Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Chapter 1 - edited   on 6/24/19

Joyce slips out of the girl’s bathroom with ease, adjusting the textbooks that weighed heavy in her arms.

She was cutting class.

Again.

It wasn’t that she was intentionally missing calculus; it was simply because she couldn’t bring herself to go. In truth, the material came easily, but her teacher, Mr. Humphrey, bored her into oblivion. It didn’t help that she didn’t have any friends in the class either. The only person who even tried to talk to her was Lonnie Byers. Usually, she would’ve been flattered to receive such attention. Except. Well, except that he only talked to her to ask for answers. He was also a complete ass, so that played a major role, too, of course.

He’d flirted with her before—for years, if she could remember—but there was something about him that was off-putting. Mostly, she was bothered by the fact that he bullied other kids. There wasn’t a week that went by when Joyce didn’t see him taunting poor Bobby Newby in the parking lot. She always caught her fingers rolling into fists, ready to intervene, but she hadn't yet lost it. Instead, she’d watch Bobby pick up his books or weird headsets that looked like they were for space communication. She could say something; she should say something, but nothing came. She’d always wind up clapping her mouth shut and shaking her head. And Bobby would smile, but never respond. Their interactions, if you could even call them that, contained a heaping amount of awkward silence, to which Joyce would then gently excuse herself.

But she hadn’t seen Bobby or Lonnie this morning. To be honest, she hadn’t paid much attention to anyone that morning. She tore into school at eight, stopped by her locker, said hello to her friend Linda, and was off to English. Four periods later and her hand was cramping from taking so many notes. Joyce was picking up the pace in the last two years, hoping for solid As and Bs. It was draining, but worth it, as she held out for college. Somewhere far, far away from Hawkins.

Granted, cutting class wasn’t exactly conducive for going to college, but Joyce convinced herself that she deserved a reward occasionally. It’s tough being a good student. People need to let off steam, right?

Joyce slinks around the corner into the sophomore hallway. It was at the farther end of the school, the quieter end...the end where teachers were too lazy to roam the hallways for the exact reason Joyce was currently occupying the hall. As she crept past the classrooms, she gave a silent prayer of thanks for all the teachers who closed their doors, oblivious to the world outside their own four walls. Just as she reached the end of the hall, she ducked under the flight of stairs there. Plopping herself down on the floor, she looked out the exit door just a few feet from her to the football field beyond. By the looks of it, Mr. Carlson was trying to squeeze the last bit of summer out of the freshmen as they ran circles around the track. Late September could mean anything for Indiana weather. Who knew if they’d get another week with weather as warm and sunny as this? Hell, last year it snowed the last week of September, but this year, some people were still found swimming at the quarry. Figures.

Joyce was pulled from her musings as she heard harsh whispers cut through the air behind her. She wasn’t sure if she should peek around the staircase or not, but it seemed as if two people were arguing. She strained her ears, trying to hear further down the hall.

“—meant nothing?!” A young female voice hissed, a little loud for a whisper.

Joyce tries to lean closer to hear the other speaker, but their voice was inaudible at this distance. Quiet, but stern, like talking through gritted teeth. Joyce was certain it was a guy, which piqued her interest even more. Trouble in paradise?

Joyce contemplated for a moment if she should tempt fate, and in the end her resolve crumbled. She inched even closer to the corner of the wall that blocked the staircase from view. Her nose barely slid past the cold concrete as her head craned around the corner. Her eyes grow wide before snapping her head back against the stairs.

Jim Hopper. Chrissy Carpenter.

The senior couple. Certainly enough to garner buzz for homecoming court that year. Joyce was surprised to see them arguing. Usually Chrissy was all over Jim in public, and Joyce had heard the rumors about Jim stealing his dad’s Oldsmobile to get some alone time with her, but that was about a year ago. Maybe things had changed?

All Joyce knew was that she was not a fan of Chrissy. If anyone was searching for a long, sharp object, Joyce would gladly point them in the direction of one Chrissy Carpenter; she was perpetually known for having a stick up her ass about everything. Her hair, her smokes, her friends. Joyce never rolled her eyes more than in Chrissy’s presence. They both were at least tolerant of one another in public, but in reality, Joyce didn’t see what Hopper saw in her.

Joyce, trying to both eavesdrop and stay hidden, took another glance at them. Chrissy’s arms folded across her self, the creases in her tartan dress evident as her fingers clenched and unclenched around the fabric. Her honey-blonde hair hung right at her shoulders. Nothing about her was out of place. Even as she shook her head furiously. She was pretty, Joyce had to admit, even when she was shooting daggers at the boy in front of her.

Jim, on the other hand, was not nearly as rigid as Chrissy. Joyce still couldn’t hear what he was saying, but his hands flew around him in manic animation. His posture seemed casual and loose, despite his harsh grumbling. His tone only seemed to annoy Chrissy further, her voice rising significantly.

“Jimmy, I don’t care if your folks found out! That doesn’t mean we have to stop seenin’ one another!”

Oh boy.

Joyce strained to hear Hopper’s response, but all she got was mostly hand gestures, a huff, and an eye roll. Hopper’s eye rolls were almost as good as her own. She was just about to turn away when she saw a flash, followed by the sound of Chrissy’s hand meeting Jim Hopper’s left cheek. Joyce quickly ducked back behind the staircase, hearing Chrissy release a shrill of annoyance as her heels quickly clicked down the hall in the opposite direction. Joyce half expected to hear the clunking trail of Jim’s boots after the poor girl, but instead she heard them moving towards her space behind the stairs. Joyce froze in fear, holding her breath and willing them to stop. They did, mere feet from reaching the staircase.

Nonononono.

“Did you enjoy the show?” Jim’s voice bounces down the hall with a hint of mirth. Fear and embarrassment burn at the edges of Joyce’s features. “Come on Joyce, it’s fifth period. I know you’re there.” His steps start again until he rounds the corner and is towering over her. She feels as if her face matches the red color of her cardigan.

“Well, well, well, Joyce Horowitz, you run like clockwork, ya know that?” He drops with a wide grin. From the looks of it, you’d never have guessed he was just fighting with his girlfriend.

Joyce feels caught, and literally cornered, so she replies back with maybe a bit more bite than necessary. “Your face hurting a bit, Hop?” Joyce drips sarcastically. That causes Jim to throw his head back and lets an honest laugh.

“A little bit, yeah.” He responds as he crosses her at her feet, moving to sit next to her on the floor.

Joyce softens at his answer. “Want to talk about it?” He shakes his head before pulling a pack of Camels from his pocket. He slides out one for her before taking one for himself. Joyce presses the cigarette between her lips and in no time Hopper is sparking his lighter, moving the flame towards her. She coughs a few times as the flame ignites the tobacco...every time...and Jim just smiles.

This was their pattern.

Hopper found her hiding here once during fifth period towards the end of last year, and ever since then they had struck up a bit of a secret friendship. Sure, they spoke to one another in public, the occasional 'How's it going?' stuff; it was hard not to in such a small town, but Joyce kept her distance. Jim was different; the upper-crust of popular. Joyce’s family struggled to make ends meet, and sometimes it was hard to make that go unnoticed in a town where all the girls dolled up wearing dresses and skirts, convinced dungarees and capris were not quite all the rage they should be.

So they came to an unspoken agreement: they would meet here occasionally, chat about whatever, or some days sit in companionable silence, share a smoke, and be on their way. Joyce rather enjoyed his company. Jim really was different, though. He wasn’t the jock everyone pegged him to be. He was full of wit and sarcasm, foul words, and even, perhaps, a few philosophical debates. Despite the fact that they didn’t know each other very well, Joyce felt like they understood one another.

“You know it’s not my place, really, but it seems like we’ve barely started the year and we’ve already met up here, what? Six, seven times? Don’t you have class to get to?” Jim’s voice pulls Joyce from her thoughts, breaking their short-lived silence. So today is a talking day, after all.

“I’m stressed,” Joyce quickly starts as she takes another drag of her cigarette. “We can’t all have it so easy, Hop.” She adds with a smile.

He tucks his legs under him, “Oh? I have it easy, now?” Joyce rolls her eyes.

“Quite so, I’m afraid. Rather unfortunate,” she nearly laughs and he shakes his head as she continues, “Football star, probably will play in college, big city, yeah? You still thinking about being a cop?”

He nods. “Yeah, okay. I do have it, easier.” She lets out a muffled laugh as he takes a long inhale from his Camel. After a moment he lets out a large puff in Joyce’s face, playfully, to which she smacks his shoulder. “What about you, miss? Hmmm? Got any big plans in the next few years? Or will you be a permanent Hawkins resident?”

She’s shaking her head violently before she even responds, “Absolutely not. Graduation, then I am outta here.” Her voice is filled with purpose.

Jim seems excited for her, “So where are you off to? Why in such a hurry?” He leans in, like he’s about to hear a grand story.

Joyce sends a puff of smoke upwards, “Anywhere. I don’t know where I’m going, I just know I want out. I want more, ya know? Whether that be Indy or Chicago? I dunno, maybe California?”

Hopper raises his cigarette up in the air, “Joycie’s moving up in the world!! WhooHoo! Big plans!” To which Joyce quickly decks him in the shoulder with a right hook, almost dropping her cigarette in the process. He feigns injury, before adding, “All right, all right. I’m kidding, I’m kidding.”

She shakes her head at him, “I mean, the town isn’t so bad though, is it? I do like Hawkins, but on the other hand, there’s more to life than Hawkins, am I right?”

He shrugs, taking another drag. Noncommittal. Same, Hop .

They fall into silence for a while after that, flicking their ashes like it’s a game, minds wandering as the gray flecks glide to the floor.

Jim finally speaks up when his cigarette is almost out. “...So Chrissy is mad at me because my mom found out I’m not actually on the debate team. I made it up so I had a reason for being home so late. Now, somehow, it’s all my fault.” Joyce’s head perks up and turns to look at him. So we are talking about this.

“Oh, so the rumors are true about you and your old man’s Oldsmobile?” Joyce says in an attempt to make the situation light-hearted. He looks at her with confused features.

“Whadda ya mean?” His brows knitting together.

“Nevermind…” Joyce trails, “Anyways--”

Hopper swiftly stamps his cigarette on the bottom of his boot as Joyce quickly takes a large draw from her own, “Now wait a second, how do you know about me and Chrissy meeting up after school?” Joyce lets the smoke leave her lips slowly as she grits her teeth in awkward defeat. “Ah jeez….” he mumbles. “She told everyone, didn’t she?” Joyce attempts a supportive smile. Hopper huffs and adds, “Shit.”

After a moment, he continues. “Well, that girl is more work than anything else. Honestly, I’m glad we broke up.” His tone is nonchalant.

Joyce nearly chokes on her smoke, “Wait. You broke up!? I thought you just had a fight!? Why did you break up!?” At that, Hopper bursts.

“Because she’s INSANE, Joyce! I feel like I live and breathe Chrissy-fucking-Carpenter every goddamned day.” His eyes widen in manic terror. “I can’t do it, Joyce. I was losing my mind. We talk every day, before and after school. Between periods. She wants me to see her at lunch. She waves to me from the sidelines at practice. We see each other after school during the week, on the weekends at parties. She told me she wanted to follow me to college, and start planning our future. And I dunno, something in me snapped, and I couldn’t do it! She’s already fucking picked out names for our children for christ’s sake! Patricia and David! Like what is that?!”

He gulps down air, but isn’t ready to end his tirade. “And then my mom found out I was lying, you know, about where I’d been, or whatever, and I just used that as an out. I told her I couldn’t see her anymore and she lost it. She LOST it! She slapped me because I said I wanted to do right by my mom. Granted I was lying, but still!” All the while, Hopper’s arms stretch in a thousand directions to add to his point, his voice emphasizing each syllable. Once he finishes, he lets a few heavy breaths out through his nostrils. Joyce can’t help but choke back a laugh as she stubs out her cigarette on the floor. She interjects, “Well, I thought that was a great speech, Hop. The ending seemed a bit rushed, but it certainly coulda fooled me about the debate team.”

Hopper gives her a cold, but playful stare. “Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up. You’ll understand when you get a serious boyfriend.” He pauses, “Speaking of which…”

Joyce immediately deflects, pushing his hands away, shoving his head in the other direction, “Nope. We’re not talking about me, we’re talking about you, remember?” Joyce was a master at deflecting about her love life...mostly because she didn’t have one. Besides Lonnie Byer’s half-assed attempts at making her swoon, Joyce didn’t have time for the shit. Jim laughed in response, easily nudging her small hands away.

“Nobody, Joyce? You know, I could always set you up: Scott Gilmore, John Harrington…?”

A noise of disgust escaped Joyce, “Ugh. Scott Gilmore permanently smells like the boy’s locker room. And John? We kissed once in the fifth grade on a dare, and it was the sloppiest slug-of-a-kiss. I've heard that it has not changed much since then.” She added defiantly, scooting away from him.

“Ok, relax. I was just throwing out some options.” His eyes squint. “So no seniors, huh?” He looks as though he’s mentally searching through Hawkins High’s yearbook. “What about some Juniors? The Brain seems to be pretty sweet on you.” A genuine smile spread across his features, but it’s a look that also tells her he’s half full of shit.

“Bob Newby? Bobby, ‘the Brain,’ Newby? Jesus, Hop.” She rolls her eyes.

Jim yields, “Yeah, you’re right. The kid is nice, but he’s gotta be the biggest weirdo, if I’ve ever seen one.” Joyce smacks him playfully but yells, “Hop! He is nice!”

“But I’m right, aren’t I?” He looks at her pointedly, and she looks down, only to look up at him with a smirk on her face, telling him everything he needs to know. They both let out a chuckle.

The bell blares suddenly, ending fifth period. Hopper, unfazed, easily jumps to his feet, holding his hand out to Joyce for assistance. She slides one tiny palm into his grasp and he nearly launches her as she gets to her feet. The sound of clamoring students echoes down the hallway, getting louder as kids begin to descend the stairs above them. He lets her hand go and she brings hers together, wringing them uncomfortably; their time is up.

“Well, see ya around?” He asks more out of expectation than as a pleasantry, offering a half smile.

“Of course…” she pauses, not really wanting to go back to the real world yet. Kids start darting past them in an attempt to get to class, and Hopper straightens his letterman jacket. She begins to say something else, of what she’s not sure, but then he cuts her off, patting his hand on her head.

“Wow, you’re really short.” Jim lets out. He starts to draw an invisible line with his hand from the crown of her head to the middle of his chest. She decks him once more for good measure and shakes her head, stepping back from him.

“Hello everyone! I present: Jim Hopper, The Ass!” She raises her arms up in presentation as she begins to back peddle down the hallway. A few students clap at the show. She turns away from him, satisfied. Hopper shouts, not ready to leave it at that.

“The Best Ass!” He booms, but by then Joyce is in the throng of students. The single part of her that is visible is her arm that extends above the crowd, leaving him with her middle finger as their final exchange. He laughs and shakes his head, slinging his backpack over his shoulder and speaking to no one in particular, “Always gotta get the last word in.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 2 -  edited 6/24/19

Their next meeting between shared cigarettes isn’t even in their usual spot.

Seven minutes after the bell rings, students are pouring out of Hawkin’s High. Some begin their long trek home; others cram into cars to catch a ride with friends.

Joyce takes her time, because Joyce only does things on her own time anyways. She isn’t the only one strolling out late, either. She chats with a few girlfriends as she slides the last of her books in her locker. Joyce could hear them talking, but she wasn’t really listening to what they were saying. She was still thinking about her history test. There’s no way I passed that abysmal bomb.

“—you think?...Joyce? Joyce!?” Vicki directs pointedly.

Joyce snaps out of her daze, “Oh! Sorry, you were saying?” She half listens has Vicki starts again. Her attention returns when Linda slams her locker closed.

“I’m not sure who’s taking me to prom yet...” Linda adds. Joyce smiles and nods her head, trying to convince the girls she’s been listening the entire time.

Vicki wraps her arms around textbooks and takes off at a gingerly pace. Joyce quickly swings her locker closed and skips up to meet her, Linda close in tow. “I started looking for a dress, but I’m considering making mine,” Vicki interjects.

Linda smiles like she’s impressed, but also is about to top the poor girl. “I think my mom is taking me to Indianapolis to shop!” Her grin reaches maximum capacity; she is all teeth, like she just won a pageant. “So, Joyce? What are your plans?”

Joyce is taken aback somewhat again; she hadn’t really been thinking about prom at all. She stumbles a bit on her words as they continue to make their way out of the school. Joyce can’t help but fiddle with the ends of her oversized shirt as she contemplates the question. “Well...I—I don’t know if I’m going to prom…” she says as if she is unsure of herself. She hopes the answer will suffice; it doesn’t. The girls stop in their tracks.

“Joyce!” Vicki nearly screeches as she covers her mouth. A stray student looks on in concern. Joyce shoos them away with a hand.

“Oh! Do not be dramatic! People skip prom all the time! And even if I had time to go—which I don’t—what’s the point? It’s only a dance. Besides, I don’t dance, which means I already don’t fit the bill.” Joyce attempts to offer, but Linda’s head shakes in disgust as she keeps on walking. Vicki launches after her in pursuit. Joyce trails the pair down the hall and hears something akin to “of course” leaveLinda’s mouth. Joyce merely laughs and follows, rounding a corner.

“Always look to Joyce to be pragmatic, I guess?” Vicki suggests half-heartedly, but then quickly continues, “But honestly Joyce, you won’t even consider it?”

“Oh hush, you two, seriously. Fine! I’ll consider it. But you both need to relax. You act like prom is this BIG ordeal!” They reach the front doors and burst through them with ease into the early fall air. Joyce shudders at the cold and slings her arms into the bulky wool coat she was previously carrying. She manages to juggle a few books between hands before successfully buttoning the last button. All the while, Vicki tries to comb down her hair with her hands as the chilly air wisps around them. Linda has already descended the stairs and looks back them in slight annoyance.

“Just so you know, Joyce, it’s not the end of humanity, we get that. But don’t you think you’ll miss out on what we have left of senior year if you don’t go?” Linda‘s features soften. As materialistic as Linda Jennings could be, she was occasionally wise, and correct, but Joyce was sometimes too pig-headed to admit that aloud. However, today was not one of those days. Linda and Vicki were obsessed, but they made valid, albeit somewhat thin, points. Joyce had to give them that.

After a sigh, Joyce gives in. “All right fine, I’ll heavily consider the matter. Now, can we head home? It is far too cold out here.” Joyce looks up from the girls as they nod their heads in agreement. She and Vicki skip down the steps and begin to walk in line with Linda. Joyce scans the dead leaves that swirl in circles on the concrete, to the group of boys tossing a football in the grass beyond. Next to the patch of now-yellowed green, she notices the far car lot. A group of vehicles linger as their owners loiter to pass smokes. Joyce easily spots Hopper, always a few inches taller than the crowd that usually surrounds him. Her feet are drawn to follow her line of sight, but Vicki fingers wrap around Joyce’s wrist and spin her to the side before she can continue.

“Helllll-ooo, Joycie, home’s this way.” Vicki gestures northwest, but Joyce’s mind is already made up.

“You know, actually, I think I’m gonna hang around for a second. I gotta talk to Hop for a minute.” Joyce says as she readjusts her books in her arms.

Vicki brightened at the mention. “Oh, okay! We’re right behind ya!” Vicki was always adorably head over heels in love with Jim Hopper. The one problem? He couldn’t even remember the poor girl’s name let alone have an in-depth conversation with her. Joyce told him again and again, but to no avail. What made it worse? Vicki didn’t seem to mind one bit.

Joyce veered away from the girls, and Vicki was at the ready to follow. Linda continued to trot along her usual path.

“I’m going to head out. Physics to study for.” Linda gave a wave, but as the girls parted she shouted back to Joyce, “Just so we’re clear: you said you’d think about it! THERE! It’s on record now!”

Joyce shook her head and cried out, “All right already!” Vicki chuckled. Linda gave a smile and another wave before quickening her pace down the road. Soon, the two leftover women’s steps moved in sync as they approached the set of parked cars and their respective owners. The closer they got to the group, however, the quicker Joyce realized she was nervous; she couldn’t seem to pinpoint why. It felt as if her heart was thudding with each step that met the pavement. She tried to shake the feeling, but it only caused a heat to creep up her neck. The more she thought about it, the more sudden the feelings would wash over her. She felt ill, but too late to turn around now.

Almost there.

Joyce blinks and shakes the nervousness in a moment, burying what she can and boxing up the rest. Joyce Horowitz was not an easy scare, and talking to some people she wouldn’t normally be caught dead with meant nothing. Right?

The pair nears the group, and Joyce finally glances at them rather than through them. But before she can call out to make themselves known, Hopper looks up from his lighter and his expression nearly lit up with the spark. With a fresh cigarette hanging out of the side of his lips, he shouts, “Horowitz!” An arm follows his voice up in the air to signal the girls towards them. Joyce shoots a look sideways at Vicki who was damn-near about to explode from excitement. Joyce is concerned the girl’s face will stick that way if she keeps smiling so hard. Joyce chuckles softly to herself, feeling more at ease

The girls reach the crowd and stop right outside the haphazard circle the group attempted to make. Joyce takes inventory of the classmates that decided to congregate in this far section of the parking lot: Martha, one of the few sweet socialites of Hawkins in Joyce’s opinion, stood closest to her. From there, Jerry and Sherri, who were not going steady much to Sherri’s dismay, were huddled off to the other side. Sherri picks at her nails while Jerry looks less than interested in being near her. Of course, there was also Harrington, propped onto the hood of his new Bel Air like he owned the place. And at the center of it all was Jim Hopper, leaning against the driver side of Harrington’s ride, casual as ever. He ushers for the group to disperse a bit more to let the newcomers join.

Joyce gives the group a rather timid greeting in comparison to Vicki’s exaggerated “Good Afternoon!” but Martha responds with a quick hello before shooing John to move his legs; he scoots to the left with a grunt. That was usually the extent of his vocabulary anyway. Joyce slides in by them as Vicki sidles up next to Hopper, of course. She smiles brightly up at him, and he, being the somewhat gentleman that he was, smiles back crookedly. However, he quickly eyes Joyce across the group with a quizzical expression, trying not to draw Vicki’s attention too much. Joyce already knows what he is thinking.

Vicki begins to babble about something to the group and Hopper added a “Oh yeah, sure.” to feign interest, but his line of sight was still on Joyce. Joyce attempted to mouth “VIC-KI.” It was like a light bulb had gone off in Hopper’s head. He took a swift puff of his cigarette as quickly exhaled the smoke.

“So, Vicki—it is Vicki, right?” Hopper drips. Joyce gives an eyeroll. She feels a tap on her shoulder but ignores it for a moment as she watches Vicki’s features suddenly overcome with the greatest joy Joyce has ever seen in another human being. Hop continues, “Would you like a smoke?” Joyce feels another tap on her shoulder as Jim pulls a cigarette out for Vicki. She turns to meet the blank stare of John Harrington.

A little startled, Joyce takes a shift back.”Oh! Sorry John. I’ve been a little off and somewhere else today, I guess. What’s up?” Joyce tries to smile, but it comes out rather phony; Joyce couldn’t quite pin John. Sure, she knew he was popular, but she had never really heard him speak more than two words at a time.

“Wanna smoke, Horowitz?” Joyce had to have looked stunned. Not only did Harrington have manners, but he also knew syllables and sort of enunciation.

Still shocked in silence, Joyce’s books drop on the hood of his car, and she simply plucks a cig from the pack he has outstretched. John tosses the pack away and as if materializing out of thin air, his hands are back in front of her face, cupping a flickering lighter. She leans in to reach him and the fresh cigarette ignites with ease. He gives a bit of a smirk before leaning back onto his car. Joyce shifts again, a little uncomfortable at their swift proximity. She glances back at Hopper and Vicki for a moment, realizing Vicki hasn’t really taken a breath since she got to Hopper; she was still talking to him ninety miles a second while her voice hit a pitch Joyce hadn’t really heard before.

“So, Joyce...Vicki said something about you and prom. No serious plans yet?” John interjects then takes a light drag of his cigarette.

Joyce whips her head to the side to meet Harrington’s face, ignoring the deep frown that arises from Sherri and noting the strangled giggle from Martha. “Oh, I mean—I’m not really sure. It’s still so far away. And I dunno, I don’t really know if it’s for me.” Joyce feels like she’s on trial. She fills her lungs with a breath of hot smoke to squelch the awkwardness.

Martha laughs. “Don’t worry, Joyce. Johnny doesn’t want to go either.” She turns to him as he rolls his eyes.

“Prom seems like such a waste of time! I didn’t go last year and I didn’t miss out. Did you?” He leads to Joyce and huffs, hoping for some support.

“Well, no. I didn’t go last year.” Joyce isn’t sure how her answer will go over.

“THANK YOU! One vote, Joyce!” Harrington smiles wide as Joyce and Martha chuckle.

But Martha shakes her head, “I bet you will be the only two in all of Hawkins to not go to prom.”

“Doesn’t sound so bad to me.” Harrington laughs, “I can finally get some peace and quiet then.”

“Yes, because we keep bringing the parties to you.” Sherri cuts in with a sarcastic huff. Joyce takes the banter in but can still hear Vicki’s prattling in her peripheral. Jerry is desperately trying to not get pulled into the conversation by chain smoking his pack while staring at his shoes.

“Yeah, you got me there, Sher. I do love a good party.” John grins widely and Martha laughs. Sherri shakes her head. Content with this new show, Joyce takes a drag of her cigarette and leans back onto the edge of John’s car.

Martha continued, “See? I mean, I get your hesitancy, but ultimately, you’re going to go to prom, Harrington. It’s in your nature. And you need a tux, some flowers, and a date. Easier than you think.” Joyce wasn’t totally certain if Martha was dropping a hint or if she was genuinely trying to sort it out for John, but then she remembered Martha had been dating the same guy since sophomore year.

“Yeah, but figuring out a date can be so hard.” Sherri pipes in again. Joyce is certain she is fishing, because she immediately glances at Jerry, who has mastered the art of ignoring this whole conversation. Realizing he isn’t going to add his two cents, Sherri folds her arms and retreats from the conversation.

“Ok—so socially, prom is hard. It’s weird, yes. But then don’t make it weird, Harrington. It doesn’t have to be serious. Just like you aren’t.” Joyce is realizing that Martha is a gold mine of wisdom and that is when John Harrington seems to fold.

“Too true, Glover. But I am going to ignore the fact that you insulted me.” Feigning injury, he chuckles and then looks back at Joyce. “So how ‘bout it, Horowitz? Ya got a prom date?”

Joyce’s cigarette freezes mere millimeters from her lips, but before she can even attempt a response, a coughing fit breaks across from them. The whole groups’ eyes follow the noise to see Hopper choking amidst a puff of smoke. Vicki’s face immediately ruptures into concern as she rubs his back while he doubles over from the hacking. He’s gripping the denim at his knees so tight that his knuckles are white. A few pieces of ash still float around him as he sputters onto the soil under his feet. The group is struck in awe, but Joyce wonders why no one else besides she and Vicki seem alarmed. After a few extended moments, Hopper snaps his head back as a few wheezes escape him. Quickly, Vicki’s hand tears away and she drops both arms at her side, like she was afraid someone would have noticed. As Hopper regains his composure, he blinks back the water in his eyes and Joyce realizes his cheeks are strong shade of red. She silently drops her cigarette to the ground and toes it out; she doesn’t really feel like smoking anymore at the moment. Unsure of what to say or do, everyone looks at him wide-eyed.

Of course, John Harrington breaks the silence, “Jesus man, what happened to you?”

“I—I must’ve got a bad hit, or something.” Hopper says between clearing his throat. He takes his lighter and stuffs it in his pocket as he stamps a boot onto the offending object that had fallen to the ground.

“Whatever you say, Hopper.” A faint smile plays on Martha’s lips. Joyce isn’t sure what’s going on, but she knows something is going on.

“Yeah, what are you? A man, or what?” John asks pointedly and the group snickers collectively sans Joyce. Her brain starts to turn. “So anyways, what’s your answer, Joyce?”

His question brings her out of her thoughts, but Joyce’s face pales, forgetting that she hadn’t actually answered him.

“What answer?” Vicki asks innocently.

“Harrington asked her to prom.” Jerry’s voice pipes in. He glances up for all of two seconds before he realizes his mistake. So he was listening. That will go over well with Sherri.

“Oh how exciting!” Vicki gushes.

Joyce wants to smack Vicki upside the head, but instead she stays motionless. Why is she so unsure? She shifts awkwardly in her shoes. They can go as friends, right, which means she doesn't have to kiss him. And Harrington isn’t so bad after all. He could be worse, right? Joyce sucks in a deep breath, turning to John.

“Well—” Joyce begins.

“—You don’t wanna go with him, Joyce.” Hopper jumps, “Harrington is a party animal. He’ll probably get drunk early, make you drive, and pass out before you even get a photo. I mean, look at him.” Hop gestures towards the gentleman in question. Harrington is sprawled out across his car, not a care in the world.

Joyce isn’t sure how to respond. Should she even respond? After a bit, John plainly nods his head while adding, “Yeah, you’re probably right, Hop. Sorry Joyce, I hate to be that guy, but you definitely don’t want me to be that guy on prom night. What can I say? I’m an acquired taste.” Hopper lets out a huff. “Can you forgive me, Horowitz?”

Joyce finds herself smiling at John, glad to be out of such a pickle. “Yeah, I can forgive ya, Harrington. Thanks anyways for the invite.” The group chuckles while Sherri crosses her arms; she is clearly overwhelmed by the joy. Joyce laughs with the rest of the group, but also notices that Hopper isn’t laughing. Instead, he’s staring her down with a half smile. Joyce suddenly feels uncomfortable again. Why come to her rescue like that?

Maybe she’s afraid of the answer.

“Well, I’ve got to get going,” Sherri says as she picks up her things to go. “Jerry, would you like to walk me home?” She cranes her head towards him as her voice dribbles with a fake saccharine tone. Jerry looks horrified, but nods his head to follow. He looks like he’d rather go to a firing squad.

“Yeah, we better get going, too. Right?” Joyce croaks. She begins to retrieve her books from the hood of the car.

A faint and somber ‘okay’ comes from Vicki as she finishes collecting her things. When Joyce turns back around she notes that Hopper is still stealing glances. This time, however, he looks uncomfortable.

She tears her eyes away from his to say goodbye to Martha and John. Sherri and Jerry have already began to walk off. “Thanks for letting us hang by. See you all tomorrow.” Martha gives a wide smile and a small wave. Harrington interjects, “Yeah. Okay, next time I see you, you better pay me back for that smoke, Horowitz.”

She nods her head vigorously, really because she’s not sure what else to say. Andddddd we’re back to the John Harrington we’re all used to. She is definitely glad she didn’t agree to go to prom with him. “Right...Of course.” She finally offers up.

As she turns to walk away, she adds, “Oh, see ya, Hop.” She meets his eyes with a soft smile.

He matches her expression, “See ya, Horowitz.” Joyce isn’t sure if the feeling beginning to settle in her stomach is good or bad.

“See you tomorrow, Jim!” Vicki squeals and crosses the group to the retreating Joyce. It seems Hopper forgot about her altogether as he gathers his things. The female duo heads down the slope towards the direction of their neighborhood. Joyce steals a look back one more time as she pulls her coat collar closer.

Hopper waves a long arm above his head. “Oh! See you too, Veronica!”

Vicki instantly lights up and turns back around to wave. “Bye Jim!” She shouts across the field that has grown between them.

Joyce just rolls her eyes.

Chapter Text

Chapter 3 -  edited 6/24/19

Joyce wasn’t keeping a tally—so this wouldn’t technically be on their list—but if she was cataloging their meetings, she might count this one as a smoke break.

To be honest, Joyce doesn’t recall all that much of the encounter anyways. Her blood was boiling, after all.

“YOU GREASY NOSEBLEED! LEAVE HIM ALONE!”

Lonnie Byers was not expecting a small, clenched fist to meet his face today, so the shock of it had him reeling a bit more than the force of the actual punch. He was on the ground in an instant and seeing stars from where his head met the pavement outside the school’s gymnasium.

It took him a delayed moment to respond to the faint calls of his name. He blinked several times to clear his vision. When the picture came into view, all he saw was sky and all he felt was the damp cold of snow.

Lonnie hadn’t been knocked on his ass very often. A few times by his pops, sure, but definitely never by a girl. He wasn’t sure if he should be upset or impressed. The smirk forming on his face grew as he began to pull himself off the ground. His eyes met the wide-eyed face of Joyce Horowitz, absolute panic covering her features. It did not escape him that a small crowd of students had now gathered around them as well, eager to watch the show.

“Horowitz, nicely done.” Lonnie says as he brushes off his dungarees. “I like a girl with some fight in her.”

At that, Joyce’s face contorts from shock to anger. She immediately shortens the gap between them. Her small legs makes quick strides through the dirty slush of a week's old snowstorm. When she stops, she is a mere two feet from him. Her cold breath puffs out of her face manically. “I’d be happy to give you a fight, Lonnie.” Her eyes narrow, but the smirk never leaves his face.

“You wanna fight me over a candy-ass like that?” Lonnie gestures towards a slumped figure at the edge of the circle now being formed around them. Bob Newby sits in the wet snow, hands clutching a smashed something . Joyce’s eyes meet his, and she is sure he is holding back tears, but he gives a bit of a smile when he sees her. Joyce turns back to Lonnie with a finger quickly stabbing him in the chest.

“YOU! Are a bully, Lonnie Byers!” Joyce jumps to her toes to emphasize her point. “I have watched you pick on him day in and day out, and I have HAD IT! You are absolute garbage and a plague to encounter, so go infect someone else and leave him alone!” Joyce points in the direction of Bob to emphasize her point, and realizes she is out of breath. She continues to stare sternly at Lonnie, but something about him has changed. His shoulders aren’t as tall and his smirk has fallen a bit.

After an incredibly long silence—even from the crowd—he opens his mouth to speak.

“—Everything ok here?” Jim’s voice cuts off Lonnie hesitantly as his tall frame shifts through the crowd of bystanders. Joyce drops her feet back flat on the ground and turns to meet him. She hadn’t realized so many people were watching. The blush that creeps up her face tells the crowd that, too. She opens her mouth to say something, but Lonnie gets in first.

“If it isn’t the resident golden boy? Don’t you have a football to throw or something?” Lonnie cocks his head to one side while Jim’s jaw clenches. “I’m just having a conversation with Horowitz here. Can’t you see we’re busy?”

“I’m making sure the lady doesn’t get hurt.” Joyce scowls a bit at that as he finally makes it to the two of them in the center.

Lonnie lets off a howl but is still mindful of how lined up Jim is to sock him in the jaw. That idea doesn’t seem to deter him, however, so he fires back. “I don’t know Jimbo. Horowitz seems to be holding her own.”

“Oh, I was talking about you.” Hop says flatly, but Joyce can barely hear an edge in his voice while the mob of onlookers laughs in unison.

Lonnie is taken off-guard for a moment before his composure returns as the laughs and taunts from the crowd die down. His jaw sets. It is just as hard as Jim’s. Joyce is suddenly very aware that this could turn into a real fight any second now.

“So, you’re a comedian now, huh? What can’t you do, Jimbo?” Lonnie’s eyes narrow. He may be shorter than Jim, but the way his hands casually rest on his hips show that he’s not exactly afraid of the athlete standing diagonally from him. His eyes meet Jim’s, equally narrowed and zeroed in. “I mean, come on: golden hair for the golden boy you are. Life of the party cruisin’ around in daddy’s car like he’s got somethin’ to prove. Scholarships pouring in for that arm o’ yours. Girls pouring in, too, I guess…” Joyce’s eyes snap to Jim’s because she knows. She knows where this will head now. She can see it in Jim’s face as the hairs on her arms begin to raise. He is frozen, but his eyes flash. He’s waiting for Lonnie to finish that thought.

“—or so I hear.” He pauses to laugh and wind up for the finale. “Say, Jimmy, you’ve put together a mighty fine debate team this year, yeah?” A pit slowly opens in Joyce’s stomach while the crowd erupts in snickers. The smug look on Byers’s face and the drawl that drips from his mouth disgusts her. “It sure makes me wonder…” Jim is a statue with a locked gaze, but his fists are shaking. “How is Joycie, anyways?” Joyce’s eyes snap towards Lonnie. He laughs and gestures towards her. “I mean, does she put the ‘whore’ in ‘Horowitz’ or—”

A fist makes contact with Lonnie’s nose and a sickening crunch reverberates through the crowd.

He’s on the ground again, pawing at his bloodied face between shrieks of pain. Joyce is gasping thick puffs of air out of her lungs, but she only hears the beat of blood pumping through her ears. The crowd sounds like quiet murmurs under water and far away. Without warning, she feels arms slide in around her waist and deftly wrench her from the ground.

“HEY!” She begins.

“— you wait your turn!” Hopper bellows at her as he scuffles them both through the observers that have now closed-in on them, chanting and cheering and howling away. Joyce flails in his arms for release but that tightens his hold on her. He shuffles them through some people before hovering over Lonnie’s wet face.

“YOU!” Hopper points with his free hand, “If you come near her again, you’ll get decked by both of us! I promise you that, you lousy piece of shit. YOU UNDERSTAND?” Lonnie’s face is horror-stricken. “I SAID ‘DO YOU UNDERSTAND?!’” Jim cowers over him a bit more and Lonnie shakes his head so fast that blood splatters to the snow surrounding him.

Without another word, Jim elbows his way through the crowd, fighting everyone who’s cheering him and Joyce on, all while Joyce futilely fights his grip. They eventually make it out of the noise-drowning cluster, but Hop still hasn’t dropped her.

Joyce is beating on his arm with her fists. “LET. ME. GO.” Either all her strength went into that last punch or Hopper is pushing through the pain, but he is unrelenting. It isn’t until they’re halfway through the parking lot and what seems like eons away from the scene of the crime does he finally drop her unceremoniously. Joyce stutters a bit in her step to catch herself but is quickly whipping herself towards Hopper who is fuming air nearly out of his ears.

“Are you KIDDING ME? What was that!?” Joyce throws her arms up.

Hopper’s face warps in confusion, “I’m sorry, is this a joke? WHAT ARE YOU DOING!?” His hands turn in midair to emphasize his point. “Because last I remember, I wasn’t the one who punched Byers! Are you NUTS!?”

Joyce huffs and turns away from him, walking further away from the school. It only takes him a few steps to catch up, but her furious steps continue.

“Go away.”

“No, I won’t go away. I wanna make sure you’re okay.”

“I’m fine —” She whines.

“Obviously not.” He grabs her shoulder to hold her in place. “You pounded a kid. I mean—a well deserving pounding, but what did he do Joyce?”

At that, Joyce explodes. “Lonnie Byers picks on Bob every day. EVERY. DAY.”

“Alright. Alright. That’s good enough for me.” Hopper sighs deeply and Joyce realizes just how cold she is now that the adrenaline is wearing off. She plunges her hands into her coat pockets and looks away from him. Her tender digits graze a folded scrap of paper discarded there. She sees the crowd of people has mostly dispersed, but she can’t recognize many faces from this distance. Joyce sloshes snow around her feet for a moment, avoiding his gaze. She still hears him breathing, but no words are exchanged.

After a bit, she feels a hand rest on her shoulder. The weight is oddly comforting.

His hand drops to her elbow and he guides her to his dad’s car a few steps away. “I’m taking you home.” He states matter of factly as they reach the passenger door of the 88 Holiday.

He opens the door for her as she lets out a ‘fine.’ Her tone edges on annoyed and she rips her elbow from his hand and drops into the seat.

“Will you cool it?!” He highlights with a slam of the door.

He’s peddling around the front of the hood while she shouts. “I can fight my own battles!” Hopper simply shakes his head as he opens his own door and plops in behind the wheel. He jams his key into the ignition, but before moving anywhere, he turns to look at her.

“Oh honey, don’t I know that.” He motions to her already bruising hand. "I’m just trying to keep you from getting yourself killed. ”

She’s offended, of course. “Is that because I’m short? Because I can take him!”

He looks back and starts to shift, pulling out of his parking spot with ease. “I’m well aware...and so is half the school after that lovely demonstration.” He’s tearing out of the parking lot before he even finishes the sentence.

Joyce’s arms fold at her chest. Her right hand stings in protest. “He deserved it.”

Hopper balances between looking at the road ahead and glancing at her. “Everything you’re saying is right. I’m not disagreeing with you...but shit, Horowitz. You punched Lonnie Byers. TWICE!”

She chuckles at this, barely believing it herself.

He smiles. “I mean, you’re an animal, Joyce. Remind me not to piss you off.”

“You do piss me off, on a regular basis, in fact.” Joyce lifts her hand and lightly blows on a knuckle where the skin has broken.

He takes a turn and gives another smirk. “Oh, do I now? How did this become an attack on me? We swingin’ at everybody today?”

Embarrassed, Joyce shakes her head. “No, I’m sorry. You’re being supportive. I’m being…”

“...feisty?” He offers sympathetically.

She drops in her seat a bit. “I guess so. I’m really not sure why.” She eyes him sideways.

Hopper passes a slow-moving car before throwing out, “Hormones?” At that she swats his shoulder. “Hey! Hey! Save those fists for the fight next week. I’m putting my money on you in the rematch.”

Joyce readjusts herself in the seat and leans her head back to stare straight up at the ceiling. “Ugh. I never want to talk to that scum ever again.” Joyce hears Jim rustling with something but doesn’t bother to look. The blank canvas of the hardtop above her is calming.

“You just get to talk to this scum.” A cigarette moves into her peripheral, and when she turns to look at Jim, Joyce notices he already has one hanging from his mouth.

She smiles in thanks and plucks the roll from his hand. “You’re not scum.” Hopper skillfully balances the steering wheel with his left hand while procuring his lighter with his right. He strikes the igniter and lights his smoke first before leaning his hand towards Joyce’s cigarette, all the while trying to keep the car from skidding onto the shoulder.

“No, but I do piss you off.” He cracks a grin as he stuffs his lighter away and places both hands back on the wheel. She takes a puff, and—without fail—coughs up a piece of tobacco through the unfiltered cigarette. Hopper chuckles.

She gives herself a moment of respite before taking a smoother drag and responding, “Yes, but in an endearing sort of way.” Joyce takes another drag and looks at the snow-covered fields out the side window.

“Did you just call me endearing ?” He laughs, completely flabbergasted.

She exhales and rolls her eyes. “Pffffttt...Oh boy...”

His voice morphs into a horrible interpretation of a radio broadcaster, “When asked to describe James Hopper’s strongest qualities, many responded with a whole-hearted: endearing.”

She can’t help but roll her eyes again and laugh. “More like embarrassing .”

He feigns injury. “Ouch. And the punches continue.” He takes a puff before balancing the steering wheel between his right fingers. His left hand grabs for the window crank, barely cracking the glass before the late February air comes blasting into the car. He flicks his ashes out but leaves the window.

“Ugh. I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” Joyce covers her face with her hands.

“There is absolutely nothing wrong with you.” She smiles and peeks at him through her fingers. He beams at her with softened eyes before adding seriously,  “You’re perfect.”

“Thank you....” Joyce turns away from him, unsure of what else to say. To busy her suddenly shaky fingers, she rolls her own window down and flicks a scant amount of ashes to the breeze. She begins to mentally count the trees as they pass, feeling the cold tinge her nose and cheeks.

Hopper makes a few more turns before clearing his throat. “Yeah, er—don’t mention it.” Another long pause stretches between them. Joyce’s insides feel like a circus. It certainly isn’t lessened as Hopper dives over a set of rail tracks. She should say something. Tell him how you feel. How you’ve always felt but have been too afraid to say.

She turns to him, but is afraid to look up at him.

“I mean it though, Joyce...” He adds cautiously while taking deep breaths of smoke. Joyce mimics him in unsure anticipation. “...I’m not exactly sure where it came from, or—or when, but— shit .” He takes a ragged breath and another large drag before flicking it out the window, never tearing his eyes away from the fixed spot in front of him.

“What I’m trying to say is—that I’d really like—would you wanna go to—”

“—Turn.” Joyce’s voice slices in.

“—Wait, what?” Hopper turns to her with a knitted expression of confusion.

Joyce shouts, pointing frantically, “TURN!” Hopper looks in the direction to see the oncoming turn—a few yards away—which just happens to be the turn they need to take.

“Oh, shit!” He pumps the brake to coast the corner and the wheels squeal in protest as he cranks the car right. Joyce is flung to his side with a shriek as he completes the turn and straightens out the fishtail.

“You’re lucky there wasn’t any ice on the road.” Joyce huffs in frustration as she picks herself off the seat. “Or cars for that matter.”

He feels out of breath. “I am so sorry, Joyce. Are you okay?” His voice is genuine and soft, but Joyce is wired and on edge.

“I’m fine. I’ll be fine.” Joyce sits up straighter and smooths out her coat. “It’s the gravel drive there.” She points and Hopper glances before realizing he’s out of time. “You can drop me here; it’s fine” She says a bit quieter than usual.

Jim falters. “Are you sure?” He halts the car and kills the engine before looking back at her. His gaze is nothing but concern and care, which only kills her a bit more on the inside.

“Yeah,” her voice uncharacteristically wavering. She opens the car door with a lurch and scrambles to close the door. She sees, however, her cigarette on the car floor. “Shit.” Joyce pinches the butt between her fingers and flicks it behind her in the snow, but the damage is already done. There’s a dull black circle singed into the blue fabric. “Sorry.”

Hopper shrugs, “No big deal. Don’t worry about it.” His voice tries to sound casual, but she can feel the lump in his throat; it’s lodged in hers, too. Hopper pauses before speaking again. “Look Joyce, I’m sorry for being stupid. I will make it up to you. But I just want you to know—”

“Nothing to make up. I’m good.” Joyce uses all of her willpower to convince him, but the wetness in her eyes is screaming otherwise. Stop it. Get it together . She takes a calming breath and continues, “Really, don’t sweat it, Hop. Thanks for the ride home.” And with that she turns and trudges up her driveway.

She hears Hopper holler something from behind her, but she doesn’t really hear what he’s saying. She’s afraid to look back and find out. She shakes her head to appease him, and it must, because she hears the engine of his car fire up again. By the time she reaches her door, the sound has faded into the distance.

Joyce teeters through her front door, not even bothering to say hello to her folks before shaking off her boots and moving to her bedroom. As she discards her coat, she numbly removes the slip of paper from the right pocket and unfolds it.

          Dear Miss Horowitz,

               We regret to inform you that, despite your positive academic record, we cannot offer you admission to  . . .

She wads it up and launches it across the room before finishing it. She’s not even sure how many times she’s read it today. With a groan, Joyce flops onto her bed and presses her face deep into a pillow. What a day .

This morning, she was rejected from college.

This afternoon, she broke Lonnie Byers’s nose.

This evening, she nearly died while James Hopper spilled his heart and soul to her.

Just Dandy .

And finally, finally , Joyce lets herself cry. She cries for the day she’s had, not because she’s suddenly living a delinquent lifestyle or that her life flashed before her eyes, but she mostly cries for her future.

Because she’s not good enough to break free from Hawkins, and because she’s too scared to let Hop in.

Joyce knows she’s strong, so she knows she’ll bounce back eventually. She can resign herself to staying in town and working as a waitress or something. But it’s the uncertainty of the last part that terrifies her the most. If she opens up, if she lets him in, she knows how it will go.

He’d be incredibly caring and patient...until he’s not, and they’d argue and bicker and drive each other MAD . And they’d both be equally stubborn in everything. And yet…they’d roar in laughter every damned day, look out for one another, and support each other unconditionally, through anything, everything.

And that’s what will make it all the more unbearable if it ever slipped away.

Chapter Text

Chapter 4

Up until this moment, Joyce had been avoiding Jim Hopper well.

And she knows she should feel terrible. She does feel terrible, actually. There were few days now where Joyce wasn’t catching herself trying to calm her breathing or trying to stave the sinking feeling that had been developing in her stomach. She felt like she was free-falling into a pit. Over what? Some guy? How ridiculous .

But she had let her mind wander in calculus as of late. She’d close her eyes as Mr. Humphrey buzzed on about limits, and she would imagine Hop’s lopsided grin. He had a way of making her smile without even saying anything. And maybe other times she could feel his arms around her, a silent promise that everything would pass and all would be well. She’d even swear that she could feel the cotton fabric of his rolled sleeves as she leaned into his touch. It felt nice; it felt safe.

All too soon, however, Joyce would snap out of it, and this made her realize that she didn’t need him. She didn’t need anyone. She had always been capable on her own. Always would be...but maybe it wasn’t about that? Maybe she didn’t need him, but maybe she wanted him? Maybe it was that he was the only person in this godforsaken place that made all the bullshit slightly more bearable?

Maybe it was that she hoped she was that for him, too?

Joyce felt herself fighting this feeling more and more. Every time she saw him in the parking lot, or saw a glimpse of him at lunch, she was overwhelmed by the thought that maybe they weren’t pieces that fit together to make a whole; instead, they were complements.

Each could stand on their own, sure, but together? Whew. They could tackle anything.

And that kind of feeling scared the shit out of Joyce.

So, she avoids him. For two weeks, in fact. Long enough for the snow to melt and for an inkling of spring to tempt Hawkins. The sun isn’t shining, but it’s well above freezing. And well, rain isn’t snow, so Joyce will take it.  

As she snaps out of another daydream, she realizes the bell has rung and she’s still staring blankly into the back of her locker. She hasn’t even grabbed her next set of books. Joyce quickly looks around the hall to find the place deserted. The echoing smack of a classroom door closing only accentuates how empty and cavernous the hall has become. So now Joyce is faced with another choice: be late to calculus or don’t bother to go at all?

She can hear approaching footsteps from the history hallway, so without any more thought, she swings her locker door closed and bounds down the hall in the opposite direction. She feels the weight of her own pack of cigarettes in her sweater pocket as the turns a corner, and the mere thought of lighting one between her lips is already placating her anxious thoughts. She hasn’t smoked a single cigarette in school for two weeks, either, so the itch of having one now sounds all that more delicious.

Joyce takes another left down the long hallway, artfully tip-toeing past an open classroom preparing for a test tomorrow. She passes another room where she can hear Ms. Ratliff’s chalk screech across the board as she discusses balancing equations. Joyce was thankful to have her before lunch so she always had something to look forward to when the class was over. Jim used to complain about the unbearably boring and equally hot-headed chemistry teacher. Joyce smiles to no one but herself as she recalls the conversation:

     “Aren’t younger teachers supposed to be coooool?”

Joyce nearly laughs out loud as she imagines the face he’d make whenever he’d see the poor woman.

“What’s so funny?” Joyce jumps from the voice as all the blood leaves her face. Jim is smiling, but his face is curious as he’s huddled on the floor in their usual spot.

“Oh my gosh, Hop, you scared me half to death!” Joyce cries between clamped teeth. Of course he’d be here.

He chuckles awkwardly, but the smile doesn’t leave his face. “Sorry. Let me pay ya back?” He goes to pull two cigarettes from his pocket. “Take a seat.”

She looks down at him, knowing full well she hasn’t moved and inch. For a moment she contemplates running in the other direction and never looking back, but she realizes how small Hawkins, Indiana is. I’m going to have to face him sometime . So, Joyce silently slides to the floor and tucks her legs under herself as Hopper passes her a cigarette. She leans her head up against the wall next to him but still leaves a slight distance between them. Her fingers reach over to snatch the cigarette from his fingers.

Joyce presses the tobacco between her lips, and Hop leans over with his light. Joyce’s eyelids flutter closed as she realizes their closer proximity; the thought makes her dizzy. She’s hoping this is a day he doesn’t feel like talking. She’s hoping this is a day where he’s as closed-off as she is.

“So...I haven’t seen ya in a while.”

Afraid not.

His voice is skeptical and insecure. Jim Hopper, of all people. Joyce lightly nods her head, not really sure of what to say. “Yeah, I’ve been...busy.”

“School?” He extends thoughtfully.

She continues to nod. “School.” As she takes a drag, she tries to feel the smoke as it enters her lungs. She tries to feel it expand, slowly, purposefully.  And it’s relaxing in a way, the feeling she gets as her head swims a little.

“See, I thought you were avoiding me.” Smoke shoots through her nose in a fit and she turns away from him. Shit. She closes her eyes momentarily to collect herself before turning back. When she looks up, his eyes are boring into her. All that insecurity from before seems to have disintegrated into thin air. “You were avoiding me, right?” Hopper’s voice is sure, and Joyce is certain hers would be as sure as a mouse if she spoke right now, so she nods her head instead. She realizes her eyes have become wet in the corners and she squeezes her eyes closed in hope the threatening tears stay away.

“Did I ruin this?” His voice becomes soft and his eyes are pleading when she looks back to him. He looks to her for an answer, but she doesn’t have one to give, so he takes another drag of his cigarette. He’s waiting her out, could probably do it all day.

She feels sick. He’s blaming himself.

“N-no. O-of course not,” Joyce scrambles. Hopper’s face twists and the kindness is replaced with acrimony at her words.

“Well, then I don’t get it, Joyce. I know something’s been wrong, so I gave you space, but it’s like the more space I give you, the more you pull away.” His eyes search hers. They are all dark, swirling in confusion. Joyce realizes her cigarette is trembling between her fingers, so she lowers it to the floor. He sighs audibly before continuing, “And I don’t want you to pull away…”

He looks away as he places his cigarette between his lips in a long breath, flicking the ashes to the air. Then he’s back to looking at her, begging her to speak, eyes searching for something, anything.

“I’m...afraid...” The words leave her before she can take them back, but Hopper looks sympathetic.

He flicks his finished cigarette to the stairs. “Are you kidding me? What could Joyce Horowitz possibly be afraid of?” He smiles, but she knows he’s only doing it because he’s fearful of the answer, too.

That this whole thing could crash and burn.

She doesn’t speak for a beat after that. Her mind begins to tumble again amidst those insecurities she’s been fighting this whole year. Despite the fact that they have grown closer, Joyce can’t seem to shake the feeling that all of this isn’t meant to be.

He looks squarely at her. “Don’t you get it, Joyce? I’m crazy about you.”

Joyce’s eyes widen. As she slowly looks to him, she finds it hard to swallow. The usually cool concrete at her back suddenly feels warm. It creeps up her neck and into her cheeks as he continues to look at her like that , studying her face. “And I dunno. I guess I’m afraid in a way, too.” A single tear solemnly slides down her cheek. “But if you feel the same at all, I think we’d be stupid not to try this out.” Hopper gives her half a smile. She knows he struggles to say the right thing when it comes to this kind of stuff, but somehow it all seems to come together well anyways. And as the fortress she’s been hastily building around herself for a year begins to dissipate, she finds herself returning the smile easily. He’s always had that effect on her.

Joyce feels his hand nudge hers, and as he threads their fingers together she wonders how she could have ever second guessed this. And at that, it now makes a bit more sense.

“I’d really like that,” she whispers.

After all, they would be fine without each other.

But Joyce didn’t want fine.

Joyce wanted adventure. She wanted laughter and squabbling. Passion and emotion. Fine be damned.

She looks down at their joined hands, trying to fathom how something could feel so right. When she looks back up at him, the grin tugging at his features is wide, but his eyes say it all. It’s as if Joyce is seeing it for the first time: pure adoration. And it’s for her and only her.

“Well thank god for that.” He chuckles, and she joins right in with him. It does feel like a weight has lifted. Like they can both—finally—breathe. Hopper ends with that, leaning his head up against the wall and closing his eyes. Joyce thinks for a moment that all of this was probably torturing him as much as it was killing her. At least now the initial hurdle feels gone.

She reaches for her discarded cigarette with her right hand, not daring to break her left from Jim’s light hold. Her hands feel so small in comparison to his. The callouses on the pads of his fingers feel thick, but not exactly rough. She tries to embed that feeling in her brain as she takes in a breath of smoke. She follows his actions, too, leaning her head against the wall as she lets her eyes drift close.

They sit in silence like that for a minute, for a lifetime. Joyce no longer cares. Right now, she’s only focused on three things: the feeling of his hand entwined with hers, the calm breaths he’s taking, and the rain outside as it patters the windows across the hall.

Hopper’s thumb swipes a steady rhythm across the back of her palm as she finishes her cigarette, extinguishing it on the tiled floor and flicking the butt to join Jim’s somewhere by the bottom step. She opens her eyes and looks out the windows from their hidden alcove. At this end, the wrapping staircase hides in its own corner to the side, but is met with a set of doors and floor length windows that give a wide view to the puddle-ridden football field and woods beyond. The rain is coming down so hard that it is visible among the backdrop of brown and green.

As she watches the rainfall, Hopper ends the silence. “So, I was thinking...” His movement on her hand halts, prompting her to meet his eyes. They’re shining with a bright smile.

“That’s dangerous.” She matches his grin, “and probably painful for ya, too.” He fakes a grimace that widens her smile.

“I’m going to forgive that.” He turns his body so that he faces her almost completely. Jim’s hand slightly tightens around hers. “Some people were thinking about going to the quarry next week, well, weather permitting—” His voice stunts briefly, as if he’s tense all over again, and Joyce isn’t sure if she should laugh or be nervous right with him. “—And ya know, I think it’s gonna be a righteous get together…” He’s floundering a bit as he rambles, but Joyce finds it’s too charming to assuage him...at least not yet.

“—So if the weather’s ok, and you aren’t totally disgusted by the idea....” She’s sure he’d continue to prattle forever if she’d let him. “—I think it’d be nice, or at least I think—shit—”

“—Hop, I’d be happy to go with you.” Joyce chuckles as his ears turn scarlet. He blinks a few times in disbelief, and she’s surprised to see that in him. Didn’t they just work all of this out?

“Right, uh, great. Coooool.”  The trepidation fades from him as Joyce pats him on the shoulder.

“Not really one for words, Hop. Don’t worry, I know. You did really well today though,” she teases as he swats her hand away playfully, dropping her hand in the process.

His head shakes. “Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up.” So she does.

“I’m sorry, Hop. You make it all so easy for me.” The back of her hand goes to her mouth to hold back the last few snickers. “...but it is endearing in a goofy sort of way.”

With that, his face perks up in surprise. “‘Endearing.’ There’s that word again. Man, you must really think I’m endearing .” Joyce isn’t sure if she should punch or kiss the smug smile on his face.

“Ok, fine, yes. You’re endearing. ” The smile on her face is end to end until she realizes how excruciatingly silent the air around them has become. Jim’s self-satisfied face is now incredibly serious, and Joyce doesn’t need to think about it twice: he’s looking at her like that again. He’s looking at her like he’s all-consumed. Like the world begins and dies with her.

Without another word, he places a heavy hand on her cheek. His long fingers weave into the hair on the back of her head, and Joyce leans into it. She feels like she’s on fire. Especially when he looks at her that way. His gaze flicks down to the thin line of her lips, and the swimming feeling she felt earlier overrides her senses.

Hopper begins to lean in, and Joyce is powerless to do anything but follow suit. Really, she doesn’t want to stop anyways. Not in the slightest. So, her eyes droop shut, but she can feel their closeness; she can breathe his air. The hand on the back of her head guides her further as she takes one final breath.

The beginning of the end, she thinks offhandedly.

“—Hey, assholes!” The voice flies through her thoughts.

Both Joyce and Jim spring apart at lightning speed, placing a few feet of distance between them. Joyce and Hop’s features mirror one another in pure terror.

They cannot see who spoke, as the voice came from around the corner of the steps, but it can’t possibly be anyone good. Hopper brings a finger to his lips, signaling Joyce to stay quiet and she nods in compliance. Maybe they’ll go away.

After a moment of dead silence, the voice continues. “I know you’re back there. I can smell the smoke from here.” Mr. Cooper. Joyce would recognize that voice anywhere. It droned on, but he could project it well enough for assemblies, sure. Hopper must have realized this as well, because he mouths ‘Coop’ to her before holding back a chortle.

“And don’t you dare try running up those steps, because I’ll just catch ya at the main one anyways.” Alarm covers Hop’s features, and Joyce understands: Mr. Cooper is right. Unless they could find a room to run into upstairs, he’d just catch by coming up the next staircase.

Joyce’s mind races to find a solution, but she thinks it may be easier to just face the music; she was the one cutting class. Wouldn’t be the first nor last time at Hawkins. She looks back at Hopper, ready to admit defeat, but that proud grin is back on his face as the gears turn in his head. He has a plan, and—as Joyce knows—it’s probably a stupid one.

Footfalls begin to resound through the hallway, taking their time to reach their corner. Shit.

Joyce glances around frenziedly. Hopper clamps a fist around her quivering hand. “Do you trust me?” He hisses. The footsteps fall nearer.

Joyce shakes her head, more out of uncertainty, but that’s all Jim needs.

Without warning, Jim hauls Joyce onto her feet and barrels into the hall. Still clutching her hand, it snaps like a whip as her short limbs struggle to peddle herself behind his strides. Jim is barely holding onto his book bag in his other hand as he dashes, not towards Mr. Cooper, but for the door that leads outside.

Of fucking course.

“HEY! HEY ASSHOLES!” Mr. Cooper’s voice rumbles, but it’s too late.

They burst through the door, nearly clipping Joyce on their way out. They do not look back. Instead, Joyce forces her legs to keep propelling herself forward. She never excelled in P.E., but she’d pay for Mr. Carlson to see her now. She just hopes she doesn’t collapse before they reach the woods. The rain is dripping on them in with large plops. In no time, Joyce’s teeth are chattering, her clothes basically soaked through.

Jim’s pace begins to slow as they reach the tree line, and Joyce follows suit as her slick hand slips from his. By the time they reach the edge where field meets forest, Joyce is mud-spattered and out of breath. Hopper comes to a standstill, huffing a few breaths, but otherwise unaffected by the impromptu exertion. He’s not exactly fast, but Joyce knows he’s fairly fit. She bends over to clutch her knees, willing herself not to fall over, but realizing she’d still be covered in mud either way.

“You. Are. Crazy.” She lets out between puffs.

He throws his head back for an uninhibited laugh. “You mean: ‘you’re welcome?’ ”

Joyce scoffs, “My mistake. How could I forget!?” As he laughs again, she flings a chunk of mud at him, hitting him square in the chest and staining his navy polo. His mouth gapes open in astonishment. “Sorry, you had much less than me. I felt left out.” It was true. His height meant that the ends of his pants had a solid hem of mud, but Joyce carried splatters of brown all the way up to her cheeks. She looked positively frazzled. “I mean, look at me.” She presents herself to him between teeth chatter. Her clothes had to be ruined.

Thunder rumbles overhead, and he sighs. “You’re right. But you know, I think you missed a spot.” Registering his words, Joyce squeals and ducks for cover as he slings a glop at her, cementing it right to the drenched tendrils of her hair.

Joyce is horrified...even Jim looks shocked.

“YOU SON OF A BITCH!” She swipes up another hunk of mud and takes off after him. Hop turns on a dime and sprints into the woods.

“I’m sorry!” He cries, “I swear I wasn’t aiming for your hair!” He nearly trips over a fallen log, but Joyce is relentless in her pursuit. Honestly, she has never really cared about how her hair looks. She simply enjoys ragging Hop.

Chapter Text

Chapter 5 Volume 1

This was it. The big day. 

The big date.

In true Indiana fashion, the rain had cleared which meant it’d probably snow again sometime this April, but ultimately, it meant that this weekend would be filled with record highs and sunshine. It also meant that Joyce Horowitz would be showing up to the quarry on the arm of James Hopper. What has this world become?

The past week was a whirlwind. It was so surreal that Joyce felt like she was living someone else’s life.

Joyce did not get to spend much time with Hopper since their last smoke break. They seemed like magnets. In some cases, forces unknown pulled them together when she least expected, whereas other times they were being repelled in separate directions just when she thought she’d get more time with him. They definitely couldn’t meet under the steps. Mr. Cooper was permanently parked in front of the stairs every passing period since their little jailbreak. However, they tried to meet when they could. They had spoken briefly between some classes...or if they saw each other across the lunchroom. And Joyce melted. Every. Single. Time. Nothing had really changed, but at the same time everything changed. 

He would stop at her locker to say good morning and tell her to have a good day. He’d try to swipe her cookie at the end of lunch (she’d smack his hand away of course). If they were hurriedly passing each other in the hall, he would duck his head to her ear and whisper how beautiful she was. Joyce was equally flattered and overcome. While it took her some time to get used to—she had never let anyone treat her in this manner—she found she didn’t mind it one bit. But if you had asked Joyce at this time last year if she thought she’d be the girlfriend of Jim Hopper, she’d have let out a cackle loud enough for the tri-county area to hear.

Okay, so they weren’t exactly going steady, but Hop had made it very clear how he felt: he was keen on Joyce Horowitz. It was only a matter of time before it was official. Knowing that made Joyce smile more while the apprehension evaporated. She was finally happy.

It wasn’t stolen smokes or small-talk among friends. As a matter of fact, she rather liked this openly flirty Hop. And she no longer had to pretend to seek him out, although she still felt strange approaching him openly in front of his friends. Joyce felt too exposed there, but he sought her out nearly every day now. To ask her how her day was going. To see if she could sneak away from studying. Hopper assumed she was still so studious; she didn’t have the heart to tell him yet that she’d been slacking since her rejection letter.

Slacking a lot, actually. Joyce hated to admit it, but her grades were heading right back to where they were her sophomore year. Sure, one school didn’t mean anything, but none of that mattered now . She didn’t really need to go to college. She kept telling herself it’d be good. It’d turn out to be a plus. Only a few more weeks and she’d be free. Hop could go to college. They could exchange letters. She'd see him on holidays. She could maybe even visit him at school. It wasn't all that far if she could get a car. Maybe she could get a department store job for a bit to save up. The rest were semantics.

She checked herself in the mirror. Joyce wouldn't lie, she felt a little out of her depth. She scrounged together all the money she could find and bought a brand new swing skirt. It wasn't too fancy, an azure blue with a simple bow to belt it. Luckily, she already had a black blouse to go with it. To complete the outfit, she borrowed Linda's saddle shoes. They were a little too big, so she picked out an extra thick pair of socks. The look as a whole was foreign to Joyce's frame, but she was surprised how well it came together.

She checked the small clock next to her bed. Hopper was set to pick her up at any moment. She glanced at the mirror one last time, smoothed her hair and went to the window. It was a battle to push the frame up without making too much noise.

She had told her parents she was staying at Vicky's an hour ago, left the house, then doubled back to her open window to get ready. So she lied. Her folks would make such a big deal about it, same with Vicky. So, she told Hop to pick her up down the street and no one else.

Wiggling out the window onto the long grass was easier said than done, but in no time Joyce was ducking past her kitchen window and down the weathered path that acted as her driveway. She reached the spot where Hop had nearly missed the turn all that time ago. The sun was beautiful as it began to set among the fields of wild flowers in the distance. And like being conjured up by thought alone, headlights appeared on the road next to her. Joyce took a deep breath out of calm or nerves she wasn't sure.

Hopper pulled the car to a smooth stop. She couldn't help but smile as she reached for the handle. 

"Oh hey, hang on." He was already out of the car and shuffling to her.

"Oh, ah, sorry." Joyce quickly retracted her hand as Jim reached to open the door for her. 

"No problem, m'lady." He leaned against the open door wearing a pair of perfectly pressed khakis and striped button-up she had never seen before. The green and white of his signature letterman jacket even matched it well. "Your chariot awaits." His lopsided grin completed the look.

"Thanks." Joyce offered shyly and slid into the seat. 

Everything was perfect.

The car ride was like any other minus the smokes. Although he offered her one, Joyce couldn't help but think it'd somehow ruin her attire. Hop must've thought the same as he stuffed the pack back into his pocket without a second thought. Or maybe he was just as nervous as she was.

By the time they reached the quarry, the sun had completely set, leaving an eerie ambience as the lights from the Oldsmobile danced around the trees of an early Indiana spring. The light only got brighter, however, as they approached several cars atop the edge of the new limestone mine. Jim put the car in park a little ways away from the rest of the group.

Sattler Quarry hadn't been open long, about a year or so. Scuttlebutt around town said it was needed to build that new energy building that went up around the same time, but teens favored it as the new coolsville. It was remote. It was dark. It was possibly dangerous. All things that called to small town teens on a Friday night. 

Joyce hadn't made her way to the newly formed stone pit until today, but other than the few dozen silhouettes bouncing around the beams of headlights, there wasn't much to see. As Jim and Joyce approached, huddled figures of Hawkins High hollered and laughed. The party had already started on this end. Joyce heard voices in the distance, yet couldn't quite place them. Seems like they weren't the only ones getting started. 

An arm brushed past Joyce's neck. Hop pulled her closer without a word. Joyce couldn't help but smile.

"Jim?!" An unfamiliar figure boomed. "Is that Jim Hopper!?" 

"Benny! My man!" Hopper shouted back amiably. 

A tall figure stumbled forward, a slur in his voice. "And who is this magnificent looking creature?" 

"You are referring to me, right?" Hop howled at his own joke. She felt his arm retract to gesture to Joyce. "Benny, this is Joyce. Joyce Horowitz."

Benny stuck his hand out for a shake and Joyce felt her whole body move as he gripped her palm and shook wildly. "Benny. Benny Hammond. I'm so sorry you got dragged here with this goon."

Jim's elbow made quick contact with Benny's middle. "Enough of that. No need to spoil her night already." Joyce couldn't help but smile. Clearly these two knew each other well.

"Please ignore my dear friend here, miss. He lives on a farm at the edge of the county. Doesn't get out much. Lacks social graces and whatnot."

Benny scowled. "Like you're one to talk."

Joyce felt the need to play along. "So you don’t get out much? From the farm?"

The bulky teen shoved Hopper aside and staggered closer to the lady. "Hate it. Honestly. My uncle owns that diner in the south part of Hawkins. I hope to work there after this year."

"So are you a senior, too?" Joyce asks innocently. “I’ve never seen you…”

Hop shakes his head and rests a hand on Benny's shoulder. "Yes, but this man, unfortunately…is homeschooled."

"—That's cool."

"—It's terrible." Joyce and Benny's words ring in unison. They each laugh.

"So, as you can see, I'm his only friend. Ain't that a bite?"

Benny shakes off Hop's arm and lays both hands on Joyce's shoulder as if he has some wisdom to impart. "Joycie. Joyce. If you're really here with this nitwit, let's at least get you a brewski."

The trio laughs and Benny ushers some others over, booze in hand. Joyce can't help but feel a bit of a rush as Benny first passes her a half empty bottle of gin. Definitely not a brewski. She looks down the neck as if she expects to find something swimming in it. It's not like she was one for raiding her dad's stash. It was rather innocuous though. It looked like water. It smelled pretty. How bad could it be? Without another thought, Joyce pressed the bottle to her lips and threw her head back. 

Fuck innocuous.

She coughed the last few drops up as her eyes watered and the crowd cheered. The group seemed to have doubled in an instant. Joyce blinked back more tears as Hopper took his own swig of gin and Joyce felt a can of Sterling slide into her hand. "This is for giving Lonnie Byers one helluva knuckle sandwich!" She heard someone say jubilantly. 

She was swift to take a swig of her new drink, but Hopper placed a hand on hers. "You don't have to if you don't want to." His voice is quieter and sincere as the ruckus from the rest of the group begins to migrate away from them. 

Her eyes dance around his. Of course he's worried about her. "I'm fine. I could use a little fun!" Joyce asserts with a definitive gulp of ale. 

Jim only smiles and takes another swig of his own. "Then let's get to it!" He pulls her to him once more and they make their way back to the group.

After some struggles with getting it going, a bonfire illuminates the sea of faces hooting and hollering in the vast dark of Hawkin's woods. More and more people showed up as time ticked by. For a while, Joyce felt like air. Surreal and perfect, gliding around the social scene. It was all real. She didn’t have to imagine it anymore.

Several doses of liquid courage helped her converse with anyone and everyone. Benny, Harrington. Robert. Sherri. Martha. Joyce even seemed to take a doe-eyed freshmen under her wing for an hour. What was her name? Kathy? Actually, I think it was Karen. She was nice, and it felt good to teach her the ropes even though Joyce herself was just learning them. Everyone was so welcoming. No one seemed to care anymore about social standing. The girls told her they were jazzed to see her here. They complimented her skirt and shoes. They cooed over her makeup and hair. They’d never done that before. It was fascinating how alcohol changed people.

Hopper didn’t seem all that different though. He kept close to her, introducing her to people she knew but never met. They shared smokes around the fire as boys challenged each other to chug a beer. Although the group seemed to be getting rowdier, Joyce was enjoying the buzz between her ears and the feeling in her chest. 

That was until Chrissy Carpenter showed up. 

Joyce wasn’t sure when she joined the throng, but in the middle of stumbling through another pep talk to Karen, Joyce spotted the paper shaker slithering purposely through the people. Her face was illuminated here and there as the fire flickered on. Joyce’s words trailed from her mouth as she realized the woman’s destination.

From this distance, Joyce couldn’t make out what Chrissy said to Hop, but she assumed it was a greeting. Wide-eyed. Fingers twirling in her hair. Her lips turned in a wry smile. Joyce felt she should move, get closer to them, insert herself in the conversation, but maybe that was the downside to booze: her brain couldn’t quite tell her legs what to do. So she watched from afar as Chrissy leaned in to Hop, whispering something in his ear. From this angle, she couldn’t quite see his face from the flickering flames. Was he saying something to her?

Was it all going to crumble this quickly?

Abruptly, Hopper jumped to his feet and began to weave between the partygoers. Chrissy’s face morphed from stunned to indignant. In that moment Joyce’s eyes locked with Chrissy’s. Her brows slanted and her eyes narrowed, but before anything else could occur, Hopper was in front of Joyce once more.

“Hey, haven’t seen you in a while.” He slurred slightly as a grin plastered his features. The arm he wrapped around her was warm and safe. “You doing ok?”

Joyce sighed in relief. “I’m ok.” Maybe in more ways than one.

“Yeah?” Hop asked, a bit of mischief in his voice.

It seemed this night would drain away Joyce’s hesitancy. She felt her self-doubt and insecurity fading fast. She didn’t need to wall everyone off. She could be open and honest, and do whatever she damned please, and say whatever she damned pleased. She usually did with everyone else, so why not continue that? 

“Well…you know what would make it better?” Joyce tilted her head wryly. Jim leaned in closer; he was already on the same page. Not too long ago they were in this same position under a staircase. She was hesitant then, afraid then. She wasn’t afraid this time.

“Alright! Let’s keep this party going! Who’s jumping in the water?” John Harrington half mashed between gulps of beer. The pair startled if only for a moment to then join in the cheering from the rest of the crowd. The couple side-eyed each other and then laughed. The moment may have passed for now, but they both knew they had plenty of time to make up for it.

She glanced around the group. People continued to hoot and holler, but not a single volunteer. As she scanned the crowd, Chrissy’s face came into view again. It seemed as if her gaze would bore a hole right through Joyce. And at that moment, she made a decision.

“I’ll do it!” A voice shouted from the crowd. People frantically looked around to see where it came from. Joyce turned to Jim as she waved her hand in the air, barely visible among the sea of people. Hopper’s jaw slacked as Joyce pressed her lips together. The swarm erupted with a frenetic applause. 

Hopper shook his head in disbelief. Then he let out an uninhibited laugh as he began to clap wildly, encouraging her to step forward. She laughed with him and began to move to the front of the crowd and to the rim of the quarry. 

“Let’s give it up for Horowitz!” Harrington smacked her shoulder playfully, drawing another round of cheers from the audience. Harrington’s voice lowered as he led her closer to the edge. “Didn’t know you had it in ya.” Joyce, still in shock over her own audacity, merely shrugged. “I’m somewhat proud…and a little envious…everyone here is cheering for you. ”

As the pair approached the drop of the quarry wall, the group rushed forward to create a half circle around them. Only now did it dawn on her just how intimidating the pit before her truly was. Since it was newer, it wasn't incredibly deep. The drop couldn’t be more than thirty five, forty feet, but that didn’t exactly put Joyce at ease. Hawkins Community Pool barely had a diving board, and the high school didn’t even have a pool, so she certainly wasn’t going to the Olympics anytime soon. And who knew how deep it went? Hopefully fairly deep, at least. Between the melting snow and rain, it looked as if the mine hadn’t been touched in a while. Hopefully.

Joyce stepped back reflexively.

“Hey!” She heard a voice call out. Joyce looked over her shoulder to see Hopper at the front of the semi-circle. He smiled, “You got this!” She couldn’t help but smile back.

She let out a huff of air and began to toe off her shoes. There was no way Linda would forgive her if these got ruined. She set her shoes and socks aside and began to work on her felt skirt. Wool might be forgiving with liquid, but nothing would probably drown her faster than a five pound weight wrapper around her legs. As she unbuttoned the side she heard a sudden, deep cheer resonate from the crowd. Joyce looked up to see the boys cheering her on. All besides Hop, of course, who stood frozen, stupefied. She only rolled her eyes as the skirt pooled around her ankles. Maybe she would be more mortified by undressing in front of a crowd if she weren’t so focused on plummeting to her death as the buzz of alcohol still scrubbed corners of her mind. 

She stepped out of the garment circle and stood up straight, then deftly peeled the black blouse over her head. The ivory slip still left some things to the imagination which she was perfectly fine with. Not exactly beach ready, but she’d take it.

Her bare toes inched towards the edge. It looked much higher now. Joyce hadn’t noticed it before, but her heart pounded in her chest. Her lungs wracked against her ribs.

The teens roared in anticipation.

She looked over her shoulder. Everyone was rooting for her, but her eyes locked with Jim’s. There was something about this particular smile. Warm. Inviting. Endearing . Delighted. Proud.

She turned back to the water below. Although the eerie water glassed below her, in that instance, nothing could stop her. Joyce Horowitz was quite literally on the precipice of the rest of her life.

So she jumped.