Chapter Text
The newsroom has to be your favorite place in Hawkins High. Even though it’s 7 am, an hour before school is supposed to start, everyone there is buzzing with electric enthusiasm. You walked down the ramp, squeezing past heated arguments and passionate pitches to reach your desk.
Another staff writer is waiting for you there, smiling wide and holding a cup of coffee for you. “Thanks for giving up the entertainment beat this week. You’re really taking one for the team.” You take the coffee, a little confused about the hell she was talking about but blame it on the vestiges of sleep the caffeine will soon chase away.
Noticing you standing in front of your desk, Nancy looks at you with a strained smile. “Congratulations! You get the club feature this week!”
“That’s great!” More than great the club feature had replaced the teacher profiles as the most coveted beat because of the freedom attached to it. Everyone always wanted it, turning the weekly assignment meetings into more of a weekly bloodbath. That made Nancy’s unsure expression all the more confusing. “So why do you look like you bit into a lemon instead of an orange?”
Fred Benson comes up behind Nancy and smirks while handing her some papers. “Because it’s Hellfire’s turn,” he says matter of factly.
“We’ve already pushed them back three issues,” Nancy explains. “It can’t be helped! Someone has to do it.”
You groan. “Isn’t Mike a part of the club? Why don’t you do it, Nance?”
“I’ve got my hands full as editor-“ she holds up two different layout arrangements and you point at the one on the left. She nods approvingly. “-and listen, out of all the writers, I know you can get the best story.”
“What makes you think that?” You sigh dramatically looking up at her with innocent eyes even though you’re fishing for a compliment.
Nancy’s willing to indulge you a little. “Your profile of Mrs. Click was incredibly compelling-“
“Yeah, people liked her for a solid week,” Fred interjects. Nancy hands him the layouts and shoos him away.
“-and I have it on good authority that he’s not going to entertain anyone else.” It’s accompanied by a twinkle in her eye that implies she knows more than she’s telling you.
You look at your desk, covered in pitches for opinion/entertainment pieces, and pinch the bridge of your nose. “Fine. Not like I have much of a choice but, I promise it’s going to be the best club feature of the year.”
Nancy’s face lights up with relief. “Great! You have two weeks.”
You move to ask why the extra week but she beats you to it. “I’m accounting for Munson being difficult.”
“Thanks, this is going to be fun,” you say sarcastically. It’s the burden of honest reporting, dealing with troublesome people, but if Hunter S. Thompson could ride with the Hells Angels then you could talk to Eddie Munson.
-
Knowing that Eddie had a sort of fondness for Mike and his friends, you decided that an easy way in might be to exploit that. They tell him about you, soften him up, and maybe, he’ll be more open to things when you show up. It’s a long shot but, it wouldn’t hurt to try.
First on your list? A certain Dustin Henderson who could often be found in the high school AV club room in the mornings. Notes on hand include: 70% sure he has a crush on Nancy, bet 5 bucks on it. Get Steve in on it. Jesus, these are outdated.
“I thought you already had goodwill with Eddie,” Dustin says upon hearing about your situation with the newspaper.
“Really?” You chew on your lip, a smile creeping on your face that you push down into a frown. “What makes you say that?”
“Last week he made us pick up the paper and stood there while we read your goddamn story. By the way,” Dustin waves around an electronic part for emphasis. “riddled with inaccuracies. There’s no way that an alien spacecraft-“
You interrupt him as there’s never a good time to be lectured by a child. “It’s not supposed to be scientifically accurate, Henderson. It’s called taking artistic liberties.”
“Yeah? Feel free to take less of them.”
You swallow down what would have been a rather harsh retort and flash a perfect customer service smile. “It’s always nice to hear criticism from passionate readers Dustin.”
It was the right move, he returned your smile with a genuine one. “Well if you want to make the-“
“Listen, just tell Eddie that I’m going to talk to him in a professional capacity and I promise that later this week you can tell me whatever you want about the story.”
Now he’s positively beaming, great there went at least two hours of your time but deep down you did mean it. There was nothing like a harsh critique to guide improvement.
“Deal!”
You shake hands and before he goes he says, “I don’t know how this is going to help you. Yesterday he said journalism consisted of sad individuals forcing false realities.”
You try to remind yourself of great journalists turned novelists like Joan Didion or Hemmingway. Surely they also had to climb uphill battles in their careers, you were just hitting one extremely early on.
-
Second on the list: Mike Wheeler. Notes on hand include: let him borrow the typewriter ONLY UNDER SUPERVISION, ask for a copy of Citizen Kane back, why did he want it for anyway?? He’s 12.
“Wheeler!” You corner Mike at his locker during a passing period.
“I don’t know where Nancy is,” he says dryly without turning to look at you.
“This isn’t about her,” you do your best to sound cheerful. “I just wanted to know if you could put in a good word about me with Eddie. I’ve got the-“
“Sorry,” Mike interrupts. “I can’t, I’m saving it for when my girlfriend comes back from California.” He turns to look at you as he closes his locker. “If you see Nance tell her I’m getting a ride home from Steve today? Thanks, you’re the best.”
He walks off, leaving you annoyed and with the only new notes on your notepad being: remind Nance. Mike ride w/Steve.
-
And Finally: Lucas Sinclair. Notes on hand include: dating Max? Owe him: 10 bucks for mowing the lawn. He borrowed: 1.25 for the arcade.
The gymnasium was not your biggest fan. The last time you were assigned the sports beat, the piece managed to get away from you and morph into something akin to a scathing pot of personal opinions that took several drafts to scale back.
“Do you have the sports section again?” Lucas asks when he notices you walking up to him. “That last article was brutal.”
You wave him off with a smile. “It wasn’t that bad. The first draft was way worse, Nancy made me tone it way down.”
“Hey, I liked it,” Lucas lowers his voice to avoid eavesdropping from the rest of the basketball team. “the other guys didn’t get it though.”
“Writing is a thankless job,” you say wryly. “I have a favor to ask though, about Eddie. I need him to open up to the craft for the club feature piece.”
“I don’t know… No one’s been able to get him to like the fact that I’m on the basketball team.”
“He doesn’t have to like it,” you shrug. “He just has to learn to deal with it.”
“I’ll see what I can do if I see him,” Lucas hands you one of the basketballs, miming throwing it in the hoop.
You toss it into the air, hoping that you got the trajectory right and it lands in the vicinity of the net. Unfortunately for you, it only makes it halfway there before falling on the floor and rolling towards the bleachers. Hearing the snickers from the rest of the boys on the team, you cover your face with your hands and groan.
“Harder than it looks huh?” Lucas quips.
“Yeah,” you reluctantly agree. “Maybe I’ll be nicer next time.”
-
Nancy mouths good luck for encouragement as you walk towards Eddie’s table. You take your time on the walk there, trying to appear casual and failing as you couldn’t help nervously chewing on your bottom lip. The various cafeteria noises of gossip, squeaky shoes and utensil clicking do nothing to help. You take a deep breath to try and tune it all out and focus on your mission.
He’s seated at the head of the table, reflecting his position in the club. He’s dressed the same as always, his chains and rings catching the fluorescent lights, brows knitted in concentration as he flips through the pages of whatever he’s reading- you scribble down these observations in case they’re useful later. For setting the scene maybe.
You throw your notepad on the table before taking a seat at the foot of the table which, seconds before as full of jovial conversation, immediately turns silent. Some people turn to look at you while others warily look at Eddie, nervous about how he’ll react to this sudden development.
“So the great novelist ventures beyond her forest,” Eddie says without looking up from the magazine he’s reading. “What brings you to our humble table today?”
“She’s here in a professional capacity,” Dustin offers up. Everyone turns to look at him. You glare at him, the exchange making it clear that he hadn’t told Eddie beforehand as you asked. Maybe you could still take those two hours of your life back.
“Professional,” Eddie dramatically lowers the paper to look at you, drawing out the words as he does. “Capacity.” He tosses his edition of Newsweek on the table. “That better not mean what I think it means. Or maybe it should.” He tosses you a mischievous grin. “I have a lot of professions.”
“I’m here on newspaper business Mr. Munson,” you decide to keep things formal. “If you’re a club you get a feature and to get the feature I need access and interviews.”
In hindsight, there was probably a better time to approach Eddie about the feature. Preferably one more private with zero chance of becoming lunchtime soapbox theater. A lapse in your judgment coming now at the high cost of having everyone in the cafeteria staring at you as Eddie stood on top of the table and dramatically emphasized every other word. He wasn’t taking the news well. Ironic.
“You’re approaching me as the enemy ?” To his credit, Eddie manages to sound genuinely betrayed. “Another cruel cog in the propaganda machine?”
“This is a high school paper. Not exactly The Post about to break Watergate.” You say sarcastically.
“Then, pray tell, why did the Elder Wheeler send you to do it?” Eddie stares you down from his place on the lunch table like a hunter examining his prey, calculating his next move.
“No one else wanted it,” you deadpan, moving your head to look at his eyes instead of his shoes. “I think people actually ran away when Nancy said it was Hellfire week.”
“Hellfire week,” he repeats slowly, taking his time with the words. “I like the sound of that.” He cocks his head to the side and crosses his arms. “And what if I said we’re not interested in a feature?”
“Then you’re not a club,” you state the truth plainly. “which I’m sure Principle Higgins would be pleased to hear.”
You stare at his dark brown eyes that are inspecting your face for any emotion other than plain indifference. Each unwilling to be the first to make the next move lands you both in a heated deadlock. You were just about to give in and say something when-
“Hey freak,” a voice says from another table. “Stop bothering her and go find your next sacrifice somewhere else.”
You turn to look and see that Jason Carver has joined the fray. He looks so proud of himself, with hands-on-hips, a commanding voice, and the attention of the whole cafeteria. Great, just what you needed: escalation.
“Mr. Carver, Mr. Munson, and I are simply negotiating, there’s no need for any…” you look at Eddie on the table and motion for him to get off it. “further dramatics.”
“You heard the lady.” Eddie jumps off the table and leans an arm on your head like it’s an armrest. “Get lost.”
Jason looks at you, expecting a damsel in distress but instead finds that you’ve got a smile on your face. He huffs angrily and walks away but not before getting one last damn freak in under his breath. You remove Eddie’s heavy arm off your head and mutter under your breath, “I’m not a fucking armrest, Eddie.”
He hears you and quietly pumps his fist in the air, pleased that he was able to get you to drop the formality. Eddie’s never been a fan of the word “Mister” being used to talk about him. It brings back memories of awkward run-ins with various authority figures, not something he wants to think of when he looks at you.
“This is the yearbook all over again,” Jeff says, chuckling lightly with Gareth. “You know we have to do it, Eddie.”
“Don’t tell me what I know, Jeff,” Eddie hisses sharply, not wanting his club members to cost him any leverage. He turns his attention back to you. “If you want me All the President's Men-style, then you’re gonna have to agree to some terms.”
You roll your eyes and sigh. “I’ll hear your terms but, I reserve the right to veto whatever I want.”
He nods and takes a second to think. “Number 1, there’s no such thing as observing in Hellfire, if you want access you need to participate. Number 2, I need a level of reciprocation here. You’re getting to know our inner workings, so we deserve to know a little about you. Number 3, don’t be afraid to mention how devilishly handsome I am in the article.”
“Is that all?”
“Yes,” he grins. “Extremely reasonable, right?”
“I have some notes,” you shake your notepad with unintelligible writing scrawled on it. “There’s no way I’m playing D&D with you. I’m just there to watch and take notes-“
“Melissa Thompson played chess with the chess club,” Eddie interrupts. “And I know you’ve played before so don’t try and tell me you can’t.”
“Fine,” you concede through gritted teeth, formulating a plan to figure out which one of the kids told him about that. “I’ll participate. I’m fine with your second term but, I’m afraid I have to veto the third completely.”
“Well, you can’t win them all,” he takes your hand, ignoring that it’s holding a pen, and shakes it firmly. “Pleasure doing business with you.”
He waits until you get up and leave to yell out, “Hellfire meets tomorrow at 4. The prop room behind the auditorium, don’t be late sweetheart.” The last word dripping in sarcasm.
You wave in acknowledgment, refusing to give in to the urge to turn around by reminding yourself that this could have gone a lot worse.