turning and stretching his hand out. “What’s up?” Chance immediately dabbed him up, and Patrick nodded at him. It was a pretty solid dab-up, the sound reverberating. Chance started to say something, but then Lucas’s ears only honed in on what Dustin and Max were saying behind his back.
“Shit. Lucas is a dork no more. They’re actually talking to him this year,” Dustin whispered to Max, slightly astounded.
Okay, they were totally talking to me last year, too. Chance and Patrick are chill. They just didn’t come up to me at lunch and interrupt my time with you guys. Lucas liked the team enough, and the plus is that they weren’t all white. Sometimes it gets isolating in a place where you’re distinctly a minority.
But he liked the Party better either way, and would always choose them over the team. And the team wasn’t always kind to him and his friends, either. Then Jason vs. Eddie in freshman year, which was a whole other deal. The point is, Lucas had to earn his respect in the circle, especially in order to shape the future of the team. Maybe his team would not be the ones who bullied weirdos, freaks, or outcasts. Maybe Lucas could change that.
“They’ve been doing that all day. And a bunch of girls were looking at him earlier,” Max murmured with an odd tone at the end.
I didn’t even realize that. But Max noticed? She noticed. She noticed? She sounds annoyed. What does that mean? What could that mean? Lucas thought. After he heard Max say that, he finally looked around. There were a few girls in the corner of his eye, watching them. Then he remembered the weirdly friendly interactions he was getting throughout the day.
Lucas had grown up sort of invisible, and he was definitely not used to the idea of being someone sought after. He hadn’t even changed too much through the summer, so he wasn’t too sure why he seemed to be getting attention this year.
“Uh…hold on, sorry–can you repeat yourself, dude?” Lucas asked once more.
“Oh– my bad,” Chance said. “Me and Patrick were just saying that we’re having a debate over at the table, and we were gonna ask if you could come sit with us and settle it.”
“Chance here thinks that Michael Jordan’s prime is better than LeBron’s. That’s just plain wrong! Right, Lucas?”
“Oh my god, Patrick. What are you saying? Jordan’s legacy is insane compared to LeBron. It’s not comparable. Lucas, come help me, please! I know you agree with me.”
Huh. Chance and Patrick were inadvertently inviting him to the jock table. The table, which would be considered a popular table, something sort of exclusive and popular-kid-only. If that sort of status mattered at all.
“Listen, guys, we all know they’re both goated. I can’t get involved here! It’s like a betrayal. Sorry, guys.” Lucas scratched his neck, making his choice obvious.
Lucas could imagine Dustin and Max both exchanged a sort of shocked glance as they usually did, and Lucas heard Will's voice, behind his back, arrive at the table, asking, “What’s going on?” then getting shushed unsubtly.
Patrick groaned. “Whatever, man. Just say you’re scared to admit the truth about Jordan. We’re gonna ask you who’s better again at practice, and you know it.”
“Yeah– uh…see you later,” Chance replied, eyes flicking somewhere behind Lucas.
When Lucas turned back to the table, Will and Dustin were smiling at him. Max just looked over him, inspecting.
“Mr. Popular Sinclair at our table here, huh?” Dustin jibed. Lucas groaned.
—
“Wow, we’ve all changed a ton since last school year, huh?” Lucas said, glancing around at the table. Everyone seemed acutely aware of the attention Lucas was getting, and Dustin had gossiped to them that he was even invited to sit with the bigshot jocks. Lucas had declined.
“We really have, haven’t we?” Will smiled.
Really, though. Mike had spent the entire summer with them, but hadn’t realized until now that the rest of the party was so different. He glanced over to El, who had sat next to him like usual, noticing her bangs.
“Hey, guys. Hi Mike.” El said, placing her bag down.
“Huh. You cut your bangs shorter, didn’t you?” He asked her in a low voice.
El’s smile dropped. Her brows quirked downward. She blinked at him, like she was trying to figure something out. Mike didn't understand why.
“Dude, she cut them, like, two weeks ago! You haven’t noticed?” Lucas said as a jest.
The Party began to laugh at him, as they usually did whenever they tag-teamed someone.
“Ugh, okay, okay. Whatever. I get it. All of you have… changed and whatever. I was just pointing it out.”
El looked uncomfortable, glancing over at Mike.
“What, and you haven’t?” Dustin said.
Mike thought about it. “I mean…not really, I don’t think.”
“Yeah,” Max added, “You haven’t. You’re still wearing those ugly ass Converse every day.”
Dustin and Lucas howled out in laughter. Mike’s cheeks went red, “Shut up! Not like your Vans are any better.”
“You really feel like you haven’t changed, Mike?” Will turned to ask him.
And yeah, Mike had felt stagnant for a while. He was okay with it for a moment. Change was scary. Mike had liked his hair the way it was, growing out slightly. Mike had found his comfort in the clothes his mom bought him. Mike had found comfort in what he was able to take right now, in his relationship with El, which was satisfactory enough, and the times with his best friend Will, where Mike longed to get closer but stopped himself. Mike had let life take him, let the wind take him as though he was a leaf blowing around. And his life was okay enough as is.
At the same time, Mike was undeniably left behind. Like the world would keep moving, and Mike wouldn’t be ready to move along with it, but he was forced to. What had he amounted to in the time between? What had he amounted to? Everyone was changing so fast, so much, and Mike was not.
He looked at Max and didn’t see the depressed 9th grader who was reclusive and angry and a shell of who she was, but instead he saw the feisty girl with newly acquired smudgy eyeliner who wore huge, wide-leg jeans every single day as though her life depended on it and picked fights out of love.
He looked at Lucas, who wasn’t the insecure out-of-his-element bench warmer on the court struggling to belong, but the boy who had packed on some muscle, was able to show it off through sleeveless tees and sang out loud confidently to songs he didn’t know.
He looked at Dustin, who wasn’t the easy-to-mess-with little teacher’s pet but the actual genius who had rejected the idea of conformity altogether and not only embraced that idea of dorkiness and punk but combined it.
He looked at El, who wasn’t at all anymore, in fact a far cry from that clueless and traumatized girl with the buzz cut, but the girl who was so full of love and joy and was finally able to live the life she deserved with her uneven bangs and nail polish.
He looked at Will. Will, who wasn’t the scared and cold little boy with a bowl cut who needed protecting anymore (Mike had always thought he was strong regardless), but the boy who could produce masterpieces through his fingertips and who listened to all this cool music with him and had such a heart of gold every single day, every single situation. His Best friend.
Mike was, in fact, still the same Mike. Mike Wheeler had not progressed in the slightest. He was still dumb and struggled with dumber things. He still dealt with those aftershocks. His friends were so strong and had grown so much and had grown into their own people.
“Yeah, pretty much,” Mike said playfully.
“I mean, you do still wear whatever your mom buys you on Shein,” Lucas teased.
“Yes. I don’t think Mike has changed much,” El said, an unreadable tone in her voice. Huh.
“Okay, okay, enough about my stupid fashion taste! I don’t care what I wear.” Mike rolled his eyes.
“You know what? We just need a good makeover for this guy. Look at how swagged out we are compared to him,” Dustin laughed.
“Ew, holy shit, don’t ever say swagged out again, Dustin. But since you say that,” Max had a devilish smirk on her face as she said, “...I’m sort of getting an idea now. That’s totally what we’re gonna do after school today.”
“Mike Makeover?” Will asked. Lucas seemed to be nodding along, and El had finally looked up from her packed PB&J (Hopper’s choice, likely) to nod as well.
“Hell yeah. That sounds amazing! We can go to my house. I’ve been wanting to dress this guy up for a while,” Lucas said, clapping Mike’s back.
“Hey, what the hell is that supposed to mean?” Mike said, glaring at Lucas. Mike looked over to El for backup, who looked sort of indifferent as she sat next to him. Then, he looked over to Will for backup, but Will seemed amused as well. “Okay, well, I guess we can. Do a…makeover, or whatever. As long as Erica doesn’t try to paint my nails again.”
The Party broke out into whoops, mainly from Dustin and Lucas. El was scooted closer next to an overjoyed Max, and Will was shocked. Mike could see those judgmental classmates at the other tables side-eyeing them, obviously wishing they would quiet down or be less them. But Mike knew those were the same kind of mouth-breathers who would say stupid things, like “Bullying is a necessary evil” and judge someone for listening to anything that wasn’t on the Top 50. And the Party had always been undeniably…them.
Mike looked back over to Will, searching for backup. “I thought it would take more convincing,” Will admitted through a sweet smile. Betrayal, Mike thought. The entire party was now set to do basically whatever they wanted to Mike.
Oddly, Mike wasn’t as scared as he thought he would be. Normalcy had been his lifeline for so long, what he forced himself to cling to. But he looked at all of his crazy friends and realized that Mike was never going to be normal, was never going to be the business major Ted Wheeler wanted, was never going to be popular like Karen Wheeler was in high school.
Really, what was stopping him? Mike had already broken out of the cycle. Why restrict himself to it?
The lunch bell rang, meaning the Party had to separate to go to the first 5th period of Junior Year, and El and Mike stood together. El didn't reach out to grab his hand today like she had all of last year. They began to walk together in the same direction, having their classes in the same hallway.
“You aren’t going to back out? You are really going to do it?” El asked quietly but didn’t look at him, holding onto her backpack.
“Yeah,” Mike exhaled, “I’ll do it. I’ll change.”