Chapter Text
There was never a day when the cafeteria wasn’t noisy, or when it wasn’t so jampacked that the lunch lines didn’t curve into the hallway. Some poor kids didn’t even have a place to sit, each of the tables reserved for specific cliques and unlabeled groups, lacking any spare room for stragglers who either resorted to sitting on the dirty floor or outside alone—the weather always too hot or cold. Hawkins High School, or rather the high school experience in general if you could even call it that, was supposed to just be a blip of unwarranted misery. You stuck to a routine, struggling to wake up at the crack of dawn only to pretty yourself up like the rest of them—meeting your friends by the lockers, their cheer uniforms always crisp and makeup always perfect. The girls were a bit too giggly so early, tucking a stray strand of hair behind their ears, lips drenched in a glittery gloss as they chatted with their boyfriends. Jocks annoyed you, especially before the bell rang. They were trying so hard to appear attractive, leaning against the lockers with their backpacks strewn over one shoulder. So smug, their faces, in such a condescending way.
You never cared much for basketball, or even cheerleading for that matter. It was only something to keep you occupied, wholly invested in a sport and the friends that came along with it. Loneliness was something you wished to avoid, throwing yourself into the first group that would accept you, well actually they practically adopted you when you moved to Hawkins—even if it morphed you into another clone like the rest of them. When your friends joked about boys, you smiled, never laughed. The conversation was so pointless, but you needed to facially participate regardless. They interrogated you in the locker room, asking why you didn’t have a boyfriend yet, trying to pry the information from you like it was a secret you were keeping only from them. Apparently, the response “not interested” wasn’t believable enough, despite it being the truth. Lies weren’t your thing, otherwise you’d create a fake Canadian boyfriend, of course making it seem as true as such a farce could. And when prom was just around the corner, two weeks away—they tightened their ponytails and tried to prod even further. Sleepovers became a nuisance, with movie marathons of The Breakfast Club and Sixteen Candles on VHS, somehow only providing a segue to devolve the conversation yet again into a discussion of your love life, or rather lack thereof.
The other cheerleaders were planning on setting you up with someone, that’s all you could catch from their whispers at the lunch table. When you asked about it, they zipped their lips and threw away the key, giggling to themselves like it was the only sound that kept them alive. It annoyed you, that you didn’t know who their target was—another jock, or someone preppy like the rest of your coterie—and could only think of a handful of potential options based on who was still single on the team. You picked at your mediocre cafeteria food, swirling your spoon in the applesauce as it gradually became more sludge-like in texture. As hungry as you may have been, you didn’t dare eat in front of the other girls. They liked to pick at their own trays too, the alternative a satiated stomach only to yak it up after politely excusing themselves to fix their lip gloss in the bathroom. Like they didn’t have compact mirrors kept in the front pocket of their backpacks.
When Eddie ‘The Freak’ Munson stood on the cafeteria table, feet barely avoiding the trays of his fellow Dungeons and Dragons players, the other cheerleaders didn’t hesitate to lean into their boyfriends’ ears. Their remarks towards him were shrewd, nothing short of disrespect regarding his appearance and interests. Eddie was nothing more than a laughing stock to them, a loser metalhead that managed to get held back not only once, but twice. It was almost like he enjoyed causing trouble for himself, knowing that the entire basketball team would be more than happy to slander him behind his back and to his face—when they got a chance—after he made a public display of himself. He was spouting off some monologue, words that you weren’t really paying attention to. One of your friends looked at you, snapping her fingers directly in front of your face to pull you from your daze.
“What? What is it?” you asked, turning to look at her. A few of the other girls were also peering in your direction now, not quite making the connection that you’d been staring at the freak himself. If they did ask, you’d have to deny it—say you were just zoning out in his general direction, thinking about the upcoming history test or something like that.
“Didn’t you hear me?” She sounded exasperated, not in the mood to repeat the sentence you didn’t catch, but did so anyways in hopes of getting a response from you the second time around. “Isn’t he such a freak? And that horribly loud music he listens to—” She shuddered, pulling her cardigan in closer, “—and that weird game he plays. It’s all basically devil worship…how can the school allow that?”
You didn’t want to dignify her with a response, she didn’t deserve to have her words entertained—and Eddie didn’t deserve to have another person ridicule him. This was one of the downsides to popularity, a very prominent trait, disrespecting others, that somehow manifested in a person once they became wrapped up in the glory of high school fame. It was difficult to prevent, given that you were immersed in it—in the behaviors of the cheerleaders and jocks you surrounded yourself with. At least you still had the decency to be as kind to others as possible, though you weren’t much better since you sat quietly and let them do it. When you didn’t smile or giggle as she’d expected you to, she rolled her eyes, just as Eddie stuck two fingers to the side of his head like devil horns. He stuck his tongue out along with it, the motion lasting for a few seconds before it dropped to a smile. A smile directed at you, once he caught you staring.
Making eye contact with him was a complete accident and you couldn’t even pretend that you were looking elsewhere, because Eddie Munson broke the gaze first. He turned around, nonchalantly striding back on the table only to jump off at the end, sticking a perfect landing. You were never someone desperate for self-preservation, but if Eddie just so happened to spread word that a single cheerleader was gawking at him—you’d never hear the end of it from your friends. You’d be branded as undesirable for the rest of the year, and that was being generous in hopes that people would forget about the whole incident entirely. It would be best to clear up the situation before anything else became of it, even though you were definitely not acting rational right now in the slightest.
You bolted from the bench, your friends brushing you off with the assumption you were heading to the bathroom. Reaching him in no time at all, Eddie bowed, his hand dramatically waving in a motion that allowed you to pass. You did not, instead ushering him to the hallway—which perhaps in hindsight made the situation worse, because the entire table of D&D nerds were left as flabbergasted witnesses, watching a cheerleader pull Eddie away to speak to him in private. When you finally managed to sneak away into the hall, it was a blessing that it was empty, though it wouldn’t be for much longer since the bell rang in three minutes.
“First things first, I wasn’t staring at you. I’m clearing up the situation right now before you start getting any funny ideas about spreading rumors,” you said quite plainly. You crossed your arms over your chest, huffing as Eddie shrugged his shoulders and leaned against the wall.
“Rumors? Situation? That’s what’s got you all worked up? Worked up enough to corral me out here…alone?” Eddie asked. He fished out a cigarette from the front pocket of his jeans, grabbing his lighter from the other. “Seriously. You’re more concerned with protecting your popularity than anything.”
“That’s—wait, no, I—” You furrowed your brows, that was harsh, but he wasn’t wrong. Image suddenly was important to you, more important these past few weeks once the topic of prom and dates started floating around. Before the prom posters were made, and even before the theme had been decided—under the sea was the eventual choice. It was already too much to deal with, too much to be annoyed with. School was supposed to be about school—learning, or whatever. Not mindless droning on about hickeys and mall dates, or what color corsage your hypothetical date would need in order to match your dress perfectly. You didn’t even have a dress picked out yet, another thing to add to the pile of whining, courtesy of your friends. Maybe you should just fake being sick when prom came around, that was starting to seem like the best-case scenario.
“You—you can’t smoke in here,” you said once he stuck the cigarette in between his lips. He flicked the lighter on, its flame wavering ever closer to the coffin nail.
“Can’t or shouldn’t? Who’s gonna stop me?” Eddie Munson smiled as he spoke, cigarette dangling as he cupped his hand around the flame to light it.
“Just…please don’t say anything. About the staring, or about this either,” you said with a sigh, “I shouldn’t even be talking to you. I need to get back to my friends now.”
About to re-enter the cafeteria, Eddie spoke again. “Some friends of yours those people are. I’m sure they really care about you.” He blew a puff of smoke in your general direction, chuckling quietly to himself when you swatted the plume away with your hand. “If I were you, I’d take a good long look at who I’m hanging out with,” he said, “And promptly drop their asses once I finally realized they weren’t letting me be myself.”
“I didn’t ask for advice.” You rolled your eyes, pushing through the metal doors. The jumble of voices hit your ears the second it opened a crack, the smell of cafeteria food wafting along with it.
“It’s my year, I can feel it. ’86, baby,” Eddie said. His head was lowered, eyes peeking at you from in between the curls of his bangs. Eddie spoke again, “It can be yours too.”
Then the bell rang.