Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"Ms. Kelley, I have to graduate."

Eddie stood just outside the open door to the guidance counselor's office, hands braced against the frame he'd banged on to announce his presence…only to blurt out the reason for his visit. 

Mid-sip of coffee as she bent over her paper-strewn desk, Ms. Kelley snapped her head up, blinking. During his six years at Hawkins High, Eddie had spent nearly as much time in the office as he had in the classrooms, so she couldn't be surprised to see him, exactly--though now that he thought about it, this might just be the first time he'd ever come without a referral from a displeased teacher. Huh. 

(That wasn't the only first for him today, he thought, the pounding of his heart slowing as the corners of his mouth relaxed upward, in spite of his urgency. He'd brought Chrissy to school, and she'd held his hand all the way across the parking lot and through the front doors, in front of God and everybody who, in a frankly breathtaking display of misplaced priorities, looked more astonished than they had been by the horrifying student deaths of the previous week.)

At that, Eddie's smile fell while a hand went up to twist his hair. More likely, Ms. Kelley wasn't thrilled to start the first Monday after spring break with a surprise visit from Hawkins' resident devil-worshiping cult leader. She probably still thought he might be a serial killer, too. 

But, as though restored to animation by the lifting of a freezing spell, all at once Ms. Kelley swallowed her coffee and her eyes crinkled as her lips parted in a wide smile. The kind Eddie hadn't seen very often in his life--until, ironically, last week--of someone being genuinely happy to see him. 

"Eddie! Please, come in and have a seat. Let me just pull your file…"

With another squeak of her chair ("That could use a little lube," Eddie commented, unable to help himself, but she either didn't hear or she ignored him) she turned toward the ubiquitous gray quartet of filing cabinets. She opened one labeled SENIORS, where his folder had languished for nearly three years, bulging with disciplinary referral forms (not for anything very bad; no one had ever found out about the weed he brought to school every day tucked beneath peanut butter sandwiches and potato chips) and a transcript that was only impressive for the number of Fs on it. He didn't particularly want to sit--he was thrumming with nervous energy--but he did as she asked, the metal desk thundering as he accidentally kicked it while he arranged his legs. Clacking his rings against the curved wooden arms of the chair, he darted his eyes around to the motivational posters of runners and cute kittens tacked to the coral-painted cinder block walls, the potted plants clustered by the single window.

Swiveling back to face him, Ms. Kelley smiled again. Softer, this time--just like the way she laid his file on the desk, as if it warranted careful treatment, and clasped her hands on top of it. 

"Before we talk about graduation, I hope you don't mind me saying that I'm really sorry your spring break was so…" She paused, searching for a word, though her gaze didn't leave his. "...fraught."

Eddie snorted a laugh and scrubbed at the back of his head as he tilted it back. "Ms. Kelley, you have no fu--um, no idea."

"It was so unfair and unjust of people to accuse you of those terrible things," she said.

"Uh…thanks? That wasn't even the worst part of my spring break, believe it or not." 

Ms. Kelley lifted her eyebrows, silently inviting him to elaborate, but he didn't. He couldn't. 

Clearing his throat, Eddie sat up and said, "But there were some good parts, too. Like… really good."

He didn't elaborate on that, either, but a big dumb grin spread as the Chrissy parts strobed through his mind like a movie montage. As if it was contagious, Ms. Kelley smiled, too. Though she really did that a lot.

"I'm glad to hear it," she said, looking down and unclasping her hands to open his file. "Let's see now…" 

She licked her index finger to turn a page and scanned it. Eddie slid forward in his chair and craned his neck to see, but the type on the grade sheet was too small, and upside down. He'd seen enough from that perspective, thanks. 

"You're passing everything, Eddie…" She glanced at him as her voice lilted upward, only for her forehead to dimple, the corners of her mouth tugging downward again. "...except for English."

"But I can pull it up to a D, right? If I do well on the final?"

Ms. Kelley continued to stare at the grade sheet, mentally doing the math, before nodding slowly. " Really well," she said. "And on your remaining assignments. But I believe you're more than capable."

How many times had Eddie been told that over the years? If only you would apply yourself, you could pass and graduate. And then what? No one ever had an answer to that part. Because there wasn't a good one. 

Eventually, people stopped calling him capable. 

But now, Eddie nodded. He could do this. 

He had to. 

"You know what I always say, Ms. Kelley, flattery works on me." He rattled his rings on the chair arms one last time, the role of a snare, then pushed to stand. 

"Eddie, wait." 

He did, but Ms. Kelley didn't continue until he'd dropped onto the mauve cushion again. There was always a catch…

"You need to keep in mind that your other grades are borderline. With the exception of wood shop. A-plus!" Another flash of a smile.

"Yeah, well…you get pretty good at it when you've taken it three times."

"I'd love to see some of your handiwork."

In spite of his frustration, Eddie noted that Ms. Kelley wasn't being condescending at all. She was sincere. (Like Chrissy.) He would show her one of his projects. 

"You're going to have to turn in and pass all your remaining work as well as perform well on all your finals," Ms. Kelley went on. "You don't want to pass English only to--"

"Flunk chemistry."

And Kaminsky's finals were impossible. Eddie knew. He'd failed them before. Twice. 

Fuck. 

None of this was news to him, but he'd talked such a big game about his academic position that he'd forgotten just how precarious it was. It seemed absurd that last week he'd faced literal monsters, only to have his entire future now rest on something as mundane as grades. This was like scouring the Shire after destroying the One Ring.

"I don't say any of this to discourage you, Eddie," Ms. Kelley's voice drew him out of his own head. "I believe you can do it. I really do."

"Thanks, Ms. Kelley," he said. "It's nice to have my own personal cheerleader." He raised his hands and waved invisible pom-poms. "Well. Another one…"

He caught his hair again, tugging a lock toward his mouth to gnaw at along with a fingernail. God, why was he just bursting to tell Ms. Kelley about Chrissy? Was it some sort of superpower she had as a counselor, making people want to pour their hearts out to her? It had never worked on him before. He was turning into the kind of lovesick fool he never used to believe existed.

Ms. Kelley's chair creaked as she sat back. Eddie peeked up at her through his bangs and saw her studying him intently. 

"Eddie, you seem…different."

He slid his finger out of his hair, a few strands catching in his ring. "I think…I hope…maybe I am?"

"Every other time you've come up against this scenario, you cut and run. What changed?"

Everything. But how could he even begin to tell her? And would she even believe him? 

"I thought I was gonna die without passing the twelfth grade and that seemed…lame." 

It was quippier than it really should have been, and not fully honest. He had been changed by facing death, but not just his own.

"I found someone I wanted to run toward," Eddie replied.

"Someone? Eddie…are you in love?"

It was the kind of question guys like him weren't supposed to answer; the discovery that the freak had a simple crush on a girl had brought ridicule and bullying as relentless as demobats. 

But he looked Ms. Kelley straight in the eyes and said, for the first time out loud, not even to himself in front of a mirror, though he'd lain awake with the words I love Chrissy repeating in his head, "Yeah. And I know I can't ever be good enough for her, but I want to be better . The best I can be."

He braced himself against the inevitable response, from both within and without, that he was reaching too high, he didn't deserve love, it would never last. 

"That's wonderful," said Ms. Kelley. With the morning light behind her, the houseplants, her dark curls and lace-edged blouse and vest, there was something about her that was almost more maternal than mental health professional. "But don't just be better for someone else. Be better for you. You owe it to yourself." 

Did he? He wasn't so sure, but if Chrissy and Ms. Kelley thought so, then maybe…

"Why didn't I talk to you sooner?" he asked. "You're really good at your job, Ms. Kelley." 

She laughed. "I appreciate the endorsement. Now, do you have a plan? For after you graduate, I mean?"

He probably shouldn't tell her he was planning to flip Principal Higgins the bird with the non-diploma hand. Beyond that, he really hadn't given it much thought. Jeff was graduating, too. Would they get wasted and party at The Hideout? Chrissy surely would've been planning to go to a party with Carver, though of course that wouldn't happen now that she'd dumped him. (Eddie couldn't help but smirk at the thought.) Maybe the Wheelers would throw a party for Nancy? Would she invite him? They were friends now, he thought.

It dawned on him, as Ms. Kelley waited patiently for his answer, that she probably meant a plan like college or a career. Was that even possible for someone who'd barely passed high school? Which he hadn't actually done yet. 

Was Chrissy not enough of a plan? 

"Probably shouldn't put the cart before the horse, should I?" he said. 

Ms. Kelley smiled kindly. "Come back and see me after exams."

***

A shaft of afternoon sunshine fell across the scuffed and water-stained dinette from the trailer's grimy kitchen windows as, with dramatic flourish (was it even worth doing a thing if you didn't make a show of it?), Eddie unzipped the pockets of his backpack and held it upside down. He turned his head to watch Chrissy, who stood beside him, looking on with mouth agape and eyebrows vanishing behind her bangs, at the avalanche of textbooks, spirals, binders, loose papers, pens, broken bits of pencils, and other school-related paraphernalia. 

"Cleaned out my locker today," Eddie offered in explanation after the dust had, literally, settled. 

"How did all of that even fit in your backpack?" Chrissy asked, still agog.

"It's a Bag of Holding."

"I'm sorry?"

Eddie shook his head, made a mental note to explain the D&D reference another time, then swept out a hand and boomed, "Behold Mount Homework, which I'll spend the next two months climbing until I reach the summit, Graduation Peak."

Chrissy's laugh rang through the trailer. The sound made his insides do a little cheerleading routine--she truly thought his dorky jokes were funny, and the realization surprised him every time, just as it had during their clandestine forest meeting. Nevertheless, Eddie didn't quite feel the humor in his situation. Seeing it all heaped in a pile like that made the task ahead even more daunting than it had sounded in Ms. Kelley's office. Maybe he should ask Max to lend him her Kate Bush tape.

He felt for Chrissy's hand and clasped it, her stonewashed jeans rasping against his knuckles as her fingers twined with his. "I'm glad you're with me, Sam. Here at the end of all things." 

Chrissy looked up at him, adorably puzzled with a dimple between her brows. Impulsively, Eddie leaned in and kissed it.

"Lord of the Rings reference," he said, drawing back to look her in the eye.

He released her hand and slid his fingers between his hair and the denim collar of his vest to rub the warm back of his neck. As accepting of his nerdiness as Chrissy was, maybe he should consider dialing it back a notch. 

"I should really read that sometime," she said.

Dialing back nerdiness had been considered, and was summarily rejected. 

"Yes," Eddie agreed, nodding in case his tone wasn't emphatic enough on its own. "You definitely should." 

At once, he was about to add and bound to his room for the well-worn copy of The Fellowship of the Ring, but Mount Homework loomed in his peripheral vision, reminding him of how much else he had to read first. Why wasn't Tolkien on the British Lit syllabus? 

"Summer book club?" Chrissy suggested. "A little poolside reading?" She raised her eyebrows and tilted her head fetchingly.

"Excuse me for a sec, while I picture you in a bikini, basking in the sun, sipping a drink with a little umbrella in it, and holding a big, fat--" (Was it his imagination, or did she wince a little at the word fat ?) "--fantasy novel." 

If he hadn't imagined the wince, there was no trace of upset now as Chrissy's eyes lit up and her lips parted over those slightly too-big front teeth that made her smile so uniquely wonderful.

"Oh, is that your thing?" she said. "You like girls with big books?"

"Nailed it, Cunningham!" he crowed in delight. "Total big fantasy book man. Sometimes a big sci-fi book man. Or little, or medium. Book size doesn't matter. I just like books." 

Chrissy glanced away, gorgeous eyes resting on the mess on the table; her smile didn't quite fall, but it did soften, and so did her voice. "That sounds better for me than the things other guys want." 

Eddie didn't know much about what Carver had wanted from Chrissy--a trophy girlfriend, presumably, pricks like that always did--but he did know Chrissy's mom thought the jock was God's gift to Hawkins High, so it didn't take a lot of imagination to infer that Carver had reinforced the body issues Mrs. Cunningham had instilled. 

Reaching out to scuff his thumb across her cheekbone, Eddie said, "I just want you to be any way you want to be, and to be happy with yourself." 

Chrissy pressed her cheek against his palm, catching the wrist of his other hand as it came up to cup her face. 

"I want that, too," she said, blue eyes luminous as they reflected the light from the kitchen behind them.

He wanted very badly to kiss her, to express everything he felt about her through the touch of his mouth on her soft lips, but her mother's cruel words would continue to haunt her even though Vecna was no longer here to use them against her. Eddie sure as hell wasn't going to leave important things unsaid.

"Ms. Kelley told me this morning we owe it to ourselves to be the best we can be for us, not just for other people. Not that other people aren't great motivators." 

Chrissy's smile bloomed, and his own stretched with the knowledge--though not fully the belief--that he was her other person who motivated her, even though he didn't think there was a goddamn thing she needed to do better. 

He felt a squeeze on his wrist, gently insistent, and then her body brushed closer against his and she tilted her face tilted her upward to close the gap between their lips. Eddie was only too happy to back up his words with actions. 

It wasn't their first kiss, but recent as that had been, Eddie still couldn't believe that whenever their lips met, he wasn't dreaming. That it wasn't just because they'd been trauma-bonded, or that they were so goddamn relieved to be alive, their campaign ended, Vecna vanquished. That a girl like her truly liked a guy like him, and wanted to kiss him like this. 

And this was unlike how anyone had kissed Eddie before. Chrissy was so sweet , not only because she wore cherry-flavored lip gloss, but in the way her lips pressed and parted against his with soft little sighs. Delicate. No one handled Eddie Munson with care, except to avoid interacting with the mean and scary freak. The fact that Chrissy did made him go weak in the knees, and he loved that feeling, even though he was pretty sure that was what he was supposed to be doing to her. He did his best to make her feel it, too, letting the callused tips of his thumbs dance lighty over cheeks as he cupped them. The hair at her nape tickled his fingers, and he wove them into it, loosening the silky strands from the scrunchie that swept them back from her face.

The hand encircling his wrist tightened, while the other trailed down his neck and over his chest, where his heart hammered beneath the thin cotton of his t-shirt. Eddie couldn't stifle a low groan at that, deepening the kiss with a sweep of his tongue into her welcoming mouth as his hands left her face to settle on her waist instead. Their movements pushed the back of her hips into the edge of the table, and a little grunt escaped her lips, though her tongue gliding along his told him she didn't mind. Still, he didn't want her to be uncomfortable, so he tightened his arms around her and, without breaking the kiss, hoisted her onto the edge of the table, which sent a few pens and pencils skittering to the linoleum floor.

"In case you start to feel weak in the knees," he mumbled against her lips.

Kissing him harder, Chrissy locked her arms around the back of his neck, pulling him down toward her, and…

…Eddie's stomach let out a loud, long rumble.

He would've pretended it hadn't happened and kept going, but Chrissy's laughter parted their lips. 

"Time for a snack?" 

"Other than you?" Eddie nipped at her lips, eliciting another giggle, but now that his stomach had made its needs known, the gnawing was impossible to ignore. He pulled back and shook his hair out of his face. "Yeah, actually. It's been way too long since my PB&J at lunch." 

And he did usually have an after-school snack while he smoked a joint. He slid his fingers lightly over Chrissy's thighs, then pivoted to the kitchen.

"You want anything?" he asked over his shoulder. "I think Uncle Wayne went grocery shopping." 

Eddie had caught him this morning getting home from his shift and asked Wayne to pick up some healthier food than was on their usual shopping list when he went to the store.

"What kind of healthy food?" Wayne asked, tired eyes regarding Eddie as if this was the weirdest request he'd ever made. To be fair, it probably was. 

"I dunno, like fruit and vegetables and shit?" 

When Wayne had continued to stare at him like he thought the rumors might be true, that his nephew was, indeed, a man possessed, Eddie had sighed and tried to explain. 

"Chrissy's kind of… careful about what she eats," was the simplest way he could summarize  having observed her eat like a bird the past week. Granted, they'd all seen a whooooole lot of shit, both terrifying and disgusting, that would steal the appetite of a person with an iron stomach. But putting two and two together--Eddie wasn't a complete imbecile at math--he suspected her picky eating habits predated Vecna's assaults on her already tormented mind. He was way out of his depth, but maybe if there were more nutritious options than Hungry-Man frozen dinners and Chef Boyardee, Chrissy might be tempted to eat more.

"It wouldn't hurt us to eat a little better, either," Eddie had snapped. Wayne had just snorted at that and cracked open a beer.

Eddie opened the pantry, relieved to see stacked cans of green beans, peas and carrots, corn, peaches, pears, and fruit cocktail; there were packages of spaghetti, jars of Ragu, a loaf of wheat bread instead of white (Eddie stuck out his tongue), boxes of Honey Nut Cheerios and Raisin Bran. In the fridge he found a carton of eggs, a tube of ground turkey (what the hell for?), cups of yogurt with fruit and, in the door along with the usual six packs of beer and Mello Yello, skim milk, orange juice, and Diet Coke. Uncle Wayne, you never let me down. 

"Yogurt?" Eddie waved a cup in the general direction of the table, while still scrounging through the fridge, opening the crisper drawer with the other hand. "Or an apple?" 

"I'd love an apple," Chrissy said, and Eddie felt like he'd won a side quest.

"Keeps the doctor away and all that." 

Eddie hadn't been to the doctor in years--and he probably hadn't eaten a single apple in that time, either. Coincidence? He thought not. But he took two from the drawer anyway.

He started to toss one to Chrissy, but as he turned he saw she was no longer sitting on the table, but hunched over it creating order out of the chaos, stacking books and papers together by subject. She was like Snow White, leaving each part of the trailer she entered a little neater and tidier than she'd found it. The dopey smile that had spread across Eddie's cheeks slackened. Hopefully it wasn't because she felt obligated to him and Wayne, but just a little grossed out by the slobs she'd moved in with. At least there weren't seven of them.

Which reminded him, he should probably wash the apples. 

"I convinced most of my teachers to let me do extra credit work," he told Chrissy as he rinsed them under the tap. "I don't think I convinced them I'd actually do it, so the joke's on them when they have extra grading."

Chrissy grinned. "Eddie Munson Strikes Back." 

"Exactly." He decided to keep to himself that despite his unabashed nerdiness, he wasn't the hugest Star Wars fan. Not when she looked so proud of herself for making a relatable reference.

He tore off a paper towel and patted the apples dry, then opened a drawer and found a knife. Sliced apples were easier to eat than whole, and you could dip them in peanut butter. Who wanted to eat plain apples? Yuck--not him. Anyway, protein was an essential part of a balanced diet.

"We can make a list." Chrissy punctuated this statement by tapping a stack of papers on the table to straighten them. "Of all your remaining assignments, plus the extra credit work. Then we'll break it down into a schedule of what you need to do each day to get it all done on time. It won't seem as overwhelming that way."

That sounded genius. Why hadn't he ever thought of it? "What did I do without you, Cunningham?"

Get held back twice in twelfth grade, that's what.

"We'll figure out how many pages per day you have to read for English, too," Chrissy went on. 

"I have to get through the whole year's syllabus in two months if I'm gonna pass that final." 

She wheeled toward him, face gaping in nearly as much horror as it had in the Upside Down. "You haven't read any of it?" 

"I read Beowulf," Eddie hastened to reassure her. "It was pretty metal, actually. Got a B minus on my paper."

She watched him go to the living room, balancing the plate of apples (arranged in an artful ring around a generous blob of peanut butter) on top of a Diet Coke can while carrying a Mello Yello and a yogurt cup and spoon in the other hand just in case Chrissy decided she wanted one. He set them on the coffee table, and as he plopped on the couch, she did a little cheerleader hop over to join him, face radiant. Her cuteness was going to kill him…and he'd happily march toward that death.

"You liked Beowulf because it's sword and sorcery stuff!"  

"Yeah. I mean, like, Tolkien translated Beowulf from Old English. It's never been published, but maybe someday…" 

There he went again, full fanboy, but Chrissy just beamed as she dabbed an apple slice in peanut butter.

"You'll like Macbeth ," she said.

"Shakespeare?" Eddie cracked open his soda, wishing it were a beer if they were going to talk about this. "Gross." 

Chrissy rolled her eyes. She covered her mouth daintily as she chewed. "You can't hate Shakespeare just because you were forced to read Romeo and Juliet as a freshman." 

It was seriously scary how well she knew him already. He took a swig of soda and said, "Nice try, but I didn't actually read it."

"Macbeth is all kings and castles and coups." 

Now she was speaking his language. He plonked his Mello Yello on the coffee table and slid closer to her. "I'm intrigued, tell me more." 

Chrissy tucked her legs beneath her, shifting the lumpy couch cushion toward him, so he could feel her voice as a warm breath against his cheek. "And witches."

"Witches!" Eddie gasped, springing back from her and clutching an imaginary string of pearls against his sternum. "Dear heavens! They allow this Satanic drivel in school?"

Laughing, Chrissy took another slice of apple. 

Eddie ripped the foil top off the yogurt cup and scooped a spoonful, eying it with suspicion en route to his mouth. "Hey, there's no fruit in this. I should sue for false advertising." 

"It's on the bottom." Chrissy took the spoon and cup from him. "You have to stir it." 

She swirled the spoon around, then pulled it out. Sure enough, there was a glob of strawberry mixed into the pink cream. Eddie thought she was going to hand it back to him, but instead she brought the spoon to her own lips, closing them around it and pulling the yogurt inside almost sensuously. Two side quests complete!

For a few minutes they snacked in silence, then Chrissy placed the empty yogurt cup on the coffee table and slid back into the corner of the couch, hugging her knees to her chest. Soda in hand, Eddie leaned back against the opposite arm, where he could take her in, and propped one sock foot on the coffee table, the other stretched out just shy of her bare ones.

Her Barbie pink toenail polish was chipped. Maybe she'd let him repaint them for her sometime? That was a thing boyfriends did, wasn't it? He was pretty sure he was Chrissy Cunningham's boyfriend, anyway. He was in love with her.

"I talked to Ms. Kelley today, too," Chrissy said. "My mom called her all in a panic to say I'd run away from home."

"Um, you didn't run away, you moved out." 

After Hawkins had been restored to its usual state, Eddie drove Chrissy to her house so she could grab clothes and money and other necessities and tell her parents she was going to stay with friends for a while. Then, with her mother hot on her heels, shrieking, Chrissy leapt into the passenger seat and they sped off. Eddie didn't think the Cunninghams knew who the getaway van belonged to, or they'd have beaten down the trailer door already.

"I explained that to Ms. Kelley," Chrissy said, "but I really didn't have to? She said as soon as I walked into her office she could tell that I was doing much better than before spring break."

Eddie nodded; that was how Ms. Kelley had reacted to him, too. Had the counselor noticed anything else about Chrissy?

"What did you tell her?" he probed, taking a sip of soda to hopefully make it seem casual and like he wasn't probing. But the intent way Chrissy's blue eyes held his made his pulse quicken, winding him like he'd just had to do the mile run for the President's Physical Fitness Test.

"That you're keeping me safe." 

Mello Yello went down the wrong pipe. Now Eddie absolutely could not breathe, even as his pounding heart thudded to a sudden stop. Was that good for a person? Chrissy had told the school counselor she was staying with him, like that wasn't an embarrassing thing to admit, even though he hadn't actually named Chrissy as the object of his newfound affection. Ms. Kelley was no slouch…She'd certainly put it together. Should he tell Chrissy the depth of the feelings the counselor had guided him to identify? That he loved her?

Thankfully, his cardiovascular system resumed functioning, restoring the flow of oxygen to his brain before he said something colossally stupid. Cool your jets. This conversation was about what Chrissy was thinking and feeling, and he didn't want to hijack it.

Licking his dry lips, he said, "Vecna's gone, Chrissy." 

"He wasn't the only one hurting me."

Eddie thought of the haunted house visions she'd described, her own family weaponized for Vecna's attempt to murder her. 

"I never want to hurt you," he said, hoarsely. 

"I know, Eddie."

Maybe he was a bigger Star Wars fan than he thought, because when she said I know, it was almost like she meant I love you. He played it over again in his mind, like rewinding a tape over and over when he was trying to learn a new song by ear, to make sure he'd really heard what he thought he had. I know, Eddie. What had he done to earn such complete trust?

"And Ms. Kelley really thinks this is good for you?" He gestured from himself toward her with his soda can. That he was good for anyone, let alone Chrissy Cunningham?

Chrissy's smile emerged, so sweet, a little shy. "Yeah. She does."

World's best guidance counselor. Eddie would have to give her a parting gift when he finally left Hawkins High.

"We both agreed it's not a long-term solution," Chrissy went on. (Why not? Eddie wondered. Well, aside from the fact that they were sharing a single-wide trailer with his uncle. And that other thing called graduation, after which she no doubt had major life plans.) "I'll have to face my parents eventually…"

Eddie couldn't disagree. "Sooner or later they're going to find out where you are." People had seen Chrissy arriving at school and leaving with him. "Think they'll come wielding pitchforks?"

"Luckily, we've fended off worse."

They shared a shaky laugh at the shared memory of beating off tentacles and demobats, not to mention Vecna himself.

"I'm eighteen," Chrissy said. "They can't make me do anything." 

"Damn right they can't!" 

Eddie noticed that Chrissy was hugging her knees a little tighter. He put his Mello Yello on the coffee table, then shifted on the couch to curl a hand over her knee, his thumb stroking it through the denim. She relaxed beneath his touch, one of her hands coming to curl over his.

"I don't want anyone giving you and Wayne any more trouble because of me."

We're trailer trash, we're used to it. Eddie shrugged. "Eh, we'll be fine. I'll just blare Metallica till they go away. Or call the cops and get a cease and desist." 

He grinned evilly and rubbed his hands together, loving the idea. Wouldn't that be turning the tables?

"So." He slapped his thighs and hopped up from the couch. "Should we begin our ascent of Mount Homework?"

He held out his hands, and Chrissy readily accepted them, letting him pull her to her feet, body close to his.

"And then, because we'll need to renew our strength after that arduous trek, we'll feast on spaghetti."

Her eyebrows went up. "Eddie Munson cooks?"

That remained to be seen. But how hard could it be? 

"Anything for you, Chrissy."

Chapter Text

The art of cooking spaghetti, Eddie vowed to himself as he set a pot of water on the stove burner, sloshing it a little before turning on the gas, was not going to take him as many tries to master as passing the twelfth grade. 

Despite following the directions on the package to the letter, he waaaaaay overcooked the pasta Monday night. Well…that wasn't strictly true. He'd followed most of the directions: measured out the water precisely, salted it, brought it to a rolling boil, added the spaghetti, and set a ten-minute timer on the oven. With the sauce and green beans simmering on the other burners, there was nothing to do but wait. Ten minutes wasn't enough time for more homework, so really the only reasonable way to pass it was to make out a little with Chrissy. This would've been perfectly fine, except that with her pressed against the cupboards and his hand slipped beneath the hem of her blouse to stroke the soft, soft skin of her midriff while her fingers tangled in his hair, they lost all sense of everything and didn't pay attention to the timer’s single beep. 

It didn't go that far over the ten minutes, at least he didn't think, but the end result was that the pasta was mushy. Eddie honestly didn't think it was too bad--then again, he was used to canned spaghetti, with little meatballs--but Chrissy picked at it. 

Tonight, by mutual agreement--and lack of other dinner options--they were trying again. This time, Chrissy was helping, and they had a new number one rule: no kissing while anything was on the stove. It was really tempting, though, with Chrissy standing shoulder-to-shoulder with him at the range, using a spatula to break up meat in a skillet--for the sauce, which Eddie hadn't thought to do the night before. (Uncle Wayne had thanked them for saving him a plate, but asked why Eddie hadn’t used the ground turkey he’d bought.) Delicately, Chrissy sprinkled Italian seasoning over the turkey, which she'd run over to the Mayfields' to borrow, since the only spices in the Munson cupboard were salt, black pepper, and a bundle of crushed red pepper flake packets that came with pizza. 

"Smells good." Eddie leaned in to inhale the aroma wafting from the sizzling pan, but a pop of oil made him hop back. "Is this how your mom makes it?"

Chrissy turned down the gas a little and continued to stir the meat. "Pretty much? She uses beef, I think." 

"You think?"

Her front teeth appeared, worrying at her lower lip. "She…doesn't really let me eat pasta."

"What? Why?" That was such a weird phrase that Eddie wasn't sure he'd heard her correctly. There were things her mom didn't let Chrissy eat? 

Chrissy shrugged. "Too carby." 

Too… carby ? Eddie shook his head slightly as he gave the softening noodles a swirl with the spaghetti server he was shocked Uncle Wayne actually owned. Sometimes, the normal world Chrissy described sounded crueler and more bizarre than the Upside Down.

"So while the rest of your family gluts themselves on spaghetti, what do you eat?"

"Oh…salad, mostly." Her voice pitched high, a little breathy, as if she were trying to make it sound better than it was. 

Salad. Eddie set the pasta spoon down on the countertop and faced Chrissy with folded arms. She wasn't a goddamn rabbit. Hell, the stray dogs and cats around the trailer park ate better than that.

"Aren't athletes supposed to, like, carb load or whatever before sportsball games?"

"Well, yes…But that's athletes."

Eddie raised his eyebrows. "And cheerleading isn't athletic? Not everyone can do roundoff back handsprings or throw people into the air and catch them. I certainly can't."

"Do you know what a roundoff back handspring is?" 

"No." 

But Eddie's heart did something that might be one, as a smile lit Chrissy's eyes. If he accomplished nothing else in his life, at least he could make her smile. He couldn’t believe he actually could, and that it was so easy.

"That's a good point," she said, and resumed stirring the browning meat. "But for a lot of people, cheerleading's about looking pretty and supporting the men."

If you asked Eddie, the men (if you could even call those letter jacket-wearing dickwads men) should be supporting the cheerleaders, because what they did was a whole hell of a lot more impressive than balls-in-baskets. 

"You definitely look pretty,” he said. “And carbs for dinner won't change that."

Her eyes shone up at him, then she bounced up on her toes and pressed her mouth to his. 

Eddie somehow found the willpower to draw back. “Hold up there, Cunningham, I know my charm is irresistible, but you're breaking the number one rule of cooking!"

Chrissy poked out her lower lip. "That’s not even a real rule. And it was just a little kiss." 

Inclined as Eddie was to agree with her, to ignore his own rules and kiss that adorable pout, he wagged his spaghetti server. “Little kisses lead to bigger kisses and overcooked spaghetti."

With a sigh, Chrissy returned to the browned turkey, her smile returning when Eddie leaned in to peck her on the cheek. 

***

"Is this a dagger which I see before me?" Eddie recited in his best English accent (the Hellfire Club said it was a good accent, anyway), at a volume that would project to every seat in the house--if the house were the Globe Theatre, and not an empty lot in the Forest Hills Trailer Park.

He looked up from the tattered paperback copy of Macbeth he held in one hand, and imagined a knife hovering in the air, hilt toward him. "Come, let me clutch thee." 

With an expansive gesture, he grasped at the invisible knife handle, groaning loudly when his fingers closed around nothing. 

"I have thee not, and yet I see thee still."

He looked up at Chrissy, who perched on top of a picnic table, feet on the bench, following along in her own copy of the play. This had been her idea, to perform a two-person version of Macbeth , after Eddie had struggled for over an hour to read it to himself. It wasn't ye olde king's English that gave him trouble, but trying to keep track of who was who and said and did what on top of that. Chrissy hadn't made him feel stupid about it, though, just said, "It's a play. Shakespeare meant for people to watch it, not read it." 

Now she looked up at him, eyebrows raised, anticipating a question about the text, but Eddie didn't have a question. 

"Didn't take long for this dude to start losing it, did it? And he hasn't even killed King Duncan."

"Yet."

Eddie's mouth fell open in mock-outrage. "Jeez, Cunningham, spoilers!"

"Can there really be spoilers for something written in 1605? Anyway, don't pretend like you didn't try to get by on the CliffsNotes before Ms. O'Donnell tested you on it last fall."

“Damn. I’m gonna need skin grafts.”

For just a fraction of a second, Chrissy's forehead dimpled between her brows, then they shot up and her eyes gleamed. "Why, 'cause you got burned? "

"Yeah, baby!" Eddie threw up his hand, and she high-fived him. "1605, you say? I should write that down. It'll probably be on the final, won't it?" 

"So will the rest of the play," Chrissy gently nudged him to continue. 

She was really good at getting him back on track when his attention wandered, which was often. But thanks to her, he'd finished all tomorrow's homework before dinner. (Which had been perfection, if he did say so himself. Eddie Munson: Master of Pasta.)

"I see thee still, " Eddie resumed speaking to the invisible knife.

"And on thy blade and dudgeon gouts of blood,

Which was not so before. There's no such thing:

It is the bloody business which informs

Thus to mine eyes."

Despite his amusement at Macbeth's guilty conscience and rapid spiral into insanity, a shudder crept up Eddie's spine. He looked up again to see how Chrissy was doing, but she was watching him steadily, with a smile that reassured him that her own recent bout of gruesome visions was not at the forefront of her thoughts. 

She wasn't the only one watching him. As evening settled in around the trailer park, a handful of residents who were getting home from work, out walking dogs, cooking dinner on charcoal grills, or sitting in lawn chairs nursing beers, watched the scene in the empty lot. Not that Eddie doing anything unusual was unusual. 

Might as well give 'em a show. 

Eddie began to pace as he read, reveling in Macbeth's growing fear of getting caught, quite literally, red-handed. 

"DOOOOONG," intoned Chrissy from the picnic table, and Eddie stopped pacing to stand mesmerized in center stage at the chime of the clock. "DOOOOONG…DOOOOONG…"

(Not clocks, too! Shakespeare had no idea that someday he'd be playing to kids who'd just been haunted by clocks. Chrissy still looked okay, though.)

A flash of red drew Eddie's attention to Max Mayfield standing near the back of the group of onlookers. He broke character to make a face at her. She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms, but he thought, in the lengthening shadows, he saw the pull of a smirk. 

"I go," he said, "and it is done; the bell invites me.

Hear it not, Duncan; for it is a knell

That summons thee to heaven or to hell." 

Resolutely, Eddie strode the picnic table, where he pretended to draw two knives from his belt before violently stabbing the sleeping King Duncan to death. He imagined the spray of blood and viscera staining his skin and clothes. It wasn't nearly as metal as he'd used to imagine, before he'd actually experienced battle.

"And…end scene," Eddie said, standing up. 

He'd been so into the reading that he half-expected to be greeted by the sound of applause. Instead, he came out of the theatrical haze to see the neighbors shambling off, shaking heads and muttering about that Munson kid never failing to be a total weirdo. Eddie did not disagree.

"Guess Shakespeare in the Trailer Park isn't as popular as we hoped, huh?" he asked, plopping down on the picnic table beside Chrissy, who laughed.

Max sauntered up to them. "Maybe not the smartest idea to open your season with a play about witchcraft and murder when you were just accused of both."

Not a bad point, but it wasn't Eddie's fault Macbeth was assigned reading. Last semester. And the two previous years he was in twelfth grade.

"You're just too young to appreciate Shakespeare," he flung back at her.

Max snorted. "And how long have you appreciated him, Munson?" 

"Don't harsh my Shakespeare buzz, Mayfield, or we'll recruit you for our merry band of players."

"I'd rather join Hellfire," she said, but he heard her snigger as she retreated to her own trailer. 

He watched her for a moment, a silhouette against the glowing sunset backdrop, and thought of all the times that had been him, going home alone. 

Not anymore. 

He pushed to his feet, jeans rasping against the wooden tabletop, dusted off any dirt that clung to his ass, then hopped down from the bench.

"My dear Lady Macbeth, what say you? Shall we play to an empty house?" 

"We shall," Chrissy replied, placing her hand on his upturned palm, accepting his hand down from the table as delicately as though she were dressed in a voluminous 1600s gown. 

She retrieved her copy of the book and launched into Lady Macbeth's monologue about her husband's failure to cover up the murder. 

Eddie had teased Chrissy that day in the woods when they'd had their first real conversation since middle school, but the truth was, he had thought she'd be mean and scary. Because she was popular, looked perfect, and dated an asshole. On the occasions Eddie hadn't been able to sneak off campus and dodge pep rallies, he'd seen her preside over the student body as the Queen of Hawkins High, confident and capable of making them all cheer and chant for their players. (And it was Eddie they accused of being a cult leader…) Nevertheless, he'd seen enough of the real Chrissy underneath the mask (and didn't he know all about those?), the Chrissy who was sweet and kind and insecure, to be slightly surprised at how mean and scary she actually could be, reading the role of Lady Macbeth. Even though in the Upside Down she'd given the bloodthirsty leading lady a run for her money, drop-kicking demobats with cheer moves and some grisly blades of her own. 

"My husband!" she cried, facing the picnic table.

Eddie's heart stuttered, and the book slipped from his slack hands. As he scrambled to catch it he saw the words my husband on the open page. She was only reading a line.

"I have done the deed, " he read, hoping that his booming stage voice hid the shakiness he felt beneath his words. 

In the dialogue that followed, Macbeth expressed his remorse for killing his liege-lord, while his wife gave him shit for having a conscience and tore him a new one for not framing the dead king's servants.

"I can't get over that this was their plan," Eddie said, closing his book when they'd finished the scene and it was too dark to go on. "Get their servants blackout drunk, smear their clothes and hands with blood, and plant the knives next to them. Except this ditz forgets to do half of it because he's so freaked." 

"It does sound kind of like a comedy, when you put it like that," Chrissy said.

"I always thought Shakespeare was, I dunno, more sophisticated?"

"His audience wasn't very sophisticated."

"Neither was ours."

They grinned at each other beneath the glow of a light that flashed on above the picnic table. Eddie set his book on the table and slid his arms around her waist, pulling her against him, so that she looked up at him. Her hands rested lightly against his chest. Could she feel his heart going wild underneath his layers of jacket and t-shirt?

He swallowed and said, "I really appreciate you doing this with me, even though you've already read it." 

"It's a good review for me before the final," Chrissy replied. "And it's fun!" 

Who'd have thought school could be fun? Yet Eddie couldn't deny it, he was having fun, too. Not just performing their two-person play, but all of it, since they came back from spring break. Riding home from school together, having a snack, doing their homework, cooking and eating dinner, catching up on a little more studying and reading…He could get used to this. Maybe he already was. Which wasn't to say that he wasn't stoked that in a little over two months, he'd be done with homework forever. But having routines and being responsible…with Chrissy? Hell yeah, he was down.

"Maybe if I were in your class, I would've paid more attention," he said. "Nah, who am I fooling? I would've just stared at you and given you the creeps." 

"Yeah, obviously I think you're so creepy." Chrissy's curves brushed his chest as she pressed herself a little closer to press a kiss to his lightly stubbled jaw. "If you were in my class, I would've been distracted by you clowning around being cute."

"I have oft been called a clown, but seldom cute. I shall allow it."

He released her to make a sweeping bow, with a flourish of his hand. Which was dumb, because he was the one granting permission to her, even if it was in jest, and also because Chrissy was no longer in his arms. 

"Why aren't you in theater?" she asked as she sat backward on the picnic bench, her back pressed to the table. "You have such a flair for the dramatic."

Was that a compliment? Others had said similar and didn't mean it to be nice. Since Chrissy had never said anything close to unkind to him, Eddie decided that it was. 

"I tried out for a play once. But the popular kids always get the parts." He shoved one hand into his jean pockets, the other twisting his hair as he looked up at the bare lightbulb affixed to a pole, a trio of moths fluttering around it. "I've done tech, though. That's pretty cool. And it's how we got Mr. Adair to sponsor Hellfire Club and let us use the stage and props and stuff." 

That, and the theater teacher was a regular customer of Eddie's. Which was probably a major ethical violation, as well as a legal one.

This was the kind of evening Eddie would normally light up a joint, sit back, and take in the crisp spring air and the deep orangey-pink that burned at the horizon beyond the trailer park. Smoking probably wasn't the brightest idea, if he was going to keep up the academic rigor of the past two days; he still had a little left to do tonight, if he was going to stay on top of the schedule Chrissy helped him make.

And, as he sat down beside her on the picnic bench, he realized he didn't feel the need to get stoned, already riding a high from her tucking her arm through his and lacing their fingers together on his knee. She leaned her cheek against his shoulder, pressed so close against him that he felt her shiver. 

"Kinda chilly," he said. "You wanna go in?"

Chrissy shook her head. "Not yet." 

But the hand not in his, he noticed, was balled up inside the sleeve of her cardigan. This just would not do. He slid his shoulder from beneath her, disentangled his hand and arm from her, earning a look of confusion from Chrissy, which gave way to one of her wonderful smiles as he shrugged off his jacket and draped it over her. It was too big, too broad in the shoulders, the sleeves hanging past her fingertips, but he loved that, and he loved how she looked in black leather. If it weren't his only jacket, and part of his signature look , Eddie would give it to her, like a letterman.

He took a smug satisfaction that he couldn't recall seeing Chrissy wear Carver's. That douchebag had kept it for himself. Not that Eddie agreed with the high school rituals of marking your girl as your own. At least not in theory.

"What are you thinking about?" Chrissy asked.

Dumb shit. "That you look nice and warm now."

Pulling the leather tighter around herself, she said, "I'll be even warmer if you'll come sit by me again."

Who was he to refuse?

***

On the other side of Eddie's thin bedroom wall, the pipes groaned as the shower started. 

Chrissy was taking a shower in his trailer. Chrissy was naked in the shower in his trailer. Chrissy. Naked. Shower. Trailer. 

Eddie jacked up the amp volume and shredded the opening bars of "Disposable Heroes," but he decided he wasn't actually revved up enough to play anything that would drown out the sounds of water rushing through the plumbing or of Chrissy humming to herself. He was relaxed from watching the stars come out with her, even a little tired from the long school day and studying after. Leaning against the edge of his desk, he noodled around the guitar strings for a few minutes, eventually settling into the bridge of "Master of Puppets," which he had yet to master. (Good thing he hadn't had to play the whole thing to lure the demobats to the Upside Down version of his trailer, or they would've all been fucked.) 

The mellow interlude sounded simple and gave the guitarist a much-needed rest between the lightning-fast downstroke thrashing sections, but the pickwork was actually pretty complex and required nimble fingers for the trills and turns. It was enough for Eddie's drained brain to fixate on and forget about what was happening in the bathroom, until Chrissy herself appeared in his bedroom doorway, face scrubbed clean, hair loose and around her shoulders and leaving damp spots on the oversized t-shirt she wore over pink pajama bottoms tucked into thick socks. At which point Eddie's hands went still on the guitar strings as blood flow to his brain ceased, rerouted southward, and he stood there like a doofus staring at the peaks of her nipples beneath her shirt. Thank God he was holding his guitar.

"I heard music," Chrissy chirped, stepping fully into the room and gently pushing the door shut behind her. "I wasn't sure if it was a tape or you."

Eddie scrunched the back of his hair and huffed out a breath. "Yeah, yeah, I know I'm supposed to be reviewing for econ, but I thought maybe a serenade would make you forget."

"I think you've done more than enough homework today." Chrissy graced him with a smile as she stepped around piles of her belongings to what he'd come to think of as her side of the bed. 

"I heartily concur with your assessment." Eddie grinned back at her and resumed playing.

As Chrissy pulled back the covers and lowered herself onto the mattress, her eyes were glued to his hands. Her bottom lip caught between her teeth and--he thought--a flush blossomed on her cheeks that didn't do much to relieve his own current state. Get it together, you raging horndog. She was probably just warm from her shower, or it was just a trick of the light; the orangey bulb in the nightstand lamp brought out the reddish undertones in her hair, too. 

Mercifully she tore her eyes away from him and drew the covers up under her armpits--thoughtfully leaving his side turned down for him--but then she took his copy of The Hobbit off the nightstand, opening it to the place she'd marked last night, and Eddie thought he might spontaneously combust. Chrissy was reading Tolkien in his bed…

Maybe he was in the mood to shred, after all. 

Not wanting to distract her from this very important reading, even though it wasn't on the Brit Lit syllabus, he kept working on the bridge. By the time he noticed her starting to yawn and taking longer between page turns, he had himself sufficiently under control. He restored his guitar to pride of place above the desk, murmuring goodnight to it with a caress of the smooth red and black body. 

"That was pretty," Chrissy said, closing The Hobbit. "I never knew metal could be pretty." 

"Most people don't. If they'd give it a chance, they'd find out a lot of it is dudes with big hair and big feelings singing about rainbows and shit."

Yet here he was, with his own head of big hair and a heart full of huge feelings he had yet to admit to her.

"You know what's even prettier?" Eddie asked.

Sitting up slightly to place The Hobbit on the nightstand, Chrissy looked up at him as he stood at the opposite side of the bed, her eyes wide and innocent as though she were genuinely waiting for the answer to that question. How could she not know? Eddie's heart twisted.

He'd changed into ratty sweatpants and a t-shirt while Chrissy was in the shower. Normally he was a boxers-to-bed guy, but he didn't want to presume too much at this stage of the game. He toed off his socks, then crawled in beside her, yanking the blankets over his torso. Her scent enveloped him, soap and shampoo and toothpaste and some flowery lotion she used-- so much nicer than the stale weed and musty carpet his room normally smelled like. He lay on his side, one arm curled under his pillow, the other hand stroking her cheek. 

"You, Chrissy. You're prettier than everything."

This time, he was sure about her blush, since he felt the warmth on his palm. Chrissy's eyes shone, and she blinked, turning her head slightly to brush her lips against the heel of his hand.

"You're so sweet, Eddie."

He raised his eyebrows. "No. Well, okay, yeah, maybe a little. But I'm just, like, being honest ."

Arching her brows back at him, she replied, "So am I."

She snuggled into her pillow, mirroring his position. He drew his hand from her face to rest on her hip, while hers pressed lightly against his chest. 

Eddie sighed. Even though it had been days, he still couldn't wrap his head around the reality that he was sharing his bed with Chrissy Cunningham. That was all it was--with a little kissing and cuddling--but for for now, it was enough. He'd worried about freaking her out when he woke up the other morning, spooning her, with a hard-on, but either she hadn't noticed, or hadn't minded. He didn't mind--much--that they hadn't gone further than that. Probably he should tell her that, so she won't wonder, or feel pressure (heh) or whatever. But strangely for Eddie, who generally found it hard to shut up, it wasn't a conversation he knew how to begin.

They'd talked easily before falling asleep (or making out) the last few nights. Chrissy had been full of curiosity about the "artwork" on his walls, his guitar--how long he'd saved up for it and when and how he'd learned to play, while he peppered her with his own questions about what her bedroom looked like, whether her parents were strict about how much TV she watched, or her bedtime--the stuff his structureless, parentless life lacked--what she liked best about being a cheerleader. But tonight, she didn't initiate conversation or cuddling or kissing.

"You good?" he asked.

Chrissy had been staring past him, lips pursed pensively, but now they parted wide to reveal her teeth, and her eyes lit up as they met his. 

"I'm with you," she said, and snuggled a little closer, tucking her feet between his calves. "What about you?"

"Yeah, I'm with me, too."

He laughed as she rolled her eyes and jabbed him in the chest with her index finger. So that was how it was gonna be, huh? He slid his hand along her hip and poked the curve of her waist. Chrissy squeaked and went for his belly, but Eddie caught her hand and pulled it up to his lips. 

"I'm good, too," he mumbled against her skin.

Chrissy went quiet again as he trailed kisses along the ridges of her knuckles and the valleys between. He wanted to believe her eyes glazed and her smile slacked because of him. Pressing one more kiss to the back of her hand, he released it and pushed up on his elbow, leaning his jaw on his fist.

"I sense a but coming on," he said.

Her eyes dropped to the mattress. "A lot of people would say this is not good. That I shouldn't be doing this."

Eddie's heart thudded, and his mouth went dry. One short word, but this could mean a lot of things. Him. Her with him. Them . 

He swallowed, licked his lips. " This ." 

"Sleep over with a boy." 

"A sleepover!" Eddie couldn't help but chortle, delighted (and, okay, a little relieved) with the turn this had taken. "Is that what this is? Because if so, shouldn't we give each other manicures and put goop on our faces and watch movies and eat popcorn and stay up all night giggling?" 

"We do stay up pretty late giggling." 

Because she was so pretty when she laughed, and he loved to make her do it. 

"But you were being serious just now," Eddie said, getting a grip. Be cool, dude. "Sorry."

Chrissy shrugged, eyes downcast again. "It's okay. I don't really know how to say what I'm trying to say."

She hadn't seemed this uncertain around him since the day she'd tried to buy drugs from him. Which was pretty damn impressive, actually, considering all the freaky shit that happened to them between then and now. 

Eddie touched her chin, gently nudging her to look up at him. "Hey, are you uncomfortable with this? Because if you don't feel right about sleeping together--even in the chaste, strictly literally sleeping together way we've been doing--I can take the couch. I won't be offended. Like, at all."

Chrissy's fingers closed around his hand, her grip surprisingly firm. "I told you before, I don't want you to sleep on the couch. I'm not uncomfortable."

"Aside from the mattress being lumpy and not having a box spring?"

Her lips twitched a little, but she gazed intently into his eyes as she said in a hush, "You make me feel like I belong." 

The little break in her voice wrenched him. "You haven't felt like that before?" Chrissy, the most popular girl in school? 

"I've felt like I belonged to people. Not with them." Chrissy rolled onto her back and sighed up at the ceiling. "I'm not supposed to do this, so I never have." 

Something akin to understanding began to dawn on Eddie. "What, seriously?" She'd never slept over with a boy? "But you had a…You dated Carver."

"I told you my mom's super strict about curfews and stuff."

And pasta.

"She's really religious and old-fashioned," Chrissy went on. "Girls are supposed to be pretty and perfect and pure for their future husbands." 

Pure ? What the fuck did that mean? Eddie could take a wild guess that shacking up in a trailer probably didn't fall under the definition.

"Jason goes to church, too," Chrissy added. 

That made sense, considering Jason started a religious crusade against Hellfire. "Party on Saturday, church on Sunday?"

The pillowcase rustled as Chrissy turned her head. "Huh?"

Eddie raked a hand through his hair, shaking out the tangles. "It's no secret that the jocks are partiers. And that 's not exactly churchgoing behavior."

"Boys will be boys." Chrissy said in a mockingly high-pitched voice. “No one calls them loose or slutty if they push the boundaries." Her arms came out from under the covers to fold across her chest. 

"Did Carver…?" Eddie didn't really want to talk about Chrissy and her ex in this context, but if she wanted to, or needed to…

"Push boundaries? We fooled around a little. But mostly…we were waiting." 

"For what? Carver's balls to descend?"

Shit --he didn't mean to say that out loud. Maybe Chrissy would think he was making a basketball metaphor. No such luck; her face was red as a tomato. 

"Um…Marriage?" 

The words hung in the air. Eddie had heard of that, thanks to campus Evangelicals shoving their noses into everyone else's business, but didn't know anyone actually did it. 

"So…" Eddie twisted the ring on his left pinky. "Do you still want to wait until…marriage?"

Because he would, if that was what Chrissy wanted. Hopefully she'd want to get married young… Very young…

"No."

No. A short word, so softly spoken, yet it rang in Eddie's ears, rattled his very bones , like he'd been standing too close to a speaker at a concert. No. 

Chrissy rolled onto her side once more, huddling down under the covers. "I just wanted you to know where I'm coming from. I may have a few hangups to get over before I'm ready. But when I am…I want it to be with you."

Eddie inhaled sharply, a stab of emotion in his ribcage, and a phrase from The Return of the King flickered through his mind: their joy was like swords. No one had ever said anything remotely like that to him before, and he was so overwhelmed by it that he couldn't think of any way to respond except wrap her up in a tight hug, threading their legs together.

"You don't think I'm a freak?" Chrissy asked, muffled into his chest.

"I mean, yeah, I definitely think you're a freak," Eddie said, grinning as she turned her face up to him. "But not for that." He combed his fingers through her coppery hair, pushing her bangs back from her forehead so he could kiss it. "You don't have anything to be ashamed of. You exorcise those sex demons, sweetheart. I'll help if I can." 

Except that he probably was a sex demon.

Chrissy squeezed herself hard against him, but then Eddie cleared his throat and said, looking past her at his Fistful of Metal poster, "In the interest of full disclosure, you should know that I'm not a blushing virgin." 

She giggled. "I didn't think you were." 

Should he be offended by that? The laugh that tore from his throat said otherwise. "My sluttish behavior gave it away, is that it?"

Though she was still giggling, Chrissy's eyes rounded in horror. "No, I didn't mean…I mean, I don't think there's not a lot that makes you blush. And…it's just a thing, right? Sex, drugs, and rock and roll?"

His things were metal and weed, but--"Fair point," Eddie conceded. He licked his lips and blew out a breath and said, as seriously as a heart attack, "Sex for me has never been meaningful or special. I've never had a girlfriend." 

"Then I can be your first," Chrissy said, a soft, sweet breath on his skin as she tilted her head for a kiss. 

Eddie started to melt into her lips, when he abruptly pulled back. "There's nothing on the stove?"

"Nope." 

"Then you may proceed."

Chapter Text

"You trying to drum me out of town, Munson?" asked Mr. Nelson, glaring over his shoulder without lowering his arm from the chalkboard where he scratched out notes so incoherent and illegible it was a miracle anyone at all, let alone Eddie, was passing economics. 

Eddie's fingers went still. He hadn't even noticed he was tapping them on his desk, rings clacking. His knee was bouncing, jingling the chain on his jeans; he stopped that, too.

"No, sir," he replied. "Just giving a drumroll as you lead up to your final point." 

Some snickering rippled around the classroom, but Mr. Nelson wasn't amused, his glower deepening above the large round glasses that slid down the shiny bridge of his nose. The man was constantly sweaty, his short-sleeved dress shirts pit-stained; who knew economics was such a workout?

"Take off that backpack, Munson, and get out your notes. You're still mine for five more minutes." 

It must've been too close to last bell to send Eddie to Principal Higgins for smartassery. Thank heaven for small favors, or whatever. He let his bag slide off his shoulder to the linoleum with a thunk, but he didn't open it to get out his notebook and pen. He twisted his hair around his fingers as he watched the clock over the chalkboard tick toward the end of eighth period. The second the bell rang, in a fluid, well-practiced movement that would put any Hawkins High athlete to shame, he scooped up his bag and sprang toward the door.

With the exception of Hellfire Club meeting days, Eddie normally hightailed it out of school, only swinging by his locker to check for notes from buyers. Today wasn't a Hellfire day--those bastards had banned it from campus for the rest of the year (though to be fair, every extracurricular activity was currently suspended due to the ongoing murder investigations)--yet he didn't beeline for the exit. He went to his locker for the sole purpose of making sure he had all his books and notes for tonight's homework and studying, then he pushed his way through the swarm of teenagers, like a salmon swimming upstream, toward Chrissy's locker. (He probably shouldn't have thought in a metaphor about spawning after last night's heart-to-heart.)

"Eddie!" 

He heard her before he saw her, first as a hand shooting up, then all of her emerging from the crush of students, smile beaming and ponytail bouncing as she weaved through the crowd toward him. The sight stopped Eddie's heart in his chest and his feet in his tracks. His weren't the only ones. 

He didn't really mind the stares. He'd been the object of curiosity for a lot worse reasons, sometimes (okay, most of the time) because of his own attention-grabbing antics. Nevertheless, three days seemed like more than enough time for people to accept that the social order at Hawkins High had been upended and that this was just how things were now. The freak was dating the head cheerleader. 

Eddie rolled his tongue out at the rubberneckers, scolded them for blocking the flow of hallway traffic, then met Chrissy with open arms as she hopped into them and pressed her lips to his cheek. He smelled her cherry lip gloss and hoped it left a shimmery kiss mark on his skin, and then he tasted it as he set her on her feet. Hell yeah, he was kissing his girl against the lockers. It was, like, a rite of passage and shit.

"Good day?" Chrissy asked, afterward. She spun the combo on her locker and opened the creaky door. 

"You mean since lunch when you asked me the same question?" Eddie teased, leaning his shoulder against the locker beside hers she exchanged a few items from it for ones from her backpack. How did she keep everything so neat all the time? Her locker even smelled good.

"Things can go downhill really fast after lunch." 

How true that was. Eddie loved that she wanted him to have a good day enough to ask multiple times. 

"Not today," he said."I got Monday's homework back."

Chrissy's locker clanged shut as she whirled to face him. "And?"

That Eddie had done homework to get back at all was an achievement in and of itself. He shrugged his backpack off his shoulder, balancing it on one knee as he riffled through it for a few crumpled sheets of notebook paper, including the pop quiz Mr. Nelson handed back at the beginning of class. 

"Seventy-nine on your chemistry homework…an eighty-four in algebra…Eddie!" She clutched his wrist. "One hundred on an economics pop quiz? That's so great ! Keep it up!"

She bounced up and down, the blouse and whatever she had on underneath leaving a lot less to the imagination than her cheerleading uniform top. Somehow, Eddie stopped himself from replying, Easy to keep it up with you around, sweetheart!

"As her majesty commands," he said, with a sweeping bow.

Despite the encouragement of hard work paying off in the form of good grades (and enticing bouncing from his personal cheerleader), Eddie was quickly coming to the opinion that maintaining this level of studiousness was going to be a lot . The past three days felt like…a hell of a lot longer than three days. All he really wanted to do was go home, smoke a joint, play his guitar, make out with Chrissy, and not read or write a single goddamn word, unless it was for his next D&D campaign.

He took her pink backpack from her, and Chrissy giggled as he hitched it over his free shoulder. 

"I'm not sure it quite goes with your whole rocker look." She laced their fingers together and they walked toward the front doors.. 

"Hell yeah, it does! Pink is totally metal." 

The halls were fairly clear by this time, and outside, the buses were pulling away, so the only students gathered in the breezeway were those waiting for parents instead of walking, biking, or driving themselves home. Eddie parked his van at the back of the student parking lot where kids with better cars were less likely to hassle him about taking up multiple spaces (which he couldn't deny he did, on occasion, do unnecessarily, like maybe even today). As he turned to round the building, Chrissy's fingernails bored into his hand as she came to an abrupt stop on the sidewalk. 

"Oh no."

It came out part-wimper, part whisper. The color had drained from her face, and her eyes were wide. 

Eddie darted his gaze around in the general direction Chrissy was staring, scanning the faces of the remaining students. Had Carver's lousy ass showed up? He'd been suspended, but Chrissy looked like she'd just seen Vecna--

Oh. Fuck. 

Not Carver, but a woman whose sharp features were arranged in an expression like she could still smell the perm solution in her short blonde curls. 

"Mom," Chrissy squeaked. Her fingers slackened between Eddie's, trembling, though she didn't pull away; he wrapped his hand tighter around hers and gave a reassuring squeeze. "What…what are you doing here?"

Mrs. Cunningham's lips peeled back from her teeth, as if she were an alien (or a monster) in a skin suit trying but failing to behave like a human. "Why, I'm picking you up from school, of course."

"Chrissy has a ride, Mrs. Cunningham." 

Her icy blue gaze dropped from Chrissy's face to her hand in Eddie's, then darted back up to him, the alien-slash-monster smile slipping. "I'm sorry." She didn't look anywhere in the galaxy of sorry. "I don't believe we've met." 

"Mom," Chrissy said, voice pitched higher even than usual with her nervousness, "this is Eddie." 

He extended his right hand. "Munson. You've, uh, probably heard of me. Most of it isn't true." 

Which parts weren't true, he did not specify. If he said the satanic cult leader or the murderer , then she'd know he was a drug dealer, and honestly he couldn't decide if that would be any better in her eyes. Not that he gave a shit.

Mrs. Cunningham didn’t shake his hand (unsurprising but also rude) or offer any pleasantries (also not surprising and rude). Her gaze sliced back to Chrissy. "I'd like to speak to Christine in private."

She took her by the bicep, and Chrissy's fingers slid from Eddie's grasp, her wide eyes darting frantically back at him, as her mother dragged her around the corner of the school building. Eddie followed, but kept out of sight, listening.

"Your guidance counselor told me you need space from me," Mrs. Cunningham hissed.

Eddie glanced back at the main entrance, by the office, willing Ms. Kelley to come out and wield her counselor superpowers against Chrissy's mom. Should he run in and get her? But then Chrissy would be alone…

"I don't understand you, Christine," Mrs. Cunningham went on. "We've always been so close . Why wouldn't you want to be with me now , at the end of high school? We have so many important decisions to make about your future."

"I can make them for myself," Chrissy said.

Hell yeah, you can! 

" Can you? I'm not so sure you're capable. You're always paralyzed by indecision."

"Because you make me doubt myself! Or you decide everything for me, like what colleges to apply to, and…and…you won't even let me eat pasta!"

Eddie had to bite his knuckles to stop himself from actually throwing up his hands and letting out a whoop. 

"Oh. I see . That's why you're looking so… puffy ."

Though her words weren't directed at Eddie, he felt them like a punch to the gut on Chrissy's behalf. His hands were white-knuckled curled into fists as he pictured her inhaling sharply, blue eyes welling with tears. Standing by and letting someone get bullied went against Eddie’s instincts—his better ones, anyway—and he stormed around the corner of the building, ready to rake that bitch over the coals—

Mrs. Cunningham’s back was to him; over her shoulder, Chrissy’s eyes rounded at the sight of Eddie, and she gave her head an almost imperceptible shake. If he intervened, he’d only make things worse for her. Goddamn it! Mrs. Cunningham started to turn in the direction of Chrissy’s gaze, and Eddie darted back around the corner.

 Chrissy could handle this, he told himself. She'd handled Vecna. 

"I've heard rumors, you know," Mrs. Cunningham shifted gears, "about a very bad decision you've made. At first I didn't believe them. Even you wouldn't exhibit such poor judgment as to break up with Jason--"

"He made up nasty lies about students and threatened them with violence. I can't be with someone like that!"

"--and now I find you holding hands with this Munson boy?" her mother went on, as though Chrissy hadn't interrupted. "I understand if you've been disappointed by Jason, but even if he isn't the one, surely you can see how unsuitable a rebound Eddie Munson is for you. He looks--" 

"I like how Eddie looks," Chrissy said. "And he's not a rebound."

This wasn't about Eddie, it was about Chrissy standing up to her mother, and his chest definitely swelled with pride each time she spoke in her own defense. It also swelled because of what she said about him. He was just too susceptible to flattery. 

"You'll come to your senses once you're back home where you belong," said Mrs. Cunningham.

Chrissy's sweet words from last night whispered back to him. You make me feel like I belong with you.  

"Well, come on," Mrs. Cunningham said, not sounding much like a mother, but more like the impatient owner of a dog, tired of watching it sniff around in the grass. "Your brother's waiting in the car." 

"Then you'd better go to him," Chrissy replied. "Tell him I said hi."

"What kind of example do you think you're setting for Brian by running away from home?" 

"A good one, of someone who stands up to bullies. I'm not running away, I'm going somewhere safe . "

"Christine Elizabeth Cunningham!"

The use of all three names was meant to cow Chrissy into submission, but she was already sprinting across the parking lot.

Eddie hiked up their bags on his shoulders and darted after her, pivoting to call back, "It was not nice meeting you, Mrs. Cunningham. Hope it never happens again."

He didn't wait for a response. Chrissy had a head start on him, plus she was in better shape, and Eddie was weighed down by not one but two backpacks, so even his longer strides didn't catch him up to her. She waited on the van's passenger side, clearly at the end of her tether, breathing fast and shallow and blinking hard, while he-- idiot --fumbled with his keys. Eddie barely had the door open before she climbed in and burst into tears, big, wracking sobs that cracked his heart wide open.

The backpacks fell to the ground, and he wrapped his arms around her, making shhhh sounds and murmuring comforting nonsense into her hair. Her tears dampened the front of his shirt--probably her snot, too--but he'd be a human handkerchief for her if that was what she needed from him.

"It's okay, Chrissy…You're okay," he said when the torrent of emotion had abated somewhat. He cupped her face in his hands and gently drew it up toward his, thumbs tracing the sticky twin tracks of tears. "That was so freaking metal how you stood up to your mom."

She tried to smile, but it wobbled, and her voice came out pinched. "It didn't feel metal."

"No." Eddie withdrew one hand from her cheek to scrunch the back of his hair before letting his arm fall to his side. "I'll bet it felt like shit."

Ask him how he knew. 

Chrissy wrapped her hands around his wrist and looked up at him with those big, tragic eyes. "Can we go home now, Eddie?"

Home. She thought of his place as home. 

He stooped to brush his lips over her forehead. "Absolutely, sweetheart."

Eddie tossed the bags in the back, slid behind the steering wheel, and started the van. As he peeled out of his parking spots, he resisted the habitual lure of the stereo, assuming Chrissy would prefer a quiet drive, or to talk about what had just happened. But that tired old cliché about assumptions bit him in the ass, and after a moment, Chrissy punched play on the tape deck. 

You're caught in the middle, Ronnie James Dio's impassioned voice swelled through the speakers. 

Just like the way you've always been

Caught in the middle

Helpless again

The song was a banger, and weirdly apt, though Chrissy was far from helpless. 

"You want something more to your taste?" Eddie asked.

Chrissy gave her head a vigorous shake. "I want this!" 

Far be it from Eddie to argue with anyone wanting to drown out a bad moment with some metal. He grinned at her and cranked up the volume.

***

At the trailer, Chrissy headed straight to the kitchen and began to slice apples. That had to be a good sign, right? That she was sticking to their after-school snack routine even after the shit her mom had said? Anyway, Chrissy's aggressive chopping at least gave her a way to work out some of her feelings.

Apples weren't gonna cut it for Eddie, though, not today. He grabbed a bag of Doritos from the pantry and opened the fridge for a soda. As his fingertips brushed the chilled can of Mello Yello, he realized the last thing he needed when he was revved up from meeting Chrissy's mom was caffeine coursing through his veins making him even more jittery. He chose a beer instead. Chrissy eyed it as he drew up a stool at the counter across from where she worked, but if she had a problem with underage day-drinking, she didn't utter a word of judgment. 

Eddie popped the tab and slurped down a big gulp, then ripped open the Doritos. He took out one, popped it in his mouth, and savored the flavor explosion on his tongue, eyelids fluttering and a shudder coursing through his body.

"Cool Ranch is the absolute shit !" he declared. How had he lived before the invention of this delectableness? "Wanna try one?" 

He offered the bag to Chrissy as she perched on the stool beside him. 

"No thanks. But can I, um…have a sip of your beer?"

Eddie's eyebrows went up at that. Chrissy had previously hung with a drinking crowd, but he had a hard time imagining her partaking. This was probably a time when he should be a good influence on a poor lost sheep and tell her she didn't need the help of illicit substances to cope with the shit hand life had dealt her. Considering their whole relationship had begun because Chrissy wanted to buy weed from him, he did not opt to guide her along the straight and narrow path of sobriety.

"Have as many sips as you like," he said, affably, pushing the can toward her.

Chrissy did not like, that was evident before she even took a sip. Her nose scrunched as the smell filled her nostrils--it was freaking adorable --but she bravely forged ahead, making a face that was so utterly revolted that Eddie couldn't help but cackle. 

"Ew," she said, flicking out her tongue and rolling her lips like that would get the taste off. "It tastes like bread, but not in the good way."

Their fingers brushed as she passed the can back to him. 

"For the love of God, Cunningham, please don't tell me you like that Bartles and Jaymes shit, or we might have a dealbreaker."

"I do like those. Should I pack my bags?"

"Nah."

He got lost for a moment, picturing her at a slumber party with a bunch of cheerleaders, getting giggly over fruity wine coolers and convincing themselves they were actually drunk. The darling little rebels .

"But it just goes to show, there's no accounting for taste." Eddie took another swig, letting it roll around in his mouth before he swallowed. "Admittedly, shitty cheap beer." Not that he'd had any other kind. "Serves its purpose, though, if you drink enough. You wanna get high?"

Chrissy shook her head. She'd picked up one of the apple slices and pushed it through the peanut butter, but didn't eat it. 

"So now you've met my mom."

"She's a real…" Bitch, Eddie wanted to say, but that probably wasn't a great thing to say to your girlfriend, even if it was true…even if there was an even more inappropriate word that was also true. He settled on, “A real piece of work. Seriously, she could give Lady Macbeth a run for her money.”

"And that was Mom on best behavior. Can't make a scene in public." 

One of her hands rested on the counter. Eddie reached over and covered it with fake cheese and ranch-dusted fingers. “ I would’ve loved to make a scene in public.” 

Chrissy met his gaze with watery eyes ringed with smudged makeup, but she smiled softly. “I know. It helped me a lot just knowing you wanted to.”

Eddie's heart fluttered arrhythmically before settling into a rapid pace.

I love you. 

I know. 

He squeezed her fingers, relieved that she hadn't felt like he’d abandoned her to her foe, then released her hand to dig into the chip bag.

Chrissy's smile faded, and her gaze drifted absently to her plate of apples. "You know what the really crazy part is? I didn't realize how awful she was until it was an actual monster speaking to me in her words."

"Look," Eddie said around a mouthful. He paused to swallow, then went on, "I know I'm not the brightest bulb in the chandelier, but it took me a long time to realize other kids' dads didn't talk to them like mine did to me. No one wants to believe that their parents are abusive assholes."

At least his dad didn't give a damn what he ate. Of course, that frequently translated to not giving a damn if Eddie ate.

Chrissy fiddled with the apple slice.

Eddie nudged her dangling foot with his. "What about your dad?"

"He…" The word came out choked, and Chrissy blinked rapidly. "He just lets her say those things to me. He never tells her to stop, or tries to make me feel better. He pretends like he doesn't notice."

No wonder Vecna showed Chrissy her father with eyes gouged out and mouth sewn shut. 

"Does she abuse him, too?" Eddie asked. "Not that it's an excuse. Parents should protect their kids."

Chin quivering, Chrissy nodded. Tears slid silently down her cheeks, trailing what remained of her mascara. Eddie put his arm around her. His own throat felt tight at the memories that pushed forward. He picked up his beer and took a long drink, swallowing them down.

"What about your brother?"

"Mom puts a lot of pressure on Brian to be a star athlete and make good grades, but he can't do anything wrong in her eyes. He never has any consequences. She definitely doesn't tell him what he can and can't eat."

"Favoritism and sexist double standards," Eddie growled. "That fucking blows, Chrissy."

He drained the last of the beer, and the empty can clinked on the counter. 

"I always thought kids who lived in nice houses with parents who held down good jobs and went to church and planted flowers didn't deal with this bullshit. Turns out I was wrong." He squeezed Chrissy's shoulder, let his fingers slide down her sleeve. "I wish I wasn't."

She leaned into him, sniffling, then sat up and wiped her cheeks. "What sucks the most is when she's right." 

"Chrissy." Swiveling on his stool, Eddie placed his hands on both her shoulders, head bent to look her straight in the eyes. "You are not ...puffy, or whatever the fuck your mom said. I mean, maybe just a little, around your eyes, but that's because you've been crying. Not from eating spaghetti two days in a row."

To his surprise, Chrissy smiled a little. Even more astonishingly, to the extent that he nearly fell off his stool, she leaned in and pressed her lips to his. 

"I didn't mean about that," Chrissy said. "Though…it's hard not to believe her."

Determined as Eddie was to make her believe him --even more determined than he was to graduate--he had a feeling deep in his gut that this problem wasn't going to be solved by Chrissy having a boyfriend who could convince her she was beautiful.

He let go of her shoulders and took her hands, drawing them between his knees. "Maybe that's something Ms. Kelley can help you with? Or she could put you in touch with someone who can? Like a therapist or whatever?"

"Yeah," Chrissy said, looking like she was really taking this to heart. "Maybe." 

"But she can definitely help with the college stuff. That's like, her whole thing." 

Chrissy picked up an apple slice and took a small bite. 

Eddie looked away, not wanting to make her self-conscious, and grabbed a handful of Doritos. "What are you doing after graduation?" 

The question had been simmering on the back-burner of his mind ever since the end of his own meeting with Ms. Kelley and suddenly boiled over. It would be good to know, before he inevitably found it impossible to keep declarations of his undying love inside, just how long-term their current arrangement was. More importantly, talking through her options might help Chrissy feel, if not better, less bad. 

"I have a summer at the rec center," she said.

"The Hawkins rec?" Eddie asked around a mouthful of chips. Relief washed over him as Chrissy nodded. He'd have her for the summer, at least. "Doing what?"

"Teaching little kids gymnastics."

"Hell, yeah! You teach those future cheerleaders to fly!"

Amusement danced in her eyes as she took another bite of apple. "Mostly I teach them not to fall off the balance beam and maybe do a cartwheel with their legs straight." 

"Well, that sounds adorable as hell. I might just have to sneak in and watch a class." This made her smile stretch, and he wanted to keep cheering her up, so he pulled an exaggerated frown, scrunching his eyebrows together, and made a show of rubbing his chin. " Hm. But under what pretense would I go to a rec center? I do a grand total of zero athletic things. I couldn't even do a cartwheel with my legs straight. Maybe you could give me lessons." She'd have to touch him a lot…"Is there, like, an upper age limit on these classes?" 

He was used to being older than his classmates, and he was just clowning about this, but picturing himself in a gymnastics class with a bunch of four-year-olds was truly absurd, even for him. 

All at once, he realized she was staring at him as he babbled, her head tilted. The back of his neck prickled with warmth.

"Sorry, that got weird."

"No!" Chrissy said. "It's just…" She grinned. "Eddie Munson likes kids." 

"What? No! How dare you cast these aspersions!" But his mock-outrage melted under her warm, laughing gaze. "Yeah, okay," he admitted. "Just don't tell anyone. It'll ruin my carefully curated mean and scary image."

"I like kids, too." 

Eddie didn't think the breathy quality to her voice was his imagination. Or her face suddenly going red as she polished off her apple slice and reached for another. Presumably for distraction, but hey, whatever kept her eating.

"Would you ever want to be, like, a full-time gymnastics coach?" Eddie asked, because this was supposed to be about her and her ability to make her own decisions about her future.

Chrissy finished chewing behind her hand. "I can do a little tumbling, but I'm not that good, for one. But gymnastics parents…some of them are worse than my mom."

Eddie gave a full-body shudder and faked falling off his stool. When he'd clambered back on, he asked, "What about college?" 

Her gaze fixed on a chip in the plate as she replied, "I auditioned for a few cheer programs and, um, got accepted."

Although Eddie's heart plummeted at the thought of her going away in the fall, he wasn't about to let Chrissy sense that.

"Fuck yeah, Cunningham!" Long distance relationships could work. Or he could follow her to…wherever. There was nothing for him in Hawkins. Maybe a college town would have an actual music scene. "Which ones?"

"Indiana State…Purdue…and, um, Notre Dame."

"Notre Dame. Wow ." Even if Eddie didn't want her to go away, that was metal as hell. That's right, my girlfriend goes to Notre Fucking Dame!  

Chrissy's eyes met his again, a conspiratorial glimmer sparkling there now. "Want to know something?"

"Do you even have to ask?"

"Those were schools Jason thought would scout him for basketball." The curl of her mouth was absolutely wicked . "None of them did. In fact, no one scouted him."

Eddie chortled, giving a slow clap as he writhed on his stool, in danger of actually falling off this time. He was being sooooo petty, but he did not give one fuck. Who'd have thought Carver would come out of high school without a college scholarship or a girlfriend, while Eddie had one of those things? 

If Carver had gotten a scholarship, it probably would have been revoked because of his current disciplinary problems.

When he couldn't laugh anymore, Eddie wiped away his tears. "So which one did you choose?"

"None of them."

He sat up straight, as surprised by her decisiveness as by the answer itself. 

"I don't want to cheer," she went on. "I don't think it would be healthy for me. And even if it was, I didn't get any scholarships."

"But your parents can afford it, right?" 

He'd seen their house, their cars. Chrissy's mom didn't even work.

"I don't think they'll pay if I don't play by their rules. Which are be a cheerleader and marry Jason. Or if not Jason, someone like him."

"Fuck them. There are student jobs, right? Loans? You could put yourself through college."

"I guess, but…I don't know…It seems kind of crazy to spend all that money when I don't even know what I want to study. For now I'd rather stay here, work at the rec, take some community college classes. Ms. Kelley says I can always transfer credits later. And until then…" She nudged his foot. "…I could hang out with you."

"Who am I to argue with that?" 

Aside from the fact that if he loved her--which he did--he wouldn't let her throw her ambitions away for the likes of him. But thoughts like that were really presumptuous and gave himself too much importance.  

"You have options, Chrissy, that’s all I’m saying. Do you ever want to get married?” 

Holy fucking shit he did not mean to say that. 

“...I mean, since you changed your mind about saving sex for marriage." 

Fuck . What a fucking fumble.

Chrissy had gone red as the skin of her apple, but her gaze only wavered from his for a split-second before it returned, along with a shy smile. 

"Yeah," she said and tucked some loose hair behind her ear.

Eddie swallowed a hard knot in his throat. "Just not to someone like Carver." 

"God no. Like, his polar opposite."

"Me too."

"I'm glad neither of us wants to marry Jason." 

Eddie barked out a laugh. 

"Don't worry," Chrissy said. "I won't tell anyone and ruin your reputation." 

He put a hand to his heart. "You have my undying gratitude."

Chrissy hopped down from her stool and carried her plate of mostly uneaten apples to the fridge. "Homework time?"

Eddie crammed a few last Doritos into his mouth before rolling up the nearly-empty bag. "There's just one more thing we need to discuss."

"What's that?" She gave him a quizzical look as he put the chips in the pantry and tossed his empty beer can in the trash. 

He leaned against the pantry door and ran a hand through his hair, fluffing it, then struck what he hoped was an alluring pose. One hundred precent aware that he was being a vain piece of shit, he gave zero fucks. 

"You like how I look, huh?" 

Chapter Text

Eddie rang the Wheelers' doorbell, then stepped back a non-creepy distance with his duffel bag to wait for someone to answer, slipping his free hand into Chrissy's. She smiled up at him, lips shiny under the porch light with gloss freshly applied in the van, and he grinned back at her as he gave in to the irresistible urge (not that he even tried to resist) to kiss them. 

God, he thought with a groan, how were her lips always so soft and smooth, never dry or chapped? (Well, lip gloss-- doy .) It didn't smell like real cherries (Who could afford those, anyway?), but it had skyrocketed to the top of Eddie's list of favorite scents. Letting go of her hand so he could cup her chin, he darted out his tongue, tracing her lips, to taste it. Mm… just like candy, or those cherries that came in a jar. Or a cherry Coke. (Fun fact: he could tie the stems in a knot with his tongue.)

"What the hell, dude?" 

Not peeling his lips fully from Chrissy's, Eddie slid an eye sideways and saw a dark-haired teen glaring from the now open doorway.

"Look, Wheeler…" Eddie's fingertips grazed Chrissy's neck as he reluctantly released her, adjusting his other hand's grip on his duffel bag, "You were probably hoping I was the pizza guy, but is that any way to greet your--"

"I thought we agreed," Mike cut him off. "No girlfriends at Hellfire?"

"Um, you may have said that." Eddie drew himself up to make the most of the very slight height advantage he had over the lanky freshman, raising his eyebrows for good measure. " I did not agree to it. And just who's the dungeon master here?"

"Whose house is this?" Mike tossed his shaggy hair out of his face.

This fucking kid. Eddie rolled his eyes toward Chrissy, who pressed her fingers to her lips, as if physically holding back laughter. 

"Show me your name on that mortgage," Eddie said, "and I'll play by your rules. But I swear to God, if you think I won't replace you so fast with Lady Applejack--"

"She's not even in freaking high school!" Mike exploded.

"Um…" Chrissy angled her body around Eddie's. "I'm actually here to hang out with Nancy."

"Yeah," came Nancy's voice from behind her brother, a hand coming into view as it thwacked him on the back of the head. "So stop being such a little twerp."

Although Eddie had no experience with sibling dynamics to inform him, he was pretty sure Mike wasn't going to change his attitude because his older sister berated him in front of people. On the other hand, at least Mike's ire was now mainly directed at Nancy and not Eddie. 

Ignoring Mike's stink eye, Nancy pushed past to hug Chrissy. Girls were so cute like that, hugging hello even if they'd just seen each other, like, mere hours ago in the school cafeteria. Dudes should take note. Eddie did take note, and as soon as the girls had gone inside, he wrapped Mike in a bear hug, pinning his arms at his sides.

"If I apologize for being a dick about Chrissy, will you let me go?" Mike sounded like he was being crushed to death by a boa constrictor.

Eddie tousled the mop of dark hair, then released him. "She didn't just come to hang out with Nancy," he said, thrusting the duffel bag into Mike's arms.

He thought he might have heard a groan, but other than that, Mike didn't make a peep as he followed Eddie to the basement.

It wasn't the auditorium at Hawkins High--the only place in that institution of brainwashing and torture Eddie would miss. The Wheelers' house had a distinct lack of dramatic lighting and medieval-looking props, but Eddie couldn't complain about the intimate glow of lamps in the low-ceilinged, cluttered space. They pushed a couple of rickety card tables up against an old breakfast tablet o accommodate their group of eight and arranged a hodgepodge of metal and plastic folding chairs around it. Mike had the good sense to place the single dining chair with arms at the head of the table for the DM, which took him off Eddie's shit list. As they arranged everything, Mike chattered about past campaigns with his friends and asked Eddie for DM tips, the earlier tension forgotten. The doorbell chimed, and he loped back upstairs to let the other guys in. 

With a sigh, Eddie lowered himself into the chair with only a fleeting wistful thought of his throne at school. He tapped his rings against the arms, then unzipped his bag and began to set up his screen and books and review the campaign notes he'd scribbled in snatches of free time. A part of him had wondered, as they trudged through the Upside Down, whether he'd actually be able to play a monster-fighting game again after fighting real ones more terrifying than any he could ever imagine, but he'd been looking forward to this all week, ever since Chrissy surprised him by including Friday night Hellfire Club and Saturday Corroded Coffin practice on his schedule (complete with hearts over the i's in Hellfire and Coffin ). 

"We have two months of school left," Chrissy had told him. "You have to take breaks, Eddie. You're allowed to have fun ."

"All homework and no playing guitar and D&D makes Eddie a dull boy, huh?"

She'd laughed softly and rubbed her foot against his under the dinette where they sat up too late making his schedule. "I don't think you could ever be dull."

"Bored, but never boring, that's me." His grin had faded, and he returned her foot nudge. "But what about you? Are you going to have any fun?"

"With you? Always."

He'd meant of the extracurricular variety--though he couldn't argue with her wanting to have a good time with him. Still, he'd been relieved when she told him Nancy invited her over on Hellfire night. She had cheerleading practice during the gym period, even if after-school events were temporarily suspended. But Chrissy's weekends were usually filled with sleepovers or parties with friends or church (ew), and Eddie worried that breaking up with Jason and being with him had wrecked her social life. Chrissy had confessed she felt weird hanging out with her old crowd because there was just so much she couldn't tell them about what had happened to her during spring break.

Eddie could relate to that. He couldn't explain to his bandmates the extraordinary circumstances that brought him and Chrissy together. He'd had to settle for, "Trust me, you'd never believe it if I tried to explain. I'm not sure I believe it myself."  That had sufficed--which was honestly kind of lame for a bunch of D&D-playing nerds, but whatever. Eddie also couldn't tell them that the serial killer was no longer on the loose in Hawkins (or that he'd been caught with the power of heavy metal) and that they'd be safe playing their Tuesday night gigs at the Hideout, so for now they were taking a break from performances. But their bond had been forged in the fires of Hawkins Middle School, and all the demons in the Upside Down couldn't break that. 

The three of them plus Henderson, Sinclair, the Byers kid who'd transferred back for the last two months of school, and of course Wheeler, soon filled the basement, and the final campaign of Eddie's high school career began--a bittersweet thought even though he'd had more time in high school than most. Chrissy and Nancy made an appearance as the Party contemplated their first action, but Mike was too absorbed in the decision-making process to protest. Or maybe it was because the girls were carrying pizza boxes. 

Eddie sprang from his chair to meet Chrissy on the stairs, snatching the stack of boxes from her. "Allow me, my lady," he said, in dashing tones, only to immediately add, "Um, not that I don't think you're an independent woman capable of carrying pizza downstairs." 

Chrissy giggled. "Thank you, kind sir."

"Chivalry and feminism," Nancy said. 

"I'm sure one of these chuckleheads'll give you a hand if you need one," Eddie said, throwing a pointed glance at the D&D players as he deposited the pizzas on the coffee table.

Gareth and Shawn got up, but Nancy shook her head with a laugh. "I'm good, guys."

Shawn lowered himself back into his chair, but Gareth said, "I was just gonna get pizza."

"Dude, we haven't even rolled yet," Mike said.

Unless you counted Gareth’s eyes, but the drummer returned to the table. Mike could be annoying, but he was also authoritative, capable of keeping the others on task. The Party decided on their strategy, rolled, Eddie read the results, then declared a short break to sustain themselves for the adventure ahead. 

Within minutes, they were back at the table with soda cans and paper plates piled with pizza. The girls stayed downstairs, ostensibly to eat, but while Nancy sat on the sagging sofa, Chrissy stood at Eddie's shoulder. As he read, he was aware of her dabbing grease off her slice with a paper towel. She did eat it, though she picked off the pepperonis and offered them to him, and left the crust, which he also ate. Better than nothing, right? He snaked an arm behind her, pulling her to perch on his knee, then looked down the table and met Mike's eye, daring the teen to say something about PDA.

Mike said nothing, but Dustin mused, "Is there anything more inspiring than a dungeon master in love?" His grin was shit-eating, and dear God that tone was just insufferable--Eddie almost wished Harington was here to commiserate--but damn if that little turd wasn't…sincere.

Jeff threw back his head and hooted. "Man, that sounds like the title of an erotic novel."

The entire Party erupted with laughter. So did Chrissy, though her cheeks flushed.

"Bet you'd like that, wouldn't you, Eddie?" asked Shawn. "To inspire an erotic novel?"

"Hell yeah!"

Chrissy was still laughing, shaking in Eddie's lap, but she buried her face against his shoulder. 

"Think that's our cue to go, Chris?" asked Nancy. 

"Definitely yes." 

Eddie didn't plead with her to stay, even jokingly, knowing he'd already pushed the envelope with Mike. He squeezed Chrissy's hip as she slid off his lap and watched the strawberry blonde ponytail bob as she scurried upstairs behind Nancy. Halfway up Chrissy turned back, pressed her fingers to her mouth, kissed them, then puckered her full lips to blow the kiss back at Eddie. He caught it against his chest and flopped back in his chair, letting his tongue roll out of his mouth. Cracking one eye open to gauge her reaction, he was rewarded with the sight of her shaking her head, even as her beautiful eyes danced with amusement.

As soon as she was gone, Lucas and Mike started blowing noisy kisses at Eddie, which he batted away like demognats. Will watched with a slightly reddened face, laughing shyly, apparently not comfortable enough yet with the older guys in the group to participate in the freshmen's' antics. Or maybe he just had a proper respect for the DM, or wasn't a buffoon. Good boy.

"I dunno if a DM in love is inspiring ," said Jeff, rubbing his chin as he contemplated Eddie down the table, "so much as fucking idiotic."

"Yeah, well, I've always been idiotic," said Eddie, drumming his palms on the table. "And you dipshits love me anyway."

"Not as much as Chrissy does!" Dustin crowed, again with the grin and the tone. 

This time, Eddie thought, flipping the page in his notebook as his heart raced, he could only hope the little egomaniac was right.

***

After the game, Eddie and the Corroded Coffin half of Hellfire Club emerged from the basement to find Mrs. Wheeler in the kitchen, humming along with a small counter radio. 

One of these crazy old nights

We're gonna find out, pretty mama

What turns on your lights

She could have worse musical taste than the Eagles…for a mom.

"Do you boys need more snacks down there?" she asked, smiling over her shoulder at them. "I just put the leftover pizza in the fridge." 

"We're just heading out." Jeff jerked a thumb toward the foyer. "Thanks for hosting us, Mrs. Wheeler." 

"Your chocolate chip cookies changed my life," said Gareth, who apparently hadn't been raised by wolves, after all.

With a heartfelt nod of agreement, Shawn said, "Stay tuned next week, same bat time, same bat channel."

"You're welcome any time," Mrs. Wheeler called as they saw themselves out. 

Eddie lingered in the kitchen, tapping fingers on the burnt orange island countertop. He wasn't in the habit of chatting with friends' parents--unless the other day's encounter with Chrissy's mom counted--but it seemed rude to just cut and run upstairs looking for his girlfriend. And he was 99.9% positive this chat would be more pleasant than that one.

"Did you say there was leftover pizza?" he asked. 

"Mmm-hmm." Mrs. Wheeler moved toward the fridge. "Do you want--?"

"No, I just wasn't sure I heard you right. There were eight high school boys in the house and you have leftovers ?"

She laughed--this was definitely not the effect he usually had on parents, on the rare occasions he couldn't avoid talking to them. "Kind of miraculous, huh?"

"Or is it…" Eddie gasped--which made Mrs. Wheeler's eyebrows dart upward--covered his mouth, and stage-whispered, "...witchcraft?"

Her expression relaxed into amusement, and as she turned back to her dishes, he moved around the island, leaning back on one elbow, and went on at normal volume. "I mean, you did just allow a game of Dungeons and Dragons to be played in your house. You, uh, basically opened the front door and invited Satan in." 

Apparently Satan multiplied pizza--like the loaves and fishes. Yeah, Eddie had been to Sunday school a few times. He'd skimmed the Bible. Most of it was boring--or disturbing--but some of it was actually pretty metal. 

"Please ." Mrs. Wheeler glanced over her shoulder at Eddie. "Mike and his friends have been playing Dungeons and Dragons for years. And honestly, I don't know if Satan would be any worse than a basement full of middle school boys." 

Eddie cackled, clapping his hands as he sidled alongside her at the sink. He picked up a dish towel from the counter and held out his hand for a wine glass she'd just rinsed. 

"I wish all Mike's friends were like this," she said, smiling warmly. The way Ms. Kelley had.  

"Believe me, I'm usually not." Eddie carefully wiped the delicate glass. Or was it actual crystal? Chrissy was getting him in the habit of cleaning up the kitchen after they cooked together, though. A leopard could change its spots, or whatever. "It's really cool of you to let us have Hellfire Club here, after the stuff people said about us last week."

Mrs. Wheeler pulled her hands out of the dishwater, tugged off the rubber gloves she wore, and turned to face him. "Eddie, I want you to know, Ted and I never believed any of those absurd things Jason Carver said. Mike thinks you're the coolest--" (Clearly, she hadn't overheard any of the times he'd been a little shit tonight.) "--and we're so glad he's got older friends in school he can look up to."

Eddie felt his ears grow hot beneath his hair. He twisted the ends in his fingers. Six years older, but who was counting? "Uh, thanks…That means a lot, Mrs. Wheeler." 

It did, but he wasn't sure he deserved her praise. He'd flunked his senior year twice. He sold drugs to kids...Not her kid, but definitely some in Mike's grade… 

He wanted to deserve it, though. He liked when the little sheepies looked up to him. Apparently he liked the idea of their parents thinking he was a positive role model.

Which reminded him of why he'd come upstairs in the first place.

"Do you know where Chrissy went?"

"She's in Nancy's room," Mrs. Wheeler said, draping the towel over the dishwasher door handle. "First room on the right at the top of the stairs." 

Eddie remembered where Nancy's room was, but as far as Mrs. Wheeler knew, this was the first time he'd been in their house. It was the first time he'd been anywhere but the basement in the Rightside Up version.

He nodded his thanks and beat a hasty retreat from the kitchen, but she followed and said, "What a sweet, pretty girl Chrissy is." 

Eddie paused with a foot on the stairs and a hand on the banister and grinned. " Isn't she? Absolutely the sweetest and the prettiest." 

Of course, Mrs. Wheeler probably thought her own daughter was those things, but she didn't argue, just smiled prettily herself. 

And I am the luckiest son of a bitch. 

Despite his eagerness to find Chrissy and take her home, Eddie took his time going up the stairs, pausing to look at the pictures hung on both sides of the wallpapered hallway. Baby photos, school pictures, family portraits with just Nancy, then with a fat black-haired baby he couldn't believe had grown up to be gangly Mike, then with the third kid he'd honestly forgotten they had until now. (What was her name? They never talked about her.) Collage frames held snapshots in all shapes and sizes of the kids in party hats blowing out birthday candles, tearing open piles of Christmas presents by a brightly-lit tree, hugging Mickey and Minnie Mouse in front of a fairytale castle. At the top of the stairs hung a faded photo of a blonde bride and a bespectacled groom who didn't quite look like they belonged together feeding each other wedding cake.

What pictures decorated the halls of the Cunningham house? The smiling faces would only be masks for what life in that family was really like. Eddie ached a little, wishing Chrissy had parents as supportive of her as the Wheelers were of Nancy, Mike, and their baby sister. 

There were no pictures like this in the Munson trailer. Not in any of the dumps where Eddie lived before Wayne took him in, either. Probably for the best. Who wanted a sorry childhood like Eddie's documented with pictorial evidence? He didn't even want to remember most of the images that were imprinted on his brain.

But what about someday? Could he have what the Wheelers had? Not a four-bedroom house with a giant basement--he didn't have delusions of grandeur. (But hey, who knew? if Corroded Coffin made it, maybe he could have all this and so fucking much more.) A home , though, with pictures of his wife and kids on every wall, and freshly-baked cookies and friends over every Friday night…He'd trade every band poster he had for that. 

(And hell yeah, he'd take them all to Disneyland or Disney World or whichever one in a heartbeat . He'd wear Mickey Mouse ears, too--but only because Chrissy would insist.)

A slat of light beamed from Nancy's partially open door onto the floor, beckoning Eddie along with the siren call of girlish giggling. The laughter was underscored by synthy pop music, which made him want to stab out his eardrums, except not really, because then he'd never get to hear Iron Maiden's upcoming album. He raised a hand to knock on the door, only to hesitate when he heard Chrissy's voice through her laughter. 

"...he threw the spaghetti at the wall to check if it was done enough. You know, because that's what they do on TV." 

Another eruption of giggles. Not very long ago, Eddie would have been mortified to hear two of the most popular girls at Hawkins High talking about him and laughing , whether he wanted to admit it or not . Now, he rubbed the back of his prickly hot neck, but he wasn't really embarrassed; he'd heard the affection in Chrissy's voice as she told Nancy about his kitchen escapades.

"Aw, but that's really cute," Nancy said. "And sweet? Eddie Munson, domestic god. Who would've thought?"

Eddie stifled a chortle of his own, but indulged in a puff of his chest. He'd always wanted to be a rock god, but this had its own appeal.

"Sounds like he's a great boyfriend," Nancy said.

"He is," Chrissy replied. "Eddie's definitely…a keeper."

A keeper . His heartbeat performed a drum solo as wildly rambunctious as anything Gareth ever pounded out on his kit. Eddie was amazed the girls couldn't hear. It also wasn't so loud that he didn't catch Nancy's next question.

"Has he taken you on an actual date?"

Well shit. 

The drum solo came to an abrupt end. Eddie was in love with Chrissy, she was living at his place…hell, they'd even danced around the subject of marriage …all in the span of two weeks. But he hadn't taken her out to dinner or a movie or anything normal high school boyfriends did. Not that anyone would mistake him for a normal high school boyfriend, nor did he particularly want them to. Still, he didn't want her to change her mind about him being a keeper. Get your shit together, Munson! he told himself, squeezing his fingers into a fist. 

Eddie knocked on the door, pushed it further open, and poked his head in, willing himself not to burst into flames and melt like an Indiana Jones villain at being in such close proximity to pop music. 

How will I know if he really loves me?

I say a prayer with every heartbeat

I fall in love whenever we meet

I'm asking you what you know about these things…

Kind of on the nose, but Whitney did have a point.

"Eddie!" Chrissy had been lying on her stomach on the bed, but she bounced up onto her knees at the sight of him. It made Eddie feel like bouncing, too. (God forbid it was the catchy dance beat getting to him…) He never bounced--unless headbanging counted?

"Sorry to intrude on the female sanctum." As he stepped further into the bedroom, he glanced at Nancy, perched primly on the window seat, knees tucked against her chest. "Your room was way more metal in the Upside Down, by the way." 

She lifted her eyebrows. "You're forgetting that this version's the one with the guns." 

His eyes darted down to the pastel pink and blue ruffled bed skirt. Were they under there?

"Is your game finished?" Chrissy asked. The bedsprings creaked as she got off the bed and padded across the carpet to wrap her arms around his waist. "I thought it would take longer. Or was it faster since I wasn't there distracting you?"

Falling in love is so bittersweet

This love is strong, why do I feel weak?

"You weren't distracting me, sweetheart, the guys are just dickheads." Eddie brushed her bangs back and kissed the bridge of her nose, fully aware Nancy was watching, but not caring. "I still have some reading to do, so we should probably head home. Unless you want to hang out a little longer?"

Chrissy bounced up on her toes, and Eddie tilted his face to accommodate her pressing her lips to his cheek. "We can go!"

Nancy got up from the window seat and stopped the tape player on the dresser. (Thank God.) "Reading on a Friday night? That's dedication."

"Better watch out, Wheeler, I'm gonna slide past you in the class rankings. You'll loooove my valedictory address."

"Haven't we already heard it in the cafeteria?" 

Chrissy pressed her face into Eddie's chest to smother her laughter, as if he couldn't feel her shaking. 

As Nancy moved around the bed, Eddie raised his hands. "I'm sorry, just please don't shoot me." 

She rolled her eyes, but the hint of a smirk gave her away as she went to her tidy little desk. "You're in Kaminsky's chemistry class, right? Do you want to borrow my flashcards?"

"The fuck, Wheeler?" Eddie took a step backward as she came at him with a familiar stack of index cards. "Did you bring those back from the Upside Down?"

Nancy's eyes went round, then the brief horror gave way to a chuff of laughter. "No! These are the normal ones. I kept them." 

Eddie eyed her as he warily accepted the small rubber banded bundle. "Since 1983." 

"I worked so hard on them," Nancy said with a little shrug, "and I thought they might help Mike someday."

She kept guns under her bed and flashcards from classes she'd passed years ago. 

"You're a freak, Nancy Wheeler, you know that?" Eddie asked. 

"Which from you is a compliment, right?" Nancy twitched a bemused grin. 

"The very highest," Chrissy assured her. 

"Thanks." Eddie slapped the notecards against his palm before sliding them into the back pocket of his jeans. "These, um, will be really helpful?"

But how did she know he was taking chem from Kaminsky? And why ?

Back in the kitchen, Mrs. Wheeler was gone, and the four freshmen gathered around the island, devouring the leftover pizza straight from the box. 

"Want some?" Eddie asked Chrissy, remembering she'd only eaten one small slice. She had to be hungry, and there wasn't a lot back home; grocery shopping was on the weekend agenda.

Chrissy worried at her lower lip, then looked up at him, uncertainty clear in her big blue eyes. "Cold?"

Nancy laughed softly. "We do have a microwave."

"Cold pizza's the shit," Eddie said, grabbing a smallish piece before these vultures could pick the corpse clean. "Especially for breakfast." 

Chrissy looked skeptical, but took the slice from him. "Do you want my pepperonis?" 

Eddie picked one off and popped it into his mouth. "I was hoping you'd ask."

"I'll make sure my mom orders a plain cheese pizza next week," Mike said. "If you come again."

Eddie forgave him for all his earlier sins. 

"So, Eddie," Dustin said, "we were just discussing lines of succession."

"Succession?" Chrissy echoed.

"Who will take over as DM when Eddie graduates," Lucas explained.

Eddie appreciated him saying when , not if. 

"Does Hellfire Club have bylaws?" Dustin asked. "What's the protocol for selecting the new DM?"

Chrissy handed Eddie a pepperoni, which he popped into his mouth. As he chewed, he scrunched the back of his hair, stopping too late when he remembered the pizza grease on his fingers. 

"Um, I mean, I started Hellfire, and I've always been the DM. And we only have bylaws in the sense that we have laws that are made by me."

"So you'll just choose your successor?" Lucas archedsaid, arching one an eyebrow.

Mike gulped down the huge bite of pizza he'd just taken and protested, "No way, that's not fair!" So much for the twerpy attitude vanishing. "We should vote."

" Hmm ," Dustin mused. "I'd probably nominate Gareth or Shawn since they have seniority."

"Seriously, dude?" Mike said. "When I was your DM for all of middle school?"

Flashing a grin at Eddie, Dustin said, "It's just so rewarding to wind him up!"

"Isn't it, though?" Nancy agreed.

"I think we have a bigger problem than succession," Lucas said, diplomatically, and all eyes turned to him. "Convincing Principal Higgins to allow Hellfire back on campus."

Before they could discuss it further, the doorbell rang. Nancy hurried to answer it, exchanging words with a disgruntled-sounding Mr. Wheeler who was watching TV in the living room. Unsurprisingly, Nancy won the dispute and returned a moment later with Steve and Robin.

"Pizza!" Robin screeched, lunging at the island. "Thank God, I'm starving ." She snatched the last piece and took a huge bite. "Mm…cold piffa's da beft ."

"The shit," Chrissy said, which made Robin snort and Eddie squeeze her hip.

Steve sighed at the empty pizza box. 

"Do you want what's left of mine?" Chrissy offered him a very unappetizing-looking half a slice with little imprints of her teeth and puckered spots in the cheese where the pepperonis used to be. Unappetizing to anyone who wasn't Eddie, anyway. 

Steve waved her off and grabbed a couple of chocolate chip cookies from the plate Nancy brought over--Eddie was pleased to see that Chrissy resumed eating her slice--then opened the fridge and took out a carton of milk. 

"Go ahead, make yourself at home," Nancy said, voice absolutely dripping with sarcasm. Harington had not , it appeared, made any progress in winning her back.

"It does a body good, so I hear." Eddie didn't know why he said it--he seldom knew why he said anything--but it popped into his head, so he did. Maybe it would be helpful. You never knew.

Steve had just taken a glass out of the cupboard and filled it with milk, raising it to Eddie as he returned the carton to the fridge. "I feel kind of out of place, being the only guy here not wearing a matching shirt."

"You know, Eddie," Robin said, "I think it's really funny how you always rant about high school cliques while you guys literally call yourselves a club and wear uniforms on game days."

"They're not uniforms!" cried Mike. 

"What's wrong with uniforms?" Lucas asked. 

"Uniforms can be cute," Chrissy said. 

Eddie took offense to the term himself, but he had to agree with Chrissy: some uniforms were, indeed, very cute, especially if they featured little pleated skirts that frequently showed off the bright green bloomers underneath. But there was a bigger issue here.

He cocked his head at Robin. "Why do I get the feeling that when you say funny , you don't mean haha ?"

"Because she means you're kind of a hypocrite," said Harrington. 

The freshmen were about to riot, and Chrissy choked on her pizza. Eddie patted her back, but she squeaked, "I'm okay!"

"Just a teensy hypocrite." Robin gestured with her thumb and index finger.

"She has a point," said Sinclair. 

Eddie wheeled on him. "Oh, you think so, huh?"

"You're probably pickier about who you let into Hellfire than Coach Johnson is about the basketball team."

"At least the basketball team has benchwarmers," Steve commented.

"Hellfire has a benchwarmer," Eddie hissed. "I may pull her up to the starting lineup and bench Sinclair."

"It's rewarding to wind him up, too, isn't it?" Dustin asked. 

"I'm not wound up," Eddie argued.

Robin patted him on the shoulder on her way to the cookie plate. "Keep telling yourself that, buddy."

He wasn't actually upset about any of it, not even a little bit. It was weird to him that after all this time pitting himself against the whole rest of Hawkins High (yeah, Robin and Steve were right), it actually mattered to him what people--at least the ones in this room--thought of him. That he was glad to have friends who were just…regular students. Maybe he wasn't such a freak? 

(But if not, what was he?)

"So who won tonight?" Robin asked.

Eddie opened his mouth to explain that wasn't how D&D worked, like, at all, but Dustin got there first. Which was good, since Eddie and Chrissy really needed to vamoose. Just as he leaned in to murmer to her that he was going to go grab his gear from the basement, he made eye contact with Will, who licked his lips and looked desperate to say something. Who was Eddie not to let him say it, when the kid had been excruciatingly quiet most of the night?

"I really like the campaign so far," Will said. "Mike told me you were an awesome DM, and he was right."

"Ladies and gentlemen," Eddie boomed, cutting off the explanation Dustin was still giving to Robin--who, frankly, looked grateful--"if I may have your attention--I do hereby name Will Byers my successor in the Hellfire Club!" He winked at Will. "Flattery works with me." 

"Oh, um, I don't want to be--" Will's eyes darted away, and color tinged his cheeks. 

Damn, this sad little sheepie was a tough one to bring into the fold.

"I'm just kidding," Eddie said. "I mean, not about the flattery."

Chrissy leaned conspiratorially toward Will and said, "He'll do anything if you flatter him a little."

Eddie did not even try to deny it.

"Seriously, thanks, dude," he said. "I didn't feel as prepared tonight as I like to be? Thanks to spending all spring break fighting actual monsters when I'd planned to do a lot of writing." He noticed a greasy smudge on his skull ring, and buffed at it with the pad of his thumb. "Oh, and then there's this little thing called, graduating from high school. "

"He's just being modest!" said Dustin.

Yeeeeeeah no one ever accused Eddie of that before.

"Eddie's wonderful hyperactive brain is capable of some truly impressive multitasking. He managed to get a girlfriend while fighting monsters, so he was probably writing a campaign in his head while we walked through the Upside Down."

"It's too bad you're graduating," Will said, at ease again. Slightly. "I mean, it's good! I just wish I'd gotten to be in Hellfire with you a little longer."

"Well, uh, I'm not going anywhere, at least not right away. We can do a summer campaign."

Steve leaned back against the counter, glass of milk in hand. He could've been on one of the goddamn posters, with that hair and the whole…demeanor. "You got a job lined up, Munson? I mean, other than your current one, which honestly probably pays a lot better than mine."

What a weird thought, but depressingly not untrue. "Definitely more likely to land my ass in jail, though." 

Chrissy gave a little gasp at that. Eddie put his arm around her and squeezed her hip, hoping somehow that communicated that he wasn't going to keep doing that job. He hadn't consciously decided that before now, but after what Mrs. Wheeler had said about the kids looking up to him, what choice did he have? He noticed that at some point, Lucas, Mike, and Will had left the kitchen; he heard their voices and the 8-bit music from the Atari in the basement. At least they weren't a party to this particular discussion topic. But Dustin was still here, and he was the one Eddie least wanted to disappoint. 

"I thought I'd wait till I've got the ol' diploma to start applying," Eddie said. "See if it, I dunno, helps or whatever?"

"Good plan," Nancy said.

It was barely a plan, but Eddie appreciated the kindess. 

"I could probably talk Keith into giving you some shifts at Family Video," said Robin. "And he'll need someone full-time when I leave for college."

"Not sure I'm the kind of guy who gets hired at places with family in the name, with or without a diploma."

"Oh you definitely don't need one to work there," Steve said. "No offense, but--"

" No offense never comes before a sentence that isn't offensive," said Nancy. 

Steve glared at her, then returned his attention to Eddie. "I'm genuinely curious. Why go through senior year three times? You could've gotten your GED or a decent job. Plenty of people in Hawkins do."

"Steve!" Robin whacked him in the shoulder. "That is totally offensive."

"What did I say?" Nancy muttered.

"And you're actually a really great guitar player?" Steve went on, like they hadn't interrupted him. "I mean, metal's not my thing, but even I know you have talent? You could go somewhere with that? Fuck high school." He shrugged. "That's all I'm saying."

"I, uh, don't disagree with that sentiment at all," Eddie said. "It's, like, part of my personal manifesto. I guess I just…" He'd actually never asked himself this question before. He twisted the ring on his right hand as he tried to come up with an answer. "I dunno, just didn't want to be a dropout? On top of everything else?"

After that, no one said anything for what probably wasn't a very long time even though Eddie felt like he lost years of his life, until he finally broke the silence himself. 

"And on that note…my homework awaits."

He bounded down the stairs to grab his bag, which he'd thankfully already packed, bid the freshmen adieu, but they were too wrapped up in their video game to acknowledge him, and then nearly barrelled into Robin on his way back up. 

"Hey, you're in Mr. Miller's music theory class, right?"

Eddie hesitated to answer. Why did everyone know what classes he was taking? "...yeah?"

"If you need any help with your end of the year composition or want to study for the final, well…" She raised her hand and waved it. "...band nerd here."

"Noted." 

"Please tell me that pun was intended," Robin said, stepping aside for him to continue up the rest of the stairs.

"Always, Buckley. I always intend a pun." He darted his eyes around the group in the kitchen. "Would anyone care to tell me what the hell is going on here? Nancy's offering me her old chem flashcards and now Robin's offering music tutorials…Is this the Council of Fucking Elrond about my graduation?" 

Nancy and Robin stared blankly (Chrissy had met Elrond in The Hobbit , so she at least understood the reference, if not the exact context), but Dustin buried his face in his hands and groaned.

"You weren't supposed to know ."

So Henderson was behind this--big surprise. "Yeah, well, just because I flunked twelfth grade twice doesn't mean I'm stupid. You people are as subtle as a sledgehammer."

Nancy and Robin exchanged guilty glances.

Eddie sighed. "Very nice sledgehammers."

"For the record," Steve piped in. "I'm not any kind of sledgehammer. Henderson didn't ask me to participate in this little project."

"I mean, you didn't exactly pass high school with flying colors yourself," said Robin.

Dustin's face emerged from behind his hands. "So you're not mad?"

"No, I'm not mad. Clearly, I need all the help I can get." Before Dustin could look too relieved, Eddie made the Sign of the Cross over the kid. "You'd just better watch your back next Friday at Hellfire, that's all I'll say."

***

Groaning, Eddie clapped the hardback cover of his English textbook closed and dropped it over the edge of the couch, letting it thud on the living room carpet. He swore, a little cloud of dust puffed out. How long had it been since anyone vacuumed? 

"That's how I feel about John Keats and his fucking urns."

Chrissy was curled up in Wayne's recliner in the corner and said, without looking up from The Hobbit , "You may want to read that poem again, because it's a Grecian urn." 

"Ha! Fuck Grecian urns." 

Eddie stretched out full length on the couch, propping his feet on the arm. The tip of his right big toe poked through a hole in his sock; without sitting up or using his hands, he wriggled it off with his left foot, then repeated the process on the left sock.

"Seriously, dude needs to take a course on Romanticism if the most inspiring thing he can think of to write about is ancient pottery. And before you tell me I need to take a course on Romanticism," he said, when Chrissy raised her eyes from the book and opened her mouth presumably to do just that, "I did read the introduction. I know Romanticism is all about--" (he crooked his fingers to make air quotes and affected stodgy professorial tones) "-- intense emotion being an authentic source of aesthetic experience or whatever pretentious bullshit." 

Chrissy giggled as she lay The Hobbit on the arm of the recliner, uncurling her legs and swinging her feet to the floor. "Urns aren't my favorite, either." She raised her arms overhead, t-shirt riding up to give a flash of her belly button above her PJ pants. It was nothing short of a miracle that Eddie heard what she said as she stretched. "But did you like 'Ode to a Nightingale' a little better? It seems like something you might relate to."

"A dude reflecting on drugs, drinking, death, and the power of music? Hell, yeah! I might set it to thrash metal."

He air-guitared, which was awkward lying down on the couch, but it got a laugh out of Chrissy, so who gave a shit? Not him.

Headbanging as best as he could against a throw pillow, he screeched, "Heartache! Numbness! Hemlock!" A grin broke across his  face, too wide to keep going, at the sight of Chrissy doubled over with laughter, arms wrapped around her stomach like it hurt. "You see why Jeff's our singer." 

"I think it'll be a big hit," Chrissy said.

She nudged his feet so she could sit at the opposite end of the sofa facing him, and Eddie obligingly drew up his knees to make room for her. She wiped the corners of her eyes; she'd taken off her makeup while he did today's reading. (They hadn't quite finished Macbeth , but Eddie had the whole Romantic era to catch up on, and they couldn't exactly act out poetry together.) Her fresh-faced beauty made his heart clench with such an intense emotion that he thought it was a definite possibility that he might give ol' Keats a run for his money composing an ode to a Hawkins cheerleader. (Hmmm…Maybe he could do that for extra credit from O'Donnell? Or his composition project for music theory could be a heavy metal rendition of a Romantic poem? Hey, if Iron Maiden did "The Rime of the Ancient Mariner," so why the hell not?) 

"What's that look for?" he asked.

Chrissy was studying him as intently as he was her, though without the lovestruck grin that had been plastered across his face. That little dimple of concern had appeared between her eyebrows, and her top teeth peeped out to bite her lip. 

"I know you said you're not mad, but are you sure you're…okay? About getting ambushed by study help? That was kind of…intense." 

Eddie tilted his head back, combing his fingers through his hair as he stared up at the water stains on the ceiling. Chrissy hadn't been a part of Project: Elrond, as Henderson had oh-so-cleverly codenamed his scheme. He'd recruited his genius girlfriend to hack into the school computer system to find Eddie's schedule, even though there had to have been ten easier ways to get that info, like following Eddie around campus or just asking Chrissy . Eddie was grateful Dustin hadn't dragged her into his shenanigans and put her in the awkward position of having to hide something from Eddie, or potentially upset him. (He was also glad the well-intentioned knucklehead hadn't done something outrageously idiotic, like have Queen Hacker tweak Eddie's grades while she'd gone to the trouble.)

He blew out a breath. "I mean…I don't love that all my friends think I'm stupid."

"None of them think you're stupid, Eddie. Will is totally in awe of you, it's so cute. Almost like…"

She trailed off, and when she didn't continue, Eddie raised his head just enough to see her. "Almost like what?"

She bit her lip again and shook her head. "Nothing." 

"Chrissy." He sat up and grabbed one of her feet. "You cannot pique my curiosity and then refuse to satisfy it." 

"Almost like he has a little crush." 

Eddie blinked. Had she really said…? "On… me ?" But he pictured Will's furtive gaze, the shy smiles, the flush . Oh, the poor little sheepie…

"I'm probably reading too much into it because I can't imagine anyone not having a crush on you. Even Steve--"

"Harrington's got a hole in his heart, but it's Nancy-shaped."

"Oh no, I didn't mean--" Chrissy blustered, but as soon as Eddie let his laughter loose hers joined it. "He was just going on about how awesome you are at guitar." 

God, was there anyone as genuinely, wholesomely sweet as Chrissy Cunningham? Eddie was still holding her foot. He'd peel off her sock and kiss her toes if he knew she wouldn't think that was a weird fucking thing to do. He settled for kneading the arch of her foot with his thumb. She flexed it, spread her toes wide, and gave a little sigh.

"People can appreciate your talents but still think you're stupid," Eddie picked up the earlier thread of their conversation. "I'm not used to having friends who actually care enough to make the effort." He always talked about looking after the little sheepies, but they'd taken him in like he was one. "That outweighs the embarrassment, I guess."

"Have I ever embarrassed you or made you feel stupid?" Chrissy asked. "Because if I have--"

"Chrissy, no ," Eddie interrupted, snapping upright, because she looked absolutely horrified at the idea, and he hated for her to worry about it for a fraction of a second longer than she needed to. " God no." 

He wrapped his other hand around her other ankle and dragged her across the cushions toward him, then slid his hands up her legs and under her thighs to pull her into his lap. Gazing into her wide eyes, he brushed her bangs aside, then leaned in to kiss her pale, faintly soapy-smelling forehead. 

"No," he murmured against her skin, trailing soft kisses down the bridge of her nose until he reached the tip. "No," he said again, and then dipped further down, stopping just short of her mouth to half-whisper, "You make me believe I'm actually capable of graduating."

"You are ." 

She practically uttered the words into his mouth as he captured her lips. Eddie had a fleeting thought about this giving a new meaning to the phrase eating your words , then he was lost to the the friction of their tongues, the heat of her breath when she gasped at the light bite of his teeth into the soft, soft flesh of her lower lip. At first he thought she was pushing him away, but she didn't break the kiss, deepened it, instead, catching his lip with a return nip. He surrendered to her, letting her push him back against the armrest as she rocked onto her knees, thighs parting around him. 

Her mouth left his then, only to melt against his chin, his jawline, his earlobe, which made him squirm, ticklish. 

"Know what else you are?" she said softly in his ear. Her hands rested on his chest again, his heart pounding against her palm. 

Eddie licked his lips; he tasted like her cherry gloss. "Do I sense some flattery coming on?"

Chrissy hesitated, half-shy, which was really endearing after the way she'd been kissing him only a moment before. "You're really sexy when you're being creative."

His eyes darted down to her index finger tracing the outline of the D20 on his shirt, then back up to hers. He knew guitars were a turn-on--in theory--but… "Me dungeon mastering does things to you, huh?"

She was doing things to him right now, and there was no way she didn't know it, so he gave in to the urge to rock his hips up, just slightly, against her, a grin pulling as he watched her eyelids flutter. The side table lamplight glinted off a few specs of eyeshadow glitter that stubbornly clung to her skin. Eddie preferred to think he was lighting her up.

"When I see how much effort you put into the things that matter to you," Chrissy said, "I know you'll work hard at our relationship." 

Well damn. She admired him for his creativity, but how the hell was he supposed to come up with a response remotely worthy of that ?

There was only one thing Eddie could do: blurt out the first thought that came into his head. 

"That reminds me," he said, pushing up on his elbows, "there's something I should ask you." He took her hands in his. "Would you, Chrissy Cunningham--" ( Why did this sound like a marriage proposal? Jesus Christ, he might as well get down on one knee.) "--go on a date with me?"

The question hung suspended in space and time as Chrissy stared at him in delighted confusion. Finally, she opened her mouth, and his heart pounded in anticipation. 

"Did you overhear Nancy?"

Okay, not what he expected. But didn't he just love to be surprised? "Yeah…I didn't actually catch what you told her, though."

"Do you know, it hadn't even occurred to me that we haven't been on a real date?"

Eddie waggled his eyebrows. "Because every moment you spend with me is romantic and special?"

"Well…yes. We've been through so much…I feel so much for you…It's like we have been out?"

"But we haven't." Eddie let go of her hand and reached up to stroke her cheekbone with his thumb as he cradled her face in his palm. "So…Can I take you to dinner or a movie or something?"

"Yes," Chrissy answered against his lips. "Yes, yes, yes ." 

Chapter Text

"Hey, Chrissy!" Eddie hollered, the morning paper crinkling in his hands as he padded, barefoot and shirtless, down the dim hall of the trailer. "Highlander 's playing tonight at eight. Will that work?"

"Sure!" Chrissy chirped from the other side of the bedroom door, where she was getting dressed. "Sounds perfect!"

Perfect --just what you hoped a girl would say when you were making plans for your first date, Chrissy's with Eddie, Eddie's with anyone --and there were minimal options for places to go and things to do. When Chrissy said perfect , you could only believe she really meant it. A dopey grin split his face, his mood light even though the sun had barely come up yet and he was out of bed on a Saturday morning. He folded the newspaper in half and tipped his head closer to the door. 

"Unless, uh, you'd rather see Chopping Mall ?"

He was joking, of fucking course. Even he, who didn't have the sense God gave a goose, as Wayne liked to remind him, knew you couldn't take a girl to a slasher flick on your first date (or maybe not any date). But he told her he'd look up what was playing at the Hawk, and those were the only two movies in town. (Alas, poor Starcourt Cinemas.) He had to give her a choice, didn't he?

Silence from the bedroom, except for the creak of the floor as Chrissy walked, the rattle of the doorknob in her hand. Eddie stepped back into the hall as the door opened, framing the petite strawberry blonde, who wore a Hawkins Cheerleading t-shirt, tiny green running shorts, and a Very Serious expression. 

"Do you think Chopping Mall is in good taste after what happened to Starcourt Mall last year?" 

Eddie tilted his head and turned his mouth downward, pretending to consider. She'd have a point, whether they'd learned that the mall fire had been caused by their friends killing monsters and destroying a secret Soviet lab or not. 

As if this argument weren't persuasive enough, Chrissy added, "And do you really want to see a horror movie after last week?" 

No, Eddie did not. "Highlander it is."

It had been out for nearly a month now, but although he'd been stoked for it since he saw the trailer, the release of Metallica's new album the week before derailed his plans to see it, because he'd been too obsessed with learning "Master of Puppets" to do literally anything else. And then there hadn't been any time for anything but staying the fuck alive during spring break.

He hoped Chrissy would like Highlander . When she told him the last movie she saw was Pretty In Pink, he'd barely stopped himself from saying, Gag me with a spoon.

"Pick you up around seven?" he asked. 

Giggling, Chrissy bounced up on her toes to kiss his stubbly cheek. "Can't wait." 

She went back into the bedroom, and Eddie retreated down the hall, grinning at the kiss and the silly exchange. How did you properly date a girl who'd moved in with you? He wanted to do it right, damn it. Chrissy deserved it.

Wayne had just gotten home from work and stood in the kitchen. The coffee maker, which Eddie had started in anticipation of his arrival, had just finished brewing, and Wayne stared at it as if it were a mystical object. 

"Morning," Eddie said through a yawn, laying the paper on the dinette on his way to the kitchen. 

His uncle turned to watch him open the fridge and fish out a Mello Yello--Eddie wasn't much of a coffee drinker--and the milk carton. 

"You're never up this early on a Saturday," Wayne remarked. "Unless you haven't gone to bed yet?" 

"Maybe I haven't." 

Eddie got the Honey Nut Cheerios out of the pantry, poured himself a generous bowl, and began to eat leaning against the counter as Wayne poured his coffee into a mug from some barbecue place in Memphis emblazoned with a pig in a chef's outfit. 

"Actually, I have," Eddie said. "Chrissy and I came home from Hellfire, I read a little for English class, and we went to bed at a totally reasonable hour. Like, before midnight." 

Wayne raised his eyebrows as he brought the steaming mug to his mouth.

"I shit you not! You want proof? I can recite a little Keats. Or my textbook's right there by the couch." He hadn't picked it up after he dropped it on the floor. "I turned in all my homework every day this week." 

"And made good grades! Good morning, Mr. Munson!" 

They turned to see Chrissy, hair pulled back in a ponytail, carrying her white Reeboks into the living room. She perched daintily at the end of the couch to put them on.

"Morning, Chrissy, and remember, it's Wayne. Good grades, huh?" 

"Decent grades," Eddie said; this story was already stretching credibility for Wayne without Chrissy's enthusiasm. He caught her eye as she pulled her shoelace into a precise bow with even loops and tails. "Want any breakfast before your run?"

It couldn't be good to exercise on an empty stomach, could it? Then again, it might feel gross to run after eating, he wouldn't know. Maybe it was like swimming, you weren't supposed to do it for like, twenty minutes after eating or something? 

"I like to eat after." Chrissy pulled her second lace taut and stood. "Maybe some eggs?"

"Whatever the lady wants, the lady shall have." Eddie set his cereal on the counter and reached out to catch her around the waist on her way to the door, inhaling sharply when her small hands came to rest against his chest as he bent to kiss her forehead.

"It's a little muddy out there," Wayne said. "You'll get those nice white sneakers all dirty." 

"They've had worse on them." Chrissy exchanged a meaningful glance with Eddie, who tried not to visibly shudder. She pecked his cheek, then bounced out of his arms and to the door. "See you soon!" 

When she'd woken up, bright and early, and announced she was going to go out for a run, he'd tried to convince her to stay in bed. 

"Didn't we run enough last week?" he'd asked, sure she'd see the light. Or rather, close the curtains and not see it.

But Chrissy had pursed her lips and said, "Gotta stay in shape in case we ever have to do it again." 

"Maybe I should start running with you." Eddie had spent most of his time in the Upside Down at the edge of a heart attack, and it probably had almost as much to do with his lack of aerobic endurance as being scared to fucking death. "But not today," he'd quickly clarified, when he realized that was the idea he'd given her. 

After the door closed behind her, both Munsons stared at it for a moment, then Wayne shook himself out of his stupor and shambled to the dinette with his coffee. "Put the milk away if you're done with it."

Eddie topped off his cereal, then obeyed.

Wayne took a pair of reading glasses from his breast pocket and unfolded the newspaper. "Did I overhear you two discussing a movie?" 

"Our first date," Eddie answered, mouth full of Cheerios, as he joined him at the table.

Over his glasses, Wayne's dark eyes fixed Eddie. "You planning to talk with food in your mouth like some kind of Neanderthal?" 

"It's a movie." Eddie wiped milk off his chin. "I won't be talking." 

"You ever take a girl out before?"

"Nope." 

Eddie shoveled another spoonful into his mouth. Weird that his uncle didn't know this about him, but then again, how would he? It was nice, in a way, that Wayne didn't automatically assume Eddie hadn't been on a date just because he'd never mentioned a special someone, though that probably meant Wayne assumed the dates hadn't gone well, if they'd happened. 

"Gonna shave?"

"Yep."

"Got any jeans without holes in 'em?" 

"Uh…" Eddie took a mental inventory of the contents of his closet, bedroom floor, and laundry hamper. "Definitely not. Ripped jeans are cool." 

"Nice shirt?"

"Flannels?" Those were kind of kind of nice, right? They had collars and buttons. "We're just going to a movie , not the goddamned opera." Opera ? Who the hell went on dates to the opera? "What would you wear on a date?" Eddie asked, dripping milk and petulance. 

Wayne sipped his coffee. The corner of his mouth quirked, crinkles forming at the corners of his eyes, then his smoky chuckle rasped out. "Now, you know I'm just giving you shit."

Eddie leaned back in his chair and swigged Mello Yello. "Don't dish it if you can't take it, old man." 

"I seen the way she looks at you. She's clearly into--" Wayne gestured vaguely at Eddie. "--this." 

At the moment, this was ratty sweatpants, a vampirically pale bare torso (honestly, he was surprised Wayne hadn't barked at him yet to go put a damn shirt on at the table), and untamed bedhead which Eddie tossed out of his eyes. 

"She's indicated she's good with my whole general look, yeah."

Some specific looks, too. He wondered if Wayne could see the flush that blazed a warm trail up from Eddie's chest into his neck and cheeks as he remembered the way he'd flirtatiously coaxed Chrissy into enumerating the features she liked best. 

"You have such pretty eyes," she'd begun her list.

Pretty! People used a lot of words to describe Eddie, but pretty wasn't one of them. He loved it, it was such an absurd adjective for him. 

"The better to ogle you with, my dear," he'd replied in a creaky wolf-disguised-as-granny voice, because obviously that was the correct way to respond when the gorgeous head cheerleader complimented your physical appearance.  

"Half the cheer squad would kill to have lashes like yours." 

He'd narrowed the aforementioned pretty eyes (he was never going to describe his own eyes any other way). "Wait…is this a long game to, like, shave off my lashes and sell them to the highest bidder?"

What a weird freaking thing to say, he'd thought, but Chrissy didn't so much as blink, already used to every word out of his mouth being freakish and weird. 

"And you have really nice hands. I like the way they move…They're always moving…And they're kind of big…" 

She'd picked one up to examine it, tracing the tendons on the back, the ridges on his knuckles, the calluses on his fingertips. 

"The better to fondle you with, my dear." Eddie had cringed at his own choice of word even as it slipped off his tongue. "Ew. Why didn't I just say touch ?"

"I don't know," Chrissy had said, laughing, and laced their fingers together. "And you have such full lips." 

"The better to--"

She'd swallowed up the rest with a kiss, during which she'd slipped her hand under the hem of his shirt and said, "I think I really like your tattoos, too, but I need a better look…" 

(It was a toss-up between the black widow and the wyvern for her favorites, the surprising little freak, and Eddie had taken this as permission to sleep shirtless from that night on.)

Wayne Munson was not a man of many words (“How do you expect me to get a word in with you running your mouth a hundred miles an hour?” he’d said more than once)—but now he set his coffee on the table and said, “I'd hoped things would finally turn around for you, son. Sure looked like the opposite might be the case last week. I'm real glad it's come out like this. You're a good kid, Ed. Deserve a sweet gal like her." 

Eddie didn't know if he deserved much of anything, least of all Chrissy Cunningham--but damned if that didn't make his eyes tear up and his throat tighten. Wayne had the good grace to avert his gaze to the newspaper before Eddie had to make up some bullshit about someone cutting onions nearby.

"Could you, uh, pass me the help wanted section?" he asked when he could trust himself to speak without his voice breaking. Much.

Wayne licked his fingertip and flicked through the pages until he found the classifieds. It wasn't odd that he glanced at Eddie as passed it to him, but it was that he didn't return his attention to the paper as Eddie slurped cereal and scanned the job listings.

"What?" 

"What happened to you, Ed?" Wayne asked in a hush, his face almost…reverent. "Not that it ain't a goddamn relief to see you getting serious about your future, finally, but this...There's something about you, and I think it's got to be more than just getting a girlfriend."

"I mean, getting a girlfriend is pretty life-altering for me."

"Did you…have a come to Jesus moment?

Eddie stared intently into his bowl, chasing the few remaining soggy Cheerios around in the milk with his spoon. Less than a week ago, Ms. Kelley had asked the same question--albeit in less creative language--and he'd wanted to tell her the truth. Not wanting to be hauled off to Pennhurst by the not-so-nice men in white coats, he'd opted for a vague version of it. That wouldn't do for Wayne. He always knew when Eddie wasn't being straight with him, so after a few failed attempts at lying back when he was a wee middle schooler, Eddie had adopted a strict honest answers only policy with his uncle. Which meant that he'd frequently disappointed him, but at least Wayne's depths of forgiveness seemed boundless, and Eddie knew that no matter what, there would always be one person in his life who believed him.

"It was more like the devil incarnate," he said, "but yeah." 

Resting his spoon against the edge of his bowl and laying the want ads on the table, Eddie raised his eyes to meet his uncle's gaze which, though understandably alarmed, begged him gently to elaborate. Feeling weirdly vulnerable, Eddie wished he had put on a shirt. He crossed his arms over his chest, felt the curling ends of his hair brush the knuckles, pressed the bare soles of feet against the cold metal chair legs. He took a deep breath, then let the truth tumble out.

"What if I told you there's parallel dimension underneath Hawkins, and that Victor Creel's son was a powerful psychic who'd been trapped down there by another powerful psychic, and he murdered those teenagers to create portals so he could get back into our side? He tried to open one right here in our trailer by killing Chrissy, but I kinda accidentally stopped it, then we spent all spring break with some kids from school trying to destroy Vecna. Creel, I mean. The younger. Henry."

Eddie blew out a breath and uncrossed his arms to wipe sweaty palms on his sweatpants. That was probably more than enough info for now; Wayne, like Shakespeare, appreciated brevity.

He didn't have an immediate response. He picked up his coffee and took a long drink, as if consuming it somehow helped him take all this in. When he'd drained the mug, he got up, went to the kitchen, and refilled it. 

When he finally came back to the table, he stood beside his chair and said, "I'd say it sounds like you dropped a shit ton of acid." Before Eddie's heart could plummet in despair that he'd finally told his uncle a story he couldn't believe, Wayne went on, "But I bet you'd tell me Chrissy'll back this whole thing up, and I can tell by looking at her she's never even smoked a joint." 

"As a matter of fact, she was in our trailer because she wanted to buy ketamine from me." 

Shit . Probably not something Chrissy would appreciate him blabbing about. And not really something brag-worthy, either.

Wayne's grizzled face hardened. "There best not be any of that shit in my house, boy." 

"There will not be," Eddie said. "But…you believe me? Not about the Special K--I mean, I swear to God, I will get rid of it, like, right away--but…everything else?"

Fantasy nerd though he was, Eddie had never been a fan of the Chronicles of Narnia (an opinion which he felt was completely justified, given that it was shared by the father of modern fantasy himself, JRR Tolkien). One part of the story that had always resonated with him, though, was when the kids came back from Narnia, told the professor that they'd lost some of his fur coats in a magical land they'd gotten to through a wardrobe, and he'd accepted their frankly bananas story as the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help them Aslan. That was the kind of adult a kid needed in their life. Eddie Munson hadn't been lucky in much, but he was in that. 

Lowering himself into his chair again, Wayne said, "I always knew there had to be more to the Creel case than anyone ever knew. Just didn't make sense."

"And alternate dimensions and psychic demons do?" Eddie said. "I haven't even told you about the hive mind vines or the demobats yet." 

"The what?"

Eddie opened his mouth to explain, but Wayne held up his hand and pushed back from the table. "Reckon I'm gonna need something stronger than coffee for this."

But hear it, he did--after he added two shots of bourbon to his coffee. From the very beginning, when Chrissy came to Eddie for help with what he later learned were visions from Vecna intended to lure her to her death, to the Party's unlikely plan--including Eddie's even more unlikely debut as a solo artist--to draw the demon to his destruction in the Upside Down. It wasn't as concise as his initial summary, but Wayne never interrupted, except to ask an occasional question or to clarify a point.

Eddie never had been able to stay sitting down for long, and now was no exception. At some point during the tale, he got up and prowled around the trailer, absently touching or picking up familiar objects--a ballcap, a record, a throw pillow he hugged, his English textbook from the floor--as if to ground himself to reality. 

The longer he talked--and this had never been a problem for him--the less burdened he felt by keeping this whole insane experience inside, secret but not quite safe. Was this how it was for Bilbo and Frodo Baggins, writing The Red Book of Westmarch after they returned to the Shire? Maybe Eddie should write a book…Like anyone would believe him capable of that. But he knew he was, goddamn it, and he'd do it, just to prove them wrong. After he graduated. First, he had term papers to write.

(But he knew just what the title would be. Upside Down and Rightside Up: A Metalhead's Tale had a certain ring --pun definitely intended--to it.)

By the end of the story, Eddie had returned to the table. He stood behind his chair, white-knuckling the back, while Wayne stared out the grimy window over the table, a muscle working above the white scruff of his beard. Eddie hadn't even noticed that he'd lit up a cigarette. His salivary glands started working as he watched his uncle bring it to his mouth, but he didn't ask for one; he hadn't smoked since Robin snatched a cigarette out of his hand the week before. 

Wayne turned his head and looked up at Eddie, who gave a little start to see tears pooling in his uncle's eyes.

"I--I'm sorry, Uncle Wayne," he said. "I know that was all, like, a lot --"

"Dunno if you know it," Wayne growled out, "but over the years I've worried about all the ways I could lose you. CPS. Your dad getting released. Your mom coming back. The cops. A drug deal gone bad. Piece of shit rich kids spreading rumors. An OD." 

There was a lump in Eddie's throat, too big for him to speak. He'd always known his uncle cared about him, but never thought in great depth about all the behaviors that kept him up at night. Or day, as the case was. So much unnecessary shit Eddie had put him through.

Wayne took a drag from the cigarette, exhaled the smoke through his nostrils. "But that was all just fear. Last week I really did almost lose you. While you gave a rock concert in hell to save the world, no less."

Eddie huffed out a laugh that was really more like a sob. Tears slid down the sides of his nose. "You gotta admit, that would've been a way more metal way to go than any of the others." 

Although Wayne made a valiant effort, he couldn't stop his own tears from falling, and it wrenched Eddie inside. 

"Hey, you didn't lose me," Eddie said, lurching to his uncle, clasping his shoulder. "For better or for worse, I'm still here. And next month I'm gonna walk across that stage and make you proud."

Wayne's rough, callused hand covered Eddie's. "I'm already proud of you. You're a good man, Edward Munson, full of kindness and compassion. Your name on a diploma don't change that."

When he'd once again recovered from a swell of emotion, Eddie withdrew his hand from Wayne's shoulder. "Well aren't we mushy this morning. I am gonna have my name on a diploma, and you'll display it with your prized caps and mugs." He picked up the newspaper. "And I'll find gainful employment as…I don't know yet. But I'll have a respectable job that'll maybe pay rent so you can have your room back." 

"I'll probably need a hazmat crew before I can safely sleep there."

As Eddie cackled, the trailer door swung open, flooding the dingy trailer with light, and Chrissy came in, skin glistening, her sports bra outlined with sweat under her soggy t-shirt. 

"What's funny?" she asked. 

"Uncle Wayne just insulted my standards of cleanliness." 

"Oh." Chrissy ducked her head, her smile self-conscious. "I should probably hop in the shower before he says something about mine."

"Your hygiene is perfect, sweetheart," Eddie said, "what are you even talking about?" He swaggered toward her, arms spread, and her eyebrows went up as she backed against the door, realizing what he intended. 

"Eddie, don't!" Her giggles undermined her protests. "I'm sooooo sweaty and grody!"

"I'd bathe in your sweet perspiration." Eddie wrapped her in a bear hug, her shirt dampening his chest and arms. She squirmed and shrieked with laughter as he rubbed his face all over her damp bangs and slick forehead and cheeks and neck. He kissed her, tongue darting out to taste the salty hollow of her throat. "Your natural musk is like perfume." 

"I don't think anyone would call you grody with him around, Chrissy," said Wayne, pushing up from the table. "Can I get you a glass of water, since my nephew's too feral to think of that?"

Eddie raised his head. "Have a good run? I promised you eggs, didn't I?" He pivoted toward the kitchen, only to have his path barred by Wayne, holding a glass of ice water.

"I'll make the eggs. You…disinfect."

"Ugh, fine ," Eddie acquiesced with a roll of his eyes. "But only because I have to get ready for band practice anyway."

He showered quickly, scrunched a little gel into his hair, skipped shaving, and slid into jeans and a t-shirt, knowing he'd want to spend a little more time grooming before their date later anyway. When he returned to the kitchen, Chrissy was sitting in the chair he’d previously occupied, with a plate of scrambled eggs and toast, circling items in the newspaper.

"Did you find me a job?" Eddie asked, leaning over her shoulder. 

"I just marked a few that might be good fits." She lifted her large eyes to him. "You don't mind, do you?"

In reply, he pushed back her still sweat-damp bangs and kissed her forehead. “As long as you didn’t circle anything weird like door-to-door vacuum cleaner salesman.”

“I’d buy a vacuum from you,” Chrissy said. 

“After seeing this carpet?” Wayne said. “There’s extra eggs, Ed. Want some?”

“Are you yolking me? Hell yeah!”

Wayne scraped the remains from a skillet onto a plate and brought it over to the dinette as Eddie plopped down on the chair across from Chrissy with the paper. She had marked a few interesting ads. Eddie didn't know if he was qualified for the mechanic position at A1 Automotive, but he'd done well in auto shop class and worked on his own piece of shit van on a regular basis. He needed something full-time, but mechanics made decent money--which was why he did his own work--and maybe he could work part-time there and close at the comic book store? Might be a problem on Tuesday nights, though, assuming the guys eventually resumed playing at the Hideout, or other nights, if they got a better slot or gigs at better bars…Tiger Tones was a local music store, which was idiotically named and primarily supplied instruments to middle and high school marching band nerds, but they also sold pianos, guitars, sheet music, and could order just about anything else you needed that they didn't keep in stock. 

"I know the manager at Tiger Tones," Eddie said. "I buy strings and shit there." And his first acoustic guitar; he'd gone to Indianapolis for the Warlock.

"It always helps to know people," Chrissy said. 

Eddie nodded. It helped to know the business, too; while he had an encyclopedic knowledge of guitars, the world of musical instruments outside of rock bands was foreign to him.

"These are some good leads," he said, and Chrissy beamed around a bite of toast.

"You know I can always put in a word for you at the plant," Wayne said from the kitchen, where he was washing up the skillet and coffee pot. "Ain't glamorous work, but it puts food on the table." 

In the past, Eddie had scoffed at the idea, and although he still didn't love it--working on an assembly line sounded like exhausting, soul-sucking work---he should probably at least consider it. Decent pay was hard to come by in Hawkins, as Harrington had reminded him last night with his complaints about his Family Video salary. And Eddie had a future to consider now. He glanced at Chrissy, expecting some sort of reassurance in her gaze, but instead, she chewed her breakfast with that concerned dimple in her forehead.

"Speaking of food," Eddie changed the subject, "Chrissy and I are gonna swing by the grocery store while we're in town for band practice. So if there's anything you want us to pick up, speak now, or forever hold your peace."

"Could probably use some more bourbon after what you told me earlier," Wayne muttered. 

The line in Chrissy's forehead deepened in question. 

"I told him about the Upside Down," Eddie replied. "He believed all of it." 

"Oh," Chrissy squeaked. "I wish we could get you some bourbon, Mr. Munson--I mean Wayne--but we're not twenty-one."

Wayne's raspy laugh ricocheted through the trailer. "Chrissy, darlin', you're a joy. I think I'll survive without my bourbon." 

***

Knocking on his own front door would not, by any stretch, be the weirdest thing the neighbors had seen Eddie do. In fact, they probably had seen him do it before, on multiple occasions when he'd been drunk, high, or just an idiot, and locked himself out of the trailer. Nevertheless, Eddie raised his right hand to knock; but before he rapped his knuckles against the door, he glanced back over his shoulder to make sure no one--specifically, the redhead known as Max Mayfield--was skulking around spying on the goings-on at Castle Munson. Assured of his privacy, unless some nosy neighbor was peeking between the slats of their miniblinds, he gave a quick succession of taps (Um, had he unintentionally knocked the rhythm of "Shave and a Haircut"?) then stepped back on the rickety porch steps to give the door room to swing open. 

With his left hand behind his back, he used the other to adjust the hems of his leather jacket and flannel shirt--which he'd actually taken the effort to iron , and then agonized over whether to tuck it in or leave it out--and double-checked that the toes of his black boots were clean. (They'd seemed like a slightly better date night choice of footwear than the sneakers he wore every day to school, but he'd had to scrub off demobat guts and gore, which had nearly made him blow chunks). Before he could critique his outfit any more (other than to swat away a stray thought that if he barely had the right clothes for a date, he probably didn't own a stitch that would be appropriate for job interviews), Chrissy Cunningham answered the door. 

Eddie had planned a whole speech, but now he couldn't remember a single word of it. Even if he could, his lips and tongue had gone so dry he wasn't sure he'd be able to form the words. She wore a short pink ruffled skirt and white blouse, cinched at her waist with a wide belt, a light blue jean jacket, and white Keds with precisely cuffed socks. Her hair fell in loose curls over her shoulders, half pulled back in a pink and blue floral scrunchie. The customary gold '86 necklace dangled in the hollow of her throat--he thought he saw the faint sheen of perfume there, under the porch light--but tonight she'd added a big pair of dangly earrings and pink and white bangles on her wrists. She looked like Debbie Fucking Gibson, only prettier. Way prettier.

It should be a crime to be so damn pretty. He could arrest her for it, on the spot--he had handcuffs inside--but then they'd be late for the movie.

At the sight of him on the porch steps, Chrissy's eyebrows shot up, and her extra glossy lips fell open in genuine surprise. Then she pressed her fingertips to her mouth (she'd let Eddie paint them while she quizzed him over Nancy's chemistry flashcards) and giggled. 

"Eddie! What are you doing out here?"

"I said I'd pick you up around seven." He said, stepped up onto the narrow porch. "Am I early? Am I late ?" 

He made a show of checking his watch, forgetting that he'd been hiding that hand behind his back for a reason until Chrissy cried, "You brought me flowers? They're beautiful!"

It  was just a supermarket bouquet of pink roses and daisies, but a pleased flush raced up from Eddie's collar as Chrissy sniffed them. He was about to say something dumb and cliché but heartfelt because apparently he was a total loser, like Not as beautiful as you , but Chrissy spoke first.

"When did you--?"

"At the grocery store, when I said let's divide and conquer? I grabbed those and snuck 'em out to the van. I mean, I paid," he added, quickly, realizing he sounded like he'd shoplifted them, and what kind of lousy date did that ?

"I didn't think you stole them," Chrissy said with another laugh.

Eddie rubbed his newly-shaved jaw. "So much for my bad boy image." Unsure what to do with his hands, he shoved them into his pockets and shrugged his shoulders. "It's our first date. I'm supposed to get you flowers, right? This is all new to me." 

"You're not supposed to do anything--but I love them."

I love you, Eddie's heart beat as she kissed his cheek. 

"Thank you," Chrissy said. "Pink roses and daisies are my favorites." 

"They match your outfit," Eddie said, pointing at her ensemble, and she glanced down as if she hadn't noticed. "You look absolutely gorgeous, by the way. I've been thinking it ever since you answered the door, but I don't think I said it. My brain kinda short-circuited." 

"You're gorgeous, too." 

For a moment, they just stood there, as if struck dumb by the power of compliments, then Chrissy said, "I should get these in water." Eddie grabbed the door as she turned to go back inside. "Do you have a vase?"

"Uh…" For such a small house, he and Wayne had accumulated a lot of shit. But Eddie wasn't sure he'd ever seen a vase. "I have a bong."

Chrissy's eyes started to go wide, then her smile broke across her face. "That'll work--I think?"

Eddie might not always do things properly, but he could always improvise. In this case, the bouquet had to be split into two bongs, which Chrissy placed on the bedroom nightstands. He had never had flowers in his room, and although he was well aware that Wayne's assessment of the space wasn't that far off, Eddie thought the blooms lent a nice domestic feel. 

He wanted to drop to one knee and propose to her on the spot.

But they should probably at least go on one date first.

Eddie gestured toward the door. "Your chariot awaits." 

Chapter Text

"Meetings with Eddie Munson two Mondays in a row?" Ms. Kelley greeted him when she answered his knock on her office door.

"Yeah…" Eddie scrunched his face as his hand instinctively went up to scrub the top of his head. "Probably not a habit you were hoping to form."

"The opposite, actually." She smiled and stepped aside for him to enter. "I enjoyed our conversation last week. It's nice to finally get to know you better." 

Finally… after six years. At least she was tactful enough not to point that out. 

The counselor closed the door, gesturing toward the mauve upholstered chairs in front of her desk as she slipped into her own creaky swivel chair behind it. "Did you have a nice weekend?"

Eddie nodded as he lowered himself into the armchair he hadn't sat in last time--didn't want to get into a rut or anything. "The best. Like, almost the perfect weekend." 

He didn't elaborate--teachers didn't actually want to know about students' weekends, when they bothered to ask at all--but Ms. Kelley lifted her brows and tilted her head in an expression of interest. 

So, he told her, "Played a little D&D, practiced with my band…"

"Jeff Brown and Shawn Thomspon, right?"

"Yep--Jeff's vocals and rhythm guitar, Shawn's on bass, and Gareth Clark's our drummer." Eddie pantomimed riffing on the kit; he drummed about as well as he waved pom-poms. "I'm here to talk to you about my homework, but I gotta hand it to you, Ms. Kelley. You do yours. B-minus--but I'll give you bonus points if you know the band name."

"Sorry," she replied, looking genuinely apologetic. "I didn't have that in my notes."

"Corroded Coffin."

"That's…" Despite a valiant effort to maintain her gentle smile, it faltered. "...morbid. But that's a bit of a theme with heavy metal, isn't it? What inspired the name?"

Eddie slid to the end of his seat, toes almost reaching the desk, and tipped his head so his hair spilled over the back of the chair. "Honestly, I don't even remember? It was just Jeff and me back then--" Eddie had been in eighth grade, Jeff in sixth, and Shawn and Gareth were barely out of Huggies at Hawkins Elementary. "But yeah, like you said, metal is morbid, so we probably picked coffin because death or whatever. And what happens to a metal coffin in the ground? It rusts." No one had bothered to inform them that modern coffins were usually made of stainless steel. "But Rusty Coffin's not alliterative. Hence…" He gestured expansively. 

"Sounds like you've been doing your English homework." 

Barking out a laugh, Eddie sat upright. "Hell yeah, I have. I read Keats on a Friday night, Ms. Kelley. Keats."

He flailed his arms to the sides of his chair and went bleurgh. Which would've earned a knock it off, Munson from any other Hawkins faculty member, but this was Ms. Kelly, who just laughed softly and let him get it out of his system.

"It sucked, but it gave me an idea for my music theory composition project," he said. "I'm gonna set a Romantic poem to metal music."

"How creative, Eddie. I doubt Mr. Miller's had many students submit that kind of project."

"By many I think you mean any." Eddie tapped his left hand on the arm of his chair, rattling his rings. "Hopefully he won't take off points for violation of his personal musical taste." 

"I'm sure he'll grade fairly, based on the assignment criteria." 

Eddie wanted to be reassured by her confidence that teachers didn't grade according to personal bias. Based on his own experience, prejudice was part of the reason why he was on his third attempt at passing O'Donnell's English class. He used to try to write essays--stringing words together within the bounds of grammar was one of his few academic strengths--but he never knew what she wanted him to say (aside from anything that indicated he'd actually done the reading).

"Sounds like a fun and productive weekend," Ms. Kelley said. 

"I had my cake and liked it, too." Was that how the expression went? It didn't sound right, but Ms. Kelley didn't correct him. "Who knew?" 

Not Eddie. With him, it was always one or the other. Or more accurately, always one and never the other. The other being productive. Although he contended that learning a guitar solo or writing a D&D campaign were extremely productive.

"But I didn't even tell you the best part of my weekend." He slid to the edge of his chair, weight on the balls of his feet, knees bouncing. "I went on a date."

The last time he'd sat here, he'd admitted to Ms. Kelley that he'd fallen in love, but he hadn't had the guts to say who with. Yet Chrissy had named him, unashamed to be romantically involved with the school freak. 

Eddie's chest may have puffed slightly as he added, "With Chrissy Cunningham."

Maybe she was an Oscar-worthy actress, but Ms. Kelley didn't look like she thought there was anything weird about them dating. It reminded him of how Mrs. Wheeler had commented about what a sweet, pretty girl Chrissy was. For all his diatribes about not giving a shit about what anyone thought of him, he had to admit it was kinda nice to have the approval of reasonable adults. 

"Where did you and Chrissy go?" Ms. Kelley asked.

"Just to the movies. We saw Highlander."

"Sean Connery, right? How was it?"

"Chrissy liked the Sean Connery parts."

It hadn't been her favorite movie, but she was too sweet to shit on something someone else liked. Eddie had to admit the plot was convoluted, the dialogue was corny, and the action was totally over the top. And yet...

"There were Queen songs. There were big damn swords. There was romance. I bawled like a baby. I freaking loved it."

The best part, of course, had been the overall experience of seeing a movie with Chrissy. From the moment the previews began to roll, she'd given the screen her rapt attention, eyes big and seemingly unblinking. She reacted to everything adorably , whether it was doing her quick little cheerleader clap when something exciting happened, gasping audibly in surprise, sighing or making a soft aww during a sad part, or turning to burrow her face into Eddie's flannel shirt when things got too intense or gory. 

He'd bought candy and a humongous tub of popcorn to share, and although he'd never understood couples who made out at the movies--Why pay to see a movie when you could go to Skull Rock or Lover's Lake or any deserted country road in Hawkins for free?--they'd had one of those classic rom-com moments where their hands brushed when they went for the popcorn at the same time. As he'd twined their fingers together he'd felt the greasy residue and had actually missed a good thirty to forty-five seconds of the movie while he kissed the artificial butter flavoring off her skin. 

"Two thumbs up, huh?" Ms. Kelley's voice drew him out of the memory of the darkened, popcorn and dill pickle-smelling theater to daylight in the pinkish office. "Maybe you should be a film reviewer." 

"Ha!" Eddie pointed at her, wagging his finger. "Maybe I should. Siskel and Munson. Or does Eddie and Ebert have a better ring to it?" He stroked an imaginary goatee. 

The swivel chair squeaked, like a discordant note in a movie soundtrack signaling a change of mood. "But I'm guessing you didn't come to talk to me about movies." 

"Wouldn't that be fun, though?" 

Ms. Kelley continued to smile, something in her expression hinting that she would think that was fun, but Eddie knew the time for chit-chat had passed. 

"I do need career advice," he said, wiping his palms on his jeans, "so thanks for that suggestion. I, uh, have kind of a lot on my mind, actually. I'm just…not really sure where to start." 

He clasped his fingers together between his bouncing knees, twisting the skull and cross ring with his thumb. When Ms. Kelley's gaze dropped from his face to his fidgeting knees and fingers, he forced himself to be still.

"If it helps you think, Eddie, feel free to get up and move around a bit. I know it can be hard, stuck sitting at a desk all day." 

She didn't have to tell Eddie twice. He hopped to his feet and said, "Can you tell that to my teachers?"

It had been a common complaint since the earliest days of his journey through the hallowed halls of academia: Eddie needs to sit still. Eddie needs to keep his hands and feet to himself. Eddie needs to learn not to make repetitive noises… He'd gotten slightly better at impulse control as a teenager, but by that point being disruptive had just been plain entertaining, a way to break the monotony.

Sliding his hands into the back pockets of his jeans, he gently pushed his hips forward, arching his lower back until it cracked. He sauntered to the window in the corner, accompanied by the screech of the chair as Ms. Kelly turned toward him. Eddie batted aside the urge to deflect the conversation from himself by asking what kinds her plants were, because damn if he really didn't want to bare his soul. His gaze drifted from the plant in the macrame hanger with its shiny mottled green and yellow foliage (school spirit, rah-rah, go Tigers!), out to the parking lot, his piece of shit van unmissable as always amidst the sea of sedans.

"Someone asked me why I did my senior year three times instead of dropping out." He hadn't meant to lead with that, but he guessed that was how this was gonna go.

"That's a rather rude question."

"Not gonna lie, I was kinda miffed. But he wasn't trying to be rude, I don't think? He wanted to know. As a, uh…friend?"

Eddie looked to Ms. Kelley for a reaction. He didn't know if he hoped she'd nod or smile or just validate that it was okay what Harrington had asked in the context of friendship. But her poker face was good. Did they teach counselors how to do that? Like how to block their emotions from patients…clients…whatever the hell he was? Or maybe Eddie just lacked the training to read people the way she could.

"What did you tell your friend?" she asked.

"That I didn't want to be a dropout." 

"A valid reason."

Eddie bounced his shoulders in something of a shrug. "I dunno. I think there may be more to it than that?"

One hand slid from his pocket to twist the ends of his hair as he spun on his heel and paced toward the door. From behind it came the muted sounds of the telephone, the Xerox machine, Principal Higgins chatting with the front office staff. 

"Maybe it would be easier to work backwards," said Ms. Kelly. "Why do you think you failed your first senior year?"

At the rustle of paper, Eddie turned and saw the counselor flipping through his transcripts.

"Your grades weren't stellar in ninth, tenth, or eleventh," she went on, "but they were passing. You even had a quarter or two on the B honor roll." 

"I forgot about that," Eddie said. 

The Post had printed the names of all the honor roll students. Wayne had cut out the blurbs and stuck them to the fridge, proud as punch. You keep this up, kid, and you could be the first Munson to go to college. 

When his mom had graced the trailer with one of her rare, unannounced visits, she'd seen it and let out a cackle that ended in her nearly hacking up a lung. What are you, some kind of nerd? Thanks, Mom, love the way you sound just like the dickhead jocks at school.

"What happened in twelfth?" Ms. Kelley asked.

Hair still wrapped around his finger, so tight it was beginning to cut off circulation, Eddie unwound it and crossed his arms over his chest. "My mom died, but you know that, don't you? I'm sure it's there in my fucking file." 

He hadn't meant to drop the f-bomb, but Ms. Kelley didn't so much as blink. Maybe she was one of those progressive types who thought swearing was, like, therapeutic or whatever. Well, Eddie didn't disagree. But he didn't feel particularly soothed just now. 

With a sigh, he dropped into his chair once more, dragging his hands over his face. "Sorry, Ms. Kelley. That was out of line." 

"You're working through some tough issues. Though let's not make a habit of cursing."

Eddie had definitely made it a habit, but he nodded and said, "Yes ma'am."

Ms. Kelley clasped her hands on top of her desk. "Historically you haven't wanted to discuss your mother's death. Do you now?"

Yes? No? Maybe so? "She hadn't really been around for a long time before my first senior year. My uncle got custody when I was in middle school." When my dad went to jail. Why did it feel somehow shittier to say that than when my mom died? "It wasn't exactly a surprise that she ODed, so would that have had a big impact on my grades?"

"Just because things don't surprise us doesn't mean they don't affect us. The death of a parent is a traumatic event, especially in cases where there's already abandonment." 

The motivational poster of a runner silhouetted against a sunrise backdrop taunted Eddie. He ducked his head so that his hair fell in his eyes, blocking the picture in his periphery.

"Is it weird that I felt like I was the one who abandoned her?" 

"For going to live with your uncle? Eddie, you were a minor. You wouldn't have had much choice in who the state granted custody." 

"They asked me where I wanted to live. She knew it wasn't with her." 

His mom's place--or the boyfriend of the week's place, as was more usually the case--had been a hell of neglect. Vecna could've gone to town if he'd wanted to make a portal out of Eddie. 

"Living with Uncle Wayne was way better for me, no question," Eddie said. "But after…she died…" His throat knotted, painfully, and he had to swallow and take several deep breaths through his nose before he could go on. "I couldn't help but wonder if I'd stayed with her…maybe she could've gotten better." 

"It's never a child's responsibility to fix their parents' problems," Ms. Kelley said, voice firm. "And no, Eddie." He looked up at her. "You're not weird for feeling that way. In fact, it's completely normal that you did. It's called survivor's guilt. " 

Eddie had heard of that. "I thought that only applied to, like, war vets." Wayne occasionally talked about buddies killed in Nam. Did he have it?

"It can apply to anyone who survives a traumatic situation that someone else didn't," Ms. Kelley said.

Shit …what Eddie had experienced was trauma? To him, it had just been a normal day in the life. But trauma? Yeah…maybe trauma. Probably. He'd have to reflect more on that later, since Ms. Kelley was talking again.

"I'm sorry you slipped through the cracks, Eddie. That I didn't work harder to help you through it, or put you in touch with someone else who could." 

Eddie tried to think of all the occasions in his twenty years on earth that adults had apologized to him, but he couldn't think of a single one. Well--Wayne had said he was sorry for the shitty hand life had dealt Eddie. But Ms. Kelley had the mental health of a lot more students than just him to be concerned with. 

"To be honest, Ms. Kelley, I didn't really want help." Seeing the sadness that laced her sympathetic smile, he went on, "I wanted to play D&D and my guitar and, uh, get high." He probably shouldn't have said that last part, but doctor-patient confidentiality was a thing, right? Even if she could report him for drug use, it would be a dick thing to do to someone she claimed to feel sorry for. "So…that's what I did. And I didn't graduate." 

"And then you came back for the next school year." 

"And the one after that." 

In the ensuing silence, Eddie heard the steady tick…tick…tick… of the wall clock over the filing cabinets. First period was halfway over--he'd skipped wood shop--and he still hadn't gotten the answers he came for. Or even asked the questions. (Chrissy had first period with Carver, whose suspension was over. How was that going?) Eddie backtracked through the conversation up until this point, searching for the thread Ms. Kelley had suggested he might find. But he still felt lost, like he was wandering directionless through the Upside Down of his own mind.

Lucky for Eddie, they didn't call it a guidance counselor for nothing. 

"A week ago you came in here and said you had to graduate this year," Ms. Kelley said, drawing her hands into her lap as she shifted in her chair, crossing her legs. "Presumably, you have a sense of urgency that you didn't this time last year. Can you tell me more about that, Eddie? Are you able to envision a future you couldn't before?" 

Without hesitation, he answered, "I see myself with a wife, a couple of kids, a dog and a cat and maybe like a snake in a house in the 'burbs, and I'll pay for at least some of that as a guitarist. I'm dead serious about all of that." 

"I believe you," said Ms. Kelley. "Those are worthy goals. And attainable." 

" Are they, though? See, I don't know how to get them other than step one, graduate high school, step two, get a job." 

"That's pretty much the process," she replied. "Does knowing what you want make it easier to think about leaving high school?"

Eddie snorted. "Ms. Kelley, I've barely thought of anything but leaving high school for the past six years." 

Well--and guitar. And D&D. And Chrissy. And, last week at least, his own mortality.

Yet for all the thinking, he hadn't left high school.

"I guess until recently I never saw what there was for me on the other side. My parents didn't present me with a lot of attractive options." Even Wayne, stand-up guy that he was, didn't exactly live a life Eddie envied.

"Would you say school felt...safe?"

Eddie threw back his head and laughed. Safe? With the constant threats of bodily harm, or getting ratted out to the cops, from the likes of Jason Carver and his posse of pricks? Not that he was afraid of them. 

"Poor word choice," Ms. Kelley said. "How does familiar sound? Or predictable ?" 

"Are you insinuating I failed on purpose?" Eddie asked, feeling not unlike he had when Harrington asked why he hadn't dropped out. Miffed. He gave his hair a little flick and crossed his arms. 

"I don't mean intentionally. But is there a chance you subconsciously wanted to stay here where you knew the rules?" 

"I don't follow rules, I make my own." 

How many different ways had he said that over the years, pontificating on top of cafeteria tables? 

Maybe Ms. Kelley was on to something. Maybe Eddie did feel safe here. Dealing pot and prescription drugs to kids younger than himself, who were too intimidated by the school freak to make good on their threats. Running the Hellfire Club, where he was looked up to. Mike thinks you're the coolest…Will is totally in awe of you…

And then there was that thing Chrissy said. 

Eddie hunched, his crossed arms no longer defiant, but protective, his bangs hiding his eyes. "What if I let her down?"

"Chrissy?"

"She told me she trusts that I'll work hard at our relationship because I work hard at the stuff that really matters to me. But that's the thing. If I'd worked hard at everything, even the stuff I don't give a shit about, I would've graduated two years ago." 

And none of this would've happened. He wouldn't have had a conversation with Chrissy since the goddamn middle school talent show, let alone be thinking of a future with her. So there was that. But…

"Not to be a total downer…" Even though he totally was. He unfolded his arms and leaned further over to pick at a clump of threads that dangled from one of the holes in his jeans. "What if the music thing doesn't work out and I end up in a job I hate and it's high school all over again?" 

"I think you already have your answer, Eddie." 

He looked up to find Ms. Kelley smiling again in that kind way of hers, which honestly seemed weird, what with the bleak shit he'd just spilled from the depths of his soul. Were counselors, like, some sort of empathy vampires who thrived on other people's pain? No, that was sadists, and she definitely wasn't that …

"I'm, uh, not always the quickest on the uptake, Ms. Kelley," he said, scratching his neck. "Can you give me a hint?"

"You said it yourself."

Eddie thought for a moment, then ventured, "Chrissy trusts me?"

Ms. Kelley's smile widened. "So you're going to have to trust yourself, too." 

***

If the social fabric of Hawkins High had been torn asunder by the events of spring break, this was evident nowhere so obviously as in the cafeteria.

The table Eddie had presided over since his freshman year had never been a full one. At first he'd been alone, outcast from even the other social pariahs, who sat as far down the rejects' table as they could get from him. (When weather permitted--which was a crapshoot in the Midwest--Eddie had taken refuge at the picnic table in the woods, because even when when you were a nonconformist, it sucked to eat alone--and put too big a target on his back for the bullies.) 

Things improved--slightly--sophomore year, when two of the four founding members of Corroded Coffin came up, and their other after-school hobby found its way onto campus. By the time Eddie was a junior and Jeff started at Hawkins High, Hellfire Club was an official school organization, sponsored by the theater teacher, with a picture in the yearbook and everything. (Buckley did kinda have a point about them, didn't she?)

In the years since, the Hellfire table had been a revolving door of students with shared interests and plights, culminating in the current cast of characters. 

It started with Chrissy (didn't everything?) the previous Monday, when Eddie had packed her a lunch. "Hope you like PB&J," he'd said, handing her a paper sack with her name on the front in the most Chrissy-like penmanship he'd been able to produce, complete with a heart over the i. "If you don't, we can pick up some, uh, lunch meat or something after school." (They'd need to get her a lunchbox, too.)

"I usually skip lunch." Her gaze had flicked guiltily away as she crumpled the top of the bag, and Eddie had known she meant she didn't eat, not just that she didn't do it in the cafeteria. "There's always cheer stuff to do…But I'd like to sit with you today?" she'd asked, voice lilting even higher in question as she peered hopefully up at him through her bangs. "If there's room at your table? And the guys don't mind?"

"Hell yeah, baby, there's room for you!" 

Gareth and Jeff had only slightly begrudgingly moved down the table so Chrissy could sit at Eddie's right. As the week progressed, Sinclair had returned to the fold, bringing with him Mayfield, who'd un-broken up with him. Who was Eddie to stand in the way of young love? (Or Mayfield, to be honest.) Which meant that when the Byerses returned to Hawkins and Wheeler had assumed his girlfriend could sit next to him, Eddie didn't disabuse him of the notion (though it would've been nice if the twerp had asked , like Sinclair had the manners to do), because said girlfriend slayed demons with her mind. (Come to think of it, this may have been when Mike had suggested no girlfriends at actual Hellfire Club campaigns, to appease the increasingly disgruntled singles and long-distance daters who kept giving up their seats, but Eddie couldn't say for sure.) And of course Byers the Younger had joined Hellfire, so he had gotten a seat at the table. 

Then, most surprisingly of all, Nancy Wheeler had plonked her tray down next to Chrissy one day (usurping Jeff's seat, and infuriating her brother). "I can't in good conscience allow you to be the only senior woman at this table." 

Chrissy, thrilled, had asked if Robin was going to join them, too ("Please, god, no, stop the madness!" Gareth had whined.) But Buckley ate with the band geeks, one of whom she was apparently crushing on, and instead the final addition to the Hellfire table was Byers the Elder, who honestly looked kinda miserable for someone who'd just been reunited with his girlfriend after months apart--and he hadn't even seen her dive into Watergate for Harrington. (He also looked miserable for a stoner, a combination Eddie hadn't realized was possible. Dude needed a session with Ms. Kelley more than he needed Mary Jane, if you asked Eddie. Which no one ever did.)

It was pure mayhem--and Eddie loved it.

Jason Carver wasn't going to have such warm and fuzzy thoughts about the new world order when he disgraced the cafeteria with his presence any minute now. Eyes trained on the door so he wouldn't miss the entrance of the walking dick in a letter jacket, Eddie took a bite of his sandwich, tastebuds confused at first by the taste of mustard and pickle. Oh yeah--the other half of Chrissy's turkey sandwich. Not bad. He kinda wished he'd brought a whole one for himself, instead of his customary peanut butter. (But he regretted the healthy new leaf he'd turned over this morning, which inspired the frankly insane choice to pack carrot sticks instead of potato chips.)

"Is something happening back there?" Jonathan twisted in his chair to follow Eddie's gaze over his shoulder. 

"Jason Carver will be," Dustin answered. "Did anyone fill you in on that? He's back from suspension for inciting a Satanic Panic."

"Oh," Jonathan said. "I never liked that guy. And he never liked me." 

"Welcome to the club." Eddie swallowed his sandwich and, still keeping the cafeteria entrance in his sightline, turned to Chrissy, who was squeezed beside him at the head of the table. Their shoulders brushed every now and then as they ate (frequently on purpose). "He really didn't say anything to you during first period?"

Eddie had seen her in the hall between Ms. Kelley's office and the chemistry lab, but they'd only had time for her to reassure him that her ex hadn't given her any trouble.

"Literally, not a word." Chrissy's eyes dropped to the nibbled-on half-sandwich she was squashing in two hands. In a quieter voice, which Eddie had to lean in to catch over the chatter of freshmen from down the table, she added, "Neither did anyone else." 

Eddie's gaze snapped fully to her. "What do you mean? Like, friends of his? Yours ?"

Still looking down, Chrissy's shoulders slumped as she lay her sandwich on the plastic baggie she'd brought it in and drew her hands into her lap. "People from our circle, yeah." 

"But they were speaking to you last week?" Eddie persisted. She hadn't mentioned anyone cutting her off over her relationship with him, despite the waves it had made. But maybe she'd just wanted to protect his feelings? 

Finally, she turned her wide blue eyes up to him, so he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that she was being forthright when she said, "Everyone acted pretty normal." 

Again, Eddie wished for chips, so he could cram a handful into his mouth and gnash them between his teeth, but the carrot stick he bit into at least made a semi-satisfying snap. "So it's just because Carver's back at school. Interesting."

"Fucking high school power dynamics," muttered Jonathan. Okay--dude might be a downer, but he got it .

"That really sucks, Chrissy," Nancy said. "I'm sorry."

Chrissy smiled sadly at the other girl. "I guess you learn who your real friends are." 

Under the table, Eddie wrapped his fingers around her hand, which had a death grip on the loose fabric of her blousy pink pants. She let out her breath and her fingers relaxed, beginning to weave together with his, only for Eddie to tense at a flash of green, white, and gold in his periphery. 

Of fucking course Carver had made his entrance while Eddie wasn't looking. Carver hadn't missed Eddie, though, skipping the cafeteria line to make a beeline for the Hellfire table. Eddie let go of Chrissy's hand to slide his arm along the back of her chair. 

"And here we see the male of the species display dominance at a perceived threat to his mate--"

A glare silenced Gareth (but the insolent cur grinned and raised his chocolate milk carton). Eddie wasn't being territorial about Chrissy--okay, maybe just a little. But Jesus, his arm wasn't even around her, just the damn chair. There was no need to posture, because Carver wasn't approaching with any real aggression; his stride was easy, his hands were tucked into the pockets of his letterman, the expression on his Ken doll face neutral as if it had been produced in a mold. If Eddie didn't know better, he'd think Carver was coming to make peace. 

Eddie knew better. 

Carver stopped just beside Chrissy's chair, but he deliberately avoided acknowledging her presence, keeping his icy, unblinking eyes fixed on Eddie. 

"I gotta hand it to you, Munson…" 

Eddie took a quick trip down memory lane; as far as he could recall, this was the first time the jock had addressed him by name and not as freak . Not that he gave a shit. 

"Without demonic powers--which, I'll admit, was pretty silly of me to accuse you of having--you managed to attract new followers to your little cult of…" One hand emerged from a pocket to gesture airily. "I guess we'll call it personality, for lack of a better word?" He sneered now, and cast it up down the table as he circled it, predatory, gaze settling on Jonathan. "Figures one would be you, Byers. Did he lure you all the way from California with his overpriced shitty pot?" 

"Doesn't that imply you have experience with Eddie's products?" asked Nancy.

A chorus of ooooooohs went up from the freshmen, attracting attention from other tables; Jeff slow-clapped, while Shawn made a flourishing bow to Nancy.

Carver's eyes narrowed at her before sliding back to Eddie as he returned to his original position, looming over Chrissy. "Anyway, I just came to say thank you." 

In the pause, Eddie could feel how desperately the dipshit wanted him to say, For what? but Eddie said nothing and munched his carrots in the most passive-aggressive way he could muster, like he was Bugs Fucking Bunny.

Finally, Jason was forced to finish his own statement, the wind knocked out of his sails. "For separating the goats from the sheep." 

"Wait…" Hand still on Chrissy's chair, Eddie tipped his back on two legs as he considered Carver. "Are you calling all your toadies stupid sheep?"

"Doesn't Eddie call us sheepies?" whispered Wheeler loudly to Will Byers.

"Shut up , Mike!" Lucas hissed, ramming an elbow into his side.

Eddie let his chair thunk onto all four legs as he leapt to his feet. He stopped short of jumping onto the table, because he just didn't have the energy for that kind of drama today. 

"Did everyone hear that?" he addressed the cafeteria at large, hands cupped around his mouth like a megaphone; he wished he had Chrissy's right now. (Okay, so maybe he wouldn't have minded some theatrical flair.) "The recently-suspended Jason Carver thinks you're all mindless sheep who follow him around going ba ba ba!"

"Baaaaaa!" bleated Dustin. "Baaaaaaaa!" 

"That's not what I said!" Carver protested. More baaaaaas went up from the Hellfire table--Mike and Lucas, and finally Will, too, when Max and El joined the chorus of bleats. "The goats and the sheep…It's in the Bible!"

Metal chair legs screeched on the linoleum as Chrissy pushed back from the table. Eddie's brain couldn't immediately process what was happening, but he felt her firm grip on his shoulder and then she stepped onto her chair .

"You need to stop using the Bible as an excuse to be a bully!" 

The head cheerleader's clear, strong voice, which had inspired a gym full of teenagers to go absofreakinglutely nuts in the bleachers during countless pep rallies and football and basketball games, rang through the cafeteria, stunning everyone into silence. Even Eddie. (Inwardly, he threw the horns and jumped into the air and shouted , losing his goddamn mind like he was at a concert, "HELL YEAH, CHRISSY!")

At last, Jason looked at her. Looked up at her, since she was standing on the chair, which made this whole thing that much sweeter. He was livid, face so red it was nearly purple. Was anyone from the yearbook here? Anyone with a camera? Jonathan? Because this desperately needed a picture in the yearbook, memorialized for all eternity. '86, baby. It wasn't Jason's year.

Belatedly, it occurred to Eddie that he should be worried about what Carver was going to do. No sooner had the thought formed than the squeaks of more chair legs broke the silence that had fallen over the cafeteria as Robin Buckley pushed to her feet. The redhead seated next to her--a dead-ringer for Molly Ringwald--regarded her from beneath knitted eyebrows for a moment before she, too, stood. Robin grinned (was that her mysterious crush?) and then they marched toward the Hellfire table. Eddie repented of ever calling out the band in his lunchtime rants.

One by one, more people started to get up--theater kids, choir nerds, cheerleaders--and they all rallied behind Chrissy. A few jocks even stood with Sinclair. 

Buckley raised her hands, pointing her index fingers on either side of her head like little goat horns and said, "Butt out, Carver." 

Molly Ringwald's doppelganger threw up goat horns, too, and the bleating resumed, more voices now than just the Hellfire freshmen. Mayhem. Utter, glorious mayhem. But Eddie didn’t join in, just stood at Chrissy’s side, trying not to piss himself laughing, as she stared down at the jock.

"I can't believe you've debased yourself like this,” Jason muttered. 

Then, without ever getting lunch, he stalked out of the cafeteria. A Hawkins Tiger with his tail tucked between his legs.

Go team!

Chapter Text

Whatever excitement Eddie felt when the last bell rang rushed out of him in the form of a groan from the bottommost depths of his being when he opened his locker. Much like his bedroom at home (before Chrissy took up residence), you couldn't find anything you were looking for inside. Yet there was his English textbook, front and center of the heap, impossible to miss, taunting him with its thick spine. Opting to ignore it for the moment (the same choice he'd been making for three years), he rifled through the detritus for the other books he needed for tonight's homework (there wasn't much, thank fuck, just a few chemistry equations and some reading for economics) and stuffed them into his backpack, along with a handful of folded scraps of paper: notes from customers--or rather, former customers--which he was also ignoring. 

Finally, Eddie couldn't put it off any longer. He groaned again, rolling out his tongue, and reached into his locker, grasping the English book with the tips of his fingers, like he was the fucking bomb squad. He wanted to chuck the thing down the hall, but it was decrepit enough that the cover would break or pages would explode out of it like it was a bomb, and then Ms. O'Donnell and Principal Higgins would make him pay for it. And paying for this piece of shit excuse for a literature book would be worse than actually having to read it. 

"Eddie, what's wrong?" chirped a voice from the other side of his locker door. 

He leaned his shoulder against the door to shut it and brandished the textbook for Chrissy. "Same thing as every day, sweetheart." 

(Was anything really wrong, though? It didn't seem like there could be, with Chrissy saying his name like that, looking up at him with those big eyes, a dimple of concern between her brows, wearing a pink backpack and hugging a TrapperKeeper with a picture of a tiger on it to her chest?)

"But you're getting caught up on the reading and turning in your homework," she said.

Eddie shoved the book into his backpack and slung the strap over his shoulder as they joined the flow of foot traffic down the hall toward freedom. "O'Donnell won't let me do metal Romantics for extra credit."

"That's a bummer." Chrissy slipped her hand into his and laced their fingers together, which made it much less of a bummer. "I thought you were doing that for music theory?"

"I was hoping to kill two birds with one stone. I mean, different poems, but you know. Same project. I helped defeat Vecna with my guitar, so why not O'Donnell? But she says the only extra credit she'll accept is a paper." 

"On what?" 

Eddie caught the door with his free hand, pushing it open. They briefly let go of each other's hands to exit, but clasped them again immediately as they stepped out of confinement into the sunny April afternoon. He took a deep breath of the fresh, free air, feeling cleansed from within. Talking about homework seemed like it would just cover him again in the muck of public education, but Chrissy had asked a question. 

"Topic of my choice," he answered, "but it's gotta relate to something in the course, and she'll replace my lowest major grade."

"What's your lowest major grade?" 

"Zero." On the Romantic era poets paper he hadn't bothered to write, much less turn in.

"So the only way you can go is up." 

True…All he had to do was pass-- though a better than passing grade would give him some leeway on the final. "But I also have a term paper for her that I have to do. It's a tall order."  

"We'll think of something." Chrissy squeezed his hand. "And you never have trouble talking about things you're interested in." 

They'd arrived at Eddie's van, and he released her hand to delve into his pocket for his keys. "Are you saying I don't know how to shut up?"

Sunlight danced in Chrissy's eyes as she looked up at him, hugging the TrapperKeeper in both arms. Eddie had never been jealous of a goddamn three-ring binder before.

"I'm saying I have confidence in your ability to wax eloquent and impress Ms. O'Donnell." 

"That's a really sweet way to say I've perfected the art of bullshitting." 

Eddie inserted the key into the lock, bowing as he pulled the door open for Chrissy, then offering her a hand up into the passenger seat. His role as footman complete, he jogged around the front of the van to play the chauffeur. As he climbed in, a reflection in the side mirror caught his eye: Carver, standing at the open hatch of his shiny black Jeep (which had probably never been off-road) staring at Eddie with an expression that clearly said their antipathy hadn't ended with his humiliation in the cafeteria yesterday, even though Eddie had very little to do with it. Compared with past lunchtime escapades, anyway. 

"Everything okay?" Chrissy asked. 

Before she looked back to see what had drawn his attention, he climbed behind the wheel, flashing her a grin as he flung his bag somewhere in the back of the van. "Just got distracted thinking of potential extra credit topics." 

He turned the key in the ignition, and the engine stuttered to life, along with the tape deck. 

Young and free, something you'll never be

A childhood's end, it's lunacy

Pure dictation, they don't listen

And you're just waiting for what you're missing

Eddie peeled out of the parking space, glancing in the rearview mirror to see Carver flipping the bird. Fingers itching to return the gesture, he dialed back the volume instead.

"So…The subjects of most interest to me are, in order of ascending importance, D&D, heavy metal--" (He wasn't sure he could truly rank one of those above the other.) "--and you."

Giggling, Chrissy ducked her head. "How would you write an English paper about me ?" 

Eddie's insides buckled at how freaking adorable it was that she was still a little bashful, a little disbelieving that he was totally crazy about her. 

He turned the van onto the street and took a hand off the wheel to rub his chin. " Hmm… Compare and contrast Chrissy Cunningham with Lady Macbeth?" 

Her head came up. "I hope there wouldn't be anything to compare!"

"I dunno, sweetheart, you're pretty ruthless when it comes to demobats and hive mind vines." 

"But I managed to get all the blood and guts off my tennies." She propped her dainty little feet in her immaculate white Reeboks on the cracked dashboard to prove her point. 

"See, that's a contrast. You're ruthless, but only against evil creatures that are trying to kill you and the people you--" 

Eddie caught himself. Love . He'd almost said love . He hadn't worked up the courage yet to say the word to her. He darted a glance sideways and saw that Chrissy's eyes had grown very wide in her flushed face. Did she want him to say it? Did she love him back? 

"--care about." 

Silence ensued--well, they were silent; Anthrax certainly wasn't. 

Who are you gonna live your life for?

Conformity will trap you like a locked door

Independence means owning your decisions

Authority will put your soul in prison

After a moment, Chrissy spoke again, and thankfully she sounded like she'd just been thinking during that time, not rendered awkwardly speechless by what Eddie had said--or failed to say. "You know, just because Ms. O'Donnell won't let you write a song doesn't mean you couldn't still talk about the common themes in metal lyrics and Romantic poetry. Like you were talking about the other night."

That…wasn't a bad idea, even though Eddie had mainly been goofing off at the time. "But then I'd have to read more Romantic poetry." He made gagging sounds. 

“Then that leaves Dungeons and Dragons."

“I didn’t eliminate you as a topic. It might not be the smartest idea to write about D&D now."

Chrissy hmm ed in agreement. 

"Can’t you just see it? Me turning in an essay that waxes eloquent about the influences of Medieval lit and history on D&D, and O’Donnell handing it back with a big fat C+?”

“Like that Christmas movie where the kid wants a BB gun!” Chrissy laughed. 

“Exactly. She’d write, You’ll get possessed or something on it.”

Oh shit! Chrissy was still laughing, but weakly, one hand fiddling  with the '86 charm at her throat.

"Jesus, Chrissy--I didn't mean to joke about--" They'd come to a red light, so he could actually scrub his hands over his face and groan into his palms. 

"Eddie." She reached across the center console and lay a hand on his thigh. "I know. It's okay."

He lowered a hand back to the steering wheel and curled his other fingers over her hand on his leg. "You just…really went through something. I don't want to be a jackass--"

"Satanic panic is in the news every single day. I can't fall apart every time someone mentions the devil or demonic possession. Laughing about it helps. A little. Anyway--" She gave her hair a little toss over her shoulder. "--they have no idea what they're talking about."

"No fucking idea," Eddie mumbled against her knuckles, drawing them to his mouth to press soft kisses to them. 

A horn blared from the car behind. Eddie glanced up, saw that the light was green, and gunned it into the intersection, giving the helpful driver in the rearview mirror the one finger salute. 

Don't compromise just keep on grinning

The games they play you just keep on winning 

"You know, I wouldn't mind a leg lamp," Eddie mused aloud. 

Chrissy's cheeks went pink, but she lifted an eyebrow. "Are you into fishnets and stilettos?"

What man wasn't? "I'd get one with little white socks and sneakers."

The shrieking that filled his van was her laughter, not metal. It was the best sound Eddie had ever heard. 

***

The Hobbit was an easy read--Eddie had read the whole thing in a day, maaaaybe two, when he was a kid--but Chrissy wasn't exactly flying through it. To be fair, between helping Eddie with his homework and keeping up with her own, she didn't have a ton of free time. (He felt like a dickhead when it occurred to him that just because there was no question that she would be graduating, it didn't mean she could coast through the last six weeks of school. Well, it could , but that wasn't her style.) What little free time she did have, she tended to spend making out with him instead of doing recreational reading. 

A few days ago, he'd asked if she liked The Hobbit. "It's cute!" she'd chirped, then caught her bottom lip between her teeth. "But, um, everybody sings a lot?"

Not exactly damning with faint praise, but also not the glowing endorsement Eddie would've wished for one of his favorite books. Hopefully, once the action picked up, she'd get more into it.

"There's a pretty good animated Hobbit movie," he'd told her. "It has all the songs." 

Because he could see how it might be weird to read songs without tunes--like reading poetry--if you weren't used to that being a core element of the fantasy genre. He’d made up his own tunes as a kid--information he did not disclose to her.

"Maybe they have it at Family Video," Chrissy had said, and Eddie had wondered what gods he'd pleased enough to bless him with a girlfriend as sweet as her, willing to watch a movie even if she wasn't the biggest fan of the book it was adapted from. He owed her a chick flick or whatever she wanted to watch on their next movie date. 

"I, uh, have an LP of the soundtrack around here somewhere," Eddie had admitted, scrubbing the back of his head. "I was, like, ten or eleven? We didn't have a VCR."

But he didn't need to be embarrassed, because Chrissy had smiled and said, "I'm picturing little Eddie with curly hair looking like a hobbit."

"Little Eddie wanted to be a wizard, thank you very much, but yeah. I did kinda look like a hobbit in grade school. Before Uncle Wayne took his clippers to me." 

He hadn't found the record--yet--so for now, Chrissy would have to keep muddling through the songs without tunes. She'd asked if he remembered how they went, which-- doy --of course he did, but Eddie wouldn't inflict his godawful caterwauling on her when she was already on the fence about The Hobbit. (You're welcome, Professor Tolkien.)

She didn't lack musical accompaniment as she curled up in bed with the book while he worked on his composition project. After a few minutes of thrashing in fits and starts to scribble down chords, he jerked his thumb toward the bedroom door and asked, "Am I bugging you? Because I can do this in the other room if you want peace and quiet to read or sleep or whatever." 

"You're not bugging me," Chrissy replied, her voice too cheerful for her face. She worried at her thumbnail, peering up at him with eyes big and fearful like the day in the woods. "If I'm not distracting you from your magnum opus, I'd rather not be alone during this part. It's kind of creepy." 

"What's happening?" Maybe she was farther along than he thought, and she'd gotten to the giant spiders in Mirkwood.

"Bilbo fell down a hole into a cave! He's all alone!" 

"Chapter five?" Eddie absently moved through the chord progression he'd just worked out. "''Riddles in the Dark'?" When Chrissy nodded, he barked out a laugh. "Sweetheart, you are in for a treat ." 

Maybe more in the trick or treat sense, if she was already creeped out by Bilbo wandering alone in a cave with only the light of his elven sword.

Honestly, it didn't quite make sense for someone who'd been to the Upside Freaking Down to be scared of a scene in The Hobbit , but a lot of things didn't make sense to Eddie. He'd also never had a normal sense of fear, so he kept his mouth shut. 

Except to say, "I'll be right here with you, Chrissy. Every step of the way."

She gave a wobbly smile, then returned her eyes to her book. Eddie watched her, the flicker of emotions across her face in the light of the bedside lamps (the flowers were still going strong in their bong vases, thanks to Chrissy trimming off the ends of the stems and changing the water). Her knees were drawn up against her chest, book propped on them, and she worried at her thumbnail. She got as into books as she did into movies, and Eddie found it just as adorable. But he was never going to make any progress on his song if he kept watching her, so he turned away.

The poem he'd chosen to set to music was William Blake's "The Tyger." Couldn't hurt to show a little school spirit, could it, when the theory class was taught by the band director ? Plus it had that badass repeated line thy fearful symmetry. Maybe he'd call it that--metal as hell! Eddie had no delusions it would be anywhere as good as Iron Maiden's take on "The Rime of the Ancient Mariner"--it wouldn't be thirteen minutes long , for one thing--but he'd definitely listened to it for inspiration, along with "The Trooper" and "The Number of the Beast." (Damn, Steve Harris was a well-read son of a bitch. He'd be so disappointed Eddie had flunked senior English twice. Maybe he should write a paper on Romantic influences on heavy metal, like Chrissy suggested. Except he didn't know what he'd say other than, See, Iron Maiden is an English teacher's wet dream, and O'Donnell would cheerfully fail him again for that.) 

One thing he did know: he was gonna need Buckley to help him score this whole thing. He could handle chord charts and maybe a basic melody, but he didn't have a goddamn clue how to notate drums and bass (or write a drum line, he'd have to ask Gareth to riff and record), and whatever the hell this solo he was noodling around with was probably beyond what the class had covered, too. 

Actually, what was this solo? Instead of tigers prowling through forests at night, he was thinking about Bilbo Baggins wandering in Gollum's mountain cave by the faint light of Sting, remembering himself stumbling through the twisted trees of the Upside Down with a flashlight wrapped in a plastic grocery bag, and the melody had changed to something lonely and eerie, unsure of where it was going or how to get there…

Or maybe he was drifting toward the shadowy corners of his own mind, where Ms. Kelley had shone light on old memories of parents who'd given him nothing but lingering trauma he had yet to process.

"That's not what I expected your song to sound like," Chrissy said, looking up from The Hobbit. 

Eddie's fingers stilled on the strings. "I think this is something else." 

"What?"

"I don't know yet." Eddie clasped his hands behind his head and stretched his stiff arms and back, rolled his neck to crack it. That thought he'd had, about writing a book about the Upside-Down…what if it wasn't a book, but an album? 

"We'll see if I even remember it in the morning."

He went back to "Fearful Symmetry"--shredding through the opening again to make sure the progression was as he'd written it down, while Chrissy resumed reading. 

After a few minutes, when he'd just worked back into the solo line he'd deviated from, Chrissy clapped the book shut. 

Startled, Eddie's pick screeched. "What's wrong?"

He could see the rapid rise and fall of Chrissy's chest beneath her oversized sleep shirt, and her eyes were round. "Eddie, I don't like this little Gollum man!"

Didn't like… Eddie's brain short-circuited, but when cognitive function was restored, he repeated, " Little Gollum man ," as sheer delight stretched across his face. 

He shrugged out of his guitar strap and hung her carefully over his mirror. Then, turning back to Chrissy, he dropped onto all fours, watching her eyes go cartoonishly rounder than they already were, as he scampered around the bed. 

"We likes the pretty elf-girl, doesn't we, Precious?" he said in his best imitation of the guttural voice he remembered from the Hobbit cartoon. "Does she tastes as good as she looks? Oh, we thinks she does, Precious, we does !"

"Eddie!" Chrissy shrieked, kicking at the covers and scrambling to the other side of the bed as Eddie sprang onto it. She couldn't escape, though, the sheets tangling around her and screams and squeals of laughter sapping her strength as Eddie's fingers clamped around her bare ankles--she was wearing shorts tonight instead of pajama pants--and dragged her back toward him. 

"Oh yes, we likes her!" 

With a growl, he lightly bit the protruding bone of her ankle--dangerous, at first, the way she was squirming, but she went still beneath his lips when he pressed them to it. 

"So sweet, Precious!" 

She laughed and squeaked his name as he kissed his way up her calf, making nom nom sounds as he pretended to eat her, stopping to linger at the warm, soft flesh behind her knee, where he declared in the raspy voice, "Juicy sweet!"

“Eddieee!” Chrissy pleaded through her laughter. "Don’t kiss me while you’re talking like Gollum!”

He looked up at her, hand around her knee, and asked, in his own voice, “Uh, are you asking me to stop kissing you, or to stop talking like Gollum?”

Chrissy rolled her eyes and reached for his shoulder, giving a little tug. Eddie responded eagerly--maybe a little too eagerly, their noses bumping and lips crashing together roughly. Not that he minded, but after that weird little roleplay, he owed her some nice kissing. He slowed down, cradling her face in his hand, stroked the edge of his thumb over her cheekbone, moved lips and tongue with intention, like he was composing a song or writing an essay to tell her she was precious to him. That he loved her…

When the kiss ended, he rolled onto his back, felt something hard beneath his hips, shifted and pulled out his well-worn copy of The Hobbit. He held it out to Chrissy, but she shuddered and shook her head. 

"No more tonight. Or ever." 

A knife in his heart! "No, no, this just won't do. You were in the middle of a chapter. What if I read the rest to you?"

The pillowcase crinkled as Chrissy turned her head toward him. "You just want to do the voice again, don't you?"

Eddie didn't mean to make a choking laugh in the back of his throat, but he was so excited when he looked at her that it just kind of happened. It was one-hundred percent on purpose that he croaked out, "We loves to do the Gollum voice, Precious." In Eddie's own, he added, "Come on, he won't be as creepy if you see me reading, right?"

Chrissy pursed her lips and gave him a long, dubious look, but in the end she nodded. "Okay."

She didn't have very far left to go in the chapter--Bilbo had won the riddle game and asked Gollum what he had in his pocket, which Eddie was kind of bummed not to be able to read aloud to her--but at least he got to throw a Gollum tantrum and hiss, Not fair! Not fair! It isn't fair, my precious, is it, to ask us what it's got in its nassty little pocketses? And although Chrissy started out tense, clutching the front of Eddie's shirt as she sat in the crook of his arm, he felt her relax beside him as he read, perhaps soothed by Tolkien's clear prose as he had been as a kid, fully invested in Bilbo's clever escape. 

"And that," Eddie said, closing the book at the end of the chapter, "is the end of Gollum." 

Chrissy heaved a sigh. 

"In this book, anyway," headded. 

"You mean he's in The Lord of the Rings ?" She didn't hide the disappointment in her voice. 

Frankly, Eddie was a little gutted that his performance hadn't brought her around to Gollum. "Not Fellowship , but in the others. His character arc is--" Abruptly, he stopped and sat up. "Chrissy. I know what I'm gonna do for my extra credit paper."

"Something about Gollum?"

Eddie shook his head. "Tolkien's pretty high up on my list of interests, too. But still not Chrissy level." He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her hair, which was not only tinted strawberry-colored, but smelled like them, too, thanks to some shampoo they'd bought on their last grocery run. "Can we go to the library after school?" A laugh burst out of him over her reply. "I don't think that's a question I've ever asked before in my life."

"The answer," Chrissy said, resting her head on his chest as she squeezed his waist, "is yes."

***

For a town that willingly believed high school students who played a fantasy game were involved in a Satanic murder cult, Hawkins had more books on Tolkien than Eddie expected. In the school library, he found a biography, and the public library had a critical analysis of literary and historical influences on his work. Between the two books and the handful of articles Eddie had saved from fantasy magazines over the years, he should have more than enough material for the paper he wanted to write about how Beowulf inspired Tolkien to create Middle Earth. 

"This paper's gonna knock O'Donnell's fucking socks off," he told Chrissy as he slid down the handrail, book in hand, as they left the Hawkins Public Library--or tried to; it wasn't a smooth metal rail, chipped paint and rust snagging his jeans. 

"Support stockings," Chrissy said. 

"Huh?"

"Ms. O'Donnell doesn't wear socks, they're support stockings." 

"Oh. Hot." Eddie jumped off the rail onto the sidewalk and watched Chrissy trot down the last couple steps, ponytail bobbing. "I'm gonna have a bibliography page and everything. She won't believe I wrote it." 

"It'll be a great paper!" Chrissy did little cheerleader hops and an arm routine, ending with one fist on her hip and the other in the air. "I can proofread for you." 

"I appreciate the offer, but I'm gonna have to regretfully decline." 

The smile slid from Chrissy's face as her arms fell slack at her sides "Why? I have good grades in English." 

Well, shit. She was genuinely disappointed. That dimple had formed between her eyebrows and everything. Eddie stepped closer to her, bent his head, and kissed it. Then, realizing he was committing an act of PDA at the center of the town square--a couple of old biddies had just sidled past them up the library steps--he wrapped an arm around her, Tolkien critical analysis text at the small of her back, and caught her chin between his fingers to tilt her face upward.

"Spoilers, baby," he murmured, hovering just shy of her mouth. "For The Lord of the Rings." 

Eddie brushed his lips over hers, and Chrissy returned the kiss, a gentle press against his, but just as he thought about getting really daring and slipping some tongue, he felt her palms against his chest, pushing him away. Quickly, he raised his head. Had he misread the situation? Was she not into kissing on the street? 

But her eyes glittered up at him, with sunshine and shenanigans. Eddie's pulse raced in anticipation, almost as much as it had with the public display of affection. 

"I told you," she said, "I don't think I can read more about Gollum." 

"She can, Precious, pretty elf-girl can read more about us!" Eddie croaked in his Gollum voice, then dipped his head to plant noisy kisses on her cheek. 

He would've gone for her neck and pretended to gobble it up, but given the way Chrissy had screeched and squirmed last night in the privacy of the trailer, that would probably be going too far in front of the library--especially given his recent reputation for being into really freaky shit. (They'd be so disappointed, if only they knew how lame he actually was.) 

Wiping his slobber off her cheek, he asked, "While we're in town, would you mind if I stop in Tiger Tones? I wanna ask about that job listing."

Chrissy enthusiastically agreed. They dumped Eddie's book and her backpack in the van (she'd gotten research materials for her English term paper, too), and then, his arm slung around her shoulders, they strolled around the square. He kinda hoped they'd run into someone they knew, or he knew, or Chrissy knew…like her mom. 

For better or for worse (probably for the better), they arrived at the music store without incident. The Help Wanted sign hanging in the window should have been a relief to Eddie, but he hesitated outside, staring at it. Would his help be wanted?

Chrissy wrapped her arms around his bicep and squeezed. "Do you want me to go in? If you don't, I can wait out here, or go poke around in Melvald's."

"No, you can come with," Eddie said. "I mean, if you want to." It wasn't like he was going to interview on the spot, just ask to apply.

Bouncing up on her toes to peck his cheek, she detached herself from him. Eddie immediately missed the close contact, but he watched with interest and amusement as she put some space between them and stood facing him with a solemn expression and fists on her hips. Almost like she was going to do a--

"S-U-C-C-E-S-S!" she spelled, loud and clear, in her cheerleader voice (honestly, she could front a metal band, with pipes like that). Not caring that she drew stares from Hawkins citizens coming in and out of shops around the square, she raised her arms and bent and waved them around with as much fervor as she would in a gym with pompoms.

"That's the way we spell success

We wish you luck and all the rest

With S-U-C-C-E-S-S!"

Ending with arms forming a Y over her head, voice still ringing in the air and Eddie's ears, she beamed at him, cheeks flushed pink.

"You wanna come do that at the next Hellfire Club meeting?" Eddie said. "I mean, the cheer squad isn't doing anything right now…I think it would really boost morale." 

“If you guys had cheerleaders, you’d be even more like a sports team, and Robin would be right.”

“Take it back, wench!”

Her giggle mingled with the jangle of the bell as he opened the door for her. 

"Be right with ya!" called a male voice, tinged with a Minnesotan accent, from the back room when they entered--the owner, Roger. 

(Shit , Eddie didn't know Roger's last name. You should probably call someone Mr. So-and-So when you wanted them to hire you, shouldn't you?) But Roger continued talking in a low muted tone, on the phone, probably, so he definitely needed help with the store. 

While they waited, Eddie and Chrissy meandered around the sales floor, looking at the various musical instruments, new and used. Brass band instruments gleamed from the longest wall, while guitars--mainly acoustic, but a few electric--were displayed on another. In the middle of the floor stood drum kits and pianos, including a baby grand, which Chrissy walked over to and softly played a few notes. She'd told Eddie she used to take lessons.

"Sorry to keep you waiting!" 

They turned to see a balding man rush from the back room, wiping his glasses with a handkerchief. He put them on and blinked owlishly from behind the lenses. 

"Eddie! What can I do for ya today?" Roger folded the handkerchief and tucked it back into the pocket of his khaki pants. (Eddie hoped that wasn't, like, the dress code for working here. He could handle a plaid button-down, but khakis ? Honestly, could be a deal-breaker.) "I think I've got the strings you like in stock." He noticed Chrissy by the baby grand and grinned. "Or are we looking at pianos?"

"Hi, Mr. Brooks!" (How many times was Chrissy going to save Eddie's ass with her breadth of knowledge?)

"Chrissy Cunningham! I remember when your parents bought your piano. Do you still play?"

"No, I had to quit because of cheerleading," she said, sadly. "But maybe after graduation I'll have time to play again? I'm going to learn a Black Sabbath song to play with Eddie's band."

This came as something of a surprise to Eddie, who'd only suggested it as a joke when he'd found out Chrissy could play piano. If it was shocking to Mr. Brooks, there wasn't any hint of that on his face when he said, after thinking for a second, "'Solitude'?"

"You've won today's Double Jeopardy!" Eddie wasn't totally surprised Mr. Brooks had at least a passing knowledge of Sabbath's catalog, as he'd never seemed judgmental any time Eddie came into the shop, but inwardly he was freaking out a little bit. Maybe it was a sign?

"Does Corroded Coffin have a flautist?" asked Mr. Brooks. 

Was that what flute players were called? Why not flutists? They didn't play flauts. Maybe that was the kind of thing Eddie needed to know if he was going to work in a store that sold musical instruments. 

"I have a friend in the marching band," Eddie said. "Thought maybe she could hook us up with a--" He almost said band geek , but caught himself. He couldn't bring himself to say flautist either. "--flute player."

He knew Chrissy had probably only said any of this to make small talk with Mr. Brooks, but he actually really loved the idea of doing "Solitude" with her now. If he got this job, maybe she could practice in the store. 

(Someday, when they had a house, they'd have a piano. Hell, a whole music room. He'd need a place for his guitars and amps and shit, instead of their bedroom.)

"So," Mr. Brooks said, looking at Eddie after the chit-chat lapsed. "Strings?" He pivoted toward the rack where the guitar supplies were.

"Actually…" Eddie began, and Mr. Brooks turned back. "I was going to ask if there's anything I can do for you ." When the shop owner did another of those rapid blinks, this time of confusion, Eddie twisted the pig ring on his middle finger. "I saw in the paper you're looking for full-time help, and I wanted to apply. I don't know much about band instruments or pianos--" By that, he meant fuck all . "--but you know I know guitars, and I can learn the other sh-stuff." 

"When can you start?" asked Mr. Brooks, his grin huge, looking almost relieved.

Holy shit! Was this actually happening? Were they just going to skip right over an interview, or even an application? 

"In six weeks? What date's graduation, Chrissy?" He glanced toward the revolving rack where she was pretending to be interested in piano music books.

"May thirtieth."

"Yeah, May thirtieth, so like…" How many days did May have? He fiddled with his rings, trying not to be two conspicuous about doing the knuckle memory trick. Thirty days hath September, April, June, and November… "June second? Monday?"

Mr. Brooks sighed and shook his head.

"Saturday, May thirty-first?" Eddie suggested. He'd thought they'd be up partying after graduation, but if starting earlier meant he got the job…

"Gee, I'm sorry, Eddie, but I really need someone as soon as possible."

Fuck. Eddie should've known it couldn't be that easy to land a job. Not in Reagan's economy. "What about nights and weekends until then?"

Out the corner of his eye, he saw Chrissy looking at him. He couldn't stop himself glancing at her; her brow was furrowed, and he knew what she was thinking: When would you do homework or study ? Or maybe his own conscience just sounded like Chrissy. It definitely wasn't Jiminy Cricket.

"I'd like to take you on, Eddie," said Mr. Brooks, taking out his handkerchief again to dab sweat off his forehead, "but if someone was available full-time before the end of May, I'd have to let you go and hire them, and I wouldn't feel right about that. But I really need full-time help, and I just can't hold the position for you."

"I get it," Eddie said, forcing himself to smile. "Sorry for wasting your time." 

Although he wanted to get out of Tiger Tones like a demobat out of the Upside Down, he did buy guitar strings, because it seemed kinda shitty not to. The bell chimed too cheerfully behind him, and he shoved his hands deep in his pockets and set a much faster pace back to the van than they'd taken to get here, slowing only when he realized Chrissy was practically jogging to match his longer strides. 

"I'm sorry it didn't work out for you," she said, her hand finding its way into the bend of his elbow. "Maybe Mr. Brooks won't fill the position? Not that I'm wishing for him to be short-handed, but…" She looked up at him with a sheepish half-smile. "I guess I kind of am."

"What if I just started working full-time now?" Eddie blurted out. 

"How could you do that with school?" 

Eddie stopped on the sidewalk. Chrissy looked up at him, mouth falling open as understanding dawned. 

"You mean… quit school?"

She sounded absolutely scandalized, like this was the worst thing he could do, despite everything people had said he'd done, most of which was way worse.

He took his hands out of his pockets, spread them wide at his sides. "I mean, how much does a diploma really matter, anyway, in the grand scheme of things? It's not like I've set myself up on a great career path." His gaze had dropped to the scuffed toes of his sneakers. He kicked at a clump of weeds sprouting through a crack in the sidewalk. "A full-time job in a music store is a hell of a lot better than I expected for myself, anyway." Jail. Dead. The recent conversation with Ms. Kelley pushed to the front of his mind. "I might actually like working at Tiger Tones."

"But, Eddie, you're so close!" Chrissy caught his hand in both of hers, clutching it tight. "You can't run away now. This is just the hard part of the climb. You said yourself, you don't want to be a dropout." 

Eddie reached up with his free hand to scrub the back of his head. "Using my own words against me, huh?"

"Not against you." Chrissy caught her bottom lip between her teeth and added, "Wayne would be heartbroken if he didn't get to see you graduate." 

Eddie glanced away. "And my uncle. Low blow, Cunningham." His hand fell from his hair with his sigh, and his gaze slid back to Chrissy's. "You're right, though. I do want that diploma." For himself, like Ms. Kelley said.

And maybe Roger Brooks didn't actually want a metalhead accused of leading a Satanic cult working in his store, and it wasn't about needing immediate help at all. 

"I guess there's always the plant." 

A crease buckled between her brows. 

"What?" Eddie asked, but maybe he didn't want to know. Chrissy might be thinking it would be embarrassing to date a menial labor drone doing shift work. 

"That would kill your soul." 

Eddie snorted. "Yeah, probably. But you know what kills a lot more? Unemployment."

Chapter Text

It blew Eddie's mind that anyone would study for a test earlier than the night before, yet here Chrissy was, a French test looming on the distant horizon of next week, with her textbook, spiral notebook, flashcards, and a full rainbow of pens spread out on the dinette, studying. Or preparing to.

Even more mind-blowingly, Eddie offered to quiz her on vocabulary. 

"You took French?" Chrissy asked as he sat across from her at the small table, tilting his chair back on two legs. 

"Latin."  

Chrissy cocked her head and studied him. The familiar crease appeared between her eyebrows, just below her bangs. Eddie had always liked to be a puzzle for people to work out--though most people either didn't give him a second thought, or came up with the most unoriginal bullshit--but it was a total rush to be under her scrutiny, to know that she saw him differently from most people, and liked what she saw.

After a moment, she asked, a smile pulling at the corners of her kissable mouth, "Did you choose Latin because you heard it was a dead language and thought that sounded metal as hell?"

Eddie threw his head back and crowed. But he'd forgotten the precarious position of his chair, and the inertia of his aggressive movement made it tip. He flailed to regain balance.

"Eddie!" Chrissy cried. She shot out an arm and lurched across the table to grab him--a hand, his shirt, maybe his hair, anything she could catch--but Eddie's chair had already flipped. 

He heard her gasp as he thumped to the floor with a grunt. Her chair knocked against the wall in her scramble from the tight dining nook.

On his back, legs ludicrously in the air bent in the shape of his chair, Eddie was momentarily winded, but once he caught his breath again, he resumed cackling. He held up a hand and pointed at her. "Chrissy Cunningham, you get me!"

She gave a shaky smile, tucking a loose lock of hair behind her ear, as she knelt beside him. "You were this close to whacking your head on the TV." Her chest heaved above him; Eddie pictured her heart dancing frantically in her ribcage, worried about him . "Are you okay?"

He rolled off the chair and sat up with a grimace. His back didn't feel too great; he could feel bruises starting already along the notches of his spine. 

"I'm fine," he said. "Other than my wounded pride." 

But honestly, he didn't even feel all that foolish about it. Chrissy was looking at him like that because she was concerned he might be hurt, not because she thought he was some clown. (Though she would be wrong.)  

She took his hand as she sat fully beside him on the brown shag carpet, backs to the dinette. A weird place to sit when there was an equally grungy and only slightly more comfortable couch across the room, but hey, if Chrissy wasn't bothered, neither was Eddie. But they were directly downwind of the slow cooker, in which Uncle Wayne had started some new white bean chili recipe before he left for his shift, and Eddie didn't know how long he'd last before he had to get up and try it out.

"Anyway," he said, shaking his disheveled hair out of his face, "even though I only took the two required years of a different foreign language, I think I can look at the back of a flashcard and check if you said what's on it."

Although a smile had bloomed on Chrissy's face as she'd placed her hand in his, chasing away the lingering traces of worry like the sun dissipated the clouds after a storm, it wilted slightly now. Eddie tried not to take her dubiousness to heart; he was, after all, sort of a dubious guy.

"Please?" He squeezed her hand. "I, uh, kinda owe you for all your help with my work."

"You don't owe me anything," Chrissy said, so earnestly. "I helped you because I…" 

…love you, Eddie's heart pounded in the space in between, the hesitation during which he glimpsed the flash of white teeth bite into her soft, pink bottom lip (he wished it was his teeth, or his lip, he wasn't particular about who was biting who in this scenario). 

"...know how much you want to graduate."

A familiar refrain. Eddie tried not to feel disappointed. They might be singing the same song, but were just too afraid to break out in a duet.

"What's important to you is important to me," Chrissy said. "This is what girlfriends do, right?"

"Hell yeah! But the sexes being equal, it’s what boyfriends do, too." 

Boyfriend and girlfriend. He, Edward Munson, was Chrissy Cunningham's boyfriend, and she was his girlfriend. That was still surreal enough even without bringing the L -word into it. 

Anyway, there was another word that needed to come first.

"Plus I was kind of a dick about the whole job thing," he said, turning his head toward her. 

Chrissy met his eyes. She didn't argue with him--and he was glad, because he wanted to own up to his bad behavior, but it also made him a little sick to his stomach that she didn’t disagree with him about said behavior. But her gaze was so gentle, and her lips curved softly upward. Her other hand came up, tracing a long curl back from his face. The tips of her fingers grazed his skin, sending a shiver down his spine. 

"You were disappointed," she said.

Eddie swallowed. "Yeah. Still am." 

It was so good to be honest with her about his feelings. Not many people cared whether the things he wanted came to pass or not, or how he took it if they didn't. (Usually, they didn't.) People tended to think--and he tended to agree--that it was because he didn't deserve it, didn't work hard enough, that he'd fucked up. But not Chrissy. What's important to you is important to me. He hadn't known a lot of love, but what was it, if not that?

He looked down at their joined hands, hers so soft and delicate, carefully manicured, his callused and smudged with ink and wood stain from a shop project, nails chewed and torn. They shouldn't go together, yet they did, so perfectly. If Ms. Kelley was right--and she probably was--he'd self-sabotaged a lot in his life. He'd be damned if he fucked this up.

His eyes snapped back up to hers. She was still touching his face, fingertips tracing minute patterns along his jawline; he could hear the rasp of his stubble on her soft skin. He reached up with his free hand and covered her hand, and for a moment pictured how they must look, intimately entwined on the musty carpeted floor of the trailer, the chair still toppled behind them, while chili warmed in the slow cooker. The farthest thing from a romantic setting, but so real.

"Disappointment's not an excuse," Eddie said. "I'm sorry, Chrissy." 

He didn't have a lot of experience with forgiveness--hadn't even asked her to forgive him (though he probably should have)--but there was a new softness in her gaze, a warmth that wasn't just from late afternoon sunlight filtered through the orange curtain. It must be forgiveness, because the warmth of her gaze spread all through him, making him feel lighter, free of the guilt he'd been carrying for his meltdown. He started to raise their entwined hands to his lips, to bestow the most grateful of kisses upon this good lady, when Chrissy tilted her head and pressed her own to his cheek. 

Eddie's heart hitched sharply—painfully, almost, like it had snagged on a rib--at the delicateness. No one handled him with care, except in the walking-on-eggshells kind of way, because they didn't want to get on the mean, scary, devil-worshiping drug dealer's bad side. Yet Chrissy kissed him once, with more tenderness than he could ever remember anyone showing him in a moment like this. She lingered, lips and the tip of her nose on his cheek, and the blood thrummed through his veins at the soft, steady puffs of her breath through her nostrils and slightly parted mouth. When she finally moved, he thought it was to pull away, but instead she kissed him again--and again--a zigzagging trail from his cheek down to the corner of his mouth. Her fingers gripped his chin a little more firmly as she turned his head upward, and Eddie surrendered to her direction. 

After the chasteness, there was no hesitation now, no slow build, just Chrissy opening, the warm tip of her tongue sweeping into his mouth and the friction of it sliding against his tongue. Her palm rubbed his jaw and cheek as her fingers tangled in the hair at his nape, as if she were trying to mash their faces together, to press them into one inseparable being. Who knew kissing could be like this?

And then, just as quickly as the heat had flickered between them, it settled into something subdued and soft again, until they drew apart, except for their foreheads touching, hands clasped between her small, heaving breasts. Idly stroking the outline of her bra through her blouse, Eddie pictured her burnished golden bangs threaded through his dark hair. 

"I'm sorry, too," Chrissy said, breathily, disentangling her fingers from his hair. 

Eddie sat back, blinked away the haze of their all-too-brief make-out session. "Sweetheart. You got nothing to apologize for." 

Letting go of his other hand, Chrissy hugged her knees to her chest and rested her cheek on them, eyes darting around the trailer before turning up toward Eddie. "Sometimes I don't think about things from your perspective. About the way you were brought up. I take a lot for granted."

"Hey, I don't like to think about it, either." Grunting, Eddie heaved himself to his feet, wincing as the movement strained his bruised back. 

"Sorry--"

"No," Eddie interrupted, picking up the toppled chair and pushing it up to the dinette. "I mean. I should think about it. I have been. Ms. Kelley kinda made me. In that, uh, magical therapist way.” He gestured airily at the last part, grinning as Chrissy nodded up at him. She got it.

He hadn't told her about this week's meeting yet--it had been a lot to process--but now he wanted to, and he didn't even have to think about how to say any of it.

"You know I never realized I had a traumatic childhood?" he said as he followed the siren call of the chili to the kitchen. "I just thought all the shit with my parents was normal. Well, normal for me." 

Chrissy already knew what had happened to them and how Eddie came to live with Wayne. He opened the cupboard and took out two bowls, glancing over his shoulder at the dinette, where she'd resumed her seat, and holding one bowl up in question. Again, she nodded. Pleased, Eddie lifted the lid off the slow cooker, gave the contents a stir, and doled out two bowls. A full one for himself, not too much for Chrissy; she seemed less daunted by small portions, and sometimes she'd go back for seconds.

"So I'm finally seeing a way out of all that," he said, "thinking maybe I can amount to something. And then I go and get excited about the first job I apply for--even though I didn't actually apply for it." He set a steaming bowl in front of Chrissy and plopped down across from her. "That's why I acted the way I did. But again, not making excuses. I'll handle rejection better next time." 

"You're going to get a job, Eddie. I believe in you." Chrissy stirred her chili around the bowl, scooping a small amount onto the end of her spoon, then pursed her lips to blow on the steaming bite. Chili had to be the least sexy food imaginable, yet somehow, she made eating it, or at least preparing to eat it, sensuous.

Eddie did not. He shoveled a bite into his mouth and asked around it, "Will you keep doing cheers for me before I interview?" 

In answer, Chrissy blessed him with one of her dazzling smiles, like she thought he was joking, but he totally wasn't. His mouth was too full of another bite of chili to immediately set her straight about how dead serious he was. Damn--he suspected the white bean, corn, and chicken recipe was Wayne attempting to cook a healthier version of one of their mealtime staples, but this was good shit. (Also, it scalded his tongue.)

Chrissy still hadn't actually tried it yet, the cooling spoonful apparently forgotten as she gazed pensively at Eddie. 

"It's weird, isn't it?" she said. "Your parents didn't set any kind of example for your future, while mine tried to force one on me." Finally, she took a bite, gave a little mmm, then scooped another one. She swallowed, "I'm even taking French because my mother made me."

Eddie choked on a particularly spicy bite. He jumped up from the table and filled two glasses from the tap, gulping from one as he returned. 

"Made you ?" he rasped, when he could speak again. The mind boggled that a parent would be anywhere in the orbit of a high school course schedule. 

Chrissy accepted the cup from him and sipped. "French is part of a proper ladylike education."

Eddie nearly spewed water out his nose. "Jesus Christ." When and where did Laura Cunningham think they were? Victorian England? "Why didn't she just send you to some yuppie school for girls?"

"I'm glad she didn't, or I wouldn't have met you." 

"Believe me, sweetheart…" Eddie started to tilt his chair back, then his aching back made him rethink that. He waggled his eyebrows. "I would've found a way." 

Especially if it involved seeing her in a little plaid skirt with knee socks and saddle shoes…But Chrissy hadn't brought this up to indulge his dirty little fantasies, and anyway, he got to see her in a short pleated skirt on a regular basis. 

"We both got parents that suck for totally opposite reasons," he said. 

"We sure did." Chrissy took another bite of chili, then said, "I took advanced French because I liked it, though. Not because Mom made me."

"Lemme guess. It's the language of love, and you want to go to Paris someday?"

Eddie tried to picture them posing together in front of the Eiffel tower, seated at a sidewalk cafe eating baguettes and croissants and snails and shit. Chrissy would be wearing a cute little beret. And that was pretty much the extent of his knowledge about France, aside from reading Alexandre Dumas. (Which was not pronounced dumbass.) He didn't even know anything about the French metal scene. (West Germany had a few bands--namely, Scorpions--but. Different country.)

Chrissy beamed at him across the dinette, pointing. "You get me, Eddie Munson. But--I hope you don't mind if I don't flip over in my chair." 

"Luckily the pantry's keeping you safely upright. Unless you were thinking of crashing through it? Because…it might, uh, actually be a support structure." Eddie scraped the last bites of chili from his bowl and pushed it aside, holding out his upturned palm. "So, are you gonna hand over those flashcards or what?"

She pressed her lips together, like she was trying not to laugh, but she composed herself when she placed the stack of flashcards in Eddie's hand.

He shuffled them, like they were a deck of cards, then tapped them on the table. He cleared his throat and started to read the phrase written in Chrissy's bubbly cursive, but closed this mouth again as his eyes processed the words. A shiver went down Eddie's spine, and he reached up to tug at his hair. "Okay, what the fuck? This shit's freaky."

Chrissy's face scrunched. "Freaky?"

"This is, like, one of the first things you said to me."

She tipped her head, the confused groove deepening between her brows.

"Do you ever feel like you're losing your mind?" Eddie prompted. 

"Oh." Chrissy straightened, her hand going up to the hollow of her throat to fiddle with the 86 pendant. "That is a little weird, I guess. But we learned that phrase before the visions started."

Eddie only felt slightly less freaked out by her calm explanation, but he huffed out a shaky breath and tried not to seem like his heart was about to pound out of his chest. "Then tell me, mademoiselle…" (That was French, wasn't it? He didn't know if he'd pronounced it right--he'd just done his best Pepé le Pew impression.) “…what's the French for to lose one's memory or mind."

Sitting with perfect posture, hands folded primly on top of the dinette, Chrissy looked every inch the ladylike pupil her mother wanted her to be. It was pretty hot, actually, Eddie thought. He watched her lips move to form the French words. "Perdre la tête." 

The nasally accent was so unlike her usual bright, high-pitched voice that Eddie sat up in surprise as he flipped the card over. There was a weird accent mark he didn't recognize, and she hadn't pronounced that final e, but she sounded so confident that he figured it was correct, or close enough. "Yeah, sure, sounds good." 

He moved the flashcard to the bottom of the stack and, beseeching whatever gods might be that there wouldn't be any more weirdly relevant phrases, read the next one. 

"His or her days are numbered. Wow, threatening," Eddie said. "Why would you need to know how to say that? Are you, uh, planning to go to France to murder someone? Are you a prophet of doom?"

"Ses jours sont comptés," Chrissy replied.

Eddie was so mesmerized by the way her lips and tongue formed the word--like she was taking a bite of something soft and sweet--that Chrissy had to tap his foot with her own under the table before he remembered to flip over the flashcard. "Uh….this doesn't look anything like what just came out of your mouth."

"Are you sure?" 

"Say it again?" 

This time, he tore his eyes from her sexy mouth, studying the words on the card as he listened--like he was trying to learn a guitar line by heart from a tape. 

Eddie shook his head. "Nope." 

Chrissy reached across the table and plucked the card from his hand. The hint of amusement emerged again from the pursed corners of her lips. 

"That's what I said," she told him. "You don't pronounce the s at the end of ses or jour or comptés." 

"So none of the ending s - es," Eddie said. "Or the m or the p in comptés. "

"Right!" Chrissy replied, cheerily, as if she were tutoring him in French and not the other way around. 

"Why have all those letters if you don't pronounce them? I've never trusted silent letters." When Chrissy giggled, he quirked an eyebrow at her. "You think I'm joking, but I'm actually dead serious." He perused the next couple of flashcards, then offered them back to her. "I'm, uh, probably not gonna be able to help you much with this after all. Sorry, I really want to." 

"That's okay." She rose slightly from her chair to lean across the dinette, her face so close to his that he felt the warm tickle of her breath as she said, "I think there's some French you can help me with." 

A chuckle rumbled low in Eddie's throat--again channeling a certain cartoon skunk--as Chrissy brushed her lips to his. He responded softly at first, matching her delicateness, but when he brought his hand up to cup her cheek, darting his tongue out to deepen the kiss, she pulled back, eyes sparkling beneath her glittering eyeshadow. 

"After I practice my vocabulary," she said. 

"Sacré bleu balls," Eddie muttered. 

Chrissy pressed her fingertips to her laughing lips, then blew Eddie a kiss, which he caught, proceeding to pantomime making out with his hand. But he knew the drill: homework first, then kissing. It was a great motivator. 

Actually, dishes first. Chrissy started to get up as he whisked the chili bowls off the table, but he waved her off; dish duty was the least he could do after the failed language help. She’d eaten almost all of what he’d dished up for her, and he polished off the rest before setting the bowls in the sink to soak while he put the leftovers from the slow cooker in the fridge. Then he retreated to the living room to do his homework. 

Meanwhile, Chrissy had picked up the phone beside the dinette and called a friend from the cheer squad, Jennifer Watson, who was in the advanced French class with her. As Eddie stretched out on the sofa and flipped through his economics textbook (he and Chrissy could always study that together, even though they were in different sections of the class) he listened to her babble words he didn’t remotely recognize in the weird nasally voice. 

One of the reasons he blasted music all the time in the trailer was so he wouldn’t feel so alone here by himself while Wayne worked his long, odd shifts at the plant. While Eddie definitely wouldn’t mind some thashing guitars to make econ less boring (not that he would’ve been able to focus on the section on inflation with the distraction of playing air guitar) he was just as happy with the reminder that the lonely nights were behind him. 

After a few minutes it was kind of torture, though. His eyes kept drifting up from his textbook to watch her full lips form around those silent letters, and he was jealous of them. Of freaking words . It was a new low for Eddie. He caught Chrissy's eye, held up his left hand and tapped the face of his watch, then stuck out his tongue and waggled it. Whatever Chrissy was saying to Jennifer in French, she faltered, ducked her head, and shook it. 

"Sorry," she said, with a snort of laughter. "Eddie's just…" 

"Being a freak and a distraction," he said, so she didn't have to. Anyway, he very much doubted what he'd just done distracted her in the same way her speaking French distracted him. 

He flipped around on the couch so his back was to her and his gaze could only be on his textbook or the living room decor, which he'd seen every day for the last ten years of his life. He just ended up tipping his head back over the arm of the couch to steal upside-down glances at Chrissy until (about damn time!)--with promises that they'd get together after school tomorrow to practice more--she got off the phone.

Eddie jackknifed upright on the couch as Chrissy stood, stretched her arms overhead so her blouse rode up to reveal a glimpse of her toned abdomen and belly button. Ridiculously, he wanted to blow a raspberry on her pale skin.  

"Time for French with Eddie?" he asked.

He brandished the ratty spiral notebook to show her the chicken scratch notes he'd made as he read. Honestly, he hadn't really needed some watered-down academic take on the role of inflation in poverty, when he lived it every day. Maybe he should suggest Mr. Nelson bring the class to Forest Hills Trailer park for a field trip. 

But enough about late-stage capitalism.

The instant Chrissy was within arm's reach, Eddie caught her around her waist and hauled her down on top of him lying on the couch. His dick instantly responded to the press of her hips against his, but she stayed put, as she always did, so she must be into it. They still hadn't progressed beyond making out and him feeling her up, which was fine, but Eddie did have the occasional passing thought about when she'd be ready to take things up a notch. Maybe today would be the day? But maybe not. Whatever. He could handle anything that might arise (pun definitely intended). 

Her petite frame fit so perfectly against his hips, feet tucked between his calves. (The toes of one foot had slipped under the hem of his jeans to rub his ankle bone, and he was so glad he'd kicked his socks off earlier.) It seemed like the central groove of her back was just made for the heels of his hands, the notches of her spine for his fingers (he had a feeling, though, that the bones were a little more prominent than was healthy). She rested her hands on his chest, twirling the ends of his hair around her index fingers.

"How do you say kiss?" he asked.

"Embrasser." 

"What? You're embarrassed?" Eddie never could resist the low-hanging fruit of obvious jokes. "Shouldn't be. We've done this before." 

Chrissy rolled her eyes, but she couldn't hide the gleam of amusement there or the upturn of her mouth. 

"How do you say lips?"

"Les lèvres." 

"And the tongue?"

"La langue."

"Oh--like language?"

"Uh-huh."

"And how do you say, I'm gonna slip you some tongue."

"Eddie. Do you really think they'd teach us that?"

Eddie gasped. "What? You mean that phrase isn't in your textbook? How can they call this advanced French?"

"It's a pretty big oversight," Chrissy agreed, shifting her pelvis against his.

"Egregious." Eddie's voice came out a little pinched. He tightened his arms around her, one hand gliding over her spine until he found the end of her ponytail and curled the silken strands around his hand as he gently tugged her face closer to his. "Luckily, you got me to show you."

"Lucky me," she mumbled against his mouth.

No sooner had their French lesson begun than the phone clanged on the wall by the dinette, startling them apart. 

"Ignore it," Eddie over-enunciated the consonants, irritated, and kissed her hard. 

But the phone rang again. 

And kept ringing. 

Chrissy tore her lips from Eddie's, reddened and puffy, and looked toward the phone. "That could be really important. What if it's Wayne?"

"Ugh, fine." 

She scrambled upright as Eddie wriggled out from beneath her, swung his feet to the floor and stalked across the living room to the dinette. He grabbed the clanging receiver so forcefully he practically yanked it out of the wall. 

"Speak--and I'd better like what I hear." He glanced at Chrissy, who gaped at him, absolutely mortified by his phone etiquette--or rather, the lack thereof--but Eddie was too annoyed at the interruption of his hard-earned makeout session to be ashamed of himself.

"Geeze, fucking finally, " crackled the voice in his ear. "Is this Eddie Manson?" 

Eddie slammed the receiver back on the cradle. It popped off, so he had to hang it up a second time.

"Wrong number?" squeaked Chrissy as he stamped back to the couch.

"Prank call. They asked for Eddie Manson ." 

"Do you get that a lot?"

"So much." He flopped onto the couch, looping his arms around Chrissy to resume where they'd left off. " So much, Chrissy. People think they're so goddamn clever." 

It would probably get worse, he realized, now that he'd actually been associated, however briefly, with leading a cult that committed two brutal murders. Thanks a fucking bunch, Carver. 

He tilted his head up to kiss her, when a sudden thought made him stop short. Fuck, maybe the caller was Carver. Pretty middle school-level revenge for the cafeteria thing, but then again, Eddie knew middle schoolers who were smarter than Shit-for-Brains. 

"Embrasse-moi," Chrissy murmured, dipping her head toward him, and Eddie shook off the momentary mood killer as his body responded appropriately. (Or inappropriately, depending on the point of view.)

BRRRRRRRRNNNNNNGGGGG!

Eddie's head fell back, and he let out a groan from the depths of his soul. 

"Do you want me to get that?" Chrissy piped, barely audible beneath another ring. 

"And let that fucker say gross shit to you ?" Especially if said fucker was her ex. "No goddamn way in hell." 

He pushed to his feet and once stormed back across the room, practically spitting, he was so pissed off. But he told himself to chill the fuck out, tried to get his temper under control with deep breaths that honestly sounded more like hisses.

"Munson residence," he answered through his teeth, then grinned at Chrissy, who looked much more comfortable with this response than the previous one.

"Is Eddie there?"

Okay, that was better. Still the same voice as before, though, so Eddie didn't drop his guard. "This is Eddie."

"Dude, I've been trying to call you for, like, over an hour? And then I finally get through and I get cut off!" 

 "Uh, yeah, sorry about that," Eddie said, winding the phone cord around his hand. "But it's Munson, not Manson."

"Oh." So it hadn't been a prank call. Oops . "That's disappointing." 

Eddie scowled, this close to hanging up on the guy again and disconnecting the line with a swift jerk of his fist, when the caller went on, "I could've sworn Donnie said it was Manson. Are you sure ?"

"Yeah, man. Pretty sure I know my own fucking name." 

"Sounds kinda like Munster ." 

"Gee, I never heard that one before." Why was Eddie even still on the phone with this dipshit? "Who are you, anyway?" His brain backtracked. "Donnie, you mean Donnie Davis, former bass player of Corroded Coffin?"

"Currently bass player of Guillotine, yes, yes," said the caller.

That's right, Guillotine. Eddie had pretty much lost touch with Donnie after he graduated and moved to Indianapolis, but he'd seen him in town every so often when he came to visit his folks. Donnie had been through as many bands as he had girlfriends, Guillotine being the most recent. Although Eddie had never been to see them, Donnie actually swung by the Hideout to watch Corroded Coffin at Christmas. It had not, as Eddie hoped, led to more gigs.

"I'm Rob Street, front man. And that's GuilloT-E-E-N."

Far be it from Eddie not to give due appreciation to a pun, but…"Are any of you teenagers?" he asked. Donnie had been in Eddie's grade--originally.

"A lot of our fans are. if you get my drift." Rob's laugh made Eddie want to puke in his mouth a little.

"I do, and, uh, kinda pervy, man." 

Eddie's eyes darted to Chrissy who--bless her heart--was trying not to eavesdrop by looking at his econ notes. Not that he hadn't technically just been making out with a teenager--(Eighteen was a legal adult! And they were in the same graduating class!)--or that over half his friends were freshmen. 

"So pervy you wouldn't want to open for us?" asked Rob. "Because we heard about the Satanic Panic over there in Hawkins and Donnie was like Holy shit, that's my dude Eddie Munson. Only I thought he said Manson, like have you ever thought about changing your name? Because that would be way more badass."

"Look, dickwad, if you don't cut it with the Manson bullshit and get to the goddamn fucking point--"

"Jesus, man, okay! Donnie told me you were kinda tightly wound…Anyway, he's also told me about you before, how you're, like, the best guitarist he's ever played with, which I kind of took offense to, and how your band's pretty decent, too…and I was like… We gotta get those world-class freaks to come open for us! So, are you in? Or am I gonna have to revoke that world-class thing and find another opening act?"

Eddie couldn't speak for a second, and he clenched his shaking fist so hard around the phone cord that he actually did pull the cord out of the receiver. He jammed it back in and shouted into the handset, " Fuck yeah we're in!" 

He'd have to run it past the guys to make sure everyone was free and the parental units were okay with it, but he knew none of them would turn this down. He scribbled down the details on a page at the back of Chrissy's French notebook with a random pen he grabbed (which happened to be hot pink), then told Rob he'd be in touch later. 

He hung up the phone (still not managing to get it on the cradle, but this time he left it, dial tone buzzing, too excited to do anything but bound across the room, hoist Chrissy off the couch, sling her over his shoulder, and spin around, whooping loudly enough that the neighbors were probably gonna start pounding on the door. (Or think he really was committing a ritual murder, and leave them the fuck alone.)

"Eddie!" Chrissy squealed through her laughter. "What's going on? Who called?"

He stopped twirling, lowering her so that he held her at eye level, her feet dangling a few inches off the floor. "We got a gig, baby! Corroded Coffin's opening for Guilloteen! And we're getting paid!"

He chose not to spell it out for her, letting her assume it was the instrument of execution and not perversion. He'd play dumb if the band name was printed anywhere at the show.

"Oh, Eddie, that's awesome !" Her hands gripped his shoulders as she bobbed her head to peck his lips. "I'll finally get to hear Corroded Coffin play for real!" 

"Hell yeah, you will! And not at the Hideout." 

He swerved to capture her mouth again--that French thing totally wasn't gonna happen now, but celebratory kisses would do--

"Where?" Chrissy asked between kisses.

"Indianapolis." 

"When?"

"Sunday night." 

He leaned in, only to meet thin air as Chrissy reared back in his arms to make eye contact. "A school night?" 

She didn't sound judgmental, exactly, but she didn't approve , either. Maybe she shouldn't, but--

"It's such a good opportunity," Eddie said. "It's a big city! We're getting paid . I'll get all my homework done before, promise." 

"I know." Her smile flickered, but only briefly as she caught her lip between her teeth. "That's such a long drive, though. My French test is Monday." 

"Good thing you were studying today !" But this didn't seem to reassure her. Sighing, Eddie lowered Chrissy to her feet and tried not to let his heart sink to the pit of his stomach at the same time. "Look," he said, dragging a hand through his hair, "you don't have to go, if you'd rather not be out late on a school night. I get it, that's fair." It sucked, but it was fair, he did get it. Well. In theory. "There'll be other shows." 

Especially if they were finally getting out of town exposure…

Chrissy gripped his shoulders, rocking up on the balls of her feet to press her lips to his cheek. He felt the heat of her mouth in the sensitive spot where his jaw met his earlobe. "Eddie, I wouldn't miss it." 

Eddie's arms snaked around her waist, crushing her to him. 

"Like you said. I'm studying in advance." She tilted her face and earnest eyes up toward him, fingers clutching the front of his shirt. "But we'll be back in time for school, right?"

"Bright and early for first period," he promised. "You still don't look too sure." 

Her gaze had drifted past him, face frozen in an expression close enough to when Vecna invaded her mind that Eddie's heart missed a beat. Several beats. It jump-started again when, flushing, she met his eyes.

"I don't know what in the world I'm going to wear!"

Eddie let out a laugh, as much because it was funny as that he was relieved, and squeezed her tiny frame tight against him. She was so unbelievably adorable. "Anything? That outfit you wore on our date?"

It was the closest Chrissy had ever come to looking at him like she thought he might be an idiot. "Eddie. I cannot go to a metal show looking like Debbie Gibson. Don't worry, I have till Sunday to figure it out." 

"Hell, yeah you do!" 

He lifted her off the ground and swung her around again, and this time, both their whoops rang through the trailer.

Chapter Text

Drizzle fell as Eddie loaded his van for the show, but he wasn't going to let that rain on his parade (or big gig, as the case was)--even if humidity and his hair were ancient foes locked in an eternal struggle. What was a bandana for, if not to contain the frizz? (Well--to look badass.)

His uncle, who had no concerns about frizz, sat on the sagging couch on the covered porch with a cup of coffee and a cigarette, conversing with Chrissy. She'd offered to help Eddie lug his gear outside, but he didn't need it, and even if he had, he wouldn't have dreamed of letting the weather diminish the full effect of her look.

If she'd channeled Debbie Gibson for date night, for a metal show she was Madonna . He'd told her as much when she emerged from the bathroom in a cloud of AquaNet, and the compliment made her cheeks go as red as her lipstick and nail polish. 

"That's what I'm going for," she'd said, teased bangs hiding her eyes as she ducked her head, "but I feel a little like I'm wearing a costume."

She'd tugged self-consciously at various elements of her outfit: a black tank top, an acid wash denim mini skirt over black tights that accentuated her long, toned legs, and black ankle boots; a black studded belt was slung low over her hips, and she'd replaced her usual delicate gold jewelry with chunky rhinestone earrings, ropes of thick silver chains with a cross pendant, an assortment of black and silver bangles on her wrists, and, topping off her curled ponytail, a big black bow made of the same material as ballerina tutus.

Although he wished she didn't feel embarrassed about her clothes, Eddie loved that she'd made an effort--for him--to look the part for his big night. (A little voice at the back of his mind asked whether he'd be as willing to go all-out for Chrissy if she'd asked him to, say, the prom. Would he--shudder--wear a tux ? Lucky dice roll for him, prom had been canceled.)

"Hottest costume I ever saw," Eddie had told her, settling one hand on her hip, the other lightly grasping her chin to tilt her face up toward him. "Who the hell needs a sexy nurse when there's a metal chick?" 

That had made her lips twitch into a brief smile, and Eddie had leaned in and kissed her against the trailer wall until they'd heard Wayne's heavy steps on the creaking floor in the other room. Eddie had smudged Chrissy's lipstick, like a kid scribbling outside the lines of a coloring book.  With the tip of his thumb, he did his best to clean it up, then darted his tongue out to lick any stray makeup from his lips.

"You've still got a little," Chrissy had murmured, sending a shiver down Eddie's spine when her index finger touched the bow of his mouth and traced the outline of his lips to wipe the rest away.

"Think of this whole show as a wild Halloween party," he'd told her, when he'd composed himself, "and you'll be fine."

Chrissy had nodded, her smile widening with something a little more confident, but now, as Eddie stepped up onto the porch to grab another amp from his room, he heard Wayne ask, "This your first time at one of Eddie's shows?" 

"Not if you count the middle school talent show." 

Wayne's chuckle rattled in his chest. "They've improved a bit since then."

"Jeez, with pithy reviews like that, you should write for Rolling Stone." Eddie grunted as he lugged the amp through the screen door, which Chrissy pulled open for him. 

"Still," Wayne drawled, "hope you've got earplugs."

"Oh, yeah." Eddie let the amp thunk onto the porch, which shook the trailer, and delved into his front jeans pocket. "Got you another accessory." 

Chrissy held out her hand, palm up, and he dropped a pair of yellow foam earplugs into it. Her eyebrows pulled together, as if to ask, Why would I want to block it out? 

"Trust me." Eddie curled her fingers closed around the ear plugs. "You'll be able to hear fine."

"Then why don't you wear 'em?" asked Wayne.

"Because I want to hear better than fine," Eddie hefted the amp again and stepped into the yard.

"I'll remind you of that in a few years when you need hearing aids."

"Huh?" Eddie swung back toward his uncle and cupped one hand around his ear. "What's that?" 

Wayne just shook his head and took a drag from his cigarette, while Chrissy, looking vaguely concerned, tucked the earplugs into a little black purse. (The shoulder strap was a chain; this incredible woman had absofuckinglutely nailed this rocker look down to the last minute detail.)

Eddie packed the van like a pro, as he did twice weekly, for rehearsals in Gareth's garage and their slot at the Hideout, leaving room for Jeff and Shawn's amps and Gareth's drum kit. Guilloteen had said he could use theirs, so long as he brought his own snare, kick, and cymbals, but Gareth was kind of a diva and said he didn't want to potentially sound like he was playing drums on someone's trash cans. And honestly, Eddie couldn't blame him. 

One more trip inside the trailer for his guitars, then he stood at the edge of the porch and grinned at Chrissy. "All right, baby, let's blow this popsicle stand."

She grabbed her pink backpack off the porch--she was planning to study for her French exam during the drive and the sound check--and climbed into the passenger seat. (Chrissy's presence would eliminate the regular squabble between Gareth and Shawn over who got to ride shotgun, which always ended in Jeff claiming seniority. He might be a little put out about losing his seat, though he'd been cool enough about it in the cafeteria.)

As Eddie stowed the guitar cases in the back, Wayne shambled over, coffee mug in hand. 

"Ed. Don't be stupid tonight."

"Uh, I think everyone can agree, music is the one area I'm never stupid in."

Wayne gave him that look he'd honed to perfection over the years since Eddie had come to live with him (or maybe he'd practiced it for longer than that, since Eddie's dad was around), the one where you felt like he'd rolled his eyes at you, even though there hadn't even been so much as the twitch of an eyelid. "Now you're just bein' a dumbass. Indy's a lot bigger city than Hawkins. You can get in a lot bigger trouble."

"You sure about that?" Eddie shut the rear doors and leaned back against them, rattling his rings against the metal. "’Cause I'm pretty sure I can't get into any bigger trouble than getting accused of Satanism and serial murder." 

"I don't mean just you." As he sipped his coffee, his gaze flickered toward the front of the van. "Chrissy and the other guys…they're all younger than you."

"You are just great for the ol' self-esteem today, you know that?" He clapped Wayne on the shoulder and strode around him, boots crunching over the gravel driveway, to the driver's seat. 

"Just look out for 'em, son," Wayne said as Eddie yanked open the door. 

The guys could handle themselves--they were all going to be passing for twenty-one tonight--but Eddie kept this to himself and said, "I always do." 

Wayne didn't look convinced, which was kind of unfair considering he knew how Eddie felt about anyone who came into his fold, but whatever. Rain and parades. 

"Drive safe," Wayne said as Eddie slid behind the wheel. "Gonna storm tonight." 

"Ride the lightning!" 

Maybe not exactly the most positive musical reference (unless you meant positively charged), as the song was about execution by electric chair, but there was a song from that album on tonight's setlist. He jammed the cassette in the tape deck and gunned the van out of the trailer park to the driving beat of drums and scattered drops of rain tapping on the windshield.

***

The Lion's Den was not, as Eddie had imagined, exactly in the heart of Indianapolis, near the cool bars and clubs, but in an industrial park. Still a far cry from the Garden, but several steps up from the Hideout, which was on the outskirts of Hawkins, basically a roadhouse. Honestly, not an unexpected location for the underground metal scene, if Eddie was being realistic. (His imagination never was.) 

Rain had fallen steadily during the entire eighty-mile drive--enough to slow them down (to the speed limit, which Eddie had actually stuck close to, for once), though nothing approaching the storm Uncle Wayne had grimly prophesied. It slanted down as the four members of Corroded Coffin and Chrissy splashed through puddles to the bar's back entrance. Somehow, hunching under a flannel shirt scrounged from the depths of the van to protect her hair and makeup from the downpour didn't stop Chrissy from immediately noticing the poster advertising tonight's bands tacked crookedly to the brick wall, exactly as Eddie had hoped she wouldn't. 

"Did they misspell guillotine?" she asked, as they reached the awning-covered entrance and Eddie pressed the buzzer. "Or are the guys in the other band…" She lowered her voice to a hush. "... creeps?"

Gareth peeped around her at the poster and busted out laughing so hard he inhaled his gum. Eddie had to pound him on the back, which shook droplets out of the drummer's light brown waves.

"GuilloT-E-E-N," read Shawn. "Heheh…Niiiiiice."

"Oh, they're definitely creeps," Jeff said. 

Chrissy darted wide, worried eyes up at Eddie. 

Assured that Gareth wasn't going to choke to death and leave Corroded Coffin short a drummer on the night of their biggest gig, Eddie scratched his head as he studied the poster and acted like this was the first he'd heard of the band's creative spelling. "I dunno, man, you know Donnie. I'd believe he would spell guillotine like that."

Honestly, if anyone in Corroded Coffin, past or present, should've been held back a grade, it was Donnie Davis. 

Jeff tipped his head and considered this. "They can't all be that moronic, can they?"

"Better morons than creeps." Eddie flashed Chrissy a grin and ripped the poster off the bricks. "I'm keeping this for a souvenir!"

They'd stapled homemade flyers to telephone poles and bulletin boards around Hawkins to advertise their weekly gigs at the Hideout, but this was the first time they'd been featured by another band…and on a proper poster, too. 

"You should all sign it," Chrissy said as he rolled it up. "That could be worth something someday!" 

Despite the chilly rain, her faith in him made warmth creep through every organ and blood vessel in Eddie's body. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and stooped to kiss the top of her hair. "Don't worry, sweetheart. I'll keep you safe from creeps." 

It crossed his mind that he'd be onstage for a good while and she might be on her own to fight off creeps, but right now Chrissy snuggled close against his side, so trusting, the damp flannel bunched in her arms. Then the metal door creaked open, and the stage manager was instructing them to unload their gear and set up. 

Inside, Eddie was glad to see that the improvements over the Hideout continued. The Lion's Den owned some decent sound equipment, mics, and lights, and had back rooms that weren't for storage (at least not strictly ), though it was every bit as grungy as the Hideout, with peeling paint, sticky surfaces, and the permanent odor of stale beer and cigarettes. Perfection, in his humble opinion, though Chrissy didn't look like she agreed as she gingerly seated herself at the bar at the rear of the club to look over her French flashcards. 

As he hooked up his amps and pedals, Eddie pictured the crowd of metalheads who would soon fill the floor. Rob had assured him over the phone that Guilloteen drew an audience of substantially more than five drunks, and the stage manager confirmed that Corroded Coffin should expect a nearly full house.

Unable to contain his excitement any longer, he grabbed his pick and thrashed out the opening chords of "Master of Puppets." The rest of Corroded Coffin didn't need any encouragement to join in, though the song was far from an easy warm-up. Chrissy, perched on a barstool with her school stuff, jolted at the volume, scrambling for her little black purse and the ear plugs. Eddie laughed and couldn't hear himself; Wayne was probably right about the damage to his ears, but Eddie shoved the thought, along with all the other warnings, to the back of his mind along with everything else he didn't want to think about. Tonight belonged to music .

They'd just gotten to the bridge when the doors at the back of the room banged open and a lanky bottle blond wearing a red leather vest over a white sleeveless undershirt swept through. Eddie didn't recognize him, but he did know the stockier ginger bass player who followed, case in hand. A final chord reverberated through the speakers when Eddie stopped playing; his bandmates belatedly followed suit (Gareth last, the little shit always looking for a chance to play a solo) only when he unplugged his guitar and leapt off the stage to greet Donnie Davis, the original bassist for Corroded Coffin.

"Holy fucking shit!" Donnie said as they clasped hands and slapped shoulders. "Was that 'Master of Puppets'?"

"Fuck yeah it was!" 

"How'd you learn it so fast? It's only been out, like, a fucking month!"

The blond, who was probably Rob, Guilloteen's frontman, looked impressed, too, though not as effusively as Donnie. Tossing Farrah Fawcett bangs out of his face, he asked, "Um, you guys aren't playing that tonight, are you? Can I see your setlist?"

Eddie stepped back from Donnie, puffing his chest slightly as he faced Probably Rob. "Don't worry, man, we know better than to show up the main attraction in the opening act." He bared his teeth in a leer. 

Probably Rob smirked back at him. "I'd be more worried about you guys embarrassing yourselves up there, playing above your skill level." 

Onstage, Gareth jumped up from his throne, drumsticks brandished at his sides like a pair of ninja batons (What were those things called, anyway?) while Shawn glowered and Jeff looked like he did not give a flying fuck about this fool's opinion. Probably Rob wasn't exactly wrong about "Master of Puppets" being beyond their ability--they hadn't all obsessively listened to it on repeat trying to learn it, and even if they had, they didn't all have Eddie's ear--Gareth came closest--but considering they were self-taught high school students? The nerve of this fucking prick.

Throwing back his head, Probably Rob laughed, then patted Eddie's shoulder condescendingly. "Just kidding, dude, that was rad."

"I told you he was a fucking prodigy," said Donnie; slow on the uptake as ever, he clearly hadn't caught that Probably Rob was not being remotely sincere.

"I'm Rob, by the way." 

"Yeah, I assumed." 

"You know what they say about that, right? But seriously. Show me your setlist."

Jeff had it, and Eddie decided it would be a smart move to let the coolest head among them deal with Rob--for now. There was something he wanted to discuss with Donnie, besides old times. 

Before he could get a word out, Donnie set his case on the sticky concrete floor and lunged toward Eddie.  "My man…is that a goddamn Warlock ?"

Eddie hopped backward to prevent his former bandmate molesting his pride and joy. “Did you tell Rob my last name was Manson ?”

Donnie had looked befuddled by Eddie's protectiveness of the guitar, but his hazel eyes lit up beneath arching red-gold brows, and he guffawed. “I did! I knew you’d love that.” 

Eddie twitched his lips in a smile even Shit-for-Brains here couldn't mistake for friendly. 

Donnie's laughter died, and he backed away from Eddie. "You didn't love that?"

"Never have, dumbass," Eddie said. Dude was dumb as a box of rocks, but not a dick. "And hell yeah, it's a Warlock."

As Donnie oohed and aahed over the guitar ("But no touching!") Eddie's gaze drifted to the bar, where Chrissy watched, half-off her stool, lip caught between her teeth, looking unsure about whether to join him or not. Eddie beckoned to her and, smiling, she stuffed her flashcards into her book bag and slipped it over her shoulder along with her purse. 

Following Eddie's gaze, Donnie said, "You guys have a roadie?" 

"Awesome as that would be," said Gareth, hopping down from the stage, "it's even more impressive. Eddie has a girlfriend."

Eddie flipped Gareth the bird, which only made Gareth flash a shit-eating grin, then Chrissy sidled up and Eddie beamed like the goddamned sunshine as he wrapped an arm around her waist. (Proud to show her off? Possessive? Maybe. Did Eddie care? Definitely not.)

"Hi, Donnie," she said. 

"You remember Chrissy Cunningham, don't you?" 

Donnie stared at her, expression blank. Not an unfamiliar look on the round, freckled face, but this was pure lack of recognition.

"Middle school talent show?" Eddie prompted. "She did a little cheerleading routine."

"We went to a talent show?" Donnie asked.

"We played in it, doofus!"

"Dude. I have done a lot of drugs since middle school. Why the fuck would I remember that? No offense, Chrissy."

"It's okay," she chirped, looking amused. "I was only in sixth grade, I wouldn't expect you to remember me." 

Donnie's attention was drawn to the stage, where two more members of the band who must've come in through the alley entrance were now gathered. "Come on, I'll introduce you to the guys." 

He grabbed his bass and clambered awkwardly onto the stage, Gareth sniggering as he offered him a hand up. (Was Donnie high?)

Eddie started to follow, but Chrissy caught the edge of his jacket and pulled him against her--well, as much against her as she could with the Warlock between them. His hands automatically settled in the small of her back, a strip of bare skin where her tank top rode up above her skirt.

“Yes, dear lady?”

Chrissy's fingers slipped beneath his jacket and slid over his chest. Her palms were warm through his t-shirt, and the metallic specks in her dark grey eyeshadow caught the stage lights as she turned her face upward. "You've done a lot of drugs since middle school, too."

"Yep. I have definitely done drugs. And lots of them."

"Why do you remember my cheerleading routine?"

He thought back to the night that stood in such vivid detail in his memory. Before now it hadn't once occurred to him that maybe it shouldn't. Wasn't it normal to remember a moment from six years ago? Probably not. Then again, Eddie made no claims to normalcy. Fuck it, in fact. 

"You were tiny," he said, grinning down at her. Hell, she still was. Back then she'd looked up at him, all eyes and teeth and a ginormous hairbow. "I remember thinking, well she's a brave little munchkin, marching up to the big scary eighth grader with a buzzcut and telling him she liked the song. Not many sixth grade babies would do that, you know?" 

"Like the song, or tell you?"

Eddie barked out a laugh. "Both?" If she'd been in his grade, he probably would've thought she was making fun of him.

Oh shit.

He raised a hand to scrub the back of his head. "I guess I remember because you paid me a compliment." That was kind of fucking pathetic, actually; he received so few, he clung to the ones he got, like a beggar to scraps. "Flattery works with me, remember?"

It sure would make a wholesome "How did you and your wife meet?" story for an interview someday. ( Wife was a word that hadn't really been a part of his vocabulary three weeks ago, and now he thought it so easily. Before a metal show. Did husband dance through Chrissy's brain? About him ?) Well, way back in middle school…

"In that case," Chrissy said, "I'll tell you I don't think you guys would embarrass yourselves playing 'Master of Puppets'." 

Somewhat awkwardly with the guitar, Eddie stooped and kissed her, the press of his lips hard at first, then melting into her sweetness. 

"I still think you're really brave, by the way," he said, pulling back. When she wrinkled her brow in confusion, he added, "For, uh, coming here. To see me-- us. I know this isn't your scene, and it, uh, really means a lot."

He kissed her again, to shut himself up before the sentimental rambling went too far and he made the pitiful admission that he'd never had a girlfriend in the audience before (but of course she knew), only for the moment to be broken by a commotion onstage. 

"Fuck no, you cannot use my kit!" Gareth bellowed at one of the Guilloteen dudes, who backed away from the drumset, hands raised in surrender. 

"I, uh, better go stop my band from murdering the other band," Eddie said, even though he didn't think Gareth's reaction was outsized if another drummer--a total stranger, at that--had asked to use his kit. There was that expression about biting the hand that fed you. They hadn't driven all this way to not get paid because Gareth couldn't mind his manners.

As Eddie turned to climb up the stage steps, Chrissy said, "If only sixth grade me could see that you're by far the least scary person here."

Eddie put his finger to his lips. "Shh! No one can know!"

Chrissy stuck out her tongue, and Eddie mirrored the expression before mounting the steps and booming, "Gentlemen, gentlemen! I'm sure we can settle this dispute without resorting to bloodshed…"

***

Corroded Coffin was revved. up. In both the sense that they were totally stoked about tonight's show, which was now only minutes away, and they were a little steamed. A lot steamed, actually. As in, Shawn's face was red and there was practically smoke coming out of his ears, Jeff was outwardly cooler than ever, which meant that internally, he was approaching nuclear meltdown, and Gareth…they needed a leash for that kid; he was about to go full Animal from the Muppets. Which left Eddie to be the voice of reason (alarming), to help them channel all that glorious, raw emotion into their music. 

"Okay, guys," he said, gathering them into a huddle backstage. Absurdly, he thought of Robin Buckley accusing Hellfire Club of being just like every sports team at Hawkins High, and he wanted to throw up in his mouth a little bit. He wanted to be Theoden inspiring the men of Rohan before Helm's Deep, not Jason Carver at the championship basketball game. "We've got a great setlist--"

"Stamped with Rob's seal of approval," Jeff internejected, voice dripping with sarcasm, and Gareth growled. 

Rob had given them the okay to go ahead with their plan--but he'd made it clear that he thought they were being overly ambitious. Even after he'd heard them fucking shred "Master of Puppets." 

Eddie put his hand on the base of Gareth's neck and squeezed the flannel collar. "No metalhead worth his salt would say no to this setlist. He knows if we pull it off--and we will--the audience will be soaking wet for Guilloteen. We'll be a tough motherfucking opening act to follow."

"Fuck yeah, we will!" Gareth roared, while Jeff said, "Amen." Shawn made the sign of the cross, or something.

The stage manager caught Eddie's eye and gave the signal to go on. 

"Gentlemen," said Eddie, straightening up, looking each of his bandmates in the eyes, "let's give 'em hell!"

They threw horns and stuck out tongues, then girded their instruments to make their entrance. Eddie's heart juddered around in his chest, and he flexed his fingers to steady hands that felt weirdly shaky. The last time he'd performed had been in the Upside Down, like some kind of fucked up pied piper. Why was he nervous now ? There were no life-and-death stakes, no warnings from Harrington not to be a hero. Tonight, the only thing Eddie had to be was a goddamn rockstar. 

In his imagination, he'd been one, swaggering onstage to the roar of a crowd slavering to hear him play (and his band, of course), while in reality, their biggest audience had been the entirely captive one at the middle school talent show, or the Hideout regulars who couldn't care less about what band played, or if one did at all. Now, Eddie's eyes raked over a packed house (even if it was a small house), heart thundering like the storm in Uncle Wayne's forecast. When his gaze settled on the upturned face in the front row, framed by strawberry blonde hair that looked almost pink under the club lights, it slowed to a steady rhythm. 

Chrissy beamed at him, a smile too big and too bright for the dim, dingy dive bar. The gems in her cross necklace caught the light and scattered it. A rainbow in the dark , even in her mainly black outfit. (Was it too late to add that song to their set?) Eddie wanted to reach down from the stage, cup her cheek in his palm, and kiss her…but that was the kind of performative shit Carver did. 

He was relieved (and he knew Chrissy was, too) that she wasn't alone out there; Donnie and his date, and the drummer, Drew, and his girlfriend, had taken her under their wings, promising to keep her out of the way of any moshing, should the spirit move the audience to do so. (Eddie prayed that whatever spirit they were referring to would . Holy shit, they'd barely even had headbanging at a show before, aside from themselves, let alone a mosh pit.) Rob and the other guitar player, Nick, watched from the back, near the bar.

Although Jeff was Corroded Coffin's lead singer, Eddie stepped up to the mic to introduce the band. "Good evening, Freaks!"

The audience responded with whoops and whistles and fuck yeahs and clapping. Chrissy bounced on her toes and waved her hands in the air just like she was leading a damn pep rally. (Jesus H, she was cute. Too cute by far for a place like this. But he was grateful to the soles of his feet that she was here, in all her full cute glory.)

"We're Corroded Coffin," Eddie went on, "and we came all the way from Hawkins to play for you tonight. So how about we all…"

He let the unfinished sentence reverberate through the speakers as he ripped his guitar pick from around his neck and launched into the opening riff of Dio's "Stand Up and Shout." It was a fast and furious opener the band knew so well they could probably play it backwards and in their sleep. The crowd recognized it, too, and another roar of approval erupted from the floor. As soon as Gareth came in on the drumline, heads began to bob, if not fully bang, though by the time they reached the first chorus, they were doing that, or--like Chrissy and the Guilloteen girlfriends--forming megaphones with their hands to bellow "SHOUT!" along with Jeff. 

Music alone was enough to make Eddie feel like he was playing an arena, even when they were just rehearsing in Gareth's garage, or if he was solo in his bedroom--which was why they'd kept their Tuesday night slot at the Hideout for their handful of drunks week after week. But this? Adrenaline surged through him, like he had an IV line hooked into every bumping, bounding metalhead in the room, fueled by the energy that coursed through their veins. Only he wasn't draining them like a parasite (like fucking Vecna, ew); they were powered by him, too. What was that called? Symbiosis. (Why were biology terms coming to him now , and not, like, back in sophomore bio? A testament to the manifold powers of music, he guessed.) His fingers flew over the frets, pick annihilated the strings…

Then the song was over, the Warlock's strings silent beneath the callused pads of Eddie's fingers as he stood, panting, sweat rolling down his face, damp bangs itching already under his bandana. But Corroded Coffin barely paused to recover or let the crowd's cheers roll over them--they couldn't lose momentum. 

Eddie put a hand to the side of his mouth, yelled, "All abooooooooard!" and threw back his head with a cackle Ozzy would be proud of as Shawn plunked out the bass intro of "Crazy Train." A little downtempo compared to their opening number, but the audience was into it, bouncing around and singing along with Jeff (and Shawn, who crooned backup). 

He tried not to stare at Chrissy, raked his gaze over the room, the stage, looking around at Jeff and Gareth and Shawn as they rocked out, reveling in the sound they were making together, spreading the message of nonconformity and shit they thought was cool. But she kept drawing him back to her with her unblinking blue eyes, her full, red lips parted slightly, as though she were hanging onto his every word, though he wasn't the one wailing into the mic. 

The crowded dive bar, the stage and the guys in the band receded, and it was just Eddie and Chrissy, back in the woods behind Hawkins High. Do you ever feel like you're losing your mind? Not anymore. Not since he'd found her. He felt as sane as he ever had, and his wounded mind was healing. Those thoughts were the makings of a pretty shitty metal song, but sharing them with Chrissy--somehow, he knew she was thinking them, too--was the most intimate thing he'd felt during a show or…maybe ever. 

Until they got to "Dynamite." Chrissy’s eyes bugged, and her jaw practically hit the sticky floor, and Eddie stumbled over a chord and the realization of how raunchy the lyrics to the Scorpions song were. He'd listened to them, of course, knew them, hell, he'd sung along and howled with laughter at the over-the-top innuendo. 

It was totally different to look into the eyes of the woman he loved but hadn't had sex with while Jeff belted out shoot my heat into your body…give you all my size…eat your meat until you're breathless. Eddie had to turn away, shaking his hair to hide his flush--and his laugh; her face had been priceless, he loved corrupting an innocent, and someday he would sing those lyrics to her, like the romantic freak that he was. 

The next time he looked--during the outro, when the lyrics consisted solely of Jeff shrieking dynamite on repeat--some other freak was trying to get up close and personal with her. At first Eddie thought it was just the natural, accidental consequences of slam dancing, then the asshole grabbed her waist. Chrissy wriggled out of his grasp, but he didn't drop his pursuit. What had happened to Donnie protecting her from moshers? Oh--Eddie glimpsed the shock of red hair flying--he'd joined them. Dipshit . Her eyes darted up to Eddie, so expressive that his heart jolted and his stomach twisted with the panic she broadcasted. He'd promised to keep her safe from creeps, and she'd trusted him. 

The last chord of "Dynamite" and Jeff's scream hadn't died before Eddie leaned into his mic. It screeched as he said, "Hey, dickhead."

The mass of moving bodies went weirdly still--except, of course, for him. 

"You. In the Stryper shirt--" (Of fucking course it was Stryper.) "--harassing the little Madonna doppelgänger." 

That got the dude's attention. He turned to blink idiotically up at the stage while the crowd laughed. Chrissy darted backward, jumping again when she bumped into Donnie. Eddie saw her chest heave, her relief evident. But he wasn't finished. 

He glanced at his befuddled bandmates, gave the count, and they blared the six-note beginning of Metallica's "Creeping Death." Gesturing them not to go on, he wheeled back to the mic. "You probably don't know that word, though. Doppelgänger. Look it up when you get home. If you can read." 

More laughter, along with hoots and hollers. Another signal to the guys, and they thrashed the next riff. 

"Anyway," Eddie said, "I don't know what rumors made it here from Hawkins, but I haven't actually participated in ritual murder." He pretended to be interested in one of his rings, twisting it around his finger. Cutting his eyes up to the creep, he snapped, "Yet," spit glistening in the air as he popped the t with special emphasis. "You know what they say, there's a first time for everything, and it might be mine if you don't stay the fuck away from my girlfriend, you goddamned poser." 

It was the ultimate insult, and the prick spluttered to defend himself, but with the rest of the crowd screaming around him, the only thing he could really do was slink away, like a dog with its tail between its legs. A thought nagged at the back of Eddie's mind about performative shit , but he'd meant this, and the gratitude on Chrissy's face was unmistakable--though she did move off to the side and further back in the room. (Fair.) 

Eddie glanced at the band--Jeff shook his head--and they shredded. The incident had only charged the concertgoers up even more, and the Metallica song about the Angel of Death killing the firstborn sons of Egypt was the kind of song they lapped up (while pearl-clutching religious people concerned about the effect of violent lyrics and dark music on the children completely missed that this was straight out of the Bible ). Even Rob the Doubter had joined Guilloteen out in the moshpit to get themselves amped up for their own upcoming set. 

After "Creeping Death" they did "Heaven and Hell" by Black Sabbath, then Iron Maiden's "Flight of Icarus." Sweat poured down Eddie's body beneath the heat of the stage lights, his own sun as he soared up, up on the wings of the music. It might be heavy metal, but he felt light as a bird. 

"We've been playing covers," Eddie panted when the song had ended, "and we'll get back to the masters of metal in a minute, but we wanted to do a little Corroded Coffin original. This is for everyone who loves British Romantic poetry--" A grin stretched when the audience groaned and booed, thumbs downing and flipping middle fingers. "--or fucking hates it!" He wagged his tongue, and the crowd cheered. "But hey--the literary scholars of Iron Maiden would like a word." He let their laughter and applause wash over him for a moment--then found Chrissy, shaking her head, but smiling. Winking at her, he said, "Chrissy, this is for helping me pass!"

They'd only rehearsed "Thy Fearful Symmetry" yesterday. It wasn't exactly Metallica levels of complex, and as they played, Eddie made mental notes of tweaks he wanted to make for the final composition he handed in to Mr. Miller. But judging from the crowd's reaction, it was a banger. (Chrissy was doing her cheerleader bouncy thing again, and even threw horns .) Eddie felt himself riding a high similar to when Hellfire Club went nuts about his campaigns, only somehow more , because it was music. 

The rest of the set flew by. During “Medusa" by Anthrax, he got a kick out of looking at Chrissy during the chorus: she's staring at you…with her eyes . If she was a Gorgon, he’d happily gaze into those gorgeous deadly eyes and let her turn him into her own personal statue. (How would she look with snakes for hair? Bitchin’, probably.) Then came Judas Priest's "The Sentinel," which hit him differently than it used to, after the Upside Down, and finally, they returned to Iron Maiden for "The Number of the Beast" as one big fuck you to the good people of Hawkins. 

"Once again, we're Corroded Coffin, and we had a hell of a time playing for you freaks tonight," Eddie shouted into the mic over the crowd going wild, "except for the guy in the Stryper shirt." 

As they rushed off the stage, images once again strobed through Eddie's mind of the truncated performance in the Upside Down, of slamming the trailer door behind him…of jumping up and down while Henderson declared it the most metal ever! Wishing forgetfulness spells really existed in real life, Eddie did his best to push the unwelcome memories to the back of his brain as he and the guys chest bumped, shook each other by the shoulders, tousled hair, and roared in faces to congratulate each other on a great show.

They didn't just have to self-congratulate; Guilloteen joined them backstage for handshakes and high fives. Donnie bowed to them, and said, "We're not worthy," which obviously miffed Rob. Eddie couldn't fault the guy for feeling a little betrayed by his own bassist, but that didn't stop him from saying, "We'll do 'Master of Puppets' next time." 

"Next time you should probably lay off Stryper."

"Why? Are you playing one of their songs tonight?" Eddie was just talking shit, but Rob crossed his arms over his chest and shook his feathery bangs out of his eyes. 

Whoops.

Eddie cleared his throat. "We can celebrate later, guys, we need to break down our equipment so the headliners can set up." 

He waved his arm toward Rob in a sweeping bow that was silly, over-the-top, and just a titch sarcastic.

As he straightened, Chrissy appeared from around the edge of the stage. 

"Hey there, beautiful," he said. "You got a backstage pass?"

She launched herself into Eddie's embrace and didn't cringe even a little bit even though his hair and shirt were as soggy as if he'd been out in the rain. ( Was it still raining? Or any harder? He'd give Wayne so much shit if the forecast was wrong.)

"Eddie, they loved you!" Chrissy squeaked.

His heart beat a wilder drumbeat than anything Gareth had played in their setlist. Did you? Do you? he wanted to ask, but he was breathless again, and stricken with stage fright. Instead, he stooped and kissed her, hard and long and deep, as he'd wanted to all damn night, and when he drew back, there were practically hearts in her eyes. 

"My boyfriend's a rockstar!" 

***

At the bar, Chrissy perched primly on a stool with a rip in the vinyl upholstery (How did she manage to look proper, when she was dressed like a rocker in a dump like this? Eddie wondered. Must be one of her many superpowers. Or the posture, which her mother drilled into her.) and politely ordered a Diet Coke.

"You sure?" Eddie asked loudly, leaning in so she could hear him over the music playing over the sound system between sets. "No one's checking IDs in here."

And Corroded Coffin would hardly be paying for drinks tonight, thanks to  a bunch of very supportive concertgoers who'd offered to buy a round for the band. Which was why Eddie had departed from his usual drink of choice, whatever beer was cheapest, to whatever beer wasn't cheapest. 

"I'm sure," Chrissy chirped, swinging her legs, sexy as hell in her black tights, which Eddie raked his gaze over appreciatively before returning it to her face as he leaned an elbow on the counter (his leather jacket made a crunching sound in the stickiness, like tape ripping) and his cheek on his hand. "What are you grinning about?" 

Eddie shook his head, remembering the way she'd scrunched her nose when she tasted his beer after school one day. Diet Coke was probably the right choice for her. 

"Guilloteen goes on at midnight?" Chrissy asked.

"Yep." Eddie followed her gaze to his wristwatch, which read 11:34.

"Are metal shows always this late?"

"Uh-huh. Rock concerts in general."

"Will they play for about as long as you did?"

"They'll play two sets, with a fifteen, twenty minute break between."

Chrissy's eyes bulged, and Eddie realized he'd stupidly assumed she knew how these things worked. Not all high schoolers (probably not most) had attended the kinds of shows he had, because they had things like parents and curfews . 

"I'm sorry," he said. "I should've warned you this is gonna be a late night--like, really late."

"Like two AM late. Home by four?"

Eddie raked a hand through his matted hair and blew out a breath. "If I could take you back home now, I would, but it would be, like, super rude not to stay to see the band that invited us…" They could kiss playing for Guilloteen again goodbye, and it could hurt their reputation with other bands, too.

Plus, they hadn’t gotten paid yet.

Her fingers fiddled with a pleat in her denim skirt. Eddie sat up and covered her hands with one of his. "Don't worry, sweetheart, you're ready for that French test, and you can sleep on the drive home." 

Chrissy flashed that bright smile again. "I'm not worried about one late night." 

The bartender returned with two glasses, sloshing beer and soda as he plonked them down--no wonder the counter was so damn sticky--then turned to serve Shawn, who sat at Eddie's right.

Bringing her straw to her red lips (she'd re-applied her lipstick after Eddie kissed most of it off backstage), she sipped, face puckering slightly. Weird; Eddie'd never seen her make a face about Diet Coke. "I'm a little worried about Guilloteen, though." 

"Yeah?" Eddie slurped his beer, which tasted no better and no worse than the cheap ones he normally drank. "Why's that?" 

Chrissy rubbed her foot along his ankle. "How can they be as good as Corroded Coffin?" 

Grinning, she held up her glass, and Eddie clinked his against it. She took another sip and made another face, bigger this time, though not exactly her beer face. Eyeing her drink suspiciously, she pushed it toward Eddie.

"Do you think this Diet Coke tastes funny?" 

"I always think Diet Coke tastes funny. Aspartame, gross." With a barfing sound and a full-body shudder, Eddie sucked from her straw. "Yep, tastes off, all right." Chrissy's eyebrows shot up, and he smirked. "Because it's not Diet Coke." 

"Is it regular Coke?" she asked, looking a little scandalized, which made Eddie snigger.

"Yep--and rum." She looked fully scandalized at that, mouth falling open, and Eddie chortled. "Bartender must've misheard you. Want me to order you a new one?"

He turned and started to gesture, but Chrissy caught his arm, pulling it down. "No…I, um…" The whites of her teeth peeped out, digging into her bottom lip as she ducked her head. Peeking up through her bangs--guiltily--she dropped her voice."...kind of like it?"

Eddie threw back his head. "Hell, yeah--my woman's got a taste for hard liquor!"

Chrissy's face turned such a deep shade of red that Eddie thought his teasing was going to put her off from her drink. But she crossed her ankles and drank demurely through her straw as she turned to Jeff, on her left. "I had no idea you were such an amazing singer!"

It was like she was making conversation at one of those fancy dinner parties you saw in the movies. Chrissy classed anything up. 

"He's a choir nerd," Shawn said. 

Almost anything.

"You're great on backup vocals, Shawn," Chrissy said. Turning back to Jeff, she said, "That's right! I've seen you at choir concerts. How does Eddie feel about you being part of an organization?"

Eddie snorted into his beer as she nudged his shoulder with hers and glanced  impishly at him.

"He turns a blind eye," Jeff replied, chuckling. "But you know, if he wants Corroded Coffin to have the operatic sound of Iron Maiden and Dio…" 

"Jeff's a really good mimic," Eddie said. "That's how we cover so many different bands without sounding like shit. And hey, if choir helps you with that, who am I to judge?"

Jeff and Shawn exchanged a long look, then erupted laughter that looked likely to have them falling off their barstools. 

"That's generous of you, Munson," Jeff said, when he'd collected himself--somewhat--swiping the corners of his eyes with the back of his hand.

"Hey, when we have a show like tonight, I can afford to be. Besides, choir's like, the least annoying campus group."

"Is it, now?" Chrissy asked, eyebrows arched, as Jeff and Shawn fell apart again.

"Other than the cheerleaders," Eddie hastened to add. 

"You know, Gareth did marching band in middle school," Shawn said. "What if he'd stuck with that?"

Eddie was just picturing the drummer in one of those goofy hats with the chinstrap and plume, when Chrissy asked, "Where is Gareth?" 

Shit--Eddie had honestly kind of forgotten about him. "He finished breaking down the kit, didn't he?"

He'd given Gareth the keys to the van since Gareth insisted only he could load it properly, and Eddie didn't argue, not wanting to be out in the rain any longer than he'd had to to pack up the amps and guitars. Dude better not be screwing around back there…(How would there even be room, with all their equipment?)

"He was flirting with some chick, last I saw," Shawn said. 

"Some chick?" Eddie was on his feet, thrusting his beer at Shawn. "Hold this while I go find him."

Jeff shook his head. "Don't harsh his buzz, man," 

Uncle Wayne's parting admonishment to look out for the others was harshing Eddie's buzz. "Kid's only seventeen--"

"Sixteen," Shawn said. "Summer birthday." 

Huh. You learned something new every day. Some days. But this information only fueled Eddie's sense of urgency, "Kid's only sixteen, gotta make sure he's not, like, in some statutory situation."

"Guilloteen's audience skews young!" called Shawn as Eddie stalked off from the bar. 

Chrissy trotted after him, her rum and Coke in one hand, and the other catching Eddie's hand as he weaved through the crowd. People kept wanting to stop him and tell him what a rad set it had been. "Thanks, man, really appreciate that, but I seem to have misplaced my drummer…"

They found him in the backstage hallway, lips locked with a girl who had him shoved against the wall, his hand on her boob slackening when he heard Eddie and Chrissy's approach. The girl turned, huffed in annoyance. 

"What the hell, man?" Gareth whined.

"Swear to god, I'll only take a moment of your time," Eddie said, one hand raised in a placating gesture. He locked eyes with the girl. "As long as you confirm your age for me." 

"Is he, like, your brother or something?” 

“No," said Gareth through his teeth. "But for some reason lately he thinks he’s everyone’s dad.” 

Drawing herself up to full height--which was shorter than Chrissy--the girl gave her teased hair a toss and replied, coolly, "Twenty-one. Want to see my ID?" 

Eddie snorted. "Your fake one? Look," he went on, stepping closer, using his height to his advantage, "are you eighteen or older? Because he's not."

"Dude!"

Nature chose that moment to let loose a cymbal crash of lightning (which made Chrissy jump and squeeze Eddie's hand) followed by a long rumble of thunder, like he was bringing down the wrath of god on these errant teenagers.

The girl's attitude seeped out of her like air from a popped balloon. She shrank back against the wall. "No. I'm a sophomore. Please don't tell." 

Well that was precious. "Oh, don't worry, I won't get in my little drummer boy's way here. Just--Gareth." He grabbed the drummer's collar and dragged him down the hall (and Chrissy, too, by default, since she was still holding onto him) into one of the side rooms. 

"You got, uh, protection ?"

Rather than spit a pissed-off retort, this time Gareth's mouth gaped in genuine shock. "Dude, could it go that far?"

Eddie slid his wallet out of his back pocket and opened it. "I dunno, man, that's up to you--and her--but you should always be prepared." 

As he pressed the wrapped condom into Gareth's palm, he caught Chrissy sucking on her straw looking at him with a clear question in her big eyes. Were you prepared for tonight?

"That's been in there for who knows how long," he said, hoping to put her at ease that he'd had no expectations for her after the show. Not that he wouldn't love if things went that way for them. He turned back to Gareth. "But don't get that thing out unless she says she wants to have sex. Don't do anything she doesn't say is okay." 

"Jesus, man!"

"Wait!" Chrissy cried. "Gareth, check the date on that condom, it could be expired!" 

"What, like milk ?" Gareth looked disgusted, and maybe totally turned off. He muttered as he slumped out of the room, "It'd be less work to stay a virgin."

"Hey, you got my keys?" 

Without breaking stride, Gareth fished them out of his pocket and chunked them over his shoulder. Eddie caught them, then he and Chrissy went back to the bar, where Shawn had finished Eddie's beer.

"We were gone all of ten minutes, shithead!" Eddie cried in exasperation. "I needed that, after dealing with Gareth the Great Big Dummy." 

In answer, Shawn belched. 

But Eddie couldn't hold it against him, since he'd managed to save his barstool. He ordered another beer, and Chrissy asked for a second rum and Coke. 

Never one to stop anyone from imbibing if they chose, he raised a brow. "Pace yourself, sweetheart. Those are stronger than you think."

As tiny as she was, she had to be a lightweight. Then again, she probably needed it to get through the rest of this show. 

Guilloteen wasn't bad. They leaned more into glam than Eddie preferred (unsurprising, given Rob's defense of Stryper and his whole general aura ), but he couldn't find fault with them musically, other than they weren't as good as Corroded Coffin. Metallica would be totally above their skill level, to put it in Rob's terms. Eddie was well aware he was hardly an unbiased critic, but when Chrissy leaned in and practically shouted in his ear, "They should be opening for you guys!" he felt validated. Because she was totally an objective listener. 

The music was good enough at least to make Eddie want to mosh, and with booze coursing through her veins, he convinced Chrissy to join him and the guys in the mass of moving bodies. Scarred by her earlier experience, she stayed very close, and he felt intoxicated by it and the rum sweetness of her breath.

When they returned to the bar during the break between sets, they found Gareth (along with everyone else except for the girl he'd gotten frisky with). 

"Well, well, the prodigal returns," Eddie said, squeezing his shoulders. "And did you sow your wild oats?"

"A gentleman doesn't kiss and tell," Gareth muttered, flushing, into his beer.

Eddie slid onto the vacant stool next to him, drawing Chrissy onto his lap, because there weren't any other free seats. "I saw you get to second base, dude." 

“I didn’t volunteer that information!”

“Feeling a girl up in the hall seems like volunteering info to me.”

“Where is she?" asked Chrissy, gesturing to the bartender. Eddie's arm tightened around her waist, and he nuzzled at her neck, her dangly metallic earring cool against his skin. 

Gareth rubbed the back of his neck. "She had to go home, but, uh, I got her number." 

"Too bad Indianapolis is long-distance," Jeff deadpanned, and Shawn guffawed. Gareth's face registered that this was the first he'd considered this important fact, then he flipped them off.

“Ah, the storied life of a musician," Eddie said with a dramatic sigh. "I’m glad I’m not looking for a one-night stand after a gig.”

Chrissy wriggled on his lap, turning toward him. “You wouldn’t have to look very far. I heard a lot of girls talking about you. And then they gave me looks after you defended my honor from the stage.”

“Oops. Sorry.”

“Don’t you dare apologize for that!” Chrissy grabbed him and pressed her mouth to his. 

"Ugh," Gareth groaned. "Go find a back room, you two."

Chapter Text

"You guys aren't half bad," said the manager of The Lion's Den (whose name, disappointingly, wasn't Daniel, but Virgil). He looked like an old rocker, wearing a black t-shirt that revealed his life's story in tattoos. A tuft of grizzled hair poking out of the deep V-neck matched what was visible beneath his fedora. An aged look to aspire to, Eddie thought--though that could also be multiple beers making him a little more generous in his opinions than normal, especially when they were stroking his ego.

Chrissy, on the other hand, didn't find Virgil so inspirational. Standing beside Eddie across the battered desk in the smoke-filled office (seriously, it was like someone had run a fog machine in here, and Eddie was definitely no stranger to smokers), she hmphed. 

Virgil paused counting out Corroded Coffin's payment for the night and looked up at her with eyebrows raised to the brim of his hat. A chuckle rattled through his throat as he picked up a lit cigar from the ashtray and took a drag, puffing out a ring. "You think I'm being a little tepid with my assessment of your boyfriend's talent, huh, little lady?" 

Even slightly buzzed, Eddie knew that was supposed to be a rhetorical question, but Chrissy nodded, which got another laugh from Virgil. He pulled from his cigar again before placing it in the ashtray and restarting his count. 

"I was going to say the band wasn't half bad, but this guy's the best of the bunch."

"Yay!" Chrissy bounced on her toes--with a little less grace than normal, owing to her newly discovered appreciation for rum and Coke--and clapped her fingertips together. Beaming up at Eddie, she said, "I told you everyone loved you!" 

"Dunno that I'd go that far."

The corner of Virgil's thin, purplish lips twitched as he watched a stormy expression snuff out her sunny smile--dude was clearly enjoying winding up a drunk girl. (Eddie had to admit, her righteous indignation was hilarious, as well as just a little bit heart-warming).

"Keep opening," Virgil went on, before Chrissy's gaping mouth could utter a word of protest. "Get some more experience, and it won't be long before you can be featured performers."

He tapped the stack of money on the desk before half-rising to extend it to Eddie. "Ever consider a name change?"

"I swear to god," Eddie said as he pulled his wallet from his back pocket, "if you're about to make a Charles Manson joke--"

"Corroded Coffin." Virgil huffed a cloud of smoke. "Sounds like a name a bunch of kids would give a band." 

Well, it was a name a bunch of kids gave a band. If nothing else, it was memorable--enough that Chrissy hadn't forgotten it . Eddie stuffed the cash into his wallet. "Like Guilloteen?"

Virgil rasped a laugh. "Fair." He extended his hand. "Hope to see you back soon." 

"That's not a thing I hear a lot," Eddie said, gripping the tobacco-stained hand.

"Bet she does, though." Virgil nodded to Chrissy. "You, too, missy." 

"Thanks! Bye!" She must've forgiven him for his less-than-glowing review of the band.

With Eddie's hand at the small of Chrissy's back, they turned to exit the office. She wobbled and wove, so he wrapped his arm fully around her waist to steady her, reveling in the press of her small hand against his chest. 

"Eddie," she said, urgently, in a tone that sounded like she intended to be at a hush, but was louder, "did Virgil only pay Corroded Coffin a hundred dollars? That's…" A crease formed above the bridge of her nose. "I can't do the math right now...But that's not very much split four ways."

Glancing back down the hall to make sure Virgil couldn't overhear them, Eddie saw the office door was closed. 

"Twenty-five smackaroos apiece," he replied. "Hey, which of us is graduating high school on their first try?" He squeezed Chrissy's waist, and she squirmed, ticklish, but clutched at his jacket. "Don't worry, little lady. He didn't cheat us. That's pretty much the going rate at joints like this." 

He was about to launch into a speech about how the important thing was the exposure, but Chrissy spoke first.

"You were going to sell me half an ounce of weed for twenty bucks and that was at a discount. Being a musician doesn't pay very well."

That stopped Eddie in his tracks, his bark of laughter ricocheting through the hall of tiled floor and brick walls with only the odd poster or bulletin board to dampen sound. He dug at the corner of a dry, bleary eye and faced her. 

"For someone who's normally so sweet, you're kinda savage when you're drunk."

Chrissy opened her mouth, spluttering in protest or apology, but Eddie pressed his index finger to her lips. 

"Maybe it's not that musicians get paid poorly," he said, raising his eyebrows, "but that drug dealers get paid really well."

Her lips pursed against the pad of his finger, kissing it with conviction. She wrapped her hands around his wrist and held it firmly in place, continuing to trail noisy kisses down the line of his finger to the web of skin at the base of his thumb. Eddie's eyelids fluttered, and he blew out a breath. Hot damn. It was probably the most overtly sexual thing Chrissy had ever done, though she was too drunk to really know what she was doing. 

"Should be the other way around," Chrissy said. "Music is a gift to the world."

Eddie let out another laugh. "Well, so is weed." He tugged her against his side again and resumed walking toward the door. The guys were waiting for them out in the van. "How many rum and Cokes did you have, anyway?" 

"So many. But I told you, I can't do math right now."

"That's not really math, Chrissy. It's just counting." 

Amusing as she was right now, the back of Eddie's neck prickled. He should've done a better job of pacing her, or made her stop at two altogether. But what kind of a boyfriend would he be if he told her what she could and couldn't do? And it was a special night. Corroded Coffin had fucking rocked, he was celebrating his success with his band and his girl, and frankly he wasn't ready for it to end, to go back to Hawkins and what remained of his less-than-illustrious high school career. 

With his free hand, he pushed the door open. Although they'd heard the rain drumming down from inside, they both halted on the covered stoop at the sight of it absolutely dumping cats and dogs. The van was pulled up close to the building from when they'd loaded it, but Eddie didn't love the thought of getting soaked to the skin before going to a restaurant. 

"Do you still have that flannel?" he asked Chrissy loudly, over the pelting drops.

She fumbled for her backpack, and Eddie rummaged through it till he found the wadded up cloth. It wasn't much, especially not to cover both of them and with Eddie trying to support Chrissy after having several beers himself. By the time he settled her into the passenger seat (she could not get the male end of the seat belt buckle slotted into the female part, which sent her into hysterical laughter) and he was behind the wheel, he'd gotten wet enough to make a puddle in and around the seat, which he mopped up with the flannel. It wasn't a particularly cold night, but he cranked up the heat and ran it full blast to dry them off as best as he could. 

"Denny's is just off the highway," said Jeff from the seat behind Eddie. "Donnie said we can follow him. That's his Nissan."

Rob had invited Corroded Coffin out after the show "to discuss the future of our partnership," which was kinda presumptuous, but also not an opportunity a metal band from a small town without a metal scene (or any scene) could pass up.

(Also, Eddie was fucking starving, and he was sure the other guys' stomachs were growling, too. They were strapping young men, after all. Or in Gareth's case--as he'd learned tonight--a growing boy.)

"It's really late," Chrissy commented, looking at the dashboard clock, which read 2:34 a.m. "I've never been out this late on a school night. Maybe not even on a not-school night." She giggled.

"Bet you've never been to a restaurant in the middle of the night, huh?" Eddie grinned at her as he turned out of the parking lot behind the Nissan.

"Maybe we shouldn't," she said, abruptly turning serious, that familiar line drawing itself between her eyebrows. "How many hours till school?"

"Not enough," said Shawn, wearily, behind Chrissy. 

"He can't do math right now, either," Eddie teased. 

"Or ever," Gareth added from two rows back, where he stretched out on a seat to himself. 

"Which of us is going to summer school?" Shawn jabbed back at him.

Gareth jackknifed upright and snarled,"Not for math, dickhead!" 

Eddie reached over and squeezed Chrissy's shoulder. "Believe me, sweetheart, after what you drank tonight, you're gonna want food more than you're gonna want an extra hour of sleep." 

"Okay." She nodded, not sounding or looking totally convinced, though it was hard to see her face clearly with only the brief passing glow of a streetlight.

"Anyway, maybe the rain'll let up while we're eating."

If not for the blurred yellow and red blotches of Donnie's tail and brake lights, Eddie wouldn't have been able to see the car in front of him at all through the sheets of rain. He did not want to drive eighty miles back to Hawkins in this. 

He also didn't want to say Wayne was right about the storm, but…Wayne might've been right about the storm. 

***

Under normal circumstances, Eddie loved a good thunderstorm. How could he not, when it was nature's equivalent of a heavy metal concert? Hell, now that he wasn't driving, he was starting to enjoy this one. It was cozy, sipping piping hot coffee loaded with cream and sugar in the wood-paneled Denny's while outside there came a gullywasher (as Wayne liked to say). His ears buzzed with the idiotic banter of metalheads who surrounded him at the row of pushed-together tables in front of a long bench seat (Corroded Coffin at one end, Guilloteen on the other, with Eddie and Rob across from each other in the middle; Donnie and the drummer's girlfriends had not joined them). The aroma of bacon grease and maple syrup coated the air so thickly that it was like being wrapped in a sweet and salty, artery-clogging blanket. (Death by breakfast food--not a bad way to go, honestly, especially compared with all the ways he almost went during spring break.)

Or it would've been cozy, if the lightning that flashed like a strobe light every few seconds didn't make Chrissy keep jolting on the orange vinyl-upholstered bench seat as though it had struck her. Eddie slid his arm around her, rubbing her bare upper arm, but she didn't relax against him. If she was this jittery, it was probably for the best that she was nursing a big cup of ice water instead of coffee. Then again, something warm might soothe her. 

"You could ask for decaf," he said, jiggling his leg under the table. (Maybe he shouldn't be guzzling caffeine right now, but it was three in the morning, and he had an eighty-mile drive ahead of him). "Or tea? Do you drink hot tea? Do they have hot tea here? Seems, uh, too classy for Denny's." Then again, they did serve steak. He flipped the menu over to the beverages section. "They do have a selection of hot teas."

Chrissy only hmmed quietly; Eddie couldn't interpret the meaning. When the middle-aged waitress wearing a white blouse and brown apron with a name tag that read Bea came to take their orders, Chrissy said, "Whole wheat toast, please. And a side of fruit," and not a word about hot tea. 

"One slice or two?" asked Bea.

"Um, one, please?"

"You should have, like, bacon or sausage or hashbrowns or something with that," Eddie told Chrissy. "You need some grease to soak up all that booze, trust me. Whatever you want, sweetheart, I'm rolling in dough tonight." 

He grinned at Bea, who just pursed her lips and tapped her pen on her little notebook, then Eddie slid his gaze back to Chrissy, who'd gone rigid beside him, like rigor mortis stiff. The muscle beneath her cheekbone flickered, and he followed the line from her tensed shoulder to her hands, curled into claws and digging into the booth. 

"What's wrong, Chris--"

"Don't tell me what to eat." 

Eddie blinked and sat back, vinyl creaking. He'd seen Chrissy angry before, though never at him. She wasn't angry now, exactly, but she was definitely upset--even he wasn't dumb enough to miss that, despite being dumb enough to do exactly what she'd accused him of, when he knew she had issues with food because her mother controlled what she was and wasn't allowed to eat. Stupid, stupid, stupid, Eddie silently berated himself, punctuating each with a punch of his clenched fist against his thigh. 

Something else crept through him, hot and tight in his chest. It was a feeling he was familiar with, but hadn't experienced toward Chrissy. He was kinda pissed off. Didn't she know he hadn't meant it like that? That he was just trying to take care of her? When had he ever done otherwise?

Everyone else was so absorbed in their own conversations that they seemed unaware of what was happening between him and Chrissy. (A tiff? A lovers' quarrel?) Except for Bea, who gave him a hard look and said in a voice edged with impatience, "And for you?"

"Oh, uh…" Eddie looked at the menu, even though he'd already studied it intently and made up his mind what he was going to have. Uncurling his fist, he slid his sweaty palm over his jeans. "I'll  have the Grand Slam." 

"How do you want your eggs?"

"Over easy. With, uh, extra bacon and sausage." He tipped his head toward Chrissy, but didn't look at her, fiddling with the handle of his tan coffee mug emblazoned with the Denny's logo as Bea set off for the kitchen. "You can nibble off my plate if you decide you want something else. But I'm, uh, not telling you what to do." 

"Eddie." Her fingers squeezed his thigh. "I'm sorry. I'm just…it's really late." 

Her voice was barely a peep, and her dark makeup had smudged either from sweating at the club or running through the rain or both, giving her racoon eyes, accentuating the bloodshot whites and the blueness of her irises, which were pooling with tears. Eddie's temper snuffed out as quickly as it had flared. She was tired, of course she was, that's all any of this was. 

"You got nothing to be sorry for." He wrapped both arms around her, and the knot in his chest loosened as she settled against his chest this time and exhaled. "It's been a long night. You're a trooper."

"You're gross." Gareth puffed into his straw and shot the wrapper off the end at Eddie, but it fluttered down into the bowl of half and half containers, far short of its target. "Also, when are you gonna fork over our money?"

"After I deduct our travel expenses." 

"Travel expenses?" spluttered Shawn. 

"Why should I pay for all the gas?" Eddie said. "I'm already putting wear and tear on my van hauling you losers and your shit around." 

"Man, that van was worn and torn when you bought it," Jeff said.

"My point exactly." Eddie sipped his coffee. "But didn't anyone ever tell you barbarians it's rude to talk about finances at dinner?"

"Is this dinner or breakfast?" Shawn asked. 

"I think it's rude for you to decide how much of our money to pocket," Gareth shot back. 

"What we need is a manager," Shawn mused, stroking his chin. 

"Maybe she could do it!" Donnie butted into the conversation, pointing at Chrissy. 

"Me?" Chrissy squeaked. 

Gareth snorted. "Right, because the girlfriend of the lead guitarist is a totally unbiased third party." He folded his arms across his chest and shook his shaggy head. 

Jeff shrugged. "Works for Ozzy and Sharon." 

"Ozzy's girlfriend is his manager?" Chrissy asked. 

Eddie's chest puffed a little that she'd absorbed enough about the world of metal to recognize who they were talking about. 

"Uh, his wife. Actually." Warmth prickled across Eddie's face, and he tried to hide behind his hair and his coffee mug, but not before glancing to see a matching flush pinkening Chrissy's cheeks.

"I don't know if I'd be very good at that," she said.

Managing a band, or being a wife? Before Eddie could ask what she meant--not that this was the time or the place, anyway--Bea, along with a waiter in a short-sleeved white dress shirt and a painfully dorky bowtie, returned with their food on two big trays and began plopping down plates of pancakes, eggs, breakfast meats, and hash browns. 

Rob, the pretentious fuck, had actually ordered the steak.

"So we're at the Lion's Den again Sunday after next," he said, dousing it in A1, then cutting off a bite, which had, like, no pink whatsoever. (Eddie was hardly a steak connoisseur, but he knew a little bloody was the way to go. Vampires were on to something.) Rob popped the bite into his mouth, continuing around it, "You guys are way better than the band that was supposed to open for us tonight. If I can get them off the docket, you want the slot?"

Mouth full of buttermilk pancakes (Denny's sure knew how to put the cake in pan cake ), Eddie exchanged glances with his bandmates. He didn't even have to ask what they thought before swallowing and blurting out, "Hell yeah, we want the slot!" 

He half-stood, leaning across the table to slap Rob's hand. A crash of lightning made Chrissy jump, her triangle of dry toast clunking on her plate, with only a bite taken out of it. (No wonder. She hadn't used butter or jelly. How could anyone choke that shit down?) Eddie sat and shoveled more pancakes into his mouth.

"You guys should go to Memormetal Fest!" said Donnie.

"The fuck's Memormetal Fest?"

"This Memorial Day battle of the bands in Detroit," Rob explained. "I'll call you this week with details."

Dumb fucking name, if you asked Eddie, but clearly a band named Guilloteen wasn't very discerning. Anyway, who gave a shit what it was called? 

"You hear that?" He grinned at Corroded Coffin. "Interstate exposure. We're moving up in the world! I told you this day would come!"

The reference to Memorial Day triggered an unwelcome memory of a much more desperate version of himself begging the manager of Tiger Tones to let him start working the weekend after that, because of final exams and term papers and all of that end-of-year shit he had to do in order to--finally--graduate. All of it still awaited him when they got back to Hawkins. Chrissy was right; twenty-five dollar gigs weren't going to lift him out of poverty. 

"Speaking of May, happy graduation, Super Senior!" said Donnie.

"Wait wait wait…" Rob gawked at Eddie. "Graduation? As in… high school?"

"Donnie didn't mention that?" Eddie tried to sound as casual as possible as he bit off a strip of bacon. Hopefully Donnie hadn't mentioned that Eddie was his dumbass former bandmate who hadn't gone to Indianapolis with him because he'd flunked in eighty-four. Which was real nice of him. Maybe Rob hadn't caught the Super Senior reference.

"Are all of you graduating?" Rob asked.

"Just Jeff and me." 

"Maybe Eddie," Shawn said.

Eddie shot him a murderous glance.

"What's the post-graduation plan?" Rob sawed at his steak, took a bite, and wiped a blob of steak sauce from the corner of his mouth on his thumb, which he licked off. "You guys getting the hell out of Hawkins?"

"I'm going to Howard in August."

"What is that, like, a college?"

Jeff gave Rob a dead-eyed stare. "Yeah. It's a college. In DC." 

"So Corroded Coffin'll be out a singer," Rob said. 

Eddie didn't want to think about that, and not just because he didn't like the scheming expression on Rob's face. They'd still have Jeff through the summer, so Corroded Coffin could open for Guilloteen at The Lion's Den, maybe land some of their own shows, like Virgil the manager had said, play at Metalmorial Fest or whatever the fuck it was called, and have their big break, and maybe Jeff would decide not to leave…

Chrissy's head dropped onto Eddie's shoulder, and she gave a little moan. 

"You okay?" he asked. 

She wagged it slightly back and forth against him. "Headache." 

She'd taken a few more bites out her toast, leaving the other triangle untouched, and it looked like maybe she'd eaten a little of the banana slices and grapes and out-of-season cantaloupe, but he really hadn't paid much attention to how much she'd started with. He glanced at his watch and saw it was nearly a quarter till four. 

"Let's get you home, sweetheart," he said, dropping a light kiss to her hair. There was probably syrup on his lips, but whatever, they were about to get rained on, anyway. 

They could be in Hawkins by 5:30 if the rain didn't slow them down. First bell was at 7:30…

"The hell?" Gareth protested. "I'm not done eating!"

"Then get a doggie bag," Eddie snarled, then let out a full-throated bark for maximum freak effect. 

When he signaled to Bea to bring the check, she looked like this wasn't even close to the most bizarre behavior she'd seen in Denny's. Maybe that was a good thing? Or maybe Eddie was losing his touch.

***

The van needed new wipers. (What new part didn't the van need? Including the whole hunk of junk itself. Jeff had not snarked on wear and tear for nothing.)

Eddie hadn't noticed on the drive to Indianapolis how the wipers juddered across the windshield, barely clearing the glass so he could see the lane markings for two seconds before the goddamn deluge obliterated visibility again. (They'd be better off floating to Hawkins in an ark .) He also hadn't noticed how loud they were, screeching and thumping, though that was probably because they'd blasted Metallica and Megadeth on the way to the show. Now, the stereo was unusually silent (he couldn't remember the last time he'd driven without a tape playing, other than when it died and it had taken him a month to track down a replacement at a scrap yard) as Eddie leaned over the steering wheel, clutching it tightly in both hands like he was some eighty-year-old geezer, crawling down the highway. 

In between the ragged scream of the wipers, he could hear wheezes and snores from behind him. Once Gareth had stopped bitching and finished his doggie bag, the asswipe had passed out, and Jeff and Shawn followed suit without even considering whether Eddie might like a little conversation to pass the time. Maybe they assumed he'd just talk to Chrissy. She wasn't asleep, though her eyes were closed, head lolling against the seat back. Every time they hit a pothole or bump or when oncoming headlights beamed through the windshield, she winced and whimpered softly.

Eddie's eyes darted between her pale, pained little face, the road, the dashboard clock, and the odometer, trying to calculate when they'd get back to Hawkins at this speed, but he hadn't flunked twelfth grade twice because he was a math whiz. He did know they'd only been on the highway for all of twenty minutes (and had put only thirteen of the eighty miles behind them) when Chrissy sat bolt upright in the passenger seat, eyes open wide (thankfully not glazed over white, Eddie realized only after he'd nearly had a major cardiac event), and clapped a hand against her mouth. 

"Gonna be sick," she mumbled into her palm. 

"What?"

Still reeling from the spike of panic that Vecna had somehow resurrected to possess her again, Eddie's brain lagged to process what was actually happening to Chrissy. Even comprehension brought little relief; vomit could be nightmare fodder, too. He’d seen The Exorcist, and the last thing his grody, piece of shit van needed was a reenactment.

"Jesus H, Chrissy, hang on--" He glanced up to the rear-view mirror. "Anyone got a sack or something back there?"

No response. The guys were out cold.  

“Hold on, sweetheart," Eddie said, in the most soothing voice he could muster as he swerved onto the shoulder, the van rattling over loose gravel and uneven pavement where it met the grass. "I’m gonna take care of you. Nice deep breaths, in through your nose…”

He threw the van into park and flipped the switch to turn on the hazard lights which--miracles did happen--worked, thank fuck. At least they wouldn't get crushed by an eighteen-wheeler while Chrissy was sick by the side of the road. Ripping off his seat belt, he punched the dome light button and flung himself half-over the center console, jostling Jeff and Shawn awake.

“Chrissy’s about to blow chunks, is there a bag?”

A shock of brown waves appeared over the seat behind them, and Gareth asked through a yawn as he sat up, "Are we there yet?"

“Christ, morons all around me. Give me your sack, quick!”

“My fucking what?”

"Your doggie bag! Chop-chop!" Eddie clapped for emphasis. 

Up front, Chrissy made a gagging sound and started to heave. She reached for the door handle, but Eddie said, "Nononono, you'll get soaked, hang on…"

It was bad enough that she was hungover; she didn't need to get drenched and catch a chill and get, like, pneumonia or some shit like that, too. 

"Breathe in through your nose, out through your mouth," he intoned like a yogi while gesturing impatiently as Gareth dumped a styrofoam takeout box, a cup, several napkins, and plastic utensils onto the floor and passed the plastic sack up to Eddie. The syrup and bacon grease smell clung to it, making his own full stomach seize as he held it by the handles in front of Chrissy--and not a moment too soon. She immediately hurled into it, with so much force that Eddie nearly dropped the bag. His idiot friends reacted with a prolonged "OOOHHH" like they were watching a grotesque tragedy befall some poor innocent soul in a horror movie. (With the lightning flashing outside the van, the scene did have a certain cinematic vibe.)

"Uh, do you asshats mind?" Eddie rolled his eyes toward them (honestly, a little bit grateful for an excuse to glance away from the nausea-inducing view for a moment, which made him feel like an asshat). "She doesn't need a goddamn audience ." 

As if she agreed, Chrissy grabbed the bag from Eddie and turned slightly away from him. For a moment, he watched, helpless, but then he reached out to rub her back and murmur encouragement (he didn't know what the hell he said, everything was a surreal blur). 

It seemed to go on for hours, which Eddie found frankly mystifying. She hadn't eaten enough for there to be so much coming back out of her. She'd drunk a lot, though, and as best he could tell, she was mainly puking liquid, and it definitely was the color of Coke. Beneath the sour vomit stench, it had the sugary smell of rum. (Eddie wasn't really a mixed drinks guy, but it would be a loooooong time before he could drink one of those without thinking of this…Probably longer for poor Chrissy.) 

Finally, she stopped. She sat back, wiping the corners of her mouth on the back of her hand. She tried to take deep breaths again, but she couldn't seem to get more than a few ragged gasps. A sniffle alerted Eddie to the fact that she was crying, silent tears shimmering on her cheeks in the dome light. He'd seen a lot of hungover people, but had never found any of them heartbreaking before.

"I need water," Chrissy croaked. 

They didn't have any, Eddie was going to be forced to tell her, when Gareth tossed his empty Denny's take-out coffee cup to the front of the van. Eddie cranked down his window, held the cup out to catch the rain, then offered it to Chrissy. Her hand shook as she accepted the cup from him and brought it tentatively to her lips. 

"Not too much," Eddie cautioned. "Just little sips, or it'll set you off again." 

"I know," she gritted out, and he couldn't tell if she was really that prickly, or if it was just that she was hoarse from upchucking. 

She was still holding the plastic sack full of puke. Eddie took it from her, catching a whiff of the stink and swallowing down a putrid taste that burned in his own throat, but kept it on stand-by in case she needed it again.

Chrissy took a sip, swished it around her mouth, then rolled her own window down and spat outside. After repeating this a couple of times, she settled back into her seat and looked at the dashboard clock. 

4:29. 

"We should start driving," she said.

Eddie turned the key in the ignition, the engine groaning to a start and the wipers squeal-thumping back into shuddery motion. Hand on the shift, he didn't move into drive, but looked at Chrissy, who was staring straight ahead. "You're done throwing up?" 

She nodded, a small movement of her head that made her forehead crumple. She squeezed her eyes shut and inhaled deeply. It was steady this time--an improvement, at least, however slight. Clinging to this slightest glimpse of hope, Eddie wrenched down his window and flung the barf bag out onto the rain-slicked highway, praying it didn't hit anyone's windshield and make them lose control and fly off the road. 

"Hey litterbug, haven't you seen the commercials?" Gareth razzed. "Keep America Beautiful and shit!" 

"Yeah, well, I'm trying to keep my van from smelling like puke, so quit your crying."

Shawn said something about everything else the van smelled like, but Eddie tuned it out to focus on the task of getting on the road again. (He heard his uncle's words come out of his mouth: Shut your damn pie holes so I can see! ) When he was confident--or reasonably confident, in the still-low visibility of the driving rain--that the coast was clear, Eddie pulled back onto the highway. The lurch of the vehicle made Chrissy moan. 

"Are you sure you're okay?" Eddie asked.

"Have to get to school," Chrissy said. "My test…"

Goddamn it! Eddie barely held back from slamming his fist on the steering wheel. She was in no condition to take a test. After all that studying she'd put in…And it was all his fault.

"I'm so sorry, Chrissy. I shouldn't have let you drink so much." 

"Eddie. Shut up and drive." 

His impulse--always--was a verbal reply, but Eddie bit his tongue against the one that leapt to mind now, As my queen commands, maybe because he was so stunned by her harshness (the second time tonight she'd snapped at him…the second time ever ). Instead, he gave her a little salute, which she didn't see because her eyes were screwed shut, then gripped the steering wheel so tightly that his rings dug into his fingers, and focused his desert-dry eyes on the road in the dark downpour. 

And the clock. They might be back by six. More likely, six-thirty. An hour till first period. No time to unload the gear (Gareth would throw an absolute hissy fit about the drum kit, but the piss baby could go to hell), no time to sleep , only to run everyone home, shower, change, grab their school stuff. Well, Eddie's school stuff. Chrissy had hers. (He pictured her with her pink backpack in the club studying her French notes and felt like such a loser.)

The Indiana Department of Transportation left a lot to be desired when it came to highway maintenance. Road traction wasn't good in the best of weather, and practically nonexistent in this. Eddie constantly felt like he was hydroplaning, and the steering felt off, despite him white-knuckling the wheel.

As he was generally slow on the uptake, it took a while for him to notice that the van felt…uneven. To hear the irregular whump…whump…whump whump……whump beneath the roll of thunder and the noise from the wipers that was about to drive him fucking batshit. 

Just as it was beginning to dawn on him what all of this meant, Jeff announced, "Dude. I think you have a flat."

Well, fuck.

Chapter Text

Eddie's van squealed into the Hawkins High School parking lot, bypassing his usual spots at the back of the student section and pulling up in front of the main entrance. He veered too close to the curb, and the passenger side tire hopped it. (If he heard any wisecracks from the guys about whether he was trying to get another flat tire, he would lose his shit, but no one said anything, either too tired from the long night or too wary of Eddie after the fire and fury he'd rained down when they bitched and bickered about helping change the tire.)

As he shifted into park, his gaze fell on the dashboard clock, digits glowing green: 9:03.

Two minutes till the bell rang at the end of second period.

Two minutes till Chrissy's French class was over.

Over the idling engine and the rush of blood in his ears, Eddie heard the click of her seat belt unbuckling, followed by the zip of polyester webbing sliding through the plastic loop as it retracted. The seat creaked--she was leaning forward and picking up her pink backpack from the floor at her feet. Sitting up again, she slipped the canvas straps over her bare shoulders. When her fingers closed around the door handle, Eddie snapped out of his stupor. 

"Hang on." He punched his seat belt latch, only to realize he hadn't been wearing it. (Thank fuck he hadn't been pulled over.) "Lemme get that for you--"

He stumbled down from his seat and didn't bother closing his door before he jogged around the front to open hers. Chrissy actually waited for him, and when she accepted the hand he offered to help her down, Eddie heaved out a breath he'd been holding since…How long had he been holding it? 

But it caught again when she lifted those big, blue eyes to him. She hadn't looked at him at least since they realized there was no way they'd be able to change the flat and drive back to Hawkins before school started…and probably not before her test, either. Come to think of it, she might not have looked at him since she told him she was going to be sick. Eddie's fingers tightened around hers, like that would keep her from looking away again. 

"Are you sure you're not coming, too?" she asked hoarsely. Her throat had to be dry; she'd only had the few sips of rainwater after she'd thrown up. (Why hadn't Eddie thought to pack a cooler of water and sodas for the trip? Next time, that would be at the top of the list.)

"I'm already the school freak," he said. "I don't need to traipse in looking like I spent the night mud wrestling." 

His clothes were caked with mud, and his hair was matted with it, too. They'd waited until the thunderstorm stopped to change the tire--not that they'd had a choice in the matter; aside from the risk of electrocution ("Ride the Lightning" rocked Eddie's socks off, but wasn't something he wanted to take literally--and he was kicking himself for the dumbass and weirdly prescient quip he'd flung at Wayne before driving off yesterday), the spare tire hadn't been accessible with all the instruments and band equipment in the back. (How many times had Wayne suggested Eddie get a tire rack for the rear van door? While Eddie scoffed and said it was just fine under the floorboards and if he was gonna spend money on this his piece of shit van, it would be on a tape deck.) Even when the rain was no longer pouring down on them, the highway shoulder had been one giant puddle. Eddie had sweated enough during the show to have a faint musk of BO, and after rolling around in the mud under the van, he smelled like a cross between a swamp and a garage. No way was he walking through the door of Hawkins High and opening himself up to the ridicule that would bring. (He'd probably get sent home for being foul anyway.)

Chrissy's expression said this wasn't a compelling excuse for an absence. She was dressed in last night's Madonna outfit, her teased hair a rat's nest, makeup smudged and streaked from crying, lips cracked from throwing up. Her tights had a rip down one leg. When did that happen? Those things snagged really easily, Eddie knew, though he wasn't sure how he knew. 

He also knew that never in her life had Chrissy showed up late to school looking like this. (She'd probably never been tardy at all.) It was like a walk of shame--only she hadn't done anything to be ashamed of. 

"But you have homework due." Desperation pinched her voice, one last ditch effort to try and convince him.

"I don't even have it with me," Eddie said. "And I gotta play chauffeur for the guys."

His bandmates were skipping school today, too, almost--but not quite--as in need of showers and clean clothes as Eddie. (Gareth had tried to bullshit his way out of helping with the flat, but admitting he didn't know how to change a tire only resulted in the others insisting that there was no time like the present for the spoiled brat to learn.) 

"We can't leave our gear in the van all day," he added. 

Gareth would have had a stroke at the mere suggestion. When he found out the spare tire compartment was under the drum kit, he'd pitched an absolute hissy fit. "If you let so much as   a single raindrop touch it, Munson, I swear to god--" Eddie had threatened to throw the kit into oncoming traffic just to give him something to really cry about.

The bell clanged. Chrissy tried to pull her hand from his and pivot toward the building, but Eddie kept hold, clutching her hand against his chest as he cupped her face in his other hand. 

"Hey." He scuffed his thumb across her cheekbone. "I'm sorry about your test. I'm sure Paget'll let you make it up. I'll be here to pick you up after school, okay?" 

He started to lean in and brush his lips to hers, but she leaned back from him. Her chin was quivering, and the sun glinted off tears pooling in her eyes. 

"Eddie, you promised." 

Her voice was so small, but the words hit him so hard his hands went slack. Gripping the straps of her backpack, Chrissy turned and trudged into school. Legs feeling like they wouldn't support his full weight, Eddie leaned against the vibrating van and watched her retreating form shrink and finally disappear into the building. The day Corroded Coffin got the gig, Eddie had promised Chrissy if she came to see him play, he'd get her to school on time.

Such a small thing to promise.

Yet he'd failed to keep it.

The truth settled like a nauseating weight in the pit of Eddie's belly.

"Oof," said Jeff. "Them's the breaks, man." 

Eddie's hair whipped him in the face as he jerked to glare past the empty passenger seat at his bandmate. "What do you mean, them's the breaks?"

"I'm sure it was a beautiful dream while it lasted," Shawn said.

Eddie slammed the passenger door and stalked around the front of the van, climbed behind the wheel, and slammed his door, too. "Chrissy's not going to break up with me because we were late to school, shitass." 

But her broken little voice looped in his mind. Eddie, you promised. 

He threw the van into drive and gunned it, tires screeching as he peeled away from the curb. (He should take it easy on the donut, but now that they were back in Hawkins, he wasn't quite as concerned. He was definitely impatient to be done fucking driving for a few hours.)

"I didn't get a flat tire on purpose," Eddie went on. "And I sure as hell can't control the weather." 

"If you think that's the problem," Jeff said, "maybe you are as dumb as people think."

Eddie jammed his foot on the brakes at the end of the school driveway and snarled over his shoulder, "You chuckleheads wanna walk home?"

"I didn't say anything!" Gareth protested.

"About fucking time." 

***

All Eddie wanted to do when he got home was shower, smoke a joint, and sleep--in that order. Well, maybe not that order, he reconsidered, one hand leaving the steering wheel to scratch his stubbly chin. Now he thought about it, smoking a joint and then standing under the hot spray of the shower till the water ran cold sounded pretty damn awesome. So: smoke, shower, sleep until time to pick up Chrissy from school. (Which wasn't all that long from now; it was after ten when he made his last stop on the Corroded Coffin shuttle route. He'd be lucky to get four hours of shut-eye before he had to wake up and drive back into town. Still, more Zs than he got a lot of nights, though his habits had improved since Chrissy came to stay.) 

He returned his hand to the steering wheel, flexing his knuckles as he gripped it. Did Chrissy even want to go home with him after school? Despite his vehement rejection of Jeff and Shawn's belief that he'd royally fucked up his relationship, their prophesies of doom haunted Eddie as he turned into the trailer park. He really needed that joint.

Wayne's truck parked in the driveway wasn't an unexpected sight--when he worked third shift, he got home from the plant around the time Eddie was leaving for school, unless he swung by the diner or stopped for groceries--but Eddie was surprised to see his uncle sitting on the porch couch, smoking a cigarette, instead of sleeping. 

He pulled up next to the truck and lingered for a moment in his van, unsure why he wasn't immediately getting out or why his heart was pounding at the prospect. (Sleep deprivation, Eddie told himself. And disinterest in conversation. But he knew anything that kept Wayne from being in bed right now wasn't good.) 

When Wayne stood, hiking up his belt with one hand and stamping out his cigarette in an ashtray with the other, Eddie killed the ignition and climbed down from the van. Right into a fucking puddle, re-soaking boots that had finally started to dry. (At least it wasn’t his Reeboks.) 

"The hell are you doing up?" Eddie asked, trying to take control of the conversation by speaking first and acting like everything was totally normal, on his way around to the rear of the van.

"The hell are you doin' home?" Wayne countered, stepping off the porch. "Where's Chrissy?"

Eddie had just opened the back van doors to grab his guitars--he was too tired to deal with the amps right now--but froze for a moment before he replied. "School."

"Ain't that where you're supposed to be?"

A guitar case in each hand, Eddie shook his hair out of his face as he turned, shouldering the doors closed. "You wouldn't believe the night I had."

"I believed you when you told me where you'd been all spring break, so…" Wayne ambled up to Eddie, raising his chin as he looked him in the eyes. Although Eddie was the taller of the two now (though only by a couple of inches), his uncle still had a way of making him feel like he was ten years old and hadn't had his growth spurt yet. "Try me." 

"Got a flat." Eddie pressed his lips together in a thin smile and tried to start forward, but Wayne's big callused hand came to rest on his shoulder, effectively holding him in place.

"That took you all night to change?"

Eddie rolled his eyes and gave his hair another toss. "We had to wait out the fucking storm." Ignoring the pointed I told you so look on his uncle's face, he plowed ahead. "Then we had to crawl back to Hawkins on the donut. I took Chrissy to school, but in case you didn't notice, I'm caked head to toe in mud." 

He held his guitar cases slightly out at his sides and gave a couple of turns, like a model, to display his filthy t-shirt and jeans. (He’d taken off his jacket to change the tire, and he’d been cold as the devil’s ding dong hanging in a well, but at least he’d had something warm and dry to put on afterward.)

Wayne gave him a long look, then lowered his hand and stepped back. Eddie stalked past him toward the side porch. Crumpled newspaper and a couple of beer cans skittered across the yard; someone’s trash cans had blown over in the storm, or the raccoons had gotten into them again. It smelled like ass. Or maybe that was Eddie.

"What time'd you leave the show?" Wayne called after him.

"I don't see what that has to do with the price of weed in China!" Eddie flung back. (Was that the expression?) 

"I had parents calling me, Ed." 

Wayne's raised voice stopped Eddie in his tracks on the sagging wooden porch, the implications nearly making him drop the guitar cases. His grip tightened on the handles. Parents were pissed off, and Wayne had been kept from his bed…because of Eddie. 

He glanced over his shoulder at his uncle, forced his voice to sound unconcerned. "Whose parents?"

"Gareth and Jeff's." 

Eddie snorted. Yeah, that sounded about right; Jeff's parents were always going on about integrity and righteous character , Gareth never knew what his were going to flip out over, while Shawn's dad and step-mom didn't give two shits what he did or when or where he did it, so long as they didn't have to drive him. (Eddie knew what that was like, and it sucked, except when you were in situations that other kids would've gotten, like, grounded or whatever for, while you got off scot-free.)

"Their mamas were beside themselves that their boys didn't come home last night." Wayne's eyebrow went up as he shambled toward the porch. "And did you know Gareth's folks didn't know your show was in Indy?" 

He gave Eddie another of those hard, scrutinizing looks. This time, Eddie couldn't meet it, his eyes darting away. In his periphery, he saw Wayne hunch and pass a hand over his jaw.

"You did know."

Yeah, Eddie knew. In fact, when he'd told the guys about the gig, Gareth had said no way in hell would his parents let him go all the way to Indianapolis on a school night. "So don't tell them it's in fucking Indianapolis," Eddie had said, swatting the numbskull on the back of the head. He wasn’t sorry about it. He hadn't seen what the big deal was, then or now. It was only eighty miles, and nothing had happened. Nothing serious, anyway. Just a flat tire and a school absence. Plus, Gareth had learned how to change a flat tire, which his dad should've taught him. The whole thing had been a learning experience, if you asked Eddie. 

"We couldn't pass up a city gig!" he said. "We got invited back to play in a couple weeks, and at this Memorial Day festival--" 

"So you're putting gigs ahead of graduation now."

"What? No!" 

“Well, you're not at school."

Eddie’s arms hung at his sides as he let the guitar cases rest on the porch. His head fell back, and he groaned toward the steely sky. "I'll go tomorrow! Jesus, it's like I never played hooky before!"

"But it's not just you, is it, Ed?” Wayne drew a pack of cigarettes from his shirt pocket and took one out as he went on. “You take the other guys to school? Or just Chrissy?"

"They wanted to go home, so I took ‘em home. It was their choice, I don’t mind-control them.” Eddie raised his hands on either side of his head and wiggled his fingers. 

The lighter snicked, and Wayne shook his head as he puffed on the cigarette. Through a cloud of smoke, his gaze drifted across the road, where a neighbor was hanging laundry and pretending not to eavesdrop. 

“You coulda led by example—or followed Chrissy’s good example.” His tone was quieter as he stepped up onto the porch, but somehow that only made him seem angrier. "Do you ever think about anyone besides yourself?”

Yes, Eddie wanted to argue, yes, of fucking course he did. He had in the Upside Down. All he’d thought of then was keeping Chrissy, Dustin, the whole ungrateful shithole town safe. 

Eddie…you promised. 

Where had that selfless Eddie been last night, when the stakes were so much lower?

What would it have cost him?

“You weren’t here when I got home,” Wayne rasped. “I didn’t know if you ran into trouble in the city or were lyin’ in a ditch somewhere or battling demons again.”

Wayne’s anger had burned out, leaving only fear in the ashes. 

And one other thing.

"Seems like you were battling demons—but the same old ones as always.” Wayne sighed. “I just thought you were finally cleaning up your act." 

Boots scuffing, he retreated into the trailer, leaving Eddie alone with the ghost of disappointment lingering in the air like a trail of smoke.

For several minutes, he stood on the porch, his sluggish brain stumbling over what he could and should do. God damn, he wanted more than ever to smoke a joint and get high as the fucking sky, could practically taste the skunky flavor on his tongue, but if he did that, he'd prove Wayne right. And as Wayne had already been infuriatingly right about the thunderstorm (and other things, too, Eddie grudgingly acknowledged)...Yeah. No joint.

When the sweet embrace of Mary Jane wasn't an option (it seldom wasn't), the next best thing was to blare music at full volume till the walls and windowpanes rattled and Eddie couldn't hear himself think (he usually did both). But he couldn't do that, either, not with Wayne on the fold-out bed in the living room, already having lost sleep over Eddie's latest fiasco.

The backs of Eddie's legs and his arms and even his chest ached with fatigue. His hand felt heavy as he raised it to scrub at the back of his head. His rings caught in the clumps of mud-matted hair. Shower. He could shower. Should shower. He would do that, and then sleep.

He picked up the two guitar cases and opened the porch door, careful to avoid banging them against the walls as he maneuvered through the short, narrow hall and his bedroom door. Inside, he unpacked the instruments, hanging the Warlock above the desk and giving her a caress and a quiet strum in thanks for serving him so well at The Lion's Den . 

His gaze fell on the bed. The mismatched, stained, and threadbare covers were pulled up and the wrinkles smoothed out, pillows plumped and arranged against the wall, like it was an actual bed with a headboard and not just a shitty, sagging old mattress on the floor--Chrissy’s doing, of course. She transformed everything she touched. Including Eddie. At least, he'd thought so. Had he been wrong?

You coulda followed Chrissy's good example, Wayne's words circled like buzzards. 

Eddie exited his room, glancing longingly toward the bathroom--a shower would have to wait--before going back out to the van. Despite the protests of his sleep-deprived body, he hauled the amps inside, then dragged one of the garbage cans from the side of the trailer to the van and began to empty weeks, months, probably years of accumulated trash into it. He couldn't play music in the house, but he could blast it in the van while he worked. Metallica’s debut album was still in the tape deck from last night. 

Life in the fast lane is just how it seems

Hard and it's heavy, it's dirty and mean

Motorbreath

It's how I live my life

I can't take it any other way

The thrashing chords and driving beat motivated him to make quick work of scraping and scrubbing mud and old spilled soda (and a little bit of vomit that had missed the barf bag) off the floor and seats, even if the lyrics screamed pretty much the opposite of cleaning up his act, literally and figuratively.

When that was done, he went inside and finally took a shower, though not the long, luxuriant one he'd fantasized about. He stared at the neat line of Chrissy's bottles of shampoo and conditioner, her razor, and the wash she used specifically for her face (bar soap was too drying, she’d said, which was mystifying to Eddie, but her face looked great, so he took her word for it, and even sneaked a little dollop of it himself a few times to see whether he noticed any difference). They reminded him, as he washed the grime from his body and watched it swirl down the drain mingled with the froth of Irish Spring, that she’d had to go to school coated in it, and that must feel terrible. Especially after she’d been sick.

How much longer would this stuff be in his shower? If Jeff was right, she’d pack it all up and…go where? To the Wheelers’? Buckley’s? One of her cheerleader friends'? Surely not back home to her mother…or Carver. But that prick would never forgive her for humiliating him in the cafeteria; he’d probably say she was tainted or some shit for being with Eddie. 

Eddie shut off the water and grabbed a towel, an image from the funny pages looming in his mind: Charlie Brown's friend Pigpen (( were they friends?), who went through life with his perpetual dirt cloud, polluting everyone who crossed his path. (Especially that girl who wouldn't shut up about him taking the curl out of her naturally curly hair .) Even when Pigpen cleaned himself up, the dirt cloud always returned. Always. 

"I'm really gonna get clean this time. I promise."

"'ll keep my nose squeaky clean. Get outta here on good behavior--you'll see, kid."

So many promises, broken. The only thing that ever stuck was the dirt. 

Eddie, you promised…

Showered and wearing fresh boxers (his last pair, he'd have to do laundry tonight), Eddie tried to catch some shut-eye, but it was like the sheets, even his pillowcase, had been washed in Chrissy's strawberry scent. Though Eddie was bone tired, he couldn’t drift off without the jolt of wondering what the hell he’d do if he never had another night with her in his bed.

They’d never even made love. 

Scoffing at himself for thinking of it in those mushy terms (he couldn't help it, though, when his heart had been turned to mush in her soft, gentle hands), he heaved himself to his feet and padded through the trailer in his underwear for a Mello Yello. The Diet Cokes in the back of the fridge mocked him. That was all Chrissy had wanted last night. Not that her getting drunk had changed the ultimate trajectory of the night, other than simply turning it from bad to worse. 

Eddie was hungry, the bags of chips in the pantry practically calling his name, but he chose one of the yogurt cups and the last apple instead. He could follow Chrissy's example… 

But for how long? 

Fortified with caffeine and snacks, he tried to distract himself from his fuckups with his homework. He scribbled down some changes in his composition project based on last night's performance of "Thy Fearful Symmetry" and took a few notes from the Tolkien library books for his extra credit English essay. (He reeeeeeally had a buttload of work to do in the next five weeks; he'd have to buckle down and get more organized about it, especially if Corroded Coffin was going to play more gigs, which would mean more rehearsals…Chrissy couldn't leave…he couldn't stay on task without her…) But it was hard to distract himself from fuckups when so much of the work he had to do was because he'd fucked up at those things, too.

Finally, he gave it up as a lost cause--for the afternoon, at least. He'd be able to focus later. After he'd talked to Chrissy and made sure she knew he hadn't meant for any of that to happen, and he'd do better next time, he promised . The word, though unspoken, left a sour taste on the back of his tongue, like old vomit, or a nasty belch. How had he fucked up last night's promise so royally? 

Eddie shook himself. He could fix this.

First things first, he needed a proper tire for the van, so he threw on clean-ish jeans crumpled on the closet floor and a Black Sabbath t-shirt that was actually hanging up (next to Chrissy's clothes) and drove over to Tire Less, the used tire place across town. Even second-hand, it cost more than Eddie wanted to spend. Would the guys mount an insurrection if he took it out of Corroded Coffin's travel expenses? They should be grateful he was going to put it on himself and save on labor. Maybe he could threaten to make Gareth do it, if he didn't accept the conditions handed down by the band leader. While he was paying, Eddie grabbed a tree-shaped pine-scented air freshener, since he'd gone to the trouble of cleaning up the van. 

There was still time before the end of school, so he swung by Bradley's for a few groceries--along with a bouquet of red roses and an actual vase so Chrissy wouldn't have to stick them in bongs (which depleted what remained of his gig money). Because flowers never hurt an apology, did they?

***

When had Eddie's life become a goddamned John Hughes movie? Granted, during spring break it had turned into more of a John Carpenter flick, and even though that had always been his preferred genre for viewing, he infinitely preferred teen romance if he had to live one. As long as it had a happy ending. (Jesus, he was turning into such a sap .)

He leaned against Chrissy's locker, trying to look casual, which was honestly kind of hard to pull off while holding a bouquet of roses, and he caught himself flipping his hair over the other shoulder in a way that was definitely the opposite of nonchalant. (What was the opposite of nonchalant? Could you just be chalant ?) 

It was all for nothing; the bell rang, and Eddie immediately snapped to attention (well-intentioned adults had, on occasion, suggested he join the military to learn some discipline and self-respect , but good luck to any drill sergeant getting that kind of rapid response from him). As students swarmed the hall en route to lockers and the exits, he craned his neck and stood on his toes in search of Chrissy. This must feel a little like how she'd felt last night in the mosh pit, he thought. He got shoulder-checked a few times, which was nothing new, nor were the snide remarks that were flung his way, except that now they included references to his girlfriend. So, Eddie was moving up in the school caste system, or whatever? 

"Look, the freak brought flowers for his girlfreak."

"Valentine's Day was in February, Super Senior. Or did you flunk kindergarten, too?"  

"He took Chrissy Cunningham from cheerleader to freakleader." 

"That isn't even clever," Eddie called after the jock who said the last thing, but that only got a middle finger thrown back at him. (Honestly, the most eloquent response there could be.)

Finally, he saw her. Arms linked with Nancy (Jonathan Byers followed them), Chrissy stopped short at the sight of Eddie. Was she surprised to see him? His heart ceased beating and, like Wile E. Coyote realizing he'd run off the edge of a cliff, it spiraled into a freefall to the bottom of his nauseated stomach. Had one broken promise kicked the legs out from under her trust in him? Or what if it was worse than that? What if she didn't want to see him? 

A burly guy carrying a tuba case crossed in front of her, but when Eddie's sightline was clear again Chrissy had slid her arm from the crook of Nancy's, gripped the pink straps of her backpack just like that morning in the parking lot, and strode toward him. Her step lacked the bounce he'd gotten used to when they met at her locker after school, and her expression was more set for battle than bestowing a smile upon her boyfriend, but Eddie would take whatever she gave, if that meant a chance for him to clean up the mess he'd made. 

She was still wearing the black tank top and denim skirt from the show, though now with a blazer that looked like it was probably borrowed from Nancy, and a pair of black Keds. She'd ditched the ripped tights, studded belt, and most of her jewelry, and she must've had a shower after PE because her hair was tamed into a neat bun and she was bare-faced except for a little lip gloss and a tinge of pink on her cheeks that Eddie hoped to god wasn't a flush of anger. He was glad she hadn't had to go all day in that totally out-of-character and no doubt negative attention-grabbing way, though her exhaustion was still evident, big blue eyes not emphasized by her usual sparkly makeup, but by bloodshot whites and rings underneath that looked like bruises. If she still felt hungover, Eddie might puke all over the hall.

Instead, he dropped to his knees on the linoleum--earning an jeez, weirdo, ever heard of the flow of traffic from preppy Steve Harrington wannabe who tripped over him--and bowed his forehead to the floor at Chrissy's feet. 

"Eddie," came her small voice from above him, "don't--"

"It is with the humblest and most abject apologies," he intoned, "that I grovel at your feet, oh exalted Queen of Hawkins High."

In his periphery, he could see an assortment of sneakers, jellies, and loafers as schoolmates stopped and circled around to watch the resident freak's latest shenanigans. He should've charged admission. 

"This fucking guy…What's he up to now?"

"Five bucks says Chrissy dumps him."

"Eddie, get up. I'm not in the mood for--"

Still kowtowing, he thrust out the arm holding the crinkling plastic-wrapped bouquet, and forged ahead. "I beg you, sweet lady, to accept these roses as a token of my sorrow for having failed you. I throw myself at your mercy."

He held his breath and raised his head slightly, rolling his eyes upward so he could see her. Although the blush on her cheeks had deepened by several shades, the hint of a smile made his heart jackhammer so violently in his chest that he thought it might punch a hole right through his ribcage and skin and layers of clothing and the floor, straight into the Upside Down. Then Chrissy bent. The tips of her fingers brushed Eddie's knuckles as she took the bouquet from him. 

"Don't say that," she told him, quietly. "Of course I accept your apology."

The onlookers began to disperse amidst a mixture of applause and groans.

"Damn it!" 

"Pay up, chump."

"I don't have a five on me, will you take an IOU?" 

"You didn't have to get down on the floor," Chrissy said as Eddie pushed to his feet and dusted off his jeans. 

"Sure he did," said Nancy. Her arms were folded across her chest, head tilted in her characteristic look of prim disapproval. "How else would he make this all about himself?"

Before Eddie could do more than splutter unintelligibly in his own defense (That was not what he was doing…was it?) she seized his upper arm. "A word, Munson?"

He craned his head back at Chrissy opening her locker as Nancy frog-marched him into the crowd funneling down the hallway and through the doors. 

"You taking me to the principal's office, Wheeler?"

Or out back to the woods, to shoot him? No, that was absurd; she didn't pack heat all the time, or they wouldn't have had to go to her Upside Down house for guns. Nevertheless, he was legitimately kinda scared of whatever she was going to say or do to him.

"You really screwed up," she said as they passed the front offices and stepped out into the breezeway. 

"Yeah, tell me something I don't know." (There was a whole fucking lot.)

Nancy let go of his arm and stepped around to face him. "Chrissy's way more forgiving than I would've been. You should've seen her at lunch--she was a mess . It was an asshole thing to do, ditching her at school, on top of everything else."

Although Eddie wondered what exactly Chrissy had told Nancy about last night, what the events sounded like from her perspective, his brain flicked back to the insults that had been flung his way while he waited at her locker.

"Were people dicks to her?" he asked. Had Carver…? Eddie glanced around, as if he'd see Chrissy's ex skulking somewhere nearby with a smirk, but there was no sign of him. Still Eddie couldn't forget that when Carver came back to school after suspension, he'd convinced their mutual friends to give Chrissy the silent treatment..

"You practically fed her to the lions," Nancy replied. "But honestly, I don't think she cared as much about that as…" She let the thought dangle, gaze drifting back through the open doors.

"What? I can't play without a full deck, Wheeler." 

Nancy met his eye again. "You need to talk to her." She pressed her lips together, chin tightening to a point, before her expression softened. "I'm rooting for you two, Eddie. Really, I am. You have something special with Chrissy, and she's crazy about you." 

Eddie scratched the back of his head. "Well, she'd have to be, wouldn't she?" 

The corners of Nancy's mouth quirked upward, and she let out a puff through her nose that he thought was a laugh. But her round eyes were earnest beneath uplifted brows. "If you want this to work with her, you need more than grandiose gestures after the fact. You have to show up for Chrissy when it counts ."

She glanced over his shoulder again, and Eddie followed her gaze to see Chrissy and Jonathan approaching tentatively, only for the freshmen to rush past them. 

"Uh, seriously?" Eddie squared off in front of the door, blocking their exit. "You ruffians shove my girlfriend out of the way and then dare approach me?"

Only Will Byers and Sinclair had the courtesy to look back sheepishly at Chrissy and apologize. (She assured them that it was fine and they hadn't actually done what Eddie accused them of.) The male Wheeler rolled his eyes, while Henderson reached out, like he intended to grab Eddie by the shoulders, though Eddie, of course, pivoted out of reach. 

"Dude!" Henderson cried. "We got worried when you and half of Hellfire Club didn't show up to lunch! Don't ever do that again, okay?" 

"Plus, don't you kinda need to be in school to graduate?" said Mike.

Eddie scowled. "What is this, The Wheelers Pick on Eddie Day? Newsflash, you don't have your sister's intimidation factor, Little Mikey." 

Undaunted by the take-down of his friend, Henderson leaned in to Eddie and said, in conspiratorial tones, "The roses are a nice start, but you're gonna have to do more than that. I can help you--just ask." 

"Whatever would I do without my own personal walking talking Teen Dating Guide?" Eddie nudged Dustin out of the way as Chrissy approached the doorway, clutching her roses against her chest. "Ready to go?" 

She nodded. 

Eddie wanted to take her hand, but Chrissy's were both occupied with her bouquet, and he sensed she needed some space. So he shoved his hands into his pockets and tried to be content that she was even walking beside him at all.

"I gotta admit," he said as they crossed the parking lot, "I was kinda worried you were gonna go home with Nancy." 

Chrissy's forehead crinkled. "Why wouldn't I go home with you?"

"Because you're mad at me?" 

She didn't deny it--but she said, "I'm mad at myself, too." 

Unsure how to respond to that, Eddie opted for no response at all.

Chrissy broke the silence as she climbed up into the van. "It's clean in here," she said, looking around at the interior before she settled into the passenger's seat. "It even smells clean." 

Eddie gave the tree-shaped air freshener dangling from the rearview mirror a tap, making it swing, then started the ignition. If he'd known it would impress her so much, he would've deep-cleaned his room. Except he would've needed four days instead of four hours.

"You didn't puke anymore at school, did you?" he asked. "Do you still have a headache?"

"The nurse gave me Advil. And a 7 Up and Saltines to settle my stomach."

"Is that all you've eaten?" For the first time, it occurred to Eddie that Chrissy hadn't brought  lunch today, since they hadn't gone home before school to pack one. Maybe she'd gone through the cafeteria line?

"I'm fine." She didn't exactly answer the question--or convince him that she was, indeed, fine. 

"I, uh, went to the store and got some chicken noodle soup and Ritz crackers--puttin' on the ritz for the princess…" Eddie huffed out a laugh at his own stupid joke, but Chrissy didn't so much as giggle. "Or I can make you toast or whatever. If, uh, you're still feeling green around the gills at dinner. Cinnamon toast, even. Oh, and Gatorade in case you're, like, dehydrated?" 

"Thanks. That's sweet." 

"Hangovers are a bitch. I'm really sorry I let you drink too much." 

He glanced over at Chrissy and saw the flicker beneath her sharp cheekbone as she clenched her jaw. "You didn't let me do anything. It was my choice." 

"Yeah, but--"

"Eddie." 

Normally he loved the way she said his name, breathy and high, lilting almost musically, but in the past twelve hours he'd heard it with an that told him to shut up without actually saying it, and he was not such a fan of that.

He remained quiet as he turned out of the parking lot, but after a moment, he couldn't deal with the charged silence between them, like the air before a storm. There'd been enough storms lately.

"Did you get to talk to your French teacher?" he asked.

Now it wasn't just Chrissy's jaw that tensed, but all of her went completely rigid. "Mm-hm," she said, but that was all.

"And…? What happened?"

Chrissy let out a shuddering breath, then answered, "Madame Paget won't let me make up the test." Her voice shook, as if she were about to start crying. "Not unless I have a note from a parent or a doctor excusing my absence."

"Fuck, are you serious?" 

Eddie nearly rear-ended the car in front of him as it stopped for a traffic light. He slammed the brake, making the tires screech; Chrissy's seatbelt caught her and popped her back against her headrest as the groceries in the back dumped over and rolled forward under the seats. 

"Shit, sorry." His heart raced, though not from the close call as much as Madame Paget's injustice. "We could forge a note from your mom." 

"No, we can't."

"I've forged lots of notes from Wayne." 

"I'm not going to lie!" 

Of course she wasn't. She was so good. Too good to stay out all night drinking and miss school because she didn't take bad weather seriously. 

"Did you explain that it wasn't your fault?" He gunned it a little too hard when the light turned green and coming perilously close to the same car's bumper again. "That I'm the one who--"

"Stop it, Eddie!" said Chrissy. "Just…let it go." 

"But I want to fix this for you."

"I know," she said. "But some things can't be fixed." 

Was she talking about the test, or their relationship? She'd accepted Eddie's apology--and the flowers--and was going home with him--but maybe breaking up was inevitable. He prayed silently to whatever gods might be listening that Jeff wouldn't be right…or that dick at school who thought he'd lost his bet. 

"At least your grades are good in French," Eddie said. "Like, one grade won't affect your average that much, will it?"

"A zero on a major test is pretty bad, Eddie."

"Right." Who knew better than him?

He didn't speak again until they got back to the trailer and found Wayne in the living room, dressed for work and folding up the cot. (Eddie wondered if he'd need to sleep on that tonight.)

"You working swing?" he asked his uncle as he carried the grocery bags into the kitchen.

Wayne replied that he'd gotten called in to cover for someone who called out sick. "Hi, darlin'," he greeted Chrissy, eyeing the bouquet as she placed it on the bar. "Missed that cheerful smile of yours this morning." 

"Missed yours, too." She gave him a quick squeeze--which was (rightfully) a hell of a lot more than Eddie had gotten today--then disappeared down the hall to the bedroom. 

After the door clicked shut, Wayne said, "Saw you finally clearin' all that crap outta the van." 

Did that mean he'd heard Eddie's music when he was trying to sleep? Shit. "Yep."

"I trust you're gonna clean up the rest of your mess?"

"Trying my best."

Wayne considered Eddie, then nodded. "Appreciate you going to the store."

After his uncle left, Eddie busied himself with the usual after-school task of slicing apples and arranging them on a plate around a big blob of peanut butter. Chrissy returned as he was removing the plastic wrap from the rose stems and putting them in the new vase and sat down at the dinette with her homework. She'd changed into pink leggings and a black sweatshirt with GUESS emblazoned in white letters across the chest. (Guess what she was thinking and feeling, Eddie thought as he set the apple plate and vase on the table.)

He returned briefly to the kitchen for a Mello Yello for himself and a glass of ice water for Chrissy, but as he placed them on the table, noting the untouched apples, he ventured to ask, "Chrissy…can we please talk about last night?"

She blinked up at him, eyes watery again, and drew a shuddering breath. Her pink lips parted, tongue darting out to moisten them before she spoke. Eddie gripped the back of the other chair, anticipating the relief he would feel when she finally laid it all out there so he could say everything he needed to in return and everything could be good between them again... 

Or over.

"I'm so tired." She sighed. "I'm sorry. I have a lot I need to say but I don't want to snap at you, or fight. Can we wait till tomorrow? When we've both slept? Please?"

"Okay," Eddie heard himself say, nodding. Because how could he say no to that?  "Hell yeah, we can talk about it tomorrow." Tomorrow was good, it was great, because that meant she'd be here tomorrow. "I just...Nancy said I needed to talk to you, and I thought she meant, like, right away…" 

"Maybe she did," Chrissy said. "But I just can't right now. I'm sorry."

Eddie shoved an apple slice into his mouth, then padded off to his room for his own books and papers. The thought of putting off their talk till tomorrow seemed less good as he considered how he hadn't been able to focus on his homework that afternoon, but he plopped down across from her, determined to at least try, to show her he was worth sticking around for. 

At first, he was distracted by how much of the apples and peanut butter he was consuming, and that Chrissy hadn't taken so much as a bite, just sipped her water. Eventually, she was so absorbed in her work that she reached for an apple and ate it absently, and that allowed Eddie to relax enough to settle into his economics textbook. The next thing he knew, the apples were long gone, his stomach was gurgling again, and his watch displayed 6:30.

"Want me to heat up some soup?" Eddie asked. 

"I can do it," Chrissy said. 

She presided over the stove while Eddie made himself a turkey sandwich, because despite eating most of the apples and peanut butter, he was way too hungry for just a half-can of chicken noodle soup. He missed their normal easy conversation and flirtation--and especially making out--while they made dinner together, but at least the unspokenness between them didn't crackle as much as it had. Chrissy was here. She still would be tomorrow. That was all he needed.

They were just sitting down to eat when headlights flashed outside the window, and they heard the unmistakable sound of tires crunching up the gravel drive. 

"Is that in our driveway?" Eddie asked, reaching to push up the bent blind blinds so they could peer through the grimy window over the table. 

A burgundy Cadillac idled in the driveway, a figure Eddie couldn't make out distinctly in the driver's seat, while a familiar woman with tightly curled blonde hair emerged, her pinched face appearing above the open passenger side door. 

His eyes locked with Chrissy's wide ones, her expression as horrified as it had been by any of the monsters they'd seen in the Upside Down. Because there were monsters here, too.

She whispered, "My parents."

Chapter Text

Shit.

Fuck. 

Shit. Fuck. 

Shitfuck. Shitfuck. 

Chrissy's parents were here, outside the Munson trailer, and wasn't that just the shitty icing on the shitty cake? Honestly, this day had thrown everything else at him and Chrissy (especially Chrissy), so there might as well be a visit from the Cunninghams, too. If their relationship could make it through all this, there wouldn't be anything it couldn't take.

(Nevertheless, if Eddie had his druthers, as Wayne liked to say, it wouldn't be tested so dramatically. Or, like, at all, given Eddie's track record with tests.)

A car door slammed, and he jolted out of his chair, knocking his hip against the table and sloshing soup from his bowl. Chrissy sat motionless at the dinette, staring at him with the same expression of dazed horror that had gripped her face when she'd looked out the window and saw her parents' dark red Cadillac in the driveway. 

The same expression as when she'd floated milky-eyed above the floor, a puppet on Vecna's strings. (Thank fuck she currently was not floating, and her blue-grey irises were clear.) 

"Eddie…" Her voice pitched high and hoarse. "What do we do?"

The hell if Eddie knew. He clutched at the crown of his hair. "Pretend we're not here?"

"But your van's in the driveway."

Shit, fuck. Yeah, there was no missing that. 

"Christine!"

The muffled shout from behind the door sent Chrissy to her feet, too. As heels clomped up the porch steps, she backed away from the table, into the kitchen, as if to get as far away from the front door--and her mother--as possible.

"Christine! It's Mommy." (Mommy? Eddie barfed in his mouth a little.) "Are you in there, Christine?"

Small whimpers escaped Chrissy's throat as she continued to baby-step back through the kitchen, tugging the cuffs of her black Guess sweatshirt over her hands. 

"It's okay," Eddie said, going to her, "we can still ignore her."

Instinctively, he reached out to hug her, but hesitated. Chrissy hadn't exactly welcomed his touch today; he didn't want to barge through whatever boundary she'd drawn between them or take advantage of her in a vulnerable moment. Ultimately, the impulse to comfort her was too powerful to ignore. Her chin was quivering , for fuck's sake. 

The instant she was in the circle of his arms, Chrissy heaved a sigh and relaxed against him--

--only for her shoulders to snap taut again, fingers fisting the front of his shirt, when her mother shouted her name again, this time accompanied by pounding on the aluminum door. 

"Christine! Are you all right? Come out here, I want to speak to you!"

Okay, so that was kinda hard to ignore. Chrissy's chest rose and fell like she was doing the mile run for the President's Physical Fitness Test. Her whole petite frame was trembling against Eddie now, not just her chin. She'd described her Vecna visions to him, how the trailer had been transformed into her parents' house, Laura Cunningham shouting her name as she tried to break through the closed door of her sewing room. Vecna was gone now, but the vision wasn’t, as Chrissy re-lived it. Eddie was shaking and his breathing was shallow, too, as if he was living it with her this time, though he didn't know if he was freaking out so much as fucking outraged that her mother was doing this to her own daughter. 

BANG, BANG, BANG! It sounded like she'd opened her palm and was slapping it instead of pounding.

"Christine!" she bellowed. "Open this door now! I know you're in there with that…riffraff!" 

"I gotta deal with this," Eddie muttered. 

Kissing the top of Chrissy's head, he gave her a reassuring squeeze before he released her and stormed to the door. He was so amped up that he thought he might throw it open hard enough to rip it right off the hinges, but when his fingers touched the cool metal knob, he took a breath and exhaled some of his rage. With the slightest turn of his wrist, he opened the door softly, just enough to stick his head out, and pressed his lips into a flat smile. Bathed in the yellowy backlight from the Cadillac's headlights and the bluish porch light overhead, Laura Cunningham's skin was weirdly green-hued--the Wicked Witch of the Fucking Midwest. 

"Uh, hi?" he greeted. "I dunno what the customs are in Loch Nora, but here in Forest Hills we don’t generally bang on doors and scream at people from their porches. A polite knock’s enough.”

That was a bald-faced lie from the pit of hell; Eddie heard people screaming outside alllllll the time. Then again, maybe trashy behavior transcended class, because Mommy was doing a damn fine impression of trailer park stereotypes, despite her June Cleaver skirt, blouse, and heels. (Christ, she was wearing a string of motherfucking pearls.)

“Now," Eddie added, "what can I help you with tonight, Laura?”

Her nostrils flared with her sharp intake of breath. She honestly could not have looked more offended if he'd called her a bitch--or worse. (In fact, that was probably what she wanted, so she could sneer at him from atop her high horse.)

"I would prefer you address me as Mrs. Cunningham, if you must speak to me.“

“And I'd prefer hoi polloi to riffraff if you're gonna insult me, Mrs. Cunningham.” 

Eddie flashed his most shit-eating grin. He expected her to recoil as if it were actually oozing from between his teeth, but she lunged and caught the edge of the door, prying it wider open. 

"CHRISTINE!" she bawled as Eddie wrenched the doorknob with both hands, pulling back against her. Either she really was a witch, or she was stronger than her wiry frame looked, fueled by her furor--a veritable She-Hulk. Or maybe Eddie's juddering heart, the spikes of fear he felt as the visions Chrissy had described strobed across his mind, had sapped his strength. 

"I'm done playing games! Come speak to me this instant, or--"

Eddie released the knob, letting Laura win the battle for the door (she did not, alas, go flying off the porch and have an undignified landing on her backside in the yard). But when she moved to enter the trailer, he shot an arm across the doorframe, planting his body firmly in the center of the threshold, blocking her entrance. 

“I didn't say you could come in." He wasn't smiling anymore, not even sarcastically, and he rattled his rings against the door frame. "If you don’t want me to call the police because this is my private domicile and you're tresspassing, you’ll stay right there on the porch.”

"Laura?"

She whipped around as Eddie's gaze snapped to see the Cadillac's driver's side door opening and a stocky man dressed for eighteen holes at the country club climbing out. 

"I told you to wait in the car, Philip!" Laura said through her teeth. 

"Daddy?" came Chrissy's voice from behind Eddie. He glanced over his shoulder and saw her pad through the kitchen, pulling up short at the dinette. 

Ignoring his wife's rebuke, Philip approached the trailer with a waddling gait that reminded Eddie of a penguin, and bobbed his head as he stammered, "Things looked… heated ." His eyes darted to Eddie, then immediately away, like he'd looked without permission and felt guilty. "Maybe we should go home, dear?"

"Hi, Philip." Eddie lifted his right hand from the door frame and wiggled his fingers in a wave. "I'm Eddie." 

Philip lurched forward, one arm outstretched, as if he intended to climb the steps to shake Eddie's hand, but Laura's voice cut that impulse off at the knees.

"My husband knows who you are. And we are not, under any circumstances, going home without Chrissy."

Any circumstances, huh? Eddie bet he could think of a whole lotta circumstances her shriveled-up brain couldn't even begin to dream up.

"Now go back to the car, Philip." 

Don't be a pussy, Philip, Eddie thought. 

Philip very much was a pussy; he shuffled back to the Cadillac with his head hanging. Remaining standing behind the open door instead of sitting in the driver's seat might've been the most rebellious thing he'd ever done. 

But it wasn't enough. 

Eddie looked over his shoulder and saw Chrissy standing next to the dinette, blinking back tears. Let down by her feckless old man again. He never tells her stop, or tries to make me feel better, she'd told Eddie. Laura bullied her husband, too--that had been evident enough in less than five minutes to know it was probably worse at home--but Eddie couldn't stomach the thought of not getting your shit together and manning up for the sake of your kids.

"Christine Elizabeth Cunningham, I want to speak to you, young lady!"

Jeez, the witch was a broken record.

"Ever occur to you she doesn't want to speak to you?" Eddie asked. "Let's find out. Chrissy. Do you want to speak to--" Your mom felt wrong. This woman was no kind of mother, even in comparison to Eddie's. "--Mrs. Cunningham?” 

Chrissy's chest still rose and fell heavily beneath her baggy sweatshirt, but her breaths seemed deeper now, more controlled, as she took the few steps to join Eddie in the doorway. Relieved that he'd at least bought her some time to collect herself, even with this new blow from her useless dad, Eddie twitched his lips in a brief smile of encouragement. Chrissy didn't return it. That was okay; he could hardly expect her to smile at a time like this. He sidled to make room for her at the threshold. Again, he wanted to put an arm around her, to physically protect her, but he didn't know if Chrissy wanted that. Her shoulder brushed him as she folded her arms across her chest, then she shifted, putting a little space between them.

"What do you want to say?" she asked.

Laura's eyes lasered in on her daughter like Eddie wasn't even there. "I have been very patient with you, Christine," she ground out, voice low and measured, which somehow made her scarier. "When I saw you at school that day…when I learned who you were with, where you were staying…Well, I've just been beside myself." 

Her voice wobbled, and she inhaled through her nose, as if to rein in emotion, but Eddie could see the coldness in her eyes, the lack of anything like true concern for Chrissy's well-being. This was all about how Chrissy made her look.

"I thought if I let you go through this… bad boy phase…" she went on (Eddie barely repressed a loud snort). "...it would only be a matter of time before he broke your heart and you saw him for the dirtbag he is."

Her eyes flicked to him, gleaming as they caught the porch light, cruel and cutting as a knife. The corner of her lip curled upward, and she held her head higher, giving it a little shake; her permed curls didn't move. Eddie hoped the dim porch light obscured how red-hot his face had gone at dirtbag. It pissed him off that someone like her could get to him with an insult like that at all.

"And I was right," Laura snarled. "Jason called this evening." She paused--to give Chrissy a chance to respond? Chrissy didn't react, let alone reply, except that Eddie saw her neck muscles flex as she tensed. "He told me you showed up at school this morning looking like that whore Madonna strung out on drugs." 

Whore Madonna. It was almost funny--like that Newsweek article about D&D (jeez, Laura Cunningham could've written it)--except that Eddie was enraged at the thought of words like whore or slut being bandied around the halls of Hawkins High about Chrissy. (Who'd looked hot as hell in her gig outfit, yet somehow also cute as a button as always--though that was totally beside the point.) 

His fingers seized into fists. He wanted to beat the snot out of Carver's self-righteous face (of course he'd gotten revenge for the cafeteria humiliation)…and out of Philip Cunningham's, except that it would be kinda pitiful and wouldn't help Chrissy, or put right what he'd made so, so wrong.

"I could die of shame, Christine." (If only she would, and spare Eddie having to remind himself that strangling people, especially women, was not an action condoned by society.) "I can’t believe you didn’t.” 

“The only thing I’m ashamed of," said Chrissy, voice soft and shaky, "is the way you’re treating my boyfriend." 

My boyfriend. Eddie's heart pounded. Chrissy wasn’t dumping his lousy ass—quite the opposite, in fact. He swallowed, and found his heart had tied itself into a tight knot.  

“Boyfriend," Laura scoffed. "He’s not your boyfriend." (Hell yeah, he was--Chrissy just said so!) "He’s just trailer park trash leading you down a path of drug addiction and fornication."

A cackle tore loose from Eddie's throat, startling Chrissy. He was laughing too hard to apologize, but the surprise on her face as she craned to look at him melted into a confused half-smile. 

“What, pray tell, do you find so amusing?” asked Laura.

Pray tell. Jesus Christ…was she trying to kill him? (Probably.) 

“I appreciate a good vocabulary," Eddie wheezed, "and fornication is…” He collapsed into giggles and had to take a step back to lean against the TV stand for support. 

“Is it his juvenile and disrespectful sense of humor that appeals to you, Christine?” 

“Yep!" It was the perkiest Chrissy had sounded since she was buzzed on rum and Coke after the show. "Among other qualities that make me want to fornicate with him.” 

Eddie nearly choked on his own tongue. His laughter abruptly died.

"You accused Eddie of breaking my heart," Chrissy said, voice trembling, husky as emotion gripped her by the throat (her and him both), "but you did that every time you made me feel ugly and weak and worthless. You got me addicted to starving myself and purging, but Eddie? He made me soup tonight. And it's getting cold." 

Tears sprang to his eyes, making Chrissy's gleaming golden-red hair appear haloed in the porch light. She made it sound like he'd trekked across Middle Earth to bring her Lembas bread from Lothlórien, when in reality the whole reason Laura and Philip were here at all was because Eddie had fucked up. Because he was (almost) everything Laura said…and some things she hadn’t.

Chrissy drew back her shoulders, inhaled deeply, then blew out the breath. "I want you to leave." Her voice was strong and steady--like the cheer team captain she was. "You're not welcome here-- Laura."

For just a split second, Laura's mouth fell open in an o of surprise, then she clenched her teeth and glowered down her sharp nose at Chrissy from beneath the ridge of her brow bone. Wicked Witch, Eddie thought again. 

“If you don’t come home with us now," Laura growled, "you won’t be welcome there again. Ever.”

Chrissy made a sound like Laura had punched her in the gut. She even crumpled a little. Eddie didn't think he'd ever hated anyone more than he loathed Laura Cunningham in this moment--with the exception of his own dear old dad. He raised his hand to place it on Chrissy's shoulder, but she moved away from him, brushing past Laura without so much as a sideways glance to jog down the porch steps to the driveway. She was barefoot, Eddie noticed, the gravel no doubt poking the soles of her feet, but she didn't seem to notice, or care. She stopped a yard or so from the open driver's side door of the Cadillac, which Philip still stood behind.

"Bye, Daddy," she said. 

"Sure you won't reconsider?" Philip glanced furtively at his wife before he gave Chrissy a wan smile and went on, a hitch in his voice. "We sure do miss you at home. Brian and I--and, of course, Mommy. The house just isn't the same without our little ray of sunshine."

"I'm sure," Chrissy replied. "Take care of yourself, Daddy."

"Doesn't he always?" Eddie muttered. 

Laura shot him a dark look but didn't say anything else, as if he was too far beneath her for any further engagement. Eddie took some satisfaction in looking down on her as she picked her way to the bottom of the steps toward the car, swanning to the passenger's side without a last glance at Chrissy. Like she was invisible.

The Cadillac's headlights illuminated Chrissy blindingly as it turned onto the street in front of the Munson trailer, then she was left standing in the dark, staring after its dust. She looked so small and alone, but something kept Eddie rooted to the porch until she was ready to come back. 

He held the door as she stepped through into the warm light of the living room, then shut it behind her with a feeling of déjà vu. She looked like she wasn't sure where to go or what to do, twisting her hands in her sweatshirt sleeves, just like the first time he'd brought her here, for the Special K. Eddie prowled aimlessly, rubbing his hand over his face, clueless about what he should say himself. 

As he had that other night, he blurted out the first inane thing that came into his head. "I didn't make the soup."

Chrissy's forehead puckered. "Huh?"

"You told Laura I made you soup. But you made the soup, not me." 

"Oh. Well. You offered. You bought it."

That was true, Eddie guessed. But he couldn't help but think Chrissy was giving him more credit than he deserved. It was literally the least he could've done, after last night. 

"Do you want me to reheat it for you?" he asked.

Chrissy nodded, then her brow furrowed again. "I don't know? I don't think I feel very hungry after…." Her gaze drifted to the front door. 

"Yeah, I get that." Actually, no, he didn't. Eddie was starving. 

"But I should probably eat, shouldn't I?" Chrissy asked.

He thought about what she'd said only minutes ago, about starving herself or purging. It was the most directly Chrissy had spoken about her food issues, and he had a ton of questions (including what did purging mean, and what the hell kind of mother would deliberately discourage her daughter from eating at all, not just pasta) but now definitely wasn't the time.

"You can have the rest of my sandwich," he offered, stuffing one half into his face as he scooped up her bowl and carried it to the microwave. 

"No, thanks." Almost robotically, Chrissy used a paper napkin to dab up the soup Eddie had sloshed on the dinette, then sat down and sipped her water. 

A minute in the microwave, and her soup was steaming again. Eddie set it in front of her with a flourish and a bon appetit. Since she'd rejected the other half of the sandwich, Eddie devoured it while he watched his own bowl revolve inside the microwave. When he joined Chrissy at the table, he noticed she hadn't eaten a bite. A spoonful of soup hovered above her bowl, but her hand was shaking so badly she couldn't bring it to her mouth.

"Just a sec." Eddie hopped up again. "I have an idea."

He grabbed a mug from the kitchen, then poured her soup into it. 

"You can just drink it," he said, handing it to her, "and not even worry about the spoon." 

Chrissy turned it around, looking at the picture of Snoopy wearing his food bowl on his head, doing his little tapdance beneath the word SUPPERTIME. "Appropriate." 

"That's my special soup mug." Eddie scrubbed his head as he flopped back down across from her. "Wayne always fixed me soup in it when I wasn't feeling good. Or if I'd been out playing in the snow." 

She gave him a grateful smile and hugged it to her chest, letting its warmth radiate through her. (Eddie wished she'd hug him and let his warmth stop her shivering.) He realized he was staring, maybe making her feel weird, so he dropped his gaze to his bowl as he slurped up noodles, broth, and the chewy little chunks of canned chicken.

After a moment, he saw in his periphery that Chrissy had raised the mug to her lips and sipped. She set it down again on the formica tabletop, reached into the box of Ritz crackers, and dipped one into her soup. He looked up as she nibbled off the edge and grinned at her. 

Chrissy clapped a hand over her mouth. Was she going to puke again? 

She burst into tears. 

Shit! Fuck! Because he'd looked at her while she was eating? 

"Eddie…" she choked out between wracking sobs. "I got kicked out of my house! My parents threw me out!" 

Like the dumbass who'd flunked twelfth grade twice that he was, Eddie just sat there , at as much of a loss for words as he'd ever been when called on in class while he'd been off in la-la land. Only in class, he'd never been struck speechless because his heart was breaking. Chrissy was so good…Bullshit like this wasn't supposed to happen to people like her. 

(And it wouldn't have, if not for him.)

He batted away the insidious lying whisper. That wasn't true. Worse than this would've happened to her because of her parents, if Vecna had his way. He'd have broken her heart, as well as every bone in her body, to turn her into a gate. 

"I don't know why I'm so upset." Chrissy hiccoughed and swiped at her wet cheeks with the cuff of her sleeve. "It's not like I was planning to go home…But now I don't have a choice." More tears spilled from her eyes, and her chest heaved with another powerful sob. "I have nowhere to go, and you probably don't even want me here anymore--"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa." Eddie's ability to speak returned--not eloquently, as his brain worked through a slurry of emotion to process what she'd just said, but at least he'd produced words. (Was whoa really even a word, though?) "What do you mean? Why wouldn't I want you here?"

Her not wanting to be here, now that would make sense, but the other way around?

"Because I have all this drama! My mother was so hateful to you. I'm needy and insecure and indecisive. I'm sheltered, and I don't know about any of the things you like, not your books or your music, I cramped your style at your show, and I don't even eat like a normal--"

"Chrissy, I love you."

Eddie startled himself with the confession--and Chrissy, too. As suddenly as she'd begun to cry, she stopped, inhaling with a shuddering breath. 

"You…But why?"

"Why ?" Eddie echoed. He pushed his chair back from the table, stumbling over the legs as he stood. How could she even ask that? "Why wouldn't I?"

"Because I'm broken and a mess.”

"If you’re broken and a mess, then there’s no hope for me, like, at all.”

“You cleaned up your van today.”

Eddie let out a short bark of a laugh. He was standing over her, looking down on her, and she was looking up at him. That just wouldn't do, he thought, and dropped onto his knees in front of her chair on the linoleum. She was wringing her hands in her lap, and he took them, sliding his fingers beneath her sweatshirt cuffs until he found hers tucked away inside, curling his around them to gently draw them out. 

He'd loved her for weeks, almost since this all began, but he'd waited to tell her, not wanting to scare her off--or (selfishly) to risk her not returning his feelings as strongly. On the occasions he'd allowed himself to imagine saying the words to her, none of the scenarios had involved her being distressed and down on herself and him just blurting it out to interrupt her self-loathing.

But love wasn't roses and romance, was it? If now wasn't the right time to tell her how he truly felt about her, when was ? 

“Chrissy Cunningham, you’re the actual sweetest person on the planet." 

He raised her hands and pressed his lips to the knuckle of her pinky. 

"And smart." 

He kissed the ridge of her ring finger. 

"And strong, and--" 

Kissing her middle finger, he nearly said sexy as hell to keep with the unintentional alliteration he'd begun. She was sexy as hell, but that didn't go far enough. 

“—so beautiful." 

Eddie lingered over her index finger, letting his breath warm her soft skin. He saw the fine blonde hairs on the back of her hand stand as he lifted his eyes. Tears shone in her eyes again, spilled down her cheeks, but he thought they were happy tears, now. Happier, at any rate.

"Not in my wildest dreams did I ever think someone like you would wanna be with someone like me.”

“There isn't anyone else like you, Eddie." 

Chrissy pulled one hand from his grasp and leaned forward in her chair to stroke his face. He pressed his cheek against her palm, turning his head to kiss the heel of her hand. 

"You’re amazing," she said. "I felt like you knew who I was the very first time we talked. You make me laugh, and you make me feel safe. You take care of me without making me feel like I can’t take care of myself.”

“Except last night at Denny’s. When I badgered you about toast." Fucking toast. 

Her gaze darted away, and she bit her bottom lip. "I felt so bad for snapping at you in front of the guys."

"Don't," Eddie said. "I have this bad habit of barrelling over people without considering their feelings. Sometimes you're gonna have to barrel right back over me--even in front of the guys."

"It wasn't really anything you did, though. I have a problem, Eddie. A big one. I don't think I can talk about it right now. We'll have to, eventually, but…" Fat tears rolled down either side of her nose. "I'm afraid it'll make you change your mind about me."

Eddie cupped her face in both hands, wiping away her tears with his thumbs. “Nothing could change my mind about you, sweetheart. If you got problems, I wanna help you with them. Like you're helping me with mine. And boy do I sure have a few…hundred…thousand." 

Chrissy sniffled and tried her best to smile. She looked more like she wanted to believe him than like she actually did. Eddie decided right then and there that the only thing he wanted to achieve in life was making her believe him. He'd show her. 

"You know," he said, sitting back on his feet and scrubbing the back of his head, "I spent most of today thinking you were gonna change your mind about me," he said. "Decide you were done with your bad boy phase, like Laura said.”

"You're not bad, Eddie."

"Yeah, well, I’m not very good, either. I broke my promise to get you back for your test."

Again, she looked away. "I shouldn’t have said that."

"You should've said a hell of a lot worse."

Chrissy huffed, and a slight smile cracked. "That’s what Nancy said."

That sounded about right. 

"But Eddie," Chrissy said, sliding out of her chair to crouch on the floor in front of him, her hands resting on his knees, fingertips tracing little patterns on his skin through the holes in his jeans. "I hate that you thought I'd break up with you over one mistake."

He swallowed. "I guarantee it won’t be the only one I make."

"I won’t break up with you over those, either. Because I love you, too."

Eddie's throat was tight, and for the second time tonight, he felt the sting of tears. This time there was no blinking them back. He tried, but a hot bead escaped, clinging to his eyelash, before it slid down his cheek, followed by another, and another. They just kept sliding down his face, and he was helpless to stop the outpouring of emotion. Maybe he didn't actually want to. 

"Eddie…" Chrissy brought her hand back up to his face and brushed the tears away with her thumb. 

He sniffled, and wiped his nose on his sleeve. Why couldn't he be a pretty crier, like Chrissy? Instead he was a snotty, blubbering one. "You're, uh, the first person who's said that to me. Like… ever. "

"Ever ?" Her voice lilted high in disbelief. 

No other girl had said it to him. Neither of his parents had, that he could recall. Hell, Eddie knew Wayne loved him, but he was old school, born and bred in the country, where men weren't all touchy-feely lovey-dovey about their emotions. 

"Only you." 

"Then I'll say it again." Chrissy's hand slid to his neck, fingers tangling in his hair, and down to his shoulder, pulling him against her so that her wet cheek was pressed to his, their tears mingling as she murmured in his ear, "I love you. Eddie Munson, I love you."

There was laughter in her voice, and happiness bubbled up in Eddie's throat--no, not happiness, pure joy. It wasn't readily identifiable because it was another emotion he didn't have a lot of experience with, except for maybe in a D&D campaign, and even then to a much lesser degree. 

Eddie turned his head and captured Chrissy's lips, as if he'd be able to ingest her declaration orally as well as hear it.

"I love you," he said, not taking his mouth off hers, so he could feed it to her, fill her hungry belly with it, like a papa bird regurgitating worms into his babies' mouths. And because it felt as good to say it to her as it did to have her say it to him, to hold nothing back. 

He didn't ease into this kiss, pushing his tongue between her lips and past her teeth and sweeping it along Chrissy's when she did the same, like two cats rubbing themselves all over each other. They were both still on their knees, and he wrapped his arms around her waist, hauling her onto his thighs as he sat back. He had a boner already; he didn't try to hide it from her, and Chrissy didn't shy away. In fact, he was pretty sure she rocked against it on purpose, as her small hands pressed firmly against his chest until he understood what she wanted, and lay back on the floor, Chrissy kissing him from above.

This was not how he'd thought the day would end--with his hands up Chrissy's sweatshirt, cupping her breasts through her lacy bra, while she straddled him--not after Nancy cornered him at school, definitely not after Laura and Philip crashed dinner. How had it gone from one of the worst days of his life to one of the best? No, the best. Because nothing had been better than Chrissy telling him she loved him and would never stop. (It seemed kinda hard to believe, but he was determined to try, because he wanted her to believe him when he said the same thing.)

They did, eventually, stop kissing, though unlike the beginning, it was gradual, the twisting and twining and tasting tongues tapering into gentle presses of lips and then Chrissy trailing kisses down his chin and collapsing on top of him with her face buried in the curve of his neck until her hot, quick puffs of breath and her pounding heart slowed and evened and deepened. There wouldn't be any fornicating tonight (not that it would ever be the crude, sinful act Laura Cunningham's warped mind imagined), and that was just fine. They'd taken a more important step tonight than sex, and they had every other night ahead of them.

"You asleep, sweetheart?" Eddie asked, nudging her cheek with his shoulder. 

"Not yet," she murmured, raising her head, bleary-eyed and puffy-lipped, "but I will be soon." 

Eddie'd been running on stress-induced adrenaline for…a while, but Chrissy yawned, and it was contagious, and he felt the leaden pull of his eyelids.

"Come on." He wriggled out from under her and pushed to his feet. "Let's go to bed." 

"It's pretty early," Chrissy said. 

"It's pretty late, from a certain point of view," Eddie countered. "The point of view of not going to bed yesterday."

He held out his hands, and Chrissy reached up to take them. He pulled her to stand, then swept her up in his arms. She gave a cry of surprise, which became a laugh, and she lay her head on his shoulder as she clung to his neck.

"To your royal bedchamber," Eddie said, as he carried her down the hall. 

"To the royal bathroom," Chrissy corrected. "I'm not going another night without brushing my teeth--and neither are you!"

"As my lady love commands."

Chapter Text

Eddie hadn't gone to bed so early since he was in grade school (if even then; his parents hadn't exactly enforced bedtimes, except to get him out of their way), yet Chrissy's deep, rhythmic breathing against him had lulled him to sleep minutes after she drifted off, and he didn't wake up until the eardrum-shattering buzz of the alarm clock jolted him from his dream. (Which had been about O'Donnell's class, only O'Donnell looked like Laura Cunningham, and why didn't he know a word of Macbeth's soliloquy for the final, and more importantly, where were his clothes? So it was a little bit of a relief to be roused from that. On the other hand, it meant he'd have to actually go to O'Donnell's class.)

He groaned at the annoying sound. When he felt Chrissy start to roll away from him, he tightened his arms around her and held her against his chest.

"The alarm's going off," Chrissy said, voice a little creaky from sleep.

Shaking his head against his pillow, Eddie argued, "No, it's not. You're dreaming." Though that sound was more of a nightmare.

"It'll wake up Wayne."

She had a point--and after keeping Wayne up worrying yesterday, Eddie wasn't eager to deprive his uncle of more sleep just because he wanted to snuggle. Sighing, Eddie relaxed his arms so Chrissy could sit up and turn off the alarm. As she sat there, rubbing sleep from her eyes, he shot up, grabbed her around the waist, and hauled her back onto the mattress with him.

"Eddie!" she protested, but it was kinda hard to take that seriously when she was giggling. "We have to get ready for school."

"Nuh-uh. No school today. It's Saturday."

"It's Tuesday."

How could she even know that, not even a minute after she'd woken up?

"A holiday," Eddie said. "Teacher workday."

Chrissy wriggled, and he allowed it, since she was turning over to face him. He cracked an eye open; she was so pretty with her messy hair fanned out on the pillow and all glowy in the light that shone through the blinds.

"I'd love to stay in bed with you all day," she said, her breath warm, his stubble making soft rasping sounds against her fingertips as she stroked his cheeks and chin. "Maybe we could…"

"Yeah?" Eddie shifted closer, tucking his feet between her calves as he leaned in to kiss her.

"...if you hadn't skipped school yesterday."

Eddie leaned back from her pursed lips, noting the smug upward curl at one corner. "That's how you're gonna play, huh, Cuningham?"

"School first, then play."

"Fair. I guess."

She kissed him, just a peck, but Eddie persisted, pressing his lips softly to hers, intending to seduce her slowly, until she turned her head away.

"Morning breath." She scrunched her nose, which was so adorable that Eddie couldn't resist leaning over her to kiss the tip.

"But I brushed my teeth last night," he whined, as she wiggled out from under him and got up.

While Chrissy picked out her clothes for the day, Eddie dragged himself out of bed to pee before she took over the bathroom. With the call of nature answered, he shuffled to the kitchen in his underwear to get breakfast. Wayne was sacked out on his cot in the living room, dead to the world, and didn't stir when Eddie flicked on the light above the sink.

As he scuffed to the pantry for cereal and the tin of coffee, the vase of roses on the dinette caught his eye--along with the box of Ritz crackers and assortment of dirty plates, bowls, cups, and a mug that unexpected confessions of love had totally distracted him and Chrissy from washing. A pot with a crusty layer of chicken noodle soup residue sat on the stove. Shit. Wayne’s parting words had been I trust you're going to clean up the rest of this mess, and although he’d meant the mess of his relationship, Eddie had fully intended to take care of the literal one, too.

He did that as quickly and quietly as he could, started the coffee maker for Chrissy, then took a bowl of Honey Nut Cheerios and a Mello Yello back to his room. He ate and drank in bed while he looked over some notes for an econ quiz—which of course made him think of Chrissy’s missed French test. That was another mess he needed to at least try to clean up. It wasn’t fair for her to be punished for what was one hundred percent his fault (well, maybe ninety percent his fault, ten percent Mother Nature’s), especially when she hadn’t even explained to her teacher that it was Eddie’s fault.

Chrissy returned to the bedroom, dressed and with dripping hair, to finish getting ready while Eddie took his turn performing morning ablutions. By the time he'd showered and shaved and returned to the kitchen with his cereal bowl and empty soda can (and a couple other random cans he'd found lying around), Chrissy was there, wearing makeup and her hair blow-dried and styled, making turkey sandwiches and packing baggies of carrot sticks for their lunches, pausing every few seconds to take bites from a yogurt cup and a banana.

"If we can get to school a little early,” Eddie murmured, taking over the sandwich-making so she could focus on her breakfast, “I need to talk to a teacher."

Thankfully, Chrissy didn’t question which teacher, just nodded as she popped the last bite of banana into her mouth, washed it down with a drink of coffee, and scurried off to get her backpack and sneakers. She’d left the half-eaten yogurt cup on the counter; Eddie didn’t throw it away, but handed it to her as they made a silent exit through the side door so as not to disturb Wayne.

“For the road,” he whispered, hoping this wasn't the toast thing all over again; to his relief, a grateful smile bloomed on her face, and she bounced up on her toes to kiss his smooth cheek as he locked the door. Turning to face her, he said, at normal volume, "You match your yogurt."

Chrissy glanced down at her outfit: pink pants and a white button-down blouse, unbuttoned over a white tank top, a pink scrunchie cinching her half-ponytail.

"Is that a good thing or a bad thing?" she asked.

"You look good enough to eat." Eddie dragged his tongue lasciviously over his lips and waggled his eyebrows.

A flush flared up Chrissy's neck, flooding her cheeks, but she giggled as she stepped off the porch, so she must not be too offended at the racy implications of his horny mind.

Nevertheless, Eddie cleared his throat and quickly changed the subject as they crossed the dewy patches of clover dotting the yard to the van. "You must feel a lot better about walking into school today in that outfit."

Not looking like that whore Madonna, as Laura put it. Or had those been Jason's words? Eddie's rings felt tight around his fingers as he clenched them into fists.

"I guess I feel more like myself," Chrissy replied with a shrug. She caught her lower lip between her teeth, worrying at it.

They still hadn't really talked about the gig, and Eddie hoped she didn't feel pressured to now; he honestly hadn't even been trying to bring it up. He wanted to explain that, but he also didn't want to make things awkward. So he clamped his big fat mouth shut as they got into the van.

He was pulling onto Washington when Chrissy stopped swirling her spoon in the yogurt cup and broke the silence.

"Eddie…"

Her voice pitched high, plaintive, but with a weight in it that made Eddie's heart accelerate like she'd slammed on the gas pedal.

"You know I had fun at your show, right?" she asked.

Okay, that was not the direction he'd expected this conversation to go.

"Really?"

He'd thought she was having a good time, at least when she wasn't caught in a mosh with the creepy Stryper fan, but he'd also thought the bad parts of the night had spoiled it all for her.

"Really." Chrissy's face lit up. "I loved watching you up there on stage. I just kept thinking, That's my boyfriend, and he's amazing, and I love him. "

Eddie grinned like a goddamn moron. "What a coincidence, because I loved watching you down there in the audience, and I kept thinking, That's my girlfriend, and she's amazing, and I love her."

"I want to go to another show. If--you want me to, I mean."

"Hell yeah, I do!"

His heart felt like it had thumped right through his chest, cartoon-style, and he was surprised he hadn't gone, AWOOGA! He glanced in the rearview mirror to check if his pupils had actually turned heart-shaped, and was a little disappointed to see they were still just round black dots.

"Next time," he said, "we'll be home when you want to, swear to god. Earlier, if there's gonna be a storm."

Chrissy's smile faded as she faced forward and resumed playing with her yogurt spoon. "I should've just told you I wanted to leave."

"Did I make you feel like you couldn't?"

"Not exactly. I didn't want to cramp your style, or for the guys to think I was…I don't know, Yoko Ono or something."

They'd stopped a traffic light, and Eddie stared up at it, rolling his fingers over the steering wheel, as he waited for it to change. He wished he could say for sure that the guys wouldn't have thought exactly that, and especially that he wouldn't have thought she was being a buzzkill, but he couldn't.

"But it would've been better for everyone if I'd spoken up." Chrissy sighed. "My dad never speaks up."

"Uh, I seriously hope you're not comparing yourself to your dad," Eddie said as the light changed, "because unless I'm hallucinating, you basically told Laura to fuck off last night."

The corner of Chrissy's mouth curved as she pushed a small spoonful of yogurt into it. Her tongue darted out to lick a bit off her lips. "I did, didn't I?"

"And remember literally standing up for the freaks and weirdos when you climbed on your chair in the cafeteria and called out Jason the Hypocrite? I can't see Philip doing either of those things."

Chrissy took another bite of yogurt. "It felt easy to stand up to her after you laughed at her."

"I couldn't help it. Fornicate. Who talks like that?"

"My mom, apparently." Chrissy laughed, but after a quiet moment, she ventured, as if she were testing an idea for the first time, "She's not normal, is she?"

"You should probably consider who you're asking about someone else being normal," Eddie said, taking a hand off the wheel to scrub at the back of his head. "But no. Normal Laura Cunningham is not." He popped the t, like an audible period at the end of his sentence.

"Realizing that makes her seem not so scary. I feel kind of…free."

She looked free, sitting back and propping her feet on the glove box--though some of that was bravado; Eddie knew exactly how much it sucked to be discarded by your parents, even if they were trash themselves.

"I'm glad my juvenile and inappropriate sense of humor was good for something."

Their conversation stayed light-hearted for the rest of the drive, and they walked hand-in-hand into school, which felt so much better than yesterday, when Eddie had watched Chrissy go in alone, gripping her backpack straps.

"I know you have to talk to teachers," she said when they stopped by her locker, "but do you have time to walk me to my first period?" She ducked her head, as if she were self-conscious about the request (which didn't make sense after the feelings they'd confessed to each other), but as she tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear her eyes sparkled up at him, and she stepped closer to say conspiratorially, "I kinda hope Jason's there so he can see his plan to break us up didn't work."

Eddie threw back his head and cackled. "You're practically handing me an invitation to taunt Carver. Do you know how much I freaking love you?"

***

Carver was disappointingly not already in the Honors English classroom when Chrissy arrived. Much as Eddie hated to admit it, this was probably for the best; he would've just stuck around to flaunt his status as her boyfriend instead of doing the thing that would hopefully prove he was at least kind of worthy of that position. He kissed her at the classroom door anyway (slipping a little more tongue than was strictly appropriate for school), and high-tailed it for the language hall, where he hadn't set foot since completing the bare minimum foreign language requirement sophomore year. Veni, vidi, vici (sorta), after which he'd made like a banana and split.

The French classroom door stood open. Eddie poked his head in and saw the gray-haired teacher at her desk, writing aggressively with a red pen. He rapped his knuckles against the doorframe, and she raised her head. The glare from the overhead fluorescent lighting obscured her eyes behind her round glasses, and her lips all but vanished as they drew into a tight line.

"Uh, Madame Paget?" He scrubbed at the back of his head as he stepped into the room. "Hi. You, uh, don't know me, but--"

"Monsieur Munson," she cut him off in a chain-smoker voice that was totally what he'd imagined she'd sound like, except that it wasn't tinged with a French accent. (As if there would've been an actual French French teacher at Hawkins High. He was such a dummy.) "Everybody knows you."

"My reputation precedes me." Eddie swept a flourishing bow. "That's actually what I want to talk to you about." Smoothing his hair back into place as he approached the desk, he said, "See, I'm, uh, Chrissy Cunningham's ride to school. I had a little car trouble yesterday--flat tire, biblical-level deluge--so it was all my fault she didn't get here in time for the test."

Paget returned her attention to the papers on her desk, which Eddie assumed were the aforementioned tests. "I told Mademoiselle Cunningham I would allow her to make up the test with a note from a parent or physician."

"And that's just not possible." Eddie braced his palms on the desk.

"Why didn't she tell me herself?"

"Because Chrissy's not the kind of girl who narcs on her boyfriend."

Paget regarded him dubiously from behind her glasses, holding it between two fingers like the cigarette she was probably longing for about now. (Eddie tended to have that effect on people.)

"Look…" He realized his position was kinda menacing, so he stood up straight. "I know you think I'm up to something, but I'm not. I'm just here because it's not fair for Chrissy to be punished because of me. Has she ever missed class without an excuse or made a bad grade or handed in a late assignment?"

Chattering female voices made Eddie turn to see two students enter the classroom. They stopped short at the sight of him, whispered to each other in confusion, then sidled into two desks near the back. "Bonjour, Madame Paget," one said.

"Bonjour, Mademoiselle Johnson. Mademoiselle Evans." With a sigh, Paget leaned back in her creaky chair and looked up at Eddie. "I admire your devotion to your dame d'amour."

His damn what? "I took Latin, so I don't know what that means."

"This is between Mademoiselle Cunningham and me." She lowered her pen and her gaze to her paper and resumed writing. A few more students trickled into the room. Without looking up from her work, she asked, "Don't you have a class to go to, Monsieur Munson?"

"No thanks for your time," Eddie muttered.

Blindly, he stalked to the door, colliding with another French student who was entering as he stormed blindly through, sending a textbook to the floor and scattering a notebook and loose papers. He was going to stop and help, but then the guy said, "Watch it, loser," so he was kinda getting what he deserved when Eddie left the dickbag to gather his own belongings. (Also, he was wearing a Duran Duran t-shirt.)

The first bell rang, and Eddie stopped in the main locker-lined corridor. What was he supposed to do now? Go to woodshop was the answer, though not to the question he was asking. He couldn't just leave Chrissy to suffer the consequences of his poor judgment. His gaze raked the hall, as if he were looking for someone who could give him a solution to his problem. He'd be grateful for Henderson to appear about now, hell, even Wheeler. He did see Gareth, who responded to Eddie's wave by flipping the bird as he went by.

"The hell, Clark?" Eddie called after him, but Gareth kept on walking.

"Better hustle to class, Mr. Munson," said Principal Higgins, who was apparently patrolling the hall. "Don't want to be tardy."

Higgins looked very much like he wanted to nail Eddie for lateness--the guy was as bad as a cop with a speeding ticket quota to fill--and it took every ounce of self-control Eddie possessed not to flip him the bird (not before graduation, anyway), but he also didn't do what the asshat administrator said. Hustling was not part of Eddie's carefully curated image.

"Appreciate the advice," he said, then impulsively crossed the hall to the front office.

The first person his eyes landed on was Ms. Kelley, who was standing at the coffee maker chatting with the attendance clerk at a nearby desk. She wore a sky blue blouse under a neutral-toned block-pattern sweater vest with navy slacks.

"Ms. Kelley," Eddie blurted out, belatedly realizing he'd interrupted them. "Are you free? I really need to talk to you."

Her forehead dimpled slightly in concern, then smoothed again as she gave him that kind, comforting smile. "As a matter of fact, I am. Coffee?"

"Sure?"

Eddie could take or leave coffee, but today he took it, mostly out of sheer shock that a staff member would offer him anything other than a detention or another year in high school--and because Principal Higgins was watching from the doorway. Ms. Kelley poured a styrofoam cup and asked if he wanted cream and sugar, which Eddie did, a lot of both. When she handed him the steaming cup, he raised it to Higgins with a tilt of his head and a rolled-out tongue and crossed eyes before following Ms. Kelley to her office.

"I'm going to have my days mixed up," she said cheerfully as she went to her desk and gestured for him to take a seat across from her. "I've gotten used to seeing you the past few Mondays. But you were absent yesterday, I think?"

She obviously knew something about his most recent fiasco, so Eddie decided not to pussyfoot around it. He gulped his coffee and blurted out, "Ms. Kelley, I blew it."

He spilled his guts about Corroded Coffin's Indianapolis gig, staying out too late, the flat tire--everything except for Chrissy drinking too much and being hungover when Eddie dropped her off at school late for her test, though he was sure there had been whispers in the office, since she'd seen the attendance clerk and the nurse. He even told her about the Cunninghams showing up at the trailer, and the ultimatum Laura handed down, which he hoped wasn't a gross violation of Chrissy's privacy.

"They won't let her go home," he said. "Even if she wanted to."

Eddie sat forward in his chair, wallet chain jingling like Santa's sleigh as he bounced his knee. The coffee jitters couldn't be hitting this fast, could they? Oh, but he'd had that Mello Yello with breakfast.

"I talked to Madame Paget about Chrissy's test," he went on, "but she won't budge. Is there any chance you can explain Chrissy's situation to her, Ms. Kelley? About how she can't get a note?"

Ms. Kelley regarded him for a long moment with lips pressed together before answering, "I'll see what I can do."

The anxious grip around Eddie's chest relaxed its hold slightly. He sat back in his chair and dragged a hand through his hair. "Thanks, Ms. Kelley, I knew I could count on you."

He tapped his left hand rings on the armrest before gripping it to push up, but before he could move, Ms. Kelley spoke.

"It's admirable how you're owning up to your mistakes, Eddie."

"People keep saying that." Only it sounded nicer coming from Ms. Kelley than from Ms. Paget. Weirdly self-conscious, Eddie raised his coffee cup to his lips, purely to give him something to divert his attention to. "I think I'd rather just not screw up in the first place than be admirable for dealing with it."

On the other hand, Nancy hadn't been impressed with his apology in the hall yesterday, and he hadn't loved how that made him feel, either.

Ms. Kelley chuckled into her coffee. "Wouldn't we all? But we don't grow without making mistakes and learning from them. What impact would you say the experience had on you?"

Experience was a diplomatic way of referring to his shit show. "I, uh, got really lucky Chrissy didn't dump me."

"Aside from Chrissy, I mean." When Eddie didn't immediately reply, Ms. Kelley continued, "A few weeks ago you came into my office and said you had to graduate this year. So how do you feel about your gig making you miss a full day of classes? Presumably you have late homework now."

Her tone was as gentle and non-judgmental as ever, but Eddie sensed an underlying disappointment. Usually, only Wayne was capable of making the back of his neck prickle with shame. With his free hand, Eddie tugged the hair away from his nape, wishing he knew what to do with the cup of cooling coffee he no longer particularly wanted. He probably shouldn't throw it in the wastebasket half-full, so he took a gulp.

"Uhhhh…If I'm honest, I didn't think about it too much. Old habits die hard, I guess." He huffed a nervous laugh, but Ms. Kelley didn't smile.

"You owe it to yourself to think about how your decisions affect your future. Not just graduation." She took another sip of coffee, then set her mug on a stack of Post-It Notes that apparently doubled as a coaster. Folding her hands together on her desk, she said, "I like to encourage students to think about school as practice for the real world. What if staying out all night made you miss work? An employer probably won't be so forgiving."

Eddie wanted to note that school attendance policies weren't too forgiving, either, but instead he tried to imagine how things would've played out if he'd gotten that job at Tiger Tones and was supposed to open up shop yesterday. Would kindly Mr. Brooks have given him the same disappointed look as Ms. Kelley and fired him on the spot?

"It's wonderful to have talent and passion, Eddie," said Ms. Kelley, "but we can't let our pursuit of them derail our best path to success."

She had a lot of good points, but Eddie heard himself ask, "What if music is my best path to success?"

"I hope it is! But you can pursue it responsibly--for yourself and for the people you care about. It sounds like you're learning how to do that."

"The hard way."

Ms. Kelley laughed softly. "Again, I think most of us learn the hard way." She picked up her mug and leaned back in her squeaky chair. "Other than yesterday's absence, how's it going keeping up with your work?"

"I can't lie, it's a grind, but I'm trucking along. Persevering, you know? Gonna work on my extra credit paper tonight for O'Donnell."

"The Lord of the Rings one?"

Eddie nodded as he swigged the rest of his coffee, trying not to grimace at the tepid temperature.

"I don't know how I ever would've gotten this much done if it wasn't for Chrissy," he said, leaning over to toss the empty cup in the wastebasket at the end of Ms. Kelley's desk. "That's another reason why I feel so bad for letting her down. I reallywant to make it up to her. You know, show her how much I love her."

Ms. Kelley contemplated him for a moment before she said, "I'm not a relationship counselor, but you might consider the ways Chrissy's fitted herself into your life."

Eddie tipped his head to the side. "How do you mean?"

"She's staying in your home, for one. She attended your show. What are you doing to show her you care about her passions and interests? Are you helping her feel her life is within her own control even though she's going through some big changes?"

Eddie sat forward, twisting his rings.

Last night, before they'd declared their I love yous, Chrissy had tearfully confessed her fear that he'd get tired of being with her because she didn't know his books and his music. Yet she'd been reading his dog-eared copy of The Hobbit. And, like Ms. Kelley said, she'd heard Eddie's music at the gig, but also in the van and around the trailer. What did she like to listen to? Read? Watch on TV? He didn't even know. He'd been selfish, making everything about him--just like Nancy accused him of.

Yet for all that, Chrissy loved him. She deserved a better boyfriend. He'd be better.

"Great advice, as usual, Ms. Kelley," he said, standing.

"Is there anything else before you go to class?" she said, reaching for a notepad. "I'll write you a note. Woodshop, right? I'm still hoping to see one of your projects."

"As a matter of fact, I'm working on a little something for you."

Her eyebrows went up, expression surprised, but also pleased.

"Actually…" Eddie stood behind his chair, resting his hands on the back. "There is one more thing I wanted to ask you about. Have you ever heard of, uh, purging?"

Ms. Kelley's smile faded. "As in binging and purging?"

"I, uh, don't know? I just…" He didn't know whether Chrissy had told the counselor about her food issues or not, and he didn't want to be the one to announce it. "Someone I'm close to, like, struggles with that. Sometimes."

"Purging is a behavior associated with eating disorders like anorexia and bulimia."

"Anorexia. Like Karen Carpenter?"

Ms. Kelley nodded, her expression sad, and Eddie's stomach plunged, palms sweaty on the back of the chair. Karen Carpenter died. Chrissy didn't look like she was dying. She ate. Some. Not enough.

"Sometimes people who practice severe calorie restriction will also intentionally rid themselves of the calories when they feel they've overeaten."

"Rid how?"

"Through intentional vomiting or using laxatives."

"Well, that sounds..."

Eddie couldn't finish the sentence, his own throat suddenly feeling tight and raw, an old puke taste in the back of his mouth. Fucking awful. His eyes stung. He'd never seen Chrissy come anywhere close to overeating. And he'd never heard her throw up, except for after she'd drunk too much. But as this conversation had made him well aware, there was a lot that he hadn't paid enough attention to.

"Why would someone so beautiful do that to themselves?"

"Mental illness doesn't make sense, Eddie."

Whoa--Eddie sat up--Chrissy wasn't crazy. But her voice rang in his head: Do you ever feel like you're losing your mind?She'd meant the Vecna visions, but Vecna had gotten into her head to use issues Chrissy already had against her. So yeah…maybe it was mental illness?

But people could get well from illnesses.

"People who suffer from eating disorders don't see themselves as attractive enough or thin enough or even just…enough. Sometimes disordered eating habits can be triggered by feelings of being out of control."

She opened a desk drawer and took out a couple of pamphlets, which she held out to Eddie.

"These have a lot of good information. If you're close to someone struggling with eating disorders…be gentle. Make sure they know they have your support without judgment. That you want them to get better for the sake of their health. And encourage them to get help."

"I will," Eddie said, tucking the pamphlets into his jacket pocket. "Thanks."

He’d turned and moved toward the door when Ms. Kelley called him back.

"Eddie--your note for woodshop." As he took it from her, she gave him a reassuring smile. "I do have students who talk to me about this issue.”

She couldn't tell him who, of course, but Eddie knew she meant Chrissy. He thanked her again, and left the office.

***

"No more trouble in paradise?" Nancy Wheeler commented as Eddie and Chrissy approached the empty seats at the head of the Hellfire Club lunch table, releasing hands only to take off their backpacks and sit down.

"We made up," Chrissy chirped, unwrapping her half-sandwich.

Nancy returned her smile, but gave Eddie a slightly narrow-eyed look he wasn't sure how to interpret. He nodded at Jonathan, beside her, then turned his attention to his sandwich--or tried to, but he was distracted by Gareth leaning around Jeff to glare down the table.

"I'm glad you guys get to live happily ever after while some of us are grounded," he said.

"You got grounded?" Chrissy asked, setting her sandwich down on its plastic baggie. She'd nibbled a little off the edge.

"Big time ," Gareth said with a scowl.

Well, that made sense of the bird-flipping in the hall this morning. Eddie leaned forward, clasping his fingers together on the table. "Elaborate."

"I come to school, I go back home. No Hellfire, no band practice--"

"But practice is at your house !" said Jeff.

"Your mom is grounding us !" Shawn added.

"-- and no gigs."

At that, the three members of Corroded Coffin lost their collective shit, Shawn's ever-present bag of Doritos going flying.

"Not even Tuesdays at the Hideout?" he said, though they hadn't played at the local dive since before Spring Break.

"Dude," said Jeff, "we're only just hearing about this today?"

"They took my freaking phone privileges away, man!" Gareth banged his fist on the table. "I can't even use the family line unless it's about, like, homework."

"RIP Gareth's long-distance romance," said Shawn, picking up scattered Doritos from the table and putting them back into the bag.

"Wait," said Dustin Henderson from the freshmen end of the table, "Gareth's got a girlfriend?"

"He scored at the gig Sunday," Jeff said. "We think. Clark's apparently too much of a gentleman to kiss and tell."

"Whatever they did, she liked it enough to give him her nuuuuumber," Shawn razzed, batting his eyelashes, then ducking to dodge a french fry Gareth, red as a beet, chucked at him.

"A big city girl." Henderson grinned and gave a thumbs-up. "Nice."

"Drummers, man," muttered Sinclair.

"Um, hello, and guitarists!" Eddie interjected, then returned his attention to Gareth. "That blows, dude." He scratched the back of his head. "Think it would help if I called your mom?"

Gareth snorted.

"Yeah, I'm not a big favorite with parents," Eddie muttered, exchanging a glance with Chrissy, who he was glad to see had resumed eating.

"My mom likes you," Mike Wheeler said.

Would she like him if he absconded with her underage son to Indianapolis, though? Eddie looked at Jeff. "Wayne said your mom called him, too. She didn't ground your ass?"

"She got on her usual soapbox about my conduct and scholarships. Made me do yard work and clean the garage." He shrugged as he sipped his Dr. Pepper. "What are we gonna do about those shows Rob wanted us to open?"

"An' Memormetal Feft," Shawn said, mouth full. "Or whaterr the hell ifs called."

"We were gonna have to think whether those gigs were even doable around school," Eddie said, thoughts returning to this morning's conversation with Ms. Kelley.

Shawn choked slightly. "Were we?"

"I shoulda told Rob that Sunday night. Monday morning. Whatever," Eddie said. "But my ego got in the way of my better judgment."

"He has better judgment?" Shawn looked to Jeff, baffled.

"Or any judgment at all?" Gareth muttered.

Eddie inhaled deeply through his nose, grinning through gritted teeth as he chose to take the high road and ignore that. (Why were all his friends such dipshits?) "Gareth wasn't supposed to go to Indianapolis in the first place. I shouldn't have told him to lie to his parents."

His bandmates traded looks across the table, before Gareth said, "Who are the fuck are you, man, and what are you doing in Eddie's body?"

Jeff and Shawn chortled at this, but everyone else at the table shifted uncomfortably in their seats, because bodies being taken over by other entities hit just a little too close to home.

"By the way, here's your cuts."

Eddie shifted in his chair to fish his wallet out of his back pocket, and handed stacks of bills to the other three while the freshmen exclaimed about how cool it was to get paid to play, and totally worth missing school for. He probably should've corrected them, but he did not fully disagree, even if he was trying to come around to Ms. Kelley's point of view.

"Next time, you dickheads get to contribute gas money. And the new tire fund."

Predictably, they protested and began to rehash the discussion of management.

"Did you hear Higgins rejected the prom petition?" Nancy asked Chrissy (who'd finished her sandwich), and frankly Eddie was glad for a topic change. (Though the Three Stooges kept their own conversation about Corroded Coffin business going in the background.)

"Aw," Chrissy said. "That's such a bummer."

"What prom petition?" Eddie asked, not believing he was actually willingly seeking further discussion on this subject.

"A bunch of seniors asked Higgins to un-cancel prom," Chrissy explained.

"But he stood his ground," said Nancy. "Since the serial killer--" (She made air quotes.) "--is still at large."

"Probably just doesn't want to have to attend," Jonathan said, grinning. "Not that I can blame him."

When Nancy turned her head to regard him with pursed lips and raised eyebrows, he quickly added, "I totally signed it, though."

"Me, too," Chrissy said quietly, gaze intent on her fingers picking through her baggie of carrot sticks.

Would Eddie have signed, if he'd known about it?

If he'd known Chrissy wanted to go?

(Of fucking course she wanted to go. She'd probably spent all year looking forward to being Prom Queen.)

(Eddie spent the rest of lunch--which thankfully wasn't long--trying not to think of who would've been her Prom King.)

After lunch, he walked Chrissy to her locker and leaned his shoulder against the one next to it as she found her things for fifth period. "So, uh, prom petition. That sucks. One more reason to flip ol' Higgins the bird at graduation, huh?"

Chrissy gave him a slight smile of agreement, but then she said, "It probably seems silly to you." Her tone was innocuous, yet it gave Eddie a little prick of guilt. "But I really wanted to wear the dress I bought…" She looked down, biting her lower lip, then added. "I really wanted you to see me in it."

You can wear it for me, baby,Eddie wanted to say, but his mouth had gone dry, tongue a dead weight in his mouth as his imagination conjured up Chrissy in a variety of formal gowns, from an Elven princess' ethereal vestments, to skimpy garments off the pages of Heavy Metal, and more normal (but still revealing) prom dresses in between.

The clang of Chrissy's locker door jarred Eddie from his lustful musings.

"I guess you wouldn't have gotten to see it even if Higgins had changed his mind about prom," she said with a sigh, sliding her backpack over her shoulders.

"Why not?" Eddie asked, pushing off the locker to fall into step with her. Wouldn't she have asked him? Or would she just have assumed he'd think it was silly?

"It's at home." She caught her lip between her teeth again. "My parents' house, I mean."

"Mademoiselle Cunningham!"

They turned to see Madame Paget waving to Chrissy as she cut across the flow of hallway traffic from the front office.

"If you're available after school today," she said when she reached Chrissy, "you can make up the unit exam. Ms. Kelley made me aware of your extenuating circumstances."

Eddie closed his eyes. He wasn't a religious man, never had been, never would be, but thank God for Ms. Kelley. His fingers cinched into a fist at his side, as he used all his restraint not to pump it in the air.

Chrissy turned to him. "Is it okay if--?" She stopped herself, faced him squarely, drew a breath then huffed it out, like she was about to start a cheer. "Eddie, I need to stay after school."

"Hell yeah you do! You'll ace that test."

"I'll deduct ten points off the top," Madame Paget said.

"You'll make a ninety on that test, dame d'amour," Eddie amended his previous statement.

The French teacher gave him a look, and Chrissy giggled, calling out her thanks as Ms. Paget walked off toward the language hall.

"Uh, what did I say, exactly?" Eddie asked.

"You called me lady love." Chrissy wrapped her arm around his and laced their fingers together. "Is this your doing? Did you talk to Ms. Kelley?"

Eddie twisted a lock of hair around his index finger. "First I talked to Madam Paget, but she's a stubborn old goat. Then I talked to Ms. Kelley. I'm sorry for going behind your back."

Chrissy stopped walking, not releasing his hand as she turned to face him. She tugged him closer to her, and he bent his head toward her as she arched up to murmur against his lips, "I love you."

When Eddie emerged from the kiss a breathless moment later, he saw over her head that Jason Carver had witnessed it from down the row of lockers. Eddie flashed his biggest Cheshire cat's grin and waved. Carver punched a locker, then, cradling his hand, slunk off like a wounded animal.

***

While Gareth may have thought it was pointless for Eddie to call his mom, he couldn't shake the feeling that Wayne would want him to, so after homework and dinner and more homework (and a beer to shore up his courage), Eddie did it. (Also, his composition project depended on Gareth to be able to practice "Thy Fearful Symmetry" so Eddie could write the drum line. He wasn't fully altruistic.) Mrs. Clark cycled from nearly hanging up on him to bawling him out, but somewhere in there he managed to apologize for taking the kid to Indianapolis on the sly and asking her to reconsider grounding Gareth from everything.She said she'd think about it, but that there would definitely be no gigs for the foreseeable future.

After that, he called Rob (long-distance, ugh, Eddie's wallet had definitely taken a hit after he got paid Sunday night) to tell him there would be no school night gigs. Surprise, surprise, Rob threw a hissy fit. The closest thing Eddie could come to extracting a promise that the Guilloteen frontman would call them after graduation was, Yeah, sure, if we still want you unprofessional dickbags. Eddie slammed the phone back on the receiver and stalked back to the bedroom in a mood…

…until he walked through the bedroom door and saw Chrissy curled up reading The Hobbit. Balm for his fraught artist's soul.

For a moment, he leaned against the doorframe, taking her in, hair coppery in the glow of the bedside lamp, curled over the book propped against her knees, worrying at her thumbnail as she concentrated on the text. Then he dropped to all fours. At the movement, Chrissy looked up, eyes rounding.

"Eddie!" she squealed as he capered to the bed and then pounced, bouncing her as he landed beside her on the mattress.

"What's the pretty she-elf's favorite book, Precious? Will she tell us if we asks?"

"She'll tell Eddie, not Gollum."

Eddie flailed his arms, slapping them down again on his pillow and kicking his legs backward. "Not fair, not fair! Why doesn't the she-elf like us, Precious?"

"Because…I just really like Eddie."

He rolled out his tongue and gave a cry of disgust that gave way into a groan as he flopped on his belly, then rolled onto his side, propping himself on one elbow.

"So, favorite book," he said, in his normal voice. "Like, one you read when you were a kid and re-read over and over."

Did Chrissy even have a book like that? Maybe that wasn't a normal thing for people like her who fit in with the cool crowd.

Without even a second of hesitation, she answered, "Anne of Green Gables."

Though Eddie couldn't even begin to guess from the title what genre that was, he nodded. "Okay. I'm gonna read it."

Her face lit up with happy surprise, like it had in the woods when she'd remembered him, but she said, "I don't know if it's really your thing…It's kind of, um, a girly book?"

She hugged her knees, curling protectively in on herself. Like girly was a negative thing to be. To a lot of people, he guessed it was. Quit crying like a little girl!He'd been the object of that one a number of times. You throw like a girl! Less of that one, but only because his old man gave up on him as a lost cause for anything athletic.

"Well, as it happens," Eddie said, laying a hand on her knee caressing it through her cotton pajama pants, "girly things are kinda my thing. And I should probably expand my horizons." He waited until her smile widened and she raised her head, then said, "Wait--you don't mean girly as in, like, a bodice ripper, do you?"

She gave a little squeak of laughter, clapping a hand over her mouth as she flushed. "There are bodices, but they definitely don't get ripped."

"Too bad, so sad." Eddie shook his head ruefully, and she giggled harder. "Do you have a copy?"

Chrissy stopped laughing. "In my bedroom."

An idea popped into Eddie's head so suddenly, and with such clarity, that he pictured an actual lightbulb flashing on inside his brain. He sat up. "You know what this means, don't you?"

"We'll have to go to the library?"

Yeah, that would've been a much easier solution. But when had Eddie ever done anything the easy way? Wasn't that the life lesson he was supposed to be learning right now? Not to take the easy way out?

"We have to stage an operation to retrieve your personal belongings from the Cunningham residence."

Chapter Text

A caper, as it turned out, was not required for Chrissy to get her stuff from Chez Cunningham. 

"Oh! I still have a house key!" she'd remembered as soon as Eddie had begun to brainstorm how they were going to get in.

Which, okay, probably for the best. The last thing he needed, mere weeks before graduation, was a rap sheet. (Contrary to popular belief, he didn't actually have one--ha! ) Nevertheless, he was kinda disappointed. He'd always wanted to pull off a heist, and what were those Dungeon Master skills for if not devising an elaborate scheme to help his girlfriend? (Well--for planning brilliant D&D campaigns, but that was irrelevant to his current interests.)

"Are you guys sure this is fine?" Steve Harrington asked, throwing a concerned glance at Eddie in the passenger seat, then at Chrissy in the rearview mirror as he pulled his BMW in front of the white, two-story house the following evening. "I can't be charged with, like, accessory to robbery, or whatever, can I?"

"Only if we get charged with robbery." Eddie bared his teeth in a grin which stretched as Steve's eyes bugged. "Relax, Big Boy." He slapped Steve's shoulder, then gave it a squeeze that made him wince. "Chrissy's unlocking the front door. No breaking and entering or stealing, because everything we're taking belongs to her." 

At least, he thought so. Eddie sat back and scratched his chin. Chrissy was eighteen and had moved out, so maybe some criminal law applied? If her parents chose to press charges? But there wasn't, like, a restraining order against her, so he didn't think anything would stick. Hoped not.

Steve looked back over his shoulder at Chrissy, who sat behind Eddie. "And you're positive your parents aren't gonna be home for a while?" 

"Not till nearly nine. They're at church."

When she'd told Eddie her parents would be at church on Wednesday night, he'd done a double-take. Church? In the middle of the week? Then he remembered long-ago invitations to youth groups from earnest young Christians who pitied the kid of a jailbird and a junkie who lived with his bachelor uncle in the trailer park, or wanted to save his poor lost soul. Those had been weeknight events, now that he thought about it. 

It had been the first time Chrissy mentioned church and, with his most recent conversation with Ms. Kelley fresh on his mind, Eddie had asked, "Do you normally go to youth group?" Because she hadn't, not once, since spring break. "Do you want to go? If you do, I'll totally take you. Or go with you, even?"

"Would you really go to youth group?" Chrissy had asked, tilting her head and sounding more surprised than like she was into the idea. (Thank god.)

"For you, sweetheart? I'd go to hell and back."

"You already have," Chrissy had pointed out. 

Wasn't that the truth? "I've already been to youth group, too." Not at her church, though.

At one point Eddie had actually been lonely enough--desperate for friends and not so jaded to think he couldn't make some--to take them up on their offers, lured by the promises of snacks, fun games, and music. The snacks had been all right, but the games weren't his definition of fun, and the music…was best banished from memory. Eventually, when the youth and their pastors realized he was a freak who wasn't gonna conform to their squeaky-clean images and give his heart to Jesus, they made it clear he wasn't welcome in their churches. Which didn't seem very Christlike of them, but who was Eddie to say so? 

"Wouldn't they just love to convert the cult leader?" he'd asked Chrissy, but she hadn't returned his grin.

"The way they judged you is just one of the reasons I have no interest in going back to church," she'd said, defiance edging her voice, chest slightly puffed. But then she'd softened and added, "That, and after everything we went through…well, most of what I was taught to believe in doesn't seem real anymore."

"Amen, and I'll drink to that." Or whatever it was people said in the middle of rousing sermons. 

"We really appreciate you being the getaway driver." Chrissy's voice drew Eddie back to the present in Harrington's Beamer. 

Eddie had at least contributed this to Operation: Liberate Chrissy's Personal Effects (or Lickpee, as he liked to verbally abbreviate it). Even if they weren't committing a crime per se , his piece of shit van would've been suspicious as fuck in Loch Nora and made nosy neighbors call the cops. Of course, Eddie had only suggested that Steve loan them his car, but for some reason, he adamantly refused to let Eddie drive it. So here Steve was, accessorizing.

He waved dismissively. "Yeah, well. I play chauffeur for everyone else, so why not you two? I should really charge. Start my own car service." 

"It'd beat Family Video," Eddie said.

"Are you sure you don't want to go in with us?" Chrissy asked as she opened the door and slid out of the back seat.

"Nah, I'm good," Steve said. "Just…don't get distracted, okay??"

"With what, Steve?" Eddie lunged across the center console to leer in Steve's face.  "Whaddya think we'd do in there to keep you waiting?"

Steve rolled his eyes so hard he could probably see out his butthole, and Eddie, chortling, climbed out of the car. 

No lights shone from any of the street-facing windows, which were all framed by a pair of painted hunter green shutters. That was a good thing, because they needed no one to be home, but Eddie felt a shiver race up his spine at the thought of the last empty house he'd entered. The Creel house. He was grateful for the faint light provided by the idling Beamer's headlights as he and Chrissy made their way up the dark sidewalk to the even darker front porch. A wreath was festooned each of the double doors, which was weird, since it wasn't Christmas. On closer inspection, Eddie saw that they had pink silk flowers and bows on them.

"Did Laura make those?" he asked, pointing.

"Uh-huh," Chrissy answered, fishing in her jean jacket pocket for her keys.

"Do you know how to make wreaths and crafty shit?"

"Um…Yeah? Kind of?"

"Maybe you could make one for the trailer. Class the place up with your feminine touch." 

"Maybe!" Chrissy let out a breathy, nervous laugh. 

Her hand shook as she inserted her key into the lock. Eddie touched the small of her back, rubbed a soothing circle. The deadbolt turned over with a thunk , and he gulped. Chrissy looked up at him as she stuffed the key back into her pocket, then her small hand found his as she pushed the door open and they stepped through.

It wasn't pitch black in the foyer (pronounced foyay, the hoity-toity way), thanks to the narrow windows on either side of the door. He could just make out Chrissy's silhouette before she flicked on the light. The sudden brightness made him blink up at the fixture, a brass monstrosity of a candelabra, complete with fake candles. Eddie was familiar enough with how the other half lived to know the Cunninghams' house wasn't a mansion , but it was bigger than the Wheelers', fancier. He didn't have a chance to take it all in, because he was immediately distracted by the fact that it wasn't as silent as an empty house should be. From upstairs thumped a low, driving beat.

"Oh my god!" Chrissy whispered, eyes huge. "Someone's home! Is that my mom's sewing machine?"

Eddie shook his head. "No…it's music."

Chrissy let out a breath. "My brother. He's always trying to get out of going to church."

A man after Eddie's own heart. He tugged Chrissy toward the stairs. 

"Wait!" she hissed. "My mom doesn't allow shoes in the house."

A reasonable request, not uncommon at all, the norm, even, here in the Midwest; people didn't want snow and road salt and mud and doggie-doo tracked all over their floors. In the case of Laura Cunningham, it just made Eddie want to go back outside and tromp around in the yard and try to get the soles of his Reeboks extra grimy before traipsing all over her white marble tile and cream carpet. (Jesus, Laura even vacuumed zigzags into it.) Nevertheless, since this was supposed to be a stealth operation, he toed off his sneakers, kicked them to the side of the door (one thunked into the baseboard, and he hoped it scuffed), and padded after Chrissy in sock feet. 

(The slick tile gave him an urge to go all Risky Business. He held back a cackle at the thought of Laura sitting on one of the floral-upholstered sofas he glimpsed in the adjoining living room, unaware that the trailer trash who was fornicating with her daughter had rolled all over her furniture in his skivvies.)

"Figures Brian would play hooky tonight of all nights," Chrissy's voice cut in over the soundtrack of "Old Time Rock and Roll" that had begun to play in Eddie's head. He tried to identify the song that was actually playing upstairs--but the bassline was too generic.

"Will he rat us out?" he asked. 

"I guess we'll find out."

Creeping up the staircase ahead of him, Chrissy reached back for Eddie's hand, and he twined his fingers through hers. It was dim, but enough light shone from the foyer chandelier for him to make out the pictures in their ornate frames, and he couldn't help but compare them to the ones in the Wheelers' house. Nancy had hinted at her parents having issues, but who didn't? There was no faking the happiness the Wheeler kids captured on film, while the smiles on the Cunninghams' faces were plastered over emptiness. 

He paused on the landing to stare at a goddamned painted portrait, Laura Cunningham seated front and center, hogging the limelight while her husband and kids were relegated to the shadows. Who did she think she was? The Queen of Fucking England? He should've curtseyed to her Monday night. 

Eddie registered Chrissy's fingers slipping from his and looked to see her standing in front of the only doorway in the upstairs hall with a slit of light beneath it–a back bedroom, which was why they hadn’t seen the light from the front of the house. ("Rock of Ages." That was what was playing. I want rock and roll , Def Leppard sang; no they didn't, they wanted pop music success and radio play.) His face probably looked like he was having a stroke as Eddie bounded after her, too late to warn her that it was a bad idea to barge in on a middle school boy before she turned the knob and pushed the door open. 

Brian Cunningham jolted on his bed, sandy hair and an orange and white plastic gun flying as his round blue eyes locked with his equally startled sister's. The TV on the dresser across from the bed was filled with the eight-bit image of a dog holding up a dead duck in the middle of a field. A biting, tantalizing smell drew Eddie's gaze to the nightstand, where a cigarette lay in an ashtray, smoke swirling toward the window that had definitely been opened in the naive hope that Mommy wouldn't smell it when she got home. (Poor kid was screwed; probably'd be grounded longer than Gareth.)

"Aren't you supposed to be at youth group?" Chrissy asked. 

Brian dragged a hand through his hair in a kind of Harrington-esque way and flung back, "Aren't you supposed to be at the trailer park?"

"Believe me, I'm going back." Chrissy's eyes snapped to the night stand. "Are you smoking?" 

She sprang toward it, arm outstretched with the clear intent to tamp out the cigarette, but her brother's reflexes were quicker (and his arms were longer, the lankiness of puberty upon him), and he snatched it. 

"Guess you're not the only one in the family going through a rebellious phase ." Bringing the cigarette to his lips, his gaze slid from his sister to said rebellious phase , who waved.

"Hi, I'm Eddie." 

"No doy." Brian released a puff of smoke with a little cough, which he made a valiant effort to hold back. The kid was a twerp, like all middle schoolers, but it was a hoot to watch some of that braggadocio seep out of him as his eyes watered. He placed the cigarette back in the ashtray. "I wasn't sure I was ever gonna see you again." 

Chrissy sighed and sank down onto the edge of the navy blue comforter. "I'm sorry, Bri…I just…I've been working through some really bad stuff, and I couldn't do that here." 

"Erica told me you almost had a nervous breakdown or something?"

"Erica?" Eddie butted in. "As in Lucas Sinclair's little sister, the incomparable Lady Applejack?"

Brian's eyebrows lifted, disappearing beneath his bangs as he regarded Eddie. "I guess? I have art with her. She said Hellfire Club was just a bunch of dweebs, so I shouldn't worry about Chrissy shacking up with you."

Dweeb! The nerve of this kid. And the nerve of Lady Applejack. But he already knew she had moxie, and at least she supported their unlikely union?

"So?" Brian returned his attention to Chrissy. " Did you? Have a nervous breakdown, I mean."

"Something like that. Yeah." Chrissy was intent on her socks, toes barely touching the carpet from the height of the mattress, so she didn't see how worried her brother looked. 

"You don't need to go to, like, the funny farm?"

Ms. Kelley's voice played in a loop in Eddie's head. Mental illness doesn't make sense. 

"I'm doing better," Chrissy said, looking up, lips wobbling into a smile. "I'm talking to the school counselor. And Eddie's helping me." 

"With his mind control powers?" Brian snorted, and Eddie couldn't help but huff out a laugh, too, as he scrubbed at his head. "But you're not coming home." 

Guilt crossed Chrissy's face, but she shook her head. "I just…came to get some of my stuff." She slid off the bed and faced Brian. "You…won't tell Mom I was here, will you?"

"She'll notice your stuff's gone," Brian said--unhelpful, though not untruthful. "I won't tell her, if you won't tell her I was playing hooky from youth group." 

"And smoking?"

"I think the most hazardous thing to Brian's health is listening to Def Leppard." Your kind of woman gotta heart of stone, they were singing now. But watch it break when I get you alone… "You want some recommendations for bands who aren't total sellouts to the music-industrial complex? Swear to god, none of it's actually satanic." 

"Bummer," said Brian.

Eddie laughed. Okay, this kid was growing on him. "I'll make you a mixtape, if you want." 

"Sure, whatever," said Brian with a shrug, and picked up his Duck Hunt gun.

Chrissy clutched Eddie's sleeve. "If Brian's not at youth group, my parents will be home earlier than we planned on." 

"Then we better get our rears in gear," Eddie said as she pulled him toward the door. 

"I'll say bye before we leave," Chrissy told her little brother. 

"'K," he said, without sparing her a glance, intent once more on his TV screen.

"Sorry about him," Chrissy muttered when they were alone in the dim upstairs hall.

"Middle school boys are a bizarre species. You shoulda seen me. I mean, other than at the talent show. But I don't think Brian hates my guts?"

"You might have a new sheepie." 

Chrissy's bedroom was directly across the hall from her brother's. She gripped the doorknob, but hesitated, looking up at Eddie over her shoulder. 

"Remember, I didn't get much input about the decor. Please don't laugh." 

"I wouldn't, even if you did," Eddie told her. 

She smiled, then faced the door with steely-eyed determination, squared shoulders rising and falling as she drew a deep breath and huffed it out again, and opened it. Her hand automatically went for the light switch as she stepped inside, Eddie at her heels. 

"Whoa. I feel like I just walked into a catalog." (What catalog did people like Laura Cunningham shop from, anyway? He was pretty sure not Sears.) 

"You said you wouldn't laugh!" Chrissy's face flushed, but she was giggling.

"Do you hear me laughing?"

"Not out loud, but you're grinning." 

"But not 'cause I'm making fun! Everything's just so…pretty…and matchy-matchy." 

It sure as hell was, from the ornate white furniture that had clearly been bought as a set (including a four-poster bed!) to the lavender and pink (or was it periwinkle and peach?) floral fabric of the curtains and bedding, which also coordinated with the wallpaper. 

"My god, is that a tuffet?" Eddie bounded across the room to a vanity table that stood in the corner between two windows, swathed in a ruffled skirt. He plopped down on the matching stool, placed his hands on his knees and crossed his ankles delicately (as much as he could on the seat that was made for someone much daintier than him). "Do you sit here to eat your curds and whey?"

"Food? In this bedroom?" Chrissy shook her head at him as she drew the curtains closed over the windows--to block out the lights in case her parents drove up while they were still here, she explained. She was so smart. 

As Eddie pushed up from the uncomfortably small vanity stool, he paused to check his hair in the mirror. Jesus, even the pair of spindly lamps that stood on either side of it had a lace-edged skirt for a shade, as did the ones on her nightstands. Chrissy really hadn't been kidding when she'd told him the decor was frou-frou. The most normal teenage things in the room were the single-deck boombox on the dresser and the phone on her white desk, but they were both pink. 

Eddie ambled to the desk, taking note of how organized and tidy it was, before turning his attention to the built-in bookcase above it. There were framed photos of Chrissy with various family members and friends. (He scowled at one of her and Carver, presiding as King and Queen over the Homecoming Court, and turned it face down.) Cheerleading and gymnastics trophies were also displayed on the paper-lined shelves, and a few, dated earlier than high school, were from piano competitions. She'd really downplayed her talents if she was good enough to win contests ! Eddie was more determined than ever that they'd own a piano someday. If she wanted one. 

Her books were mostly leather-bound classics like Jane Austen (no wonder she made good grades in English) and other hardcover old stuff; there was a set of Nancy Drews on a high shelf, alongside some other children's books, and closer within reach, a boatload of Agatha Christies. Funny--he wouldn't have have pegged Chrissy as a mystery reader, but he should have, he realized, as he effortlessly pictured her curled up all cute and cozy under a knitted blanket with a mug of hot chocolate on a rainy or snowy day, biting her nail as she devoured whodunnits. 

Eddie scanned the spines of a row of paperbacks with uninspired, benignly romantic-sounding titles until one caught his eye: Anne of Green Gables. He plucked it off the shelf--it was thicker than he'd expected--and examined the cover illustration of a redheaded girl (presumably the eponymous Anne) wearing an old-timey blue dress and straw hat, clutching a threadbare carpet bag and sitting on top of a crate at a train station. Her freckled face looked scared--and sad. What had Eddie agreed to read? He turned the book over and read the back cover blurb. 

The Cuthberts of Green Gables had decided to adopt an orphan--a nice sturdy boy to help Matthew with the farm chores. The orphanage sent a girl instead--a mischievous, talkative redhead who'd be no use at all. She would just have to go back. But the longer Anne was there, the more no one could imagine Green Gables without her.

"Is this like Little House on the Prairie?" he asked, turning around. 

While he was being nosy, Chrissy had opened her bifold closet doors and was pulling out clothes she hadn't brought to his place when she initially ran away from home, piling them on the bed still on their hangers. Other than a few dresses, it looked like cold-weather stuff, mainly--flannels and sweaters and coats. So she was planning on being with him for the long-term. (Forever.)

"Not to knock Little House," he added, scrunching the back of his hair. "I've gotten baked to many a rerun." And bawled like a damn baby.

"It's way better than Little House," Chrissy said, bringing out an armful of boots and tossing them on the floor at the foot of the bed. "Trust me."

"I trust you--but you gotta admit, Michael Landon's got some luscious hair." 

Chrissy looked like she didn't know what to say to this, then she laughed (their relationship: a summary). "How about that Almanzo, though?" She winked, then rummaged so deep in her closet that she was probably gonna find Narnia.

Eddie bristled at the thought that strapping blond dim-witted Midwestern boys were her type, and reminded himself that she was just teasing when she re-emerged from the closet hefting a floral tapestry suitcase.

"We can take my clothes on hangers," she said, opening it on the bed and taking out the smaller bag nested inside. "Let's put as much of everything else as we can in these." 

"Do you want all these books?" Eddie asked, and began to take the rest of the Anne books off the shelf (because it was, apparently, an eight-book series). 

Chrissy hesitated. "If there's not enough room at the trailer--"

"I can build us a bookshelf," Eddie said, stacking the books in the suitcase.

"You can do that?"

"Sure can." Eddie folded his arms across his slightly puffed chest as he leaned against the bedpost. He may not be blond (the jury was still out on dim-witted), but he was still a Midwestern boy, and three years of woodshop had taught him enough to impress a girl with manual labor, if she was into that. He hitched his belt up. "All I need's some three-quarter inch plywood. We can stain it or paint it and put it right over the desk like your setup here. After, uh, I clear off some junk." (Where would all his amps go?) "Do you like doing homework at a desk?"

Chrissy caught her lip between her teeth as her gaze flickered away from his, guilty, before she looked back at him and admitted, "I do, actually." 

"Then a desk my lady shall have," Eddie told her, sweeping a bow. He'd figure out another place for the amps. He was long past due for some serious decluttering.

He packed Chrissy's books and the contents of her desk into the suitcase while she emptied the drawers of her dresser and nightstand. When she brought out a box of cassettes, Eddie couldn't resist looking through it. The artists were typical for a teen girl--Debbie Gibson, Cyndi Lauper, Whitney Houston, The Police, Bon Jovi (barf)--but there were a few surprises, like Dolly Parton and Eurythmics. 

"Who the hell's Amy Grant?" he asked, holding up two cassettes featuring a doe-eyed brunette who had kind of a Carrie Fisher thing going on. 

"Um…a Christian pop singer?" 

Eddie gaped like a large-mouthed bass. "I'm absolutely gonna have to hear that later," he said, tucking the tapes into a jacket pocket. "I didn't even know there was Christian pop."

"I don't think it's your thing," Chrissy said. 

"Oh, I know it's not my thing." 

They were quickly filling both suitcases to capacity. Chrissy ran downstairs in search of boxes, only to return a few minutes later with a couple of black plastic garbage bags. 

"I guess my mom threw out all the boxes. These will just have to do," she said in a determined voice, and began dumping her pile of winter footwear into one, oblivious to the unwanted memories that stirred in a dusty corner of Eddie's brain of clutching a trash bag containing everything he owned in the world (which wasn't much) as social workers introduced him to foster families. 

He turned away. "What about your trophies?" he asked. "Pictures, any of the stuff on your walls?" 

It was mostly bland watercolor paintings--motel art, only in gaudier frames--and portraits of Chrissy through the years ( every year, in fact, going all the way back to kindergarten). 

"You'd…let me hang stuff up in your room?" 

You might consider the ways Chrissy's fitted herself into your life , Ms. Kelley's voice repeated in Eddie's head.

"It's our room, sweetheart." He faced Chrissy and her garbage bag again. "You should have a say in how we decorate it."

The look on her face was like a bud unfurling to full blossom in timelapse, and Eddie thought he might float right through the roof with the lightness of being responsible for that kind of transformation in another person. But Chrissy kept him firmly in place, scurrying toward him, catching his face in her hands, and pressing her lips hard against his. It was a quick kiss, but enough to take Eddie's breath away and leave him swaying a little, off-balance, when she released him and spun back to her closet. 

"In that case," she said, pointing to the shelf above the clothes rod. "Could you reach that box for me?"

Equilibrium restored, Eddie pulled it down and set it on the carpet, where Chrissy immediately crouched and opened the flaps. She handed Eddie three framed embroidered things (or were they cross-stitched?) that were kinda cute, featuring megaphones, pom poms, and the Hawkins High School tiger.

"My nana made these, but Mom wouldn't let me hang them up because they didn't match the room," she said, making air quotes. 

"Well, nothing matches our room, so we'll hang them the fuck up." Eddie started to unroll a poster, but Chrissy let out a little eep. "What?"

"You won't want that one hanging up, I promise." 

"Why don't you let me see it first before making sweeping judgements?"

Chrissy buried her beet-red face in her palms and groaned. "Fine." 

Eddie stretched out the poster to reveal a headphone-wearing dude. He let out the beginning of a cackle before he realized he was going to have to put his money where his mouth was and hang Kevin Bacon on his wall if that was what Chrissy needed to feel like his casa was su casa or whatever. (At least it wasn't Jon Bon Jovi?)

"Lemme guess," he said. "Your mom wouldn't let you hang up a Footloose poster?"

"She doesn't even know I have it. But she'd really flip her lid if she saw this one." She unfurled another poster, with Jennifer Beals sitting with spread knees and red stilettos and a sweatshirt slipping provocatively off one shoulder. 

Eddie shot his hands up and pretended to clutch a string of pearls. "Christine! Don't tell me you saw the movie about the stripper who longed to be a ballerina!"

"I snuck to the theater and I snuck to buy the poster, just to prove to myself that I'd actually rebelled a little bit," she said, proudly. "The movie wasn't even all that great."

"I dunno, I can't hate a movie about someone who's got nothing but a dream and goes for it."

"You watched it?" Chrissy asked, tilting her head.  

"I, uh, plead the fifth." 

Rolling the Flashdance poster back up, Chrissy pulled out more contraband from the box, in the form of Madonna, Michael Jackson, and Prince tapes, and at last found the object of her hunt: a stack of artwork. There were landscapes, abstract designs, still-lifes, pencil sketches, copies of famous paintings, a self-portrait in the style of Andy Warhol. 

"Did you do these?" Eddie asked, even though, duh, she'd signed her name right there in the corner in her pretty, looping handwriting, i's dotted with hearts. 

"In art class," Chrissy answered. She bit her lip, then asked, "What do you think?"

"These are really freaking great!" He especially liked her copy of The Scream , which he was sure would come as no surprise to her. "I'd wallpaper the whole trailer with it, if that's what you want."

Because Chrissy's art deserved better than being hidden away in the bottom of a box shoved in a closet. It made his heart clench that Laura Cunningham didn't think so, but Chrissy looked like it was more than enough that he did. 

They were running out of time before her parents' Bible study or prayer meeting or whatever the hell it was people did at church on Wednesday nights. Chrissy had just about everything she wanted, but she did pull a pillow with a plain peach case from the back of the arrangement of many apparently decorative ones and hug it to her chest. 

"I hope this doesn't offend you, but I've missed my pillow." 

"I'd miss these pillows, too." Eddie picked up a matching one and smashed his face into it. "This is the softest pillowcase I've ever felt in my life." 

"Then let's bring it. And the sheets!"

Giggling, they stripped the bed, then remade it so Laura wouldn't immediately notice the sheets were missing the next time she came in to dust or vacuum, a thought which made Eddie throw back his head and howl with laughter. 

"But are you sure you don't want all the bedding?" he asked. "I know you didn't pick out this bedspread, but it is objectively nicer looking than mine." And a serious upgrade in fabric quality. 

Chrissy ran her hand along the bedspread, smoothing it, and considered. "Maybe we could go shopping for a new comforter we both like?" 

Eddie nodded, this notion weirdly making his mouth go dry and his palms moist. "Yeah. Sounds good." 

And why didn't they just pick out a china pattern for their bridal registry while they were at it?

With the sheets packed away and the suitcases stuffed so full they nearly didn't zip (and Eddie worried he wasn't nearly strapping enough of a Midwestern boy to actually pick them up, let alone carry them downstairs and out to Steve's Beamer), Chrissy took one last look around the room, pausing to stare wistfully at a garment bag that hung in the closet. 

"What's that?"

"Oh, just my prom dress," she said with a sigh. 

Eddie just could not seem to escape mentions of prom the last couple days. Like the universe was trying to send him a message. 

"Well, you'd better bring it with you," he said. 

"I guess there might be another formal event I can wear it for," Chrissy said. 

"Yeah--prom. 'Cause I'm gonna ask you to go with me." 

Laughing softly, Chrissy looked over her shoulder at him like this was crazy talk. (Well, it was.) "But there is no prom, Eddie. The petition--"

"You think I'd let a little thing like that stop me?" he asked, stumbling over the garbage bags full of shoes and pillows as he went to her.

Chrissy shook her head and grinned up at him, her hands coming to rest against his chest as his arms circled her. Like they were slow-dancing, only they weren't moving. 

Eddie bent his head, his bangs brushing hers and her breath a warm whisper against his skin. 

"So. Chrissy Cunningham…Will you do me the honor of going to prom with me?"

She giggled, but fell silent, eyes serious, when she realized he really meant it. "Yes. But how--?"

"Shh!" He pressed his finger to her lips. "Don't ask how."

Because he didn't know. All Eddie knew at this point was that he was going to throw a prom so he could take Chrissy to it. Jesus Christ. 

For now, he dipped his head lower and captured her lips. He kissed her softly at first, but the tip of her tongue persuaded him to deepen it, sweeping fully into her mouth. Chrissy gripped his vest, and Eddie wasn't sure if she tugged at him or if he leaned into her too enthusiastically, but she backed against the solid edge of the bed.

Maybe it was her doing, maybe it was even on purpose, because without her lips leaving his, she lowered herself onto the mattress, laying back and drawing him down with her. And damn it if Eddie didn't crawl over her, framing her face with his forearms and her thighs with his knees while he kissed her till she moaned on her pretty bed in her pretty room where she'd hidden her little acts of rebellion away in boxes high in the closet. He half-growled, half-groaned at the heady feeling of helping her rebel one last time before she left it all behind for good. 

Chrissy clutched at his vest, his collar, stroking her fingers down the tendons of his neck until she found the pounding pulse at his throat, and Eddie, who wasn't one of her stowed-away secrets, rocked against her as he wriggled deeper into the soft, springy mattress, like he could leave a permanent indent of his body in it. He sucked at her full bottom lip, and her teeth pressed into his. Their hands wandered, over clothes and under them, his fingers more daring than they had had been, slipping beneath the edge of her lacy bra to touch the hardened peak of a nipple, while hers clasped around his belt buckle, the waistband of his boxers, and teased his hip bone.

Somehow, though the blood was rapidly flowing southward, he retained enough brainpower to remember that they didn't really have time for this, that her parents would be home soon and if they wanted to avoid a bad sequel to Confronting the Cunninghams (the original had been bad enough), they needed to get the hell out of Dodge.

He raised his head from where it had been occupied with her collarbone and tried to catch his breath--with difficulty, owing to the breathtaking image of her hair spread out on the floral bedspread, eyes hazy and lips puffy and breasts heaving, one still cupped in his hand. He removed it and gripped her hipbone (which didn’t help matters), then moved it to her  shoulder instead (which did). 

"We're doing exactly what Harrington warned us not to do," Eddie murmured. 

Chrissy quirked an eyebrow. "Interesting you'd bring Steve into this."

"Right?" Eddie sighed and sat up on his knees, pushing his hair out of his face. "But better him being judgy than Laura."

Now that was a boner killer if ever there was one.

"True." Chrissy pushed up on her elbows and started to move from under him, but Eddie lunged in and pressed his lips softly to hers.

“I love you." 

She smiled, softer than the bed and prettier than the room. He wanted to kiss those crooked front teeth. “I love you.”

The suitcases turned out to be lighter than the amps Eddie lugged around week in and week out for band practice, so he didn't embarrass himself in front of Chrissy--although he did think the weight might pull his arms out of their sockets when she turned back to open the curtains before they left to leave the room looking as much like they'd found it as they could (as if the  the empty bookshelves wouldn't be an immediate dead giveaway). When she'd done that, she picked up the garbage sacks and the garment bag containing her prom dress, turned off the light, and strode ahead of Eddie out of the room without another look back. 

Brian was standing in the hall as they stepped out, holding a cardboard box. (Where had he found that?)

"I got your videos," he said. 

"Aw, Bri!" Chrissy said. "That was so sweet of you. I didn't even think about them. Eddie only has horror movies." 

"That's not true," he argued. "I also have a lot of episodes of The Muppet Show I taped off TV. And yes, I see the look you're giving your sister, and this guy is totally for real."

"Yep!" Chrissy agreed. 

Brian carried the box of videos for her. (What movies were in there? Eddie wondered as he tried not to tumble down the stairs with the suitcases. Not Flashdance, if they'd been stored with the family collection). 

As soon as they set food outside, Steve leapt out of the Beamer and opened the trunk to help Eddie load. 

"I get why you ran away," Brian told Chrissy, quietly. "I mean, maybe not why you went with him …When you were here I didn't really notice how mom treated you. Now she's on my case about everything." 

In the light of the streetlamp, Eddie could see the gleam of tears in Chrissy's eyes as she pulled her younger (but taller) brother in for a hug.

"If you need to talk, or if things get bad, call me at the Munsons', okay? We'll try to help you." 

"Even if you did call me a dweeb," Eddie said, patting him on the shoulder as he opened the rear passenger door for Chrissy. 

"He's more of a geek, really," Steve said. “I’m Steve, by the way.” 

“No doy,” Brian replied. 

“Same response I got,” said Eddie, shaking his head. “Kids these days.”

“Eddie only makes mixtapes for people with manners,” Chrissy said, and Eddie snorted.

”I’m Brian.” He thrust his hand at Steve.

”Atta boy,” said Eddie. Brian darted up the front walk and Eddie called after him, “I’ll drop a tape by sometime. Or send it via Erica Sinclair.”

“As long as I don’t have to drive,” muttered Steve. He eyed Chrissy’s garment bag as she hung it on a hook in the back seat.

"My prom dress!"

"But I thought prom got canceled?"

"I uncancelled it," Eddie announced. 

Steve slid into the driver's seat and started the ignition. "Prom's overrated."

"Well, mine won't be," Eddie said. "And maybe I'll let you come."

“Why would I go to your prom when I didn’t even go to mine? And is he serious, Chris?”

“As a heart attack,” Eddie answered, as she nodded.

“Huh.”

As they pulled up to the stop sign at the edge of Loch Nora, a familiar burgundy Cadillac turned into the subdivision. 

"Shit!" Eddie hissed as he and Chrissy ducked, but the Cunninghams hadn’t taken notice of the BMW leaving the neighborhood. 

"Mission accomplished!" Chrissy said, throwing her hands up in the air as she sat up, like their team had won the championship game. And Eddie guessed they had. "Who wants ice cream to celebrate? My treat."

"Is the getaway driver included in that?" asked Steve.

"Of course!" Chrissy chirped. “You used your night off to help us.”

"It's the least we can do," Eddie said, waggling his eyebrows, "since we kept you waiting in the car while we made out." 

Chapter Text

Fingers steepled, Eddie looked up and down the length of the pushed-together tables in the Wheelers' basement, making eye contact with each member of Hellfire Club.

Honestly, he kinda got why people suspected him of witchcraft. What other gathering of eight high school boys could be this quiet? Well--chess club, probably. Or the Mathletes. But he doubted either of those groups crackled with the kind of palpable energy he felt from his fellow Hellfire members as they waited for him to introduce this week's installment of the campaign. Eddie held them in his thrall. Mostly.

To his right, Jeff leaned back in his chair with a Mountain Dew can dangling between two fingers and eyebrows raised as if to ask, Well? but Eddie didn't kowtow to impatience. He drew out the tension, letting it build as he moved his gaze down the line to Dustin, who grinned in that goofball, open-mouthed way of his. Lucas leaned around him, propped on an elbow, while at the foot of the table, Mike hunched forward in his chair, eyes intent, ears pricked, ready to take in every detail when Eddie finally began. Will had made some progress looking Eddie in the eye, though that doe-eyed gaze never lingered long, and his slight smile was still half-shy.

Gareth's fingers beat a drumroll on the table; his parents had relented slightly on his grounding (probably because they couldn't stand him being home all the time) and were letting him go to Hellfire since technically it was a school club, and to rehearse with Corroded Coffin, though he wasn't allowed to play any gigs for an unspecified amount of time (which meant none of them could play gigs for an unspecified amount of time), he still wasn't allowed to use the phone, and he'd had to donate his cut from the Indianapolis show to some charity for runaway teens. Finally, at Eddie's left, Shawn ripped open a bag of Doritos, breaking the spell cast by the dramatic silence. 

With a roll of his eyes, Eddie lowered his gaze to the Dungeon Master's screen in front of him, reviewed the opening lines of his script, and then began to recite. 

"After their harrowing escape from the troll ambush," he recapped last week's leg of the campaign, which stirred some groans and general sounds of disgust at just how close a call it had been, "our party is grateful to enter the kingdom of Lochnoria for a much-needed respite. However, while it looked fair, with sprawling estates nestled safely behind gates of wrought iron and stone, there was something rotten in the state of Lochnoria." 

"Ooh, look at the professor here," Shawn cut in. "Showing off that he finally deigned to read Shakespeare." 

"Huh?" Eddie looked up, breaking character. 

"You know…Hamlet?" prompted Jeff. "Something's rotten in the state of Denmark?"

"Oh. Well, I read the Scottish play, dipshits." Eddie drew up his shoulders and puffed out his chest. "So any similarities between me and Bill Shakespeare are purely strokes of coincidental genius." 

Jeff had just taken a sip of Mountain Dew and miraculously didn't spew it from his nose when he snorted. "This guy reads one Shakespeare play and suddenly he's on a nickname basis with the author."

"Classic Eddie." Shawn crammed a handful of Doritos into his mouth.

Eddie was about to argue that he'd read Romeo and Juliet in ninth, when Mike roared from the opposite end of the table, "Gentlemen! Can we please stop heckling the DM and get back to the campaign?"

" hank you ," Eddie told him, possibly for the first time. He sat up, glancing between Jeff and Shawn. "Jeez, who are you two, Statler and Waldorf?"

"Who are Statler and Waldorf?" asked Gareth. 

"The old guys from the Muppets," Will offered, laughing quietly. 

Eddie gave him a nod, then resumed his monologue. "The king of Lochnoria was weak--a puppet, controlled by a wicked queen. They had a daughter, Princess Christine--"

"Christine?" echoed Gareth. "Are you for fucking real, Munson?"

"Yeah," Jeff agreed. "I was gonna cut you some slack with Lochnoria, but Princess Christine? Seriously?"

"Give him a break, guys!" Mike once again lept to Eddie's defense. Was the kid actually not a total twerp? Or was he just kissing Eddie's ass because he wanted to be named his successor? "Making up names is hard." 

"He has to follow the Muse wherever she leads," Dustin agreed. 

"Into a schlocky clichéd narrative, apparently," Gareth grumbled. 

Shawn's loud Dorito crunching sounded like he seconded that opinion. 

"You'll pay for your insolence!" Eddie sneered at the three eldest club members. "Princess Christine was regarded to be the most beautiful maiden in the realm--and not just because she had hair the color of burnished gold, eyes like the sky before a summer storm, lips like rose petals, and perfectly imperfect white teeth." Making intense eye contact, he ad-libbed the detailed description of his lady love, just to get under the guys' skin. "But she was even more beloved for her inner beauty. She was known to be of effervescent good cheer--"

"Cheer --heh!" Shawn chuckled. "Cause Chrissy's a cheerleader."

"We get it." Lucas rubbed his forehead between two fingers like he had a headache. Eddie knew the feeling; he was developing a ginormous pain in his ass. Seven of them, in fact.

"--and she was so kind that she did not deem even the lowliest peasant to be beneath her notice.  Thus the princess fell in love with a bard who frequented the Hawk Inn, a tavern in the neighboring village, where he plied the local drunks with song in exchange for coin." 

He paused so they could bitch about how autobiographical this backstory was (even Mike was starting to look well and truly over it), then went on over them, "When Princess Christine refused to give up her paramour, she was banished from Lochnoria and took refuge with her beloved bard in the humble wooden wagon he called home. For a time, the princess seemed happy with her new, simple life in the forest hillside…" 

"Okay, here we go." Mike hunched over the table once more. "I bet we're gonna face the wicked queen--"

"--who turns out to be an enchantress who wants to punish her daughter for running off with the bard," Will chimed in. 

"Come on guys, would Eddie be that predictable?" asked Dustin. 

For all their bellyaching, not one of them answered yes, which made a maniacal grin stretch across Eddie's face. These dumbasses (oh, how he loved them!) could not even begin to guess what was about to hit them.

Pulling his features into a solemn expression, he went on, "In time, however, Princess Christine saddened. For back in Lochnoria, the wealthy townsfolk were preparing for the annual spring gala. The princess had looked forward to it all year, but now, in her exile, she would not be able to attend. And so the bard, in order to see Christine once again the most cheerful maid in the land, beseeches the party to help him host a festival to rival the royal ball in Lochnoria."

Silence from the Hellfire Club. Eddie's eyes darted around the table as they looked at each other, realization dawning. 

"Dude." Mike's eyes hardened on him, anger roiling black in their depths. "This isn't a campaign. It's not even a side quest! It's prom !" 

He pushed to his feet, shaking the card table as he braced his hands on the edges. A couple figurines toppled over. Mike looked like he might flip the whole table over--like Jesus when those dudes were selling shit in the temple or whatever.

"This whole little fairytale is just a scam to trick us into helping him plan a stupid dance!"

Amidst exclamations (and expletives) from Hellfire Club, Eddie leapt from his chair, wagging a savage finger at the freshman. "Wheeler, if I hear one more word outta you, I swear to god, I will poop in your pants!"

That shocked Mike--and everyone else--into silence. For a second, anyway. Then a din of snorts and sniggers and sounds of disgust went up before Mike shook off his surprise and found his voice.

"What the hell, man?" 

"Question," said Dustin; the goober actually raised his hand. "Will Mike be wearing the pants when you poop in them, or will you pants him first? I feel like this is a crucial distinction we need to be aware of."

"Agreed," scoffed Lucas. 

Eddie had not, of course, given that much thought to the threat--idle as it was. "You gonna poke the dragon, Wheeler? I had a chili cheese dog for lunch."

They glowered at each other from across the length of the table, the basement more silent and more tense--though of a different variety--than it had been before Eddie began tonight's session. For all his ire at being disrespected, he actually got why Mike was so pissed off. It was kid of a shitty thing to do, using Hellfire Club for his own purposes. But he wasn't about to back down now. 

Finally, Mike threw up his hands. "Whatever, dude," he said, and flopped back into his chair, folding his arms across his chest. 

Eddie remained standing. "Look, guys, I'm gonna be real honest with you. I've been busy trying to graduate and have a girlfriend and I haven't fucking had time to write a real campaign because I'm working on this Tolkien paper--"

"Tolkien paper?" Dustin cut in. 

"Yeah, man, about the influences of Beowolf and Norse lit on Lord of the Rings. It's gonna be metal as hell and have citations and make O'Donnell regret flunking me twice--"

"Pretty sure she already regrets that," Jeff muttered, and Gareth chortled.

"Okay, we get it, you've got a lot going on right now and Hellfire Club isn't your priority," Mike said. "The decent thing to do would just be to say so , and not try to bamboozle us into some stupid scheme to get back on your girlfriend's good side."

"But where's the fun in that?" Eddie retorted. But Mike did have a point. A fair one, at that. "I'm not just doing this for Chrissy." 

He was met with seven skeptical stares. No--six; Will looked like he believed Eddie, or at least was willing to give the benefit of the doubt.

"I mean, it is for her," Eddie went on, "but I'm already back on her good side, thanks very much. It's also for Jeff here and Nancy and Jonathan and Robin-" And me. I want this, too. "--and all us seniors who are missing out on this age-old rite of passage."

"Rite of passage ?" echoed Shawn. 

"Didn't you give a whole speech last year about prom being the crowning symbol of outdated institutionalized gender roles and the failure of public education in America?" Jeff said. "Or something like that? I zoned out." 

"What about sticking it to the man?" Shawn asked. 

"I think Eddie only sticks it to the man when he's not sticking it in a woman," Gareth said, and Jeff held up his hand for a high-five.

"Hey, don't talk about my love life like that, you filthy little creep!" Eddie snarled at him. "Anyway, when Higgins told us we couldn't have Hellfire, and we kept on having it here, wasn't that sticking it to him? I don't see how throwing our own prom at the trailer park is any different." 

"Nonconformity by taking over the institution!" Dustin pointed at Eddie. 

"Exactly!" Eddie pointed back. "I was gonna say all of you can come, but if you prefer to make your political point through boycott, then I respect your views."

"All of us?" Dustin said. "Freshmen, too?"

"Freshmen, too. The more the merrier, right? It's only fair, if you help me pull this thing off." 

"And our dates?" asked Lucas. 

"Obviously. That's the whole point of prom, isn't it?"

Now Mike actually looked interested. Or maybe conflicted. The group lapsed into silence, contemplating Eddie's plan. 

"I could paint backdrops," Will ventured, like Frodo offering to take the ring to Mordor. "For the pictures." He licked his lips, then forged ahead. "And I could do decorations in general? My mom has a lot of Christmas lights." 

"Yes!" Eddie cried. "Yes, that's perfect! We'll string them from the roof over the dance floor." 

One by one, the others agreed to help in some capacity--Gareth's assistance was contingent upon his parents agreeing to relaxing his grounding and Eddie getting in touch with the girl he'd met at the Lion's Den. Ideas flew across the table as eagerly as they might’ve plotted any action in a campaign. 

"Gentlemen," Eddie announced, "we are the Fellowship of the Prom!"

“No one in the real Fellowship ever threatened to poop in someone’s pants,” grumbled Mike.

***

After the meeting, Eddie saw the Corroded Coffin crew out the basement exit, then left the freshmen downstairs when he went up to find Nancy in the kitchen with Jonathan, who'd stayed to hang out with her when he brought Will for Hellfire. Chrissy hadn't come this week. Nancy had invited her, as usual, but one of her cheer friends was having a birthday shindig, and she'd wanted to go to that. The couple stood close together at the island, nibbling pizza and looking over something that appeared to be, from Eddie's upside-down vantage point on the opposite side, for the school paper. Jangly, punk-tinged guitar played from the radio by the sink, while Morrissey's distinctive baritone intoned, I'm not the man you think I am...

"Hey, Nance." Eddie rattled his rings on the orange laminate countertop. "You buy a prom dress already?"

And sorrow's native son

He will not smile for anyone

And pretty girls make graves

"No, actually," she replied. "I'd planned to over spring break, but you know what I did instead." 

"Well, you're gonna have to go shopping some weekend before May seventeenth."

"So I've heard. Chrissy said you're throwing a prom? I didn't realize you'd set a date." 

Set a date . Why did this sound like they were talking about a wedding? Eddie nodded. "Just decided on it with the planning committee."

Nancy's eyebrows disappeared beneath her curly bangs, dainty features incredulous. "The Dungeons and Dragons club is helping you plan prom?"

"Sure are!" Eddie knocked on the counter. "And they're all gonna come."

"Just what I always dreamed of." Nancy pursed her lips into a sarcastic smile and turned to Jonathan. "Attending prom with our little brothers."

Jonathan shoved his hands into his jean pockets and shrugged. "Honestly, I'd rather go to prom with them than eighty percent of our class."

Eddie cackled. Why hadn't he and Jonathan hung out before the past couple weeks? Aside from being in different grades for two of Eddie's senior years and different states for most of the third one. They were kinda misanthropic kindred spirits, as Anne Shirley would say. (He'd started the book immediately after Chrissy smuggled it out of her house, and it was actually pretty hard to put down. The chatterbox orphan with the shitty childhood who'd never quite fit in anywhere was weirdly relatable, and only a couple chapters in, Eddie was invested in seeing her find love and success in life with the taciturn Cuthbert siblings.) 

"I didn't think you were the school dance type, Munson," Jonathan said.

"You see, Byers," Eddie replied, opening the pizza box and taking out a cold slice. "I don't like anyone to be able to pigeonhole me, you know?" He held the pizza high and tipped his head back to nip at a dangling pepperoni that was sliding off the end. "If I wanna go to a school dance, I go to a school dance. Or host one." 

"Are you going to be pigeonholed into a tux?"

Eddie had crammed about half the pizza slice into his mouth, so it took him a sec to chew it up enough to swallow. "Hell yeah!" 

His enthusiastic response seemed to surprise--and disappoint--Jonathan. Nancy looked smugly up at her boyfriend.

I could have been wild and I could have been free

But nature played this trick on me

She wants it now

And she will not wait

But she's too rough

And I'm too delicate

"Actually, Nance…" Eddie finished off his pizza and licked his fingers. "I wanna do all this right, for Chrissy, but…" He reached up and scrunched his hair in back. "Do you think I can not wear one of those cucumber bun things?"

"You mean a cummerbund ?" Nancy corrected. The corner of her mouth twitched like she was trying not to laugh at him, which Eddie appreciated.

He pointed. "Yep." He popped the p. "That's what I mean. I always thought cucumber bun was a stupid name for an article of clothing. But what does cummerbund even mean? That's just a made-up word."

"All words are made up, aren't they?" Jonathan asked.

Hand in glove

The sun shines out of our behinds

"Don't worry, Eddie," Nancy said. "I'm sure Chrissy fully expects you to put your own twist on formalwear."

"Good." Eddie curled his fingers, shaking his fist at his side as he nodded. "That's real good…" 

"Prom usually has a photographer," Jonathan said. "Need anyone to do that? Because I could."

"Definitely, definitely. But, uh, won't you be attending?"

Jonathan and Nancy exchanged tense looks. 

"I'm sure I can take pictures and still be a good prom date."

"What's this about prom dates?" Nancy's mom asked, coming down the stairs with a laundry basket on her hip as the next track on The Smiths album began. (Eddie didn't share Jonathan's taste in music, but he respected it.) "Did Principal Higgins change his mind?"

"No," Nancy replied, "but Eddie's throwing a prom."

"Oh, what a great idea!" Mrs. Wheeler set down her laundry basket by the basement stairs and joined them at the island. "Way to show initiative to make a memory you and your friends will always cherish."

Eddie goggled at her. He was pretty sure no one had ever praised him for showing initiative. A grin broke across his face, and he basked in the warmth of the complement and her beaming smile like a crocodile on a sunny riverbank.

"Isn't it wonderful, Nancy?" Mrs. Wheeler said. "We can go prom dress shopping!"

Nancy smiled, but she didn't look quite as enthusiastic about the prospect as Mrs. Wheeler. 

"Eddie, if you need anything, let me know. I have a punch bowl, tablecloths, dishes…Is anyone doing floral centerpieces?"

"Uh, no?" Eddie hadn't even thought about the phrase floral centerpieces. "That'd be great, if you could, Mrs. Wheeler…I, uh, don't exactly know what kind of budget we're working with." 

"Oh, don't you worry about that! This is so exciting!" She went back to the stairs and picked up her laundry basket. "And Mike's involved?"

"He's helping Will paint a backdrop." Grudgingly, Eddie didn't add aloud. 

Mrs. Wheeler threw another grin over her shoulder as she descended the basement stairs. 

"You just made my mom's year, Munson," Nancy said. 

Eddie slapped his palms on the counter. "Great note to end the night on. I gotta go pick up Chrissy from Jenny Watson's place."

He said his goodbyes to Jonathan, who announced it was time he got Will home and headed down the basement stairs, where the bleep-bloops of the Atari sounded. Eddie was a little surprised when Nancy walked him to the front entryway, and even more surprised when she stepped outside after him, pulling the door shut behind her. 

"I was kind of hard on you Monday." She crossed her arms. 

"No harder than I deserved."

Nancy looked as though she didn't disagree with this, but she didn't say so. "Chrissy told me everything you've been doing to make it up to her. If only every man was willing to put that kind of work into a relationship." 

Eddie winced. Ouch --poor Jonathan. (Or was she talking about Jonathan? She might be talking about Steve. Eddie didn't know how it was all gonna shake out between the three of them, but he did know what he'd seen when Nancy dove into the Watergate after Harrington. Love like that…it couldn't be denied, could it?

(She could also be talking about the male of the species in general. And that would be fair.)

"I really love her," Eddie said. "What else can I do?" 

***

"You movin' out?" 

Eddie startled at his uncle's deep, rasping drawl as he came out of the bedroom with an armload of stuff, which he dropped on top of several other armloads of stuff. He hadn't heard Wayne pull up in the driveway or come inside the trailer, thanks to "Hungry for Heaven" blaring from the boombox.

"Huh?" He looked from Wayne, who stood next to the washing machine peering into the hallway, then down at the floor, which was covered with piles and bags and boxes and Chrissy's suitcases. "Oh. This. Ha! You wish!"

Although he couldn't hear it over the music, he could see from the bob of Wayne's head and the shrug of his shoulders that he grunted. In amusement--or agreement, maybe. Eddie knew his uncle didn't resent him still living there. He'd never pushed Eddie to move out. Then again, that might've been purely because he knew Eddie didn't have the means to move out. But now, he'd moved a girl in.  

He hadn't seen Wayne--awake, anyway--since their bust-up Monday, after the band had been out all night for the Indianapolis gig and was late to school. Maybe that had finally pushed his long-suffering uncle over the edge.

You're a runner

But you're chasing yourself

Feel the hot breath on your shoulder

Eddie darted back into the mostly empty room and cranked down the boombox volume, murmuring, "Sorry, Ronnie." Returning to lean against the door jamb, he saw Wayne hadn't ventured any further into the hall, just stood raking his gaze over what had been almost the complete contents of Eddie's room. The big stuff--his amps, the dresser, even the mattress--were out on the porch.

"Actually, I'm, uh, reorganizing," Eddie explained.

"Re organizing." Wayne's hand went up to scrub at the stubble along his jaw. "Don't that imply it was organized to begin with?"

"Okay, rude --but not untrue."

It was Saturday, but Eddie had woken up bright and early to begin the task of cleaning the disaster area of a bedroom to make room for Chrissy's stuff. After a few minutes of simply moving things around from one stack to new stacks, he'd stopped, overwhelmed by the enormity of the task and unsure how to begin. When Chrissy had gotten out of the shower and found him sprawled on the bed, reading Anne of Green Gables in the midst of what looked like a tornado had ripped through ("I gotta know if Marilla lets her go to the Sunday school picnic!" he'd said), she'd suggested he start with throwing away obvious trash, then collecting all the dirty clothes that were strewn around. Then, he could move everything out of the room--including emptying the dresser, desk drawers, and closet--and have a clean slate to bring things back in and put away. He'd worked without distraction (except for occasional pauses to play air guitar) ever since. 

How did Chrissy know how to tackle big projects like this? What was it like to have such an organized mind? It had to have its downsides, but he couldn't think of any.

Wayne cleared his throat, took a careful step into the hall. "I know I told you to clean up the mess, Ed, but you sure took that to the extreme, didn't you?"

What didn't Eddie take to the extreme? It might as well be his middle name. "We're redecorating, too. And before you're a smartass again, it was decorated to begin with." 

"If that's what you call it." 

"Says the man whose décor style is souvenir mugs and trucker caps."

"I got a painting." Wayne gestured toward the oil painting that hung over the hall door, a paint-by-numbers Granny Munson had done back in the fifties, or something.

"We're hanging up some of Chrissy's stuff so it feels more like her room, too," Eddie said.

"Where is Chrissy?" Wayne asked. "And the van?"

"Grocery shopping." 

Wayne's eyebrows shot up toward his absentee hairline. "She comfortable driving that rig?"

"Long as she doesn't have to back out." Eddie'd had to pull out of the driveway for her, but she'd looked more or less confident behind the wheel. 

"Wow, this is really high up," she'd said. "I kinda like it." An almost wild grin had slid across her face as she'd gripped the wheel. "It feels…powerful. Like I'm Queen of the Road."

"Okay, Mad Max," Eddie had told her. "Bring home the bacon, and try not to run over anyone." 

"Maybe I will get bacon!" she'd chirped. 

"Whatever looks good to you. Me and Wayne'll eat anything." And they would--though Eddie secretly worried she'd bring home only healthy shit on her first solo shopping trip. 

"Presumably you'll be throwin' out a lot of this crap." His uncle's voice drew him back to the disaster area of the hallway. "But even so, where'll you find room to put all Chrissy's things?" 

"I'm gonna build a bookshelf to go over the desk," Eddie replied, gesturing wide. "Put those three years of woodshop to good use. I'm going into town for rehearsal this afternoon, and I'll swing by the lumber yard. Bob Thompson said I could use his table saw and sander." Their neighbor worked as a handyman, when arthritis allowed it. "You're looking at me like I grew another head." 

Wayne blinked and gave his head a slight shake. "You just got it all planned out, huh?"

"I am a man with a plan." Not words that had been said of Eddie, or even by him, often. He kinda liked it, knowing what the day held for him, and going about it in an orderly way. Not that he'd admit that to anyone, except maybe Chrissy, even under duress. He had a reputation to maintain as a master of impulsive chaos. 

Then again, organization was at the root of heavy metal, wasn't it? The regular thrashing rhythms, the deliberate meter changes. Everything had to be perfectly precise to work together and not sound like noise. (And yet non-metalheads persisted in calling it just that.) 

Wayne turned to shamble back into the kitchen. Over his shoulder he called, "You keepin' up with your studies on top of band practice and shelf-building?"

Though Eddie bristled at the question, it was valid. All his life, he'd been plagued by leaping from one project to another as inspiration struck, and failing to complete any of them. Or at least any but the ones he considered top priority, which generally weren't other people's. 

Stumbling over stacks, Eddie picked a path after his uncle and found him pouring two mugs of coffee. 

"Believe it or not, Corroded Coffin's working on something for a class project," he said. They were going to record "Thy Fearful Symmetry" so Robin could help him transcribe it next week. "And having an organized workspace will help with homework." If not his, Chrissy's. 

Wayne nodded and offered a mug to Eddie. "I can help you with the shelf tomorrow, if you want." 

"Yeah, that'd be great." The coffee, the offer…Eddie knew that without Wayne saying it in so many words, he was forgiven for Sunday night's shenanigans. 

And Wayne even seemed…kinda proud of him? 

"There's something else I could use your help with," Eddie ventured. 

"Oh?"

"Think you could bust out the ol' charcoal grill and barbecue some burgers and hot dogs?"

"Tonight?" 

"No, May seventeenth." 

"What's happening May seventeenth? You throwin' a party?"

Eddie grinned.

***

For the first time in a long time, or maybe ever, the bedroom smelled good.

Yeah, there was still the lingering odor of stale smoke, both cigarette and marijuana, infused permanently in the carpet fibers, but Chrissy bought one of those sticky air fresheners at the grocery store, and there was also the tang of freshly sanded wood courtesy of the new bookshelf.

Eventually they'd stain it or paint it white to match the desk. (Though, honestly, the desk was more of a dingy off-white, so probably they'd need to paint the desk, too. And the walls. And, like, everything . There was a reason why Eddie'd covered nearly every square inch of the walls with posters and artwork. Or maybe all the posters and artwork were why the walls were such a mess.) But they hadn't had time for stain or paint to dry, or to apply second coats, so for now it was just raw wood. It served its purpose, and as Eddie lined up all their books and his D&D paraphernalia on it, he was pleased with his handiwork. 

And God saw all that He had made, and it was very good, Eddie's internal voice boomed, then he cackled at the scripture that had leapt to the front of his mind from the recesses of his memory, where he'd buried long-ago visits to Sunday school. Is this what getting organized did to him?

"What's funny?" asked Chrissy, who was arranging her clothes beside his (all freshly laundered) in the cramped closet.

"Nothing. Just a little private blasphemy." Glancing over his shoulder at her, he said, "I should take a picture of this. Ms. Kelley's been asking to see one of my woodshop projects."

Chrissy smiled beatifically. "She'd be impressed. Just like me." 

"Not just like you." 

Her cheeks flushed pink. Eddie watched her go to the bed and pick up the last of her wardrobe--a few dresses, including the one ensconced in a crinkly plastic garment bag.

"You know what I'd like to see?" he asked.

She threw him a puzzled glance, eyebrows scrunched adorably beneath her long bangs. Eddie cleared his throat and dropped his gaze pointedly to the concealed dress. 

"Oh!" Quickly, as if she expected him to pounce and wrestle it from her arms like Gollum trying to get his Ring from Bilbo (it wouldn't be totally beyond the realm of possibility, if he was honest), Chrissy stowed it in the back of the closet, tucked behind all her other clothes. "You can't see that till prom!"

"Why?"

"It's bad luck!"

"I thought that was brides before a wedding." 

Chrissy's blush deepened to scarlet, and Eddie's face matched it, if the heat that prickled through every layer of his skin down to his skull was anything to go by. 

"I, uh…" Don't know why I said that. Well--he did. But he didn't know why he'd said it out loud . Eddie turned back to the desk, haphazardly picking up books and shelving them, a few facing pages-out.

"Promise me you won't go snooping and sneak a peek?" Chrissy said. 

"Swear to God," Eddie said.

For a moment, the only sound in the room was the scrape of hangers on the curtain rod, then Chrissy said, "It's green." 

"Huh?" Eddie faced her again. 

"My prom dress. I can tell you it's green, in case you want to match your outfit or the corsage? But I want to surprise you." 

Eddie tucked away corsage to look up in the dictionary, or to ask Nancy about, and bared his teeth. "Sweetheart, I wanna surprise you, too." 

"I know you will."

They stood grinning at each other like a couple of dopes for a minute, but her happy expression faded into something shy, or wary, as her gaze drifted back to the closet. 

"I should probably try it on sometime. Make sure it still fits." She caught her lower lip between her teeth, hesitating, then turned her big eyes up to him, almost like she was making a confession. "I lost weight when I was having the visions. I don't know about now. I've been eating more. And, um, I haven't…"  

She didn't complete the thought, but Eddie's brain filled in the blanks. His heart felt like it had twisted, or something wrapped around it and squeezed, even though he was pretty sure that was biologically impossible. Chrissy couldn't have been eating anything during Vecna's attacks if the amount she'd eaten lately was more. To her credit, she'd come home from Bradley's Big Buy yesterday with a giant-sized box of Lucky Charms and a couple flavors of Pop Tarts, because she'd never had either and had always wanted to try them. Sunday breakfast had been a sugar-fest, and her only complaint was that it didn't keep her full for very long during their busy day of organizing and decorating. 

Sending her grocery shopping had been Eddie's idea. He hadn't been able to stop thinking about what Ms. Kelley said about control being a big part of eating disorders, and maybe shopping independently and feeling responsible for what food was in the trailer, instead of feeling restricted by Eddie and Wayne's habits, would help her eat more normally. He hadn't said this to Chrissy, of course. 

Afterward, she'd confessed that going to the grocery store by herself had been initially as overwhelming to Chrissy as the prospect of clearing the room had been for Eddie. But she'd started with everything on the list they'd made that she knew Eddie and Wayne wanted, and by the time she'd finished that and saw the food piling up in the cart, and she got hungrier, she'd had the confidence to make a couple of impulse selections.

This was the first time she'd brought up her weight, and Eddie wanted to acknowledge it. 

"I bet it'll all, uh, balance out," he said, carefully. "You probably just gained back what you lost, and your dress will fit perfectly. You'll look perfect to me, anyway." 

Chrissy's smile returned--tentatively. 

Eddie went to the bed and sat at the foot, patting the comforter beside him--the new comforter. There hadn't been a lot to choose from at the Sears in Middletown, and they'd playfully squabbled over He-Man (Chrissy's pick), or Rainbow Hearts (Eddie's), when they'd found this one: black, turquoise, and purple diagonal stripes on one side, the other (which was the side they'd chosen), with an added hot pink and black squares. It didn't go with the floral sheets Chrissy had swiped from her old bedroom at all , but she'd said she liked that. 

"It's like a fun surprise when you unmake the bed." 

"Kinda like us," Eddie had agreed. "Two people who look like they clash, but weirdly work together." 

(Also, the comforter had been on clearance, and on as limited a budget as theirs, you just didn't look a gift horse in the mouth.)

Chrissy came to sit beside him, and he wrapped an arm around her. 

"I, uh, read some pamphlets," he told her, blowing out a breath. "About anorexia and bulimia." 

Her shoulders stiffened, and her fingers pinched the denim thighs of her jeans, but when he rubbed her upper arm, she relaxed slightly. "That doesn't make you like me less?"

"What? No! It makes me want to help you get better. I wish you could see yourself how I do. Like…if I could pluck out my eyeballs so you could look through them, I would." 

"Ew," Chrissy said with a small laugh. 

"Uh, sorry." Eddie's free hand went up to scrunch his hair. "That was gross." 

"But also sweet." She shifted to look up at him. "You are helping me. Just getting away from my mother is huge. She was excited that she was going to have to take in my prom dress."

"That's so fucked up," Eddie said. "You were under psychological attack by a demon, and all she cared about was you being skinny." 

"Yep," said Chrissy. "Imagine trying to explain that to Ms. Kelley. But she's really helpful even though I can't tell her everything." 

"I'm glad you're talking to her," Eddie said. 

"Sometimes I'm scared to graduate, because I won't be able to go see her anymore."

"I get that." Being afraid of what came after high school, not necessarily the part about not being able to talk to Ms. Kelley. Though just the past few weeks of talking to her had made him pretty attached to the counselor. "She asked me once if not graduating was self-sabotage because I was worried of being like my parents." 

" Are you worried about being like your parents?"

"Ha!" Eddie's bark of laughter rang out in the small room, which seemed very quiet by contrast in the moment that followed. "My Dad's in prison and my mom ODed. I've been in my share of trouble and have been known to abuse substances. Hell yeah, I worry I'll turn out the same." 

At some point, he'd removed his arm from around her, and Chrissy's hand had found its way into his. Eddie looked at their laced-together fingers for a moment, watched her thumb scuff soothingly over his knuckles, then he lifted his eyes to look around the bedroom. It wasn't perfect--the amps took up a lot of floor real estate, and there were still stacks of stuff that didn't really have a home (Chrissy had pointed out that if his mattress was up off the floor, they could have under-bed storage, so they were gonna keep an eye out for a cheap frame and box spring)--but no one could say it wasn't as clean and orderly as it had ever been. Even with metal band posters and a few other outlandish pieces of art hanging on the walls (a select few of his favorites, to make room for Chrissy's grandma's cross-stitch pieces and the contraband Footloose and Flashdance posters), it more or less looked like any other high school kid's bedroom. A kid who had his life on track, and could make something of himself. (Once they graduated and started working, they'd save up for their own place, an apartment or even a rental house, with a place for all the band gear.)

"I don't worry about it so much lately, though," Eddie said, and raised their joined hands to his lips to brush kisses into the valleys between her knuckles. Not now that he had someone to be better for. 

"I'm afraid I'll be like mine," Chrissy said in a pinched voice. 

Eddie's mouth went still on her hand. Squeezing it, he caught her eye. "Sweetheart, you couldn't be less like Laura." 

"Couldn't I? I mean, I made you clean your room and eat more fruits and vegetables." A smile tugged at her lips--she was teasing--but then her expression looked sad again, and her gaze fell. "I think I can be a lot like my dad, though. Or maybe it's that I worry about being the person my mom made me to be. Meek and submissive." 

Disentangling his fingers from Chrissy's, Eddie touched her chin, gently tilting her face up toward his. "You basically told her to fuck off. And remember that day in the cafeteria, when you literally stood up for everyone on a goddamn chair and told Carver he was a bully and a hypocrite? None of that is meek or submissive, or anything Philip Cunningham would dream of doing." 

Or maybe he did dream of it; who knew what went on in that feeble brain of his?

"I think both of us are turning out pretty good, despite some radically shitty parenting," Eddie finished.

Chrissy pressed smiling lips to his and pushed him back on the bed. 

The rest of Sunday evening slipped by as they made out on top of the new comforter they'd picked out–-as they did everything, now and forever--together. 

Chapter Text

Eddie yanked the rearview mirror, angling it downward, and checked his reflection one last time. 

His hair, which he'd shampooed and conditioned and scrunched with some goop borrowed from Nancy and then blow dried with one of Chrissy’s weird attachments, had remained miraculously frizz-free, the curls shiny and more defined than usual and--big. Resisting the urge to touch it (Nancy had emphasized that he must. not. touch!), he gave his head a good solid shake to make it just a tiiiiiiny bit wilder. 

He looked up and bared his teeth to make sure there wasn't anything stuck between them, even though literally the last thing he'd done before leaving home was brush and floss (leading to such alarmingly bloody gums that he'd looked like a goddamn vampire) and swished with mouthwash ( it burns, Precious ). He stuck out his tongue (he'd brushed it, too, or tried to, but it made him gag), then closed his mouth, rubbed his chapstick-slick lips together and, satisfied that he looked really damn good for prom (not a phrase he'd imagined would ever pass through his mind), he adjusted the mirror and climbed out of the car, the clear plastic box containing Chrissy's corsage in hand.

Knowing he looked good helped him deal with the fact that he didn't feel so good--as in, his tux was really fucking uncomfortable. The jacket sleeves didn't let him raise his arms all the way and, worst of all, the pants were giving him the mother of all wedgies. (They flattered his ass, though he would've preferred they did so verbally instead of clinging to his buttcheeks. The only thing he wanted squeezing his ass was Chrissy's dainty little hands.) At least not wearing a bowtie (which Wayne had harassed him about) meant he could leave the collar unbuttoned, so he wouldn't feel strangled all night, and he'd skipped renting shiny shoes in favor of his own broken-in, cleaned up (but scuffed and definitely not shiny) combat boots (which Wayne had also harassed him about). Eddie reached around back and gave the seat of his pants a final tug to free the wedgie, and the familiar jingle of his wallet chain with each stride calmed his jangled nerves somewhat as he approached  the Wheelers' front door. 

Chrissy had been here since this morning, getting dolled up with Nancy and Robin. It boggled the mind how it could take all day to do the stuff girls they did to deem themselves ready for prom; then again, Eddie had taken what felt like an age in Middle-earth, and he hadn't had to shave his pits and legs and put on a bra and tweeze his eyebrows (ouch) and paint his nails and whatever the fuck else. 

Speaking of pits…as he raised his arm to press the doorbell, he realized that his were soggy with sweat already. Had he put on deodorant? Surely he hadn't forgotten that all-important step in personal hygiene. He tried to rewind his memories of getting dressed, but like an actual video, it was all a blur. Part of him wanted to dash back to the car and drive back home to spray some on just in case . Instead, he undid another button of his shirt, stuck his hand down the opening, and dug around in his armpit. 

Just as Eddie drew his hand from his shirt and brought his fingers to his nose, the door swung open. 

Ted Wheeler, perpetually slack-jawed, gave Eddie the once-over from behind his large, aviator-style plastic glasses, like he was trying to make sense of a confusing trick-or-treater's costume. 

Eddie waggled his Speed Stick-scented fingers. "Uh, hi." 

"Which one are you, and which one are you here for?" asked Mr. Wheeler as Eddie refastened his shirt button. 

"Ted!" His wife's manicured hand came into view, whacking him lightly on the upper arm, as she stepped into the doorway. "You know this is Eddie." 

"I do?"

"He's over here every Friday to play with Mike!"

Eddie liked Mrs. Wheeler (How could he not, when she'd done so much to help him out with tonight?) but did she have to describe Hellfire Club like he was some grade-schooler knocking on all the neighborhood doors asking if his little friends could come out to play?

"Why is this grown man playing with our son?" Mr. Wheeler asked. 

"Chrissy!" Mrs. Wheeler called back into the house. "Your date's here!"

"And why wouldn't I be confused about who's dating who?" Mr. Wheeler continued. "Ol' Steve came to the door, and I thought he was here to pick up Nancy. That was awkward." 

Eddie let out a low whistle. "I'll bet." 

Ted Wheeler might rival John Hughes movie dads for out-of-touchness, but Eddie couldn't blame the guy for being confused about Nancy's love life. 

But thoughts of who anyone was dating other than himself fled his brain (along with the flow of blood) as Mrs. Wheeler drew her husband aside and Chrissy appeared in the hall. 

She sparkled. Her strapless dress, in shiny, Hawkins High green fabric, hugged her petite body, accentuating her curves in all the right places. There was a big green bow on one hip, above a ruffled skirt that swooped just below her knees on one side, revealing her slender legs in sheer black pantyhose and green pumps that matched the shade of her dress exactly. Her strawberry blonde hair was piled on top of her head in voluminous curls, and pink satin scrunchie flower thingies peeked out here and there from where they'd been tucked in the back. Eddie liked that she'd chosen to wear her hair up, because it was like a dressed-up version of her cheerleader ponytail, and it revealed her neck and shoulders and collarbones above the plunging heart-shaped neckline of her dress. Maybe he was kind of a vampire, because all that exposed skin made him want to sink his teeth in--or at least his lips. He was jealous of the bright pendant on her gemstone necklace, nestled in the hollow of her throat; matching rhinestones dangled from her earlobes and wrapped around one wrist.

After gawking at her for who knew how long with the stunned silence of a prepubescent boy attending his first school dance (he was attending his first school dance, though he was long past puberty), Eddie blurted out, "You're a green goddess." 

Chrissy's eyes rounded beneath brows that shot up beneath her fluffy curled bangs. "Like the salad dressing?"

There was a salad dressing called Green Goddess? Eddie's neck flamed hot under his stiff collar. Reaching under his hair to scratch it, he tried to downplay his ignorance (as usual). 

"Hey, you know me, I'm not exactly a salad expert. But sweetheart," he said, stepping over the threshold and sliding a hand over the slick fabric at her waist, "you can dress my salad any time." Chrissy's mouth opened wide in a laugh that rang in the low-ceiling entryway. "And, uh, don't ask me what that innuendo entails." 

From the adjoining living room, Mr. Wheeler called, "Heaven help him if that's his idea of innuendo."

"You look really good, too," Chrissy told Eddie; her eyes, rimmed in shimmery green eyeshadow and dark mascara, dropped shyly. 

"Yeah?" Eddie swept his arms out wide and did a clompy spin in his boots. The hall continued to revolve slightly as he faced Chrissy again, but her smile was wide now. 

"I knew you wouldn't wear a cumberbun," she said, gaze darting to the studded belt he'd chosen instead. 

"Um, it's actually pronounced cummerbund," Eddie couldn't resist correcting her, having so rarely known something someone else didn't. 

"Really?"

"Don't feel bad--I thought it was a cucumber bun, and I said it in front of Nancy." 

Chrissy made a sound of sympathy, then said, "I never liked cucumber buns. You look like a rock god on the red carpet." 

"God and goddess?" Eddie rasped, his heart lodged in his throat. "Hell yeah. Who needs Prom King and Queen?"

He wanted to wrap both arms around her and crush her against him in a kiss, but he was still holding the box with the corsage. And the Wheelers were watching them; well, Mrs. Wheeler was still hovering in the hall, while Mr. Wheeler was glued to the TV. 

Eddie thrust the box at Chrissy. "I, uh, got his for you." 

She raised the plastic lid from the bunch of pink roses and baby's breath (such a freaky name for a flower), still slightly cool from the refrigerator. "Eddie, they're beautiful!"

"They match the thingies in your hair," he said. 

"Perfectly!" Chrissy beamed. "How did you know?" 

Eddie pressed his fingertips to his temples and closed his eyes. "Obviously, I cast a Clairvoyance spell." 

And he remembered from their first date that pink roses were her favorites. (Maybe she'd worn the satin ones in her hair because she remembered the pink roses he'd given her on their first date.)

"Will you put it on me?" 

As Eddie lifted the flowers from the box, Mrs. Wheeler grabbed a camera from a narrow table against the wall. "Let me take your picture!"

She snapped a few pictures of Eddie sliding the corsage's elastic loop onto Chrissy's slender wrist, and also of Chrissy pinning a boutonniere to Eddie's lapel. To his delight, Chrissy had chosen a single, blood red rose, but instead of baby's breath or greenery, she'd embellished it with bits of chain and little skulls she'd somehow found in freaking May.

"Never underestimate the bargain bins at Melvald's!" she chirped. "They're veritable Bags of Holding!"

"Have I mentioned I love you?" Eddie's hands were free now, so he kissed her. 

Mrs. Wheeler's camera clicked at that, too. She made them pose on the front porch, in front of the door, for a few more pictures. Although Jonathan Byers would be photographing the couples in front of the backdrop his brother painted, Eddie humored her. In fact, he was grateful she was doing this, because it was what moms were supposed to do before sending their kids off to prom, and Chrissy deserved to have a mom fawn over her, even if it wasn't her own. And she deserved to have a dad be a weirdo to her date, so God bless Mr. Wheeler, too, or something.

(Maybe Eddie deserved this, too.)

Finally, Mrs. Wheeler had taken all the pictures she wanted, and she told Eddie she'd swing by the trailer soon with the last batch of cookies and cupcakes. She'd already sent enough baked goods for the whole school, let alone the small group of friends and their dates who were attending. Not that Eddie was complaining. 

He offered his arm to Chrissy. "Shall we, my Green Goddess?"

She giggled and tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow. "We shall, my Rock God." 

Although the Pontiac Phoenix was the only vehicle parked in front of the Wheelers' house, it wasn't until Eddie opened the passenger door that Chrissy realized this was their ride. "Wayne let you drive his car?"

"He insisted it'd be too hard for you to climb in the van in your prom dress and heels. Also this is a slightly nicer ride." 

Still a far cry from Harrington's BMW, though.

"He's so sweet," Chrissy said as Eddie slid into the driver's seat, carefully buckling his seatbelt so he wouldn't crush his boutonniere.

"And also a cunning bastard. He knew he'd get a free car wash and vacuum out of the deal."

***

Chrissy's wide eyes shone, reflecting the Christmas lights strung around the yard, decorating the trailer, designating the dance floor (such as it was), draped over the food tables.

"Eddie," she said in her high, sweet voice, fingers squeezing his hand, which she still held after he'd helped her out of the car. "You did all this for me?"

Humility wasn't one of Eddie's defining characteristics, but heat prickled at the back of his neck and across his cheekbones. "Mrs. Wheeler did a lot." 

He indicated the half-dozen round tables dotting the yard. They were covered with long white table cloths and green runners, and in the center of each stood a vase of orange and yellow flowers, surrounded by tea candles flickering in glass holders. In front of the trailer, a long table held glass bowls full of chips, along with tiered trays and platters of cookies, cupcakes, and brownies. Bunches of balloons in the school colors bounced in the breeze from the porch rails.

"And, uh, Will Byers," Eddie added. "C'mon, you gotta see the piece de resistance up close." He proudly trotted out the phrase he'd learned helping Chrissy review for French class.

The mural depicted the setting of Eddie's fake D&D campaign, a medieval village square nestled in the foothills of a forest, with a shining castle far in the distance. In one corner stood a brightly colored bard's cart, a lute propped against one wheel; in another was the Hawk Inn, with the silhouettes of patrons who Eddie was pretty sure were the members of the Party visible in the windows. Unicorns and fairies peeked out from behind trees, and dragons circled on the horizon. Along the top, Will had painted a scroll and calligraphed Class of '86 (and Friends): They All Lived Happily Ever After. The large plywood panels it was painted on completely hid Eddie's van. ("We should keep that up forever," Wayne had deadpanned as the boys set it up earlier. "Never have to look at that ugly hunk of junk again.") 

Eddie gave Chrissy's hand a tug, but she didn't budge, transfixed on the scene outside the trailer.  

"Do you remember the first night you brought me here?" she asked.

Uh, yeah--though Eddie wished to God he fucking didn't. He squeezed his eyes shut against the image of her levitating above the living room carpet, but opened them again at the near-whisper of her voice.

"You called it your castle."

Eddie didn't remember that part of the fateful night as clearly, but it sounded like the kind of dorky shit he'd say, nervous in front of the prettiest, most popular girl in school, and self-conscious about her seeing just how poor he was. 

"Tonight it really is," Chrissy went on. Her shoulders rose and fell with a sigh, and the expression on her face was relaxed, eyes dewy and…dreamy. "It's magical ."  

Eddie started to reach up and scrunch his hair, but he caught himself and lowered his hand. He stood and tried to really take everything in for the first time, with the fresh eyes of a partygoer, not the party planner. His friends (and friends' moms) had done a great job with the decorations, but there was no ignoring the ramshackle trailer, or the scraggly yard that was more weeds than grass. What was that expression, gilding the lily? This was, like, whatever the opposite of that was. Putting lipstick on a pig. Yet everyone had turned up, dressed to the nines in a rainbow of satin prom dresses and rented tuxedos. 

He let out a yelp of laughter. 

"What?" Chrissy looked up at him, brows buckling. 

"Just…us all in these fancy get-ups in the trailer park, surrounded by the smell of Uncle Wayne's charcoal grill. I'm not really seeing magical so much as ludicrous ." 

"More ludicrous than having prom in a high school gym that smells like feet and BO and concession stand nachos?"

"Fair point," Eddie said. 

From a purely aesthetic standpoint, everything had come together as well as he'd hoped--better even. It didn't hurt that the weather gods had cooperated and blessed them with a perfect night. The Saturday evening sky looked like the background of a Bob Ross painting, a two-inch brush-swept gradient of pastel golds, oranges, and pinks beneath gradually darkening blue, with lazy wisps of titanium white cloud curling here and there, adding texture to the pretty sunset hues. 

"I guess it is kinda magical, isn't it?" Eddie agreed. A happy little world. 

And charcoal smelled mouth-wateringly incredible. Wayne wasn't the only one barbecuing tonight. The lovely spring weather had inspired a bunch of the neighbors to cook out--or maybe it was just an excuse to keep an eye on the unusual activity at the Munson trailer. 

Chrissy adjusted her hand in Eddie's, weaving their fingers together. She tugged on him as she bounced up to brush her lips to his cheek, her warm breath tickling, making goosebumps rise on his skin. 

"It's all because of you," she whispered." You made the magic."

Eddie's heart clenched--she really was the sweetest person in the world--and he faced her, holding their joined hands against his chest.

"How are you so sweet? You know, you make me feel like I could do magic. Like a wizard."

"Like Gandalf?"

"Like Gandalf, yes. Maybe I should grow a beard…start dressing in robes and a big pointy hat."

"Yeah, because that would totally change people's ideas about you in this town."

They turned as Steve sauntered up to them in a pearl gray tux with a pink bowtie and cummerbund. 

"You clean up pretty good, Munson. Your hair is…" He blinked as if he couldn't quite believe his eyes, and gestured vaguely.. "...truly impressive. Did you diffuse?"

"Hell yeah, I diffused! I accept any and all flattery from The Hair himself, with many thanks." 

Eddie flailed his hand, intending to bow with a flourish, then reached out to ruffle Steve's hair instead. But Steve pivoted away from him, like the former basketball star he was, and tossed his head to ensure it had the right amount of tousle before shifting his gaze to Chrissy. 

"Nice dress," he said. "You're like the Spirit of Hawkins High." 

Eddie didn't feel even a smidge jealous about the former King of Hawkins High complimenting his girl--though he wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her against his side, bending his head to drop a kiss on the top of her curly coiffure (and getting the taste of hairspray on his lips). She turned eyes up to him that gleamed like the fabric of her dress. 

"Eddie called me a Green Goddess." 

Steve snorted. "What, like the salad dressing?"

Why did everyone Eddie know spend so much time in the salad dressing aisle? Was it, like, some popular kid hangout spot? "So, how many proms is this for you, Stevie?"

"Uh, this is my first, actually. I didn't go to mine. Due to…not finding a date."

His gaze drifted to Nancy, who was helping Jonathan set up his tripod and photography gear in front of the mural (and wearing what Eddie could only describe as Barbie's brunette friend's dress--turquoise with a magenta-sequined bodice and off-the-shoulder sleeves with puffs Anne Shirley would swoon for). Eddie guessed it wasn't so much that Steve hadn't been able to find a prom date than he hadn't wanted to.

"Your tux is pretty snazzy," Chrissy drew Steve's attention back from regretful memories or longing or whatever was going on underneath that great head of hair. 

"Yeah?" Steve gave his lapels a tug and glanced down at his outfit. "I wasn't sure about the pink bowtie and cumberbun." 

"Did you know it's actually cummerbund?" Chrissy eagerly informed him.

"No way."

"Yeah way," Eddie said. "Nancy told me." 

"What did Nancy tell you?" Robin asked, sidling up beside her date (" Strictly as friends!" she'd emphasized to Eddie when he'd asked who she was bringing) with a glass of punch and an unsteady gait, like she'd been out to sea and hadn't found her land legs yet. Her dark purple dress was simple, ending mid-thigh, and had padded shoulders and long sleeves. She'd paired it with low-heeled boots, which were maybe too casual for prom, but weirdly worked with her dress and array of mismatched jewelry and general Robin look , at least in Eddie's opinion. 

"How to pronounce cummerbund," he drew out the word, over-enunciating it consonant. 

A vein bulged in Steve's temple, like this revelation was about to break his brain. "Literally everyone says cumberbun." (Or cucumber bun, Eddie thought.) "What does cummerbund mean?"

He clearly didn't expect an answer, but Robin had one. "It was a kind of sash worn by Indian soldiers during the British Colonial period. The English adopted it as formalwear." 

"Neat!" Chrissy said. 

"Huh." Eddie was still glad he'd gone with a studded belt, instead.

Steve shook his head at Robin. "Why do you know that?"

She flashed him a Cheshire Cat's grin, then looked down at Eddie's feet. "Glad to see I'm not the only member of the Sensible Shoe Club." 

"Excuse me!" Eddie protested. "I will not allow you to besmirch my character like this. It's the Badass Boot Club." 

"What's the point of wearing sensible shoes if you still wobble around like a toddler?" Steve mused, hands on his hips.

Rather than take offense at his ribbing, Robin's smile became manic. "Can you imagine what a menace I am in heels?" 

"That's too terrible to contemplate," Steve said with a shudder. "It's a good thing my athletic career's already over, because if you keep stomping on my toes I'm gonna be limping out of here tonight. Shouldn't you be more, y’know, physically coordinated if you've been in marching band?"

Eddie had wondered the same thing on more than one occasion. 

"I'll let you in on a little secret." Robin lowered her voice and leaned in conspiratorially, the other three joining her huddle. "I might have been tippling this afternoon." She exchanged glances with Chrissy. Had she been imbibing ? She didn't seem like it--and Eddie knew what Chrissy was like drunk. Hence this whole event.  "And right now." She gestured with her punch glass, sloshing a little.

"Do you have a flask on you?" Steve asked, eyeing her form-fitting dress in confusion. 

With a shake of her head, Robin pressed her fingertips to her lips to stifle a giggle. "Nancy's dress has pockets." 

In Eddie's not-so-distant past, illicit liquor was the kind of information he would have reveled in, but now he straightened up, facing Robin with hands on his hips in the same disapproving stance he'd seen Steve take with the freshmen. 

"This is supposed to be a booze-free event, Buckley." 

Her eyes bugged. "Seriously?"

"Yea, seriously. Wholesome entertainment for all ages." He could not believe his mouth had uttered the word wholesome. "You'd better not've spiked the punch bowl." 

Eddie couldn't tell if he'd put the fear of God in Robin, or if she was taking this as a challenge. Before he could analyze the situation further, Steve changed the subject. 

"Speaking of entertainment, Corroded Coffin's not playing tonight?"

"Isn't it a crying shame?" Robin whined. "I wanted to hear them play Eddie's music theory song live!"

"She won't shut up about it." Steve rolled his eyes. "Or stop playing the tape. Gotta admit, though, it's a banger." 

Chrissy bounced, hugging Eddie's arm. "Corroded Coffin's first hit single!"

"To a single listener, anyway," Eddie said, but his chest puffed--as far as it could--beneath the tight formal shirt. "Can't dance with my date if I'm up there playing, can I?"

He'd thought about it when he first started planning his prom, but he'd already played a show for Chrissy. Tonight was truly for her. She tucked herself closer in the cook of his arm.

"You really put Henderson in charge of the music?" Steve asked. "Insane choice, even for you. You realize you might have doomed us to 'Never Ending Story' on a loop all night, right?"

"There's a story behind that," Eddie said, as Robin and Steve exchanged glances, "and I will be asking to hear it, but first I need to defend my decision to put Dustin in charge of the music."

"Yeah, man," said Steve. "You do."

"I felt sorry for the kid, you know? His girlfriend's all the way in…" The state eluded him. "...wherever the hell the Mormons live. Idaho?" No, that was potatoes…

"Utah," Chrissy and Robin replied in unison.

"That's the one." Eddie snapped his fingers. "Anway, I told him to take requests so everyone would hear at least a couple songs they like tonight. If you have any complaints, you can take them up with each other," he concluded, grinning. 

"So that's why he came in the store and asked for our top three songs, without any context," Steve said. 

"He mentioned nothing about prom," Robin confirmed. 

"Come to think of it," Chrissy said, giggling, "he didn't say anything about prom when he asked me, either. But I knew you'd asked him to DJ." 

Eddie looked to the makeshift DJ stand on the porch, where a boombox was hooked up to a series of amps. Dustin gestured to the boombox, eyebrows quirked upward in question; with his tongue out and grinning, Eddie gave him a thumbs-up. 

"Well, this is guaranteed to be chaotic," he said, as Dustin returned the thumbs-up, then punched play .

The synthy pulse of a familiar song swelled from the numerous amps and speakers set up on the porch and around the dance area. 

"'The Safety Dance'?" Robin snorted. 

"Who the hell requested this?" Steve asked. 

"Henderson, I presume," Eddie said. The head-bobbing twerp looked him dead in the eyes as a shit-eating grin stretched between his dimples. Eddie could just imagine him making that idiotic Chewbacca sound. 

But then, movement in the corner of his eye drew his gaze to Chrissy. 

She raised her hand, guiltily. 

Eddie whirled on her. "You?" He seized her around the waist. "You requested 'The Safety Dance'?" 

Chrissy nodded, eyes sparkling up at him. "I thought it would be funny." 

She thought it would be…"Funny?" Eddie echoed. "You beautiful, chaotic little freak!" His hands flew up from her waist to cup her face. "I love you!" He pressed his lips to her laughing ones.

We can dance if we want to

We can leave your friends behind

'Cause your friends don't dance

And if they don't dance

Well, they're no friends of mine

Dustin hopped down from the porch and skipped toward the dance floor in the style of the cheesy-as-hell music video. To Eddie's amazement, Will followed suit, as unself-conscious as he'd ever seen the kid.

The other two freshmen boys exchanged looks with their girlfriends; Mike and El giggled and shrugged, then hopped without any sense of rhythm after their friends, Wheeler's gangly arms waving, while Lucas and Max momentarily pretended to be too cool (honestly, Lucas was too cool in a white tux) before caving and joining in the lunacy. 

Steve was probably going to die of second-hand embarrassment, but Eddie just marveled for a moment at his little sheepies, dancing without giving a fuck what anyone else thought. 

Chrissy bowed to Eddie in grand fashion and asked, in a bad English accent, "May I have the pleasure of this dance?"

Eddie pressed a hand to his chest, batted his lashes, then dropped into a wobbly curtsey. "The pleasure is all mine!"

Swinging their joined hands, they skipped out to join the dance. 

We can go where we want to

A place where they will never find

And we can act like we come

From out of this world

Leave the real one far behind

Soon everyone else was bouncing around with them: Nancy and Jonathan, Jeff and Shawn–and their dates, two girls Jeff knew from choir–and Gareth who was stag for the night. (He'd called his Indianapolis lady love long distance from the Wheelers', only for her to stomp on his heart by scoffing, "I'm not getting all dolled up and taking a bus ride to podunk Hawkins to dance in someone's back yard, you doofus!" To which Gareth had retorted, "Yeah, well it's in someone's front yard, so shows what you know! And I can't afford a bus ticket for you anyway! " and slammed down the receiver.) Robin and Steve joined in, eventually (after Steve finished off her spiked glass of punch). Everyone sang along. 

We can act if we want to

If we don't, nobody will

And you can act real rude and totally removed

And I can act like an imbecile

If there was anything Eddie was better at than playing guitar, it was acting like an imbecile. 

He didn't think he looked any stupider than anyone else--and at least as a musician, he had a sense of rhythm--but even if he had been the biggest dancing fool out here, he wouldn't have cared, because of the way Chrissy smiled and laughed as they moved together to this wonderfully ridiculous song she'd chosen. And who'd look at him, anyway, when she was there, hopping around nimbly and doing graceful ballerina swoops of her arms, in that green dress that hugged her body just right, and her face lit up with pure joy?

***

They danced till they were breathless and panting and sweaty, and Eddie, peeling off his tux jacket, suggested, "Punch break?"

"And a burger!" Chrissy said. "I'm starving! Or do I want a hot dog?"

Music to Eddie's ears. "Why not both?"

He hung his jacket over the back of a chair at a table where Jeff and Shawn were already eating with their dates, then he and Chrissy got plates and buns from the buffet table and joined the line at Wayne's grill. 

"Burger or dog?" he asked Robin, who didn't have a plate or a bun. 

"Phone, actually?" In response to the baffled raise of Wayne's eyebrows, she babbled a mile a minute. "This is so much fun, I want to call a few band friends and tell them to get their butts over here!" She spun around (off-kilter, of course), scanning the yard until her gaze snapped back to Eddie. "Um, if that's okay, of course?"

"Hey, the more the merrier, right?" Eddie replied. "We got extra food." Most of the parents had chipped in for party snacks, and Bradley's had a big sale, so Eddie, Mike, and Lucas had come out with cartloads. "And we're gonna need more people to finish off all these desserts Mrs. Wheeler baked." 

"Maybe I'll call some of my friends, too," Chrissy said. "They were so bummed about prom being canceled." 

"Burger or hot dog, darlin'?" Wayne asked.

She held out her plate with a hot dog bun on it. "Eddie and I are going to split a burger and a hot dog." 

Wayne nodded and placed a weenie on the bun. "Good choice." He lowered his voice and said, "In my completely unbiased opinion, you are the prettiest girl at the party. My nephew's a lucky SOB."

"Yes, I am, but you should avoid using that coarse language with ladies." 

Blushing, Chrissy moved to the buffet table for condiments and chips.

Eddie actually had two hamburger buns and a hot dog bun on his plate, because half of each was not gonna cut it for him with all this dancing. Was this how jocks felt?

"Looks like you're throwin' a hell of a party," Wayne remarked as he dropped patties and weenies onto each bun. "Who'da thunk?"

"Maybe that's what I should do after graduation," Eddie said. "Start an event-planning business. Whaddya say, Uncle Wayne? You and Karen Wheeler could cater."

Wayne's chuckle rattled out of his chest. "It'd beat the hell outta the assembly line. Though the music still ain't to my taste." 

Eddie gasped, one hand clutching an imaginary string of pearls. "You don't like synth pop? Don't let Chrissy hear! Or just about anyone else at this shindig, other than me and the band." 

Not that any of Corroded Coffin had let that stop them from dancing to "Billie Jean", "You Spin Me Round (Like a Record)", or "Maniac." But thank God someone had requested "Let's Dance", "Start Me Up", and "Walk This Way" (though Eddie had never imagined he'd be grateful for goddamn Aerosmith). 

"Least it ain't screamin'." 

Despite everyone being dressed in formalwear, dinner was about as refined an affair as school lunch at the Hellfire Club table--which was just fine by Eddie. Partway through, Jonathan wrangled them for portraits before they lost the sunlight. In his haste to polish off his burger in one bite, Gareth dribbled ketchup down the front of his tux shirt. 

"As if it matters, since I don't have a date," he grumbled, while Jeff and Shawn hooted at his misfortune. 

"You can probably button your jacket and hide it," Chrissy tried to mollify him.

But when they took a Hellfire group portrait, Gareth left his jacket open, put his hands on his hips, and puffed his chest, proudly displaying the ketchup stain like a war wound. 

Cyndi Lauper beckoned everyone back to dance--the girls, anyway, who squealed as "Girls Just Want To Have Fun" blared through the speakers, followed by "Material Girl." Eddie watched from the table as he finished his food and sipped punch, content to admire Chrissy from afar. He thought about how it had felt to see her in the audience at The Lion's Den, cheering for him while he rocked out with Corroded Coffin, but looking vaguely uncomfortable the whole time, surrounded by metalheads she didn't know. Here, she was completely in her element, dancing with Nancy, Robin, Max, and El. Every tooth showed as her mouth opened wide in laughter that never seemed to stop, and her eyes sparkled as brilliantly as her rhinestone jewelry. He'd never seen her like this, so happy, so free , and it made him happier than he'd ever been.

More kids from school arrived, not only band nerds and cheerleaders, but theater students and chess players and foreign language club members--friends of friends of friends. Word, apparently, had gotten around that Forest Hills Trailer Park was the place to be tonight. Some were dressed for prom, others in Sunday best, and a few in everyday clothes, but all of them were eager to dance and eat (they actually might run out of food) and have their pictures taken in front of the backdrop, despite the fact that the sun had fully set and Jonathan wasn't sure how well they'd turn out.

Bad for photography or not, Eddie thought everything looked even more romantic in the dark, lit by the Christmas lights and tea candles flickering on tables as he let Chrissy pull him to the dance floor for "Everybody Wants to Rule the World."

In most of the yards, neighbors had come out of their trailers to sit on lawn chairs, watching the free entertainment provided by the students of Hawkins High. Earlier in the day, they'd milled around while Eddie and the freshmen set everything up; Bob Thompson had asked whether they were putting on that play they'd seen him and Chrissy rehearse a while back. (Eddie had read so much since British lit since then that he'd almost forgotten about their outdoor dramatic reading of Macbeth .) He didn't know if Shakespeare in the Trailer Park would've been more interesting to them or not, but the Trailer Park Prom was at least interactive, as a few songs (mainly the rock ones), inspired couples to get up and dance in their own yards.

Eddie had only requested one song for Dustin's prom playlist, and as the night went on without it, and the end of the party approached (curfew for the younger kids, bedtime for Wayne, and the other Forest Hills residents probably wouldn't love music blasting all night from the Munson trailer), he began to fret that the kid might've had a brain fart and forgotten to put it on the mixtape. But no--Dustin would never do Eddie dirty like that. He might be saving it for last; it was the best song, after all.

As they swayed to "I Want To Know What Love Is," Steve tapped Eddie's shoulder and asked if he could cut in, so they swapped partners. Eddie quickly realized it was because Steve's feet needed a break from getting stomped by Robin, and thanked his lucky stars he'd worn combat boots. Nevertheless, his own toes were throbbing a little through "Magic" by the Cars and "Jump (For My Love)." He intended to sit "One More Night" out while Chrissy danced with Will, only to be waylaid by Nancy. 

"Wanna dance, Munson?"

"I'd be afraid to say no," he replied, suppressing a sigh. "Honestly, I can't believe Jonathan did." 

Nancy rolled her eyes and put her hands on Eddie's shoulders. "His social battery's running low and he found a quiet place to recharge before the last dance." 

"Ah."

That was not something Eddie personally related to, but he got it, theoretically. Chrissy could be like that, sometimes. Though tonight apparently wasn't one of those times. 

"You really pulled it off," Nancy said. "I don't even think the prom committee could've thrown a classier dance." 

There was a prom committee? Eddie's mind boggled. He'd been in high school for six years and didn't know that. 

"Committees are inefficient," he replied. 

"But wasn't Hellfire your prom committee?" Nancy countered. 

Eddie gagged. 

"It made my mom really happy to bake and do the flowers and balloons." She tilted her head, and as they turned, Eddie saw Karen and Ted Wheeler chatting with Wayne near the trailer; they must've come a little early to pick up Mike, or to help clean up. 

"Your mom's pretty cool," Eddie said. "And thanks. I never thought I'd want to go to prom, let alone throw one. But it feels, uh…" His hand left Nancy's waist to scratch his head; all the dancing and sweating had restored his carefully styled hair to full frizz mode. "I dunno what it feels like. But I'm glad I didn't miss out on this."

Squeezing his shoulders, Nancy gave a little smile and said softly, "I'm glad I didn't miss out on being friends with you. Even if we got started a little late." 

Friends with Nancy Wheeler. It was almost as impossible to believe as being Chrissy Cunningham's boyfriend. "Me, too, Nance."

Phil Collins' dulcet tones were followed by the members of Bon Jovi bellowing in unison the intro to "In and Out of Love"--weird transition, but a banger, it couldn't be denied, and Eddie enthusiastically shook his hair as he bounded back to Chrissy, who shimmied and sashayed around him, perspiration shining enticingly on her skin beneath the strings of light. (There was no out of love for them, though--only in, all the way, for all time, baby.) As the refrain faded out, a solo acoustic guitar began the melodic intro of the Judas Priest song Eddie had been listening for. 

Gareth, who'd been grooving nearby, started to ask Chrissy for a dance, but Eddie shoved him aside. "Sorry, ol' buddy, ol' pal, but this dance is mine." 

He wrapped one arm possessively around Chrissy's waist and clasped her hand as Rob Halford's raw voice rang out through the speakers: 

Why do I have to wait so long

Before you come into my life again?

Seems as though forever until

I can be here by your side 'til then

There were so many couples dancing in such a small space that they could barely do more than rock back and forth, bodies pressed close together, yet as Eddie gazed down at Chrissy, everyone else faded out of his periphery, and it was only him and her dancing in the yard.

I think you feel the same way too

You know you make my dreams come true

Chrissy's lips parted slightly in a gasp, and Eddie felt the hitch of it beneath his palm, saw the swell of her breasts above the sweetheart neckline of her dress at the same moment as his own heart stuttered in the breathless cavity of his chest. He'd envisioned this moment when he'd listened to the song and decided that if he could only dance to one song with Chrissy, this was it, but even his vivid and active imagination hadn't been able to prepare him for the reality of what it would feel like to hold her like this, swept along by the lovely tune and the piercing lyrics. It was so much more than this specific moment; it was all the ones that had led up to it, and the many more that would come after. Chrissy was his dream come true--even though he'd never dared to dream it--but the even more unbelievable part was the realization that he was hers, too. 

If you'll just turn on your light

Let me see it shining through the night

The electric guitar came in, playing a descant above the acoustic arpeggios. Chrissy's big, beautiful eyes were luminous as she gazed up at him. It was just the string lights reflected in their depths, his brain told him, but Eddie figured that for tonight it was okay to ignore his brain and listen to his heart, instead, which said it was the light of stars…of entire galaxies just waiting for him to explore with her. Together. Forever.

When I'm far away from here

I'll hold all the memories so clear

If I only have the choice

I would stay, so let me hear your voice

He twirled her, then pulled her in close again, bending his head as she tilted hers up toward him until they were cheek-to-cheek, his fingers wrapped around her small hand and clasping it tight against his pounding heart. Her pulse beat the same rapid tempo in her wrist.

Close by, Steve was dancing with Robin again, both of their gazes were fixed over their partner's shoulders; when Eddie turned, he saw Nancy in Jonathan's arms, but her eyes were locked on Steve. Eddie hoped his friends could figure out their overly complicated love lives and be as confident and happy in them as he and Chrissy were. He closed his eyes and breathed in her flowery perfume, feeling high on it, and nuzzled at her soft cheek, whispering little kisses beneath her ear.

Turn on your light

Let me see it shining through the night

Just as the electric guitar kicked it up a notch and added a distortion effect, joined by the rest of the band, the music abruptly stopped. 

The yard went dark.

A moment of silence, then screams. Some of them were students clowning, but others genuinely afraid. After everything that had happened the last few years in Hawkins, Eddie understood freaking out when lights did weird shit. Chrissy clung to him, and he rubbed soothing circles on her back, though his own heart jangled around, and his breathing was uneven. His first thought was that it was just his trailer's power, a breaker tripped by the extra voltage of the amps and Christmas lights. Then the sound of the blood pounding in his ears receded enough for him to take in groans and grumbles around him and shouts from further away. He looked around and saw that the street lights were out, too, and all the other trailers had gone dark. 

Well, shit.

"Seriously ?" Eddie said. "During 'Turn On Your Light'? My song?" 

"The universe has a strong sense of irony," he heard Robin comment, and Chrissy giggled nervously. 

Despite his annoyance, Eddie couldn't help but laugh, too. His arm still around Chrissy, he assisted her up onto the nearby porch, where Dustin handed him a flashlight. (Never let it be said that the kid wasn't always prepared.)

Flicking it onto himself and raising a hand to get their attention, Eddie addressed the party guests. "Unless the power company acts real fast--"

"They won't!" Max called out. "They never do!"

She was right. This was a regular enough occurrence at the trailer park that Eddie couldn't pretend she was just being a Negative Nellie.

"I guess that was the last dance," he announced with a shrug, then raised his voice over the boo that rose from the darkened dance area. "The clock struck twelve, our coaches turned into pumpkins, Cinderella lost her slipper--"

"Last dance?" bellowed someone from the street, who didn't sound like a high school student. "Hell no! This party's just gettin' started!"

Although no one really knew what that meant, the promgoers clapped and whooped and whistled, and after a few helter-skelter minutes, the residents of Forest Hills Trailer Park began to arrive at the Munsons' bearing flashlights, camping lanterns, even a few kerosene lamps and deer hunting lights. Someone strung a disco ball from the porch and shined a light at it, which scattered bright spots over the dancers’ faces and brought another chorus of cheers, wilder than any championship game.

The picked-over buffet table became a potluck supper as neighbors brought over whatever food they had on hand that might be suitable for a party (the packs of beers were not so suitable for a party of minors). Best of all, a few people with guitars, a banjo, harmonicas, and even a fiddle commandeered the porch and, after a brief discussion, struck up "Good Day in Hell" by the Eagles.

"Now this is my scene," murmured Wayne, clapping Eddie on the shoulder as he sauntered past with a Coors and a cigarette. 

Eddie swallowed, with difficulty, his throat tight at the sight of the neighbors coming together to save his prom. Why were they doing this? He hadn't thought any of them ever even liked him; to them, he was just that Munson boy who was always getting into trouble. Maybe it wasn't for him at all, and they were just jumping at the excuse to party after the trouble that had come to the neighborhood this spring. He definitely couldn't blame them for that.

He felt a poke on his shoulder, and turned his head to see the woman with the fiddle holding her bow. 

"What're you standing there for, sugar? Get out there and dance with that pretty girl!"

Laughing, Eddie hopped off the edge of the porch, lifted Chrissy down after him, and they returned to the crush of dancers. 

All his life he'd wanted to leave Hawkins and Forest Hills behind in the dust, but tonight, he was right where he belonged.

***

"You're supposed to be looking at the stars," Chrissy whispered, nudging Eddie with her shoulder. 

He nudged her back, keeping his eyes fixed intently on her profile as she looked up at the sky. "You outshine the stars," he whispered back. "So I'm Chrissygazing." 

She looked down, lips curving in a smile. Though Eddie could see her clearly in the moonlight, he couldn't tell if she was blushing. He guessed she was, because she usually did. He loved that she blushed at the most innocent (or dorky) of compliments. 

But he couldn't take his eyes off her. Sitting on the roof of the trailer, where they'd climbed up after the last of the promgoers drove off or stumbled sleepily back to their own homes, not yet ready to go to bed themselves, Chrissy had no right to look so gorgeous, wearing a crown handmade by Will and Eleven from gold-painted posterboard, scraps of green velvet, sequins, puff paint, and tinsel garland. (Joyce Byers really had a thing for Christmas decorations, but it had worked out okay for Eddie.) He was pretty sure he just looked like a doofus in his own matching one--he'd never really been a hat guy--but he'd wear it to match her till she'd take hers off. Hell, he'd wear a jester's hat for her, bells and all, if she wanted. It'd probably suit him better than a crown.

Chrissy turned her head, eyes flicking up to meet his. "You called me the Queen of Hawkins High that day in the woods." 

"Because you were. You are." 

She clutched the lapels of his tux jacket tighter around herself. How did she wear a too-big men's coat as regally as a queen's vestments? 

"I like it better with you as my king." 

"Prom King, not King of Hawkins High."

Eddie hadn't even planned on the whole Prom King and Queen thing, but apparently everyone else had--or at least Will. One minute everyone had been dancing--Forest Hills residents, Hawkins High students, Hawkins High parents who'd come to pick up their kids--and the next Dustin was standing up on the porch to announce the '86 Prom King and Queen, and Eddie had found himself seated beside Chrissy in folding chairs while Will and El crowned them. He'd half-expected them to be doused in pig's blood, but the only thing that rained down was the applause of the promgoers, who then immediately went back to dancing.

"Was there even a vote?" Eddie asked. 

"I don't think so. I asked around." 

"So we're not even legit prom monarchs," Eddie said. Sounded about right.

Chrissy let out a giggle, which trailed off into a sigh as she shifted to rest her head against Eddie's shoulder. He wrapped his arms around her, cradling her against his chest. 

The electricity still hadn't been restored to the trailer park. A crew from the power company had come out during the party and discovered signs of vandalism. The cops were investigating. Or would, in the morning, Hopper had said, then he'd resumed boogying with Joyce Byers like it was 1959. 

When Chrissy's breathing deepened, Eddie bent his head, brushing her bangs back to press her lips to her temple. "Ready for bed, your majesty?"

She shook her head against him. "This was the best night of my life. I don't want it to end." 

 "Mine, too," Eddie murmured. "And me, neither."

He couldn’t believe he was saying that, after he’d spent the past six years of high school judging people who saw prom as the pinnacle of human existence. 

When he started to sit up straight, Chrissy reached up, her hand settling against his neck, where his pulse beat, keeping his cheek pressed to hers. Her fingers stroked his hair so gently. "You know what's a really amazing thought?"

"What's that, sweetheart?"

She turned her head so that the tips of their noses touched. "The best is yet to come." 

Better than this? How could that even be possible? But it was possible. 

Their lips met and moved together languidly in the gray pre-dawn, as the world slept still and silent below them. There was passion in each touch of fingertip and tongue, but no urgency. Only the promise of a long future together. 

When they'd kissed to their content, they lay back in each other's arms on the roof of the Munson trailer, dozing as the first rays of sunrise broke across their kingdom. 

Chapter Text

“ImPROMptu Dance Rocks Forest Hills,” Eddie read The Weekly Streak headline aloud in his best Walter Kronkite voice at the head of the lunch table. He didn’t normally read the school paper, but he also wasn’t normally the subject of a front page article. His trailer even featured in the accompanying photo of the packed dance area aglow with Christmas lights before the power went out.

“Im-PROMp-tu.” Dustin articulated each syllable, over-emphasizing the middle. “Nice one, Nancy.”

The editor-in-chief pursed her lips, the smile small but pleased. “I know how you boys appreciate a pun. Even if it is low-hanging fruit.” 

"They're such huge dorks," Max stage-whispered to El, who nodded sagely before her face broke out in a grin that mirrored the redhead's. 

“Following administrators' unpopular decision to cancel the senior prom," Eddie continued the Kronkite impression, "students took matters into their own hands. On Saturday night, the Hellfire Club sponsored a dance at Forest Hills Trailer Park, inviting Hawkins students from all grades to dance the night away. The Dungeons and Dragons group had previously been forced off-campus due to unfounded accusations that their game is linked to Satanic rituals." 

A chorus of boos rose from the lunch table, accompanied by exuberant thumbs downs and a few less innocent finger gestures. Higgins' stupid campus ban hadn't stopped Hellfire Club from meeting, but the recent decision not to include them in the yearbook had rubbed salt in the wound. Mr. Adair, the theater teacher who sponsored them, had pushed for the yearbook to simply rename them the Board Game Club, but that didn't solve the problem of their Hellfire shirts in the picture. They'd been given two options: cover the logo or take a new picture, but the members of Hellfire Club were nothing if not principled, and had unanimously voted against censorship. Way to go, Nancy, for using her editorial position to give Higgins a little shit. Ah, the power of the press.

"When asked about the motivations for hosting the event, senior Eddie Munson, Hellfire Club President, answered--" He dropped Kronkite and switched to his own voice to read the quote he'd given Nancy over the phone Sunday afternoon. "'We just wanted to do something, you know, normal, after all the very not normal stuff that happened over spring break. It felt good, as the resident campus freaks , to be able to provide that. Prom’s a rite of passage, as much as walking the stage at graduation. The Class of Eighty-six deserved that experience.’"

“Man, the hypocritical bullshit that vomits from your mouth,” Gareth interjected, wagging his head.

"And the mixed metaphors that spew from yours." Eddie laid the paper on the table and beaned the drummer in the forehead with a piece of carrot stick. “As if you didn’t dance like a fool all night."

"To pop music," Shawn added, pointing an accusatory finger as Gareth's round face reddened.

“And don't even pretend like we didn't catch you getting French lessons from that blonde in Chrissy's class,” Jeff said.

“Lynn,” said Gareth, looking like he was going to have a stroke. "Her name is Lynn." 

Will and Lucas made juicy smooching sounds (while Max and El shared an eye roll); Eddie took it a step further, closed his eyes and hugged himself, moaning while he waggled his tongue toward the ceiling.

"I just meant," Gareth persisted, "that it's awfully rich of you to talk about your prom being this altruistic thing you did for the student body who formerly rejected you, when you really did it because you were in the doghouse with Chrissy."

Eddie took another carrot stick out of the baggie that lay on the lunch table and snapped it in two. 

Beside him, Chrissy, objected, "That's not true!"

"It's cute that you think that," said Shawn, redirecting Eddie's ire. He launched the carrot stick at the bassist, who caught it in his mouth. Jeff hooted.

"Ah," mused Jonathan, chuckling. "The age-old ethics debate: can an act done for primarily selfish reasons still be altruistic?"

Eddie's protest was drowned out by half the table declaring, "Yes!" while the other shouted, "No!"

"What else was I supposed to say, dipshits?" Eddie addressed the table at large. "Fuck Higgins, I'll throw my own prom?"

"That  would've been amazing, actually," Mike said. 

"And unprintable," Nancy said. "It's a perfect quote, Eddie."

"I like it, too." Chrissy gave her curlicue ponytail an indignant flick as she frowned at Gareth. "But I don't like the phrase in the doghouse . It's not a very nice way to talk about relationship conflicts." 

"Is there a nice way to talk about that?" Gareth asked. 

"Yeah," Max said. "Like, how about not at all, because it's none of your damn business?" 

"Nope," El backed her up. (If only Gareth knew what kind of backup she could really bring.)

"The expression is normally used to imply the woman is domineering and unreasonably angry," Nancy said. "Always subtle sexism." 

Chrissy nodded in agreement. Eddie got why she wouldn't like the expression used in relation to her, given that she came from a family with a wife who stomped all over a doormat of a husband.

"I don't appreciate your implication that I'm henpecked and my girlfriend's a harpy," Eddie said. (Though if Chrissy wanted to put him on a leash and take him to a backyard doghouse, he might be kinda into it.) 

"Dude, she has you totally whipped."

The girls erupted. Max leapt to her feet, face as red as her hair with every ounce of fury Anne Shirley had when Gilbert Blythe called her carrots . Lucky for Gareth, she didn't have a slate to break over his head, though when she knocked over her chair and moved to pick it up, Eddie thought for a second she was going to throw it at his truly idiotic drummer. 

"Order! Order!" Eddie beat his fist on the table, silencing them before a riot broke out and one of the teachers came over and gave them all detention. 

"Stupid boys," El muttered, glowering at Gareth before turning to Max and exchanging smug grins.

Eddie picked up the newspaper, gave it a shake, and loudly cleared his throat before resuming his Kronkite bit. 

“Students representing all four grades and a myriad of organizations attended prom. Vickie Walsh, senior member of the Tiger Band, told The Streak, 'I went to prom last year with the guy I was dating. This one was a million times more fun. It was so relaxed and free of judgment. Everyone was welcome, no matter which crowd you belong to. I hung out with people I never had before. That felt pretty special, before graduation. It's a night I'll never forget.'"

"Aw, that's so nice!" Chrissy, apparently over the whole Gareth thing, gave a little clap as she beamed at the band table, where Vickie and Robin sat with heads tilted towards each other as they read something--probably the school paper--together.

"It wasn't just the students of Hawkins High who came together at the unconventional prom," Eddie read. "A park-wide power outage nearly left everyone in the dark, but the residents of Forest Hills shed some light on the scene and even brought musical instruments to form a spontaneous band.

"'People forget about us out here sometimes,’ said Leonard Pendergrass, a thirty-year resident of Forest Hills who played guitar Saturday night, ’unless it's for bad reasons. It was an honor to play for these kids on their special night, and to remind Hawkins that just because we don't have a lot of money, we're a part of this town, too, and more good stuff than bad happens here.'

"Workers from the Hawkins Electric Utility System attributed the power outage to an act of vandalism, but police have yet to name a suspect in the ongoing investigation, and Chief Hopper was not available when Streak staff reached out for comment." 

"I don't think we need to call Sherlock Holmes to know it's Carver," Mike said. 

Around the table, the others murmured their agreement. 

Chrissy had just been about to take a bite of her sandwich, but she laid it on a baggie and drew her hands into her lap. Reaching under the table, Eddie gently prised apart her wrung-together fingers, his thumb rubbing her knuckles. 

"Look, I hate that meathead more than any of you," he said, "but I'm pretty sure tampering with public utilities is at least a misdemeanor." 

"Ask him how he knows," Gareth scoffed. 

"I've never tampered with utilities or been charged with a misdemeanor!" Eddie snarled, taking another carrot stick from his baggie. Gareth raised his hands, and Eddie drew a calming breath and went on, "Why would Carver risk that? He's already had a brush with the law for inciting public panic, and Chrissy here humiliated him in front of the whole cafeteria." 

"Whatever, man," Jeff argued. "Guys like that always have to have the last word. Even if they shoot themselves in the foot having it." 

He was right, but Eddie felt like he should maybe take the moral high ground here, and not be a petty asshole about his girlfriend's ex.

"Where is Carver?" asked Lucas. 

They all looked around the cafeteria, but there was nary a glimpse to be seen of Jason's Ken doll hairdo or a basketball letterman jacket. The other two stooges were absent from the jocks' usual table, too.

"There are rumors." Max leaned in conspiratorially. "Pretty reliable ones, of people seeing Jason and his goons lurking around the trailer park Saturday night." 

Chrissy gripped Eddie's hand. Thinking she was uncomfortable, he started to change the subject, when her shoulders straightened as she sat up.

"If Jason did cut the power," she said, "I hope he stuck around long enough to see he didn't stop prom."

"Like the Grinch?" Will said. 

Laughing, Chrissy released Eddie's hand and picked up her sandwich. "Somehow, I don't think it would make his heart grow three sizes." 

"It would do the opposite," Mike said, "and shrivel up like his--"

"Wheeler." Eddie didn't want to think about Carver's dick, shriveled or otherwise. "There are ladies present." 

But said ladies were all giggling, Chrissy behind her hand so she wouldn't show her partially-chewed sandwich. 

The bell rang. As they packed up the remnants of their lunches and Eddie tucked the newspaper into his backpack (he was definitely keeping that; Wayne would be tickled), he caught snatches of the freshmen discussing the likelihood of the vandal being caught. 

"The problem is they've gotta have evidence that Carver did it," Lucas said. 

"There will be some," Dustin countered. "Dick-for-brains isn't smart enough to commit the perfect crime."

“One of his dumbass sidekicks might squeal,” mused Mike, “if they get hauled in for questioning.”

"My papa will catch him," El said. 

Her confidence in Hopper was so pure that Eddie hoped she was right for reasons other than his own personal desire to see his nemesis truly hit rock bottom. That was altruistic, wasn't it? 

"Hop's definitely solved tougher mysteries than the Case of the Trailer Park Powerlines," Max said.

"I guess we can never rule out the Russians," Dustin suggested.

Eddie walked Chrissy to her locker, where he kissed her before they parted ways, she to the math hall for her accounting class, and he to the office to see Ms. Kelley.

Passing the school's main entrance, he took a longing glance outside the double doors that imprisoned him all day within the cinder block walls. A familiar two-tone tan Chevy Blazer had just pulled up alongside the curb. Sunlight played in the red and blue roof lights, which gave the illusion that they were turned on and flashing. The driver's side door opened, and Chief Hopper climbed out. 

"Speak of the devil," Eddie muttered. 

He watched as Hopper took a drag from a cigarette, then flicked it onto the sidewalk and crushed it beneath his boot before sauntering toward the entrance. 

Out of habit, Eddie booked it to the front office ahead of the police chief, only to stop in his tracks, the soles of his sneakers screeching on the linoleum like a cartoon character. Carver was sitting on the chair outside the door marked Principal . His eyes fixed straight ahead, unblinking, bright as lasers as he stared hard enough to bore holes in the opposite wall, his cheek muscle flickering beneath pale skin. 

Well, shit.

It was just a coincidence, wasn't it? It had to be. Jason couldn't really be there for the reason they'd all been gossiping about at lunch. But why else would he be sitting here at the exact moment a cop was on his way into the building? And looking royally pissed.

Undaunted by this (though maybe he should've been), Eddie strutted toward Ms. Kelley's partially-open door. "How's it hanging, Carver?"

The jock's head turned, eyes rounding on Eddie like a rabid dog, mouth opening to bare his teeth.

"Give Principal Higgins my regards," Eddie said. 

Before Carver could respond, Eddie rapped his knuckles on the door frame, rings rattling, and stepped inside.

***

"If it isn't the man of the hour!" Ms. Kelley greeted, turning from the window where she had a prime view of the police truck parked outside. She beamed at Eddie as she came around her desk to lean against the front edge. "You're certainly racing to the end of your high school career in the spotlight, making the front page of the last Streak issue of the year."

Eddie's brain had always made weird word associations, and the combination that had just come from Ms. Kelley's mouth was no exception. Now there was an idea: throwing off his graduation gown and streaking naked across the football field. 

Shutting the door, both literally and figuratively on the ludicrous (but hilarious) mental image, Eddie's eyes raked over Ms. Kelley's copy of the paper on the desk beside her as he lowered himself into his usual seat. He hadn't realized it was the last issue, but with final exams next week, that made sense. Monday was Memorial Day, and not even Nancy and the other newspaper staff were devoted enough to come in over the long weekend to work. 

But the end struck Eddie like the sonorous chime of a clock. It filled his ears and echoed around in his brain with a deep foreboding, giving him a sort of soupy, off-balance feeling, before settling heavily in the pit of his stomach with his undigested PB&J. Ms. Kelley of course said the end as if his graduation was a certainty. It could also mean that, one way or another, this was his last chance; the only other option was failure. 

Eddie clacked his rings against the armrests to drum out the unwelcome negative voice in his head. "Think Higgins is mad I went against school policy?"

Ms. Kelley raised her eyebrows. "I can't speak for anyone but myself, but as far as I'm aware, there's no policy against students throwing parties that don't involve any illicit behavior."

"It was an entirely lawful affair." Eddie put a hand over his heart. Except for Robin's flask. Through the thin office walls, he heard the rumble of Chief Hopper's voice, remembered Jason's sullen mug, and grinned. "On the part of the partygoers, at least. Very wholesome." 

"I wish my senior prom had been as fun as yours sounded." Ms. Kelley went around her desk to take her seat. "My date barely danced with me." 

Eddie goggled at this. Sweater vests aside, Ms. Kelley was so pretty! He could only imagine she would've been a knockout in high school. "What an ass--" He caught himself and course-corrected. "--absolute moron." 

Ms. Kelley smiled gently. "I'm glad you and your friends had a chance to let your hair down."

"My hair's always down." Eddie tossed it over his shoulder with flair.

"So it is." Ms. Kelley chuckled, opening his file. "I've spoken with your teachers. They say you've been engaged in the classroom and are doing exemplary work."

Were those her words or theirs? Either way, they weren't adjectives that had been used to describe Eddie or his work. Not since those long-ago honor roll days, anyway. Did they actually apply to mostly Bs with a couple of low As? Like the end, they rang in his head with gonglike resonance.

"I've got two big assignments left to turn in this week," he told her.

"The composition project?"

Eddie nodded. "And the extra-credit Tolkien and Beowulf research paper. My magnum opus." 

He'd gotten Dustin and Nancy to read his first draft, and he needed to type up a clean copy with their suggestions--of which there were many. Nancy had bled red ink over his manuscript like it was a monster from the upside down.

"Will I be able to hear your song?" Ms. Kelley asked.

"My band made a tape, but, uh, I dunno if it'd really be your thing?"

"How do you know I'm not a secret metalhead?"

Eddie tipped his head to the side, picturing the counselor with teased hair and dark, heavy eye makeup, her matronly blouse, vest, and skirt combo swapped out for denim and leather, headbanging in some grungy club. He barked out a laugh.

As if reading his mind, Ms. Kelley smiled, clicking her pen as she sat back in her squeaky swivel chair. "It may not be my thing , but I'd like to hear it nonetheless. I'm sure your grades for that and your research paper will reflect all the hard work you put into them." 

She meant to be encouraging, but once again he felt that downward pull at his mood. 

"Eddie?" 

Realizing he'd literally slumped in his seat, he sat up, but he couldn't look at Ms. Kelley, instead watching his thumbnail bore into a scuff in the chair arm. "It's just…hard not to beat myself up for not putting in the time and effort sooner. I coulda been outta here two years ago." 

Of course, then he and Chrissy never would've found each other--they'd talked about that--but he couldn't help but wish his path hadn't been paved with so many fuckups.

Or still had room for more.

"What if I drop the ball?" he went on. "What if I fumble at the end zone?" (A sports analogy, gross. The sight of Carver must've put it in his brain.)

The first two times, missing graduation had been pretty fucking demoralizing. Now that he wasn't an outsider anymore, failure would be nothing short of total humiliation. He had so much more to lose now.

Would Chrissy still want to be with him if he didn't have a high school diploma? He didn't think he'd be able to look her in the eye. 

"Be kinder to yourself, Eddie," Ms. Kelley said. "I know it sounds cliché, but there really is power in positive thinking. If it helps, it's perfectly normal to suffer a crisis of confidence here at the end, with finals looming. The good news is, you seem to have avoided a case of senioritis like so many of your classmates." 

"I dunno about that." Eddie abandoned the dinged chair arm to scrub the back of his head. "I've found plenty to distract me from homework and studying. Planning prom, reorganizing our room--" He heard our room leave his mouth, and his face flamed. Probably shouldn't have said that in front of the school counselor, even if it was mostly chaste between him and Chrissy. But Ms. Kelley, thankfully, didn't react. "--and uh, building bookshelves and reading Anne of Green Gables." 

"You've been significantly more productive than me," said Ms. Kelley. "What I wouldn't give for some of that youthful energy. It seems like I can't read a whole page without dozing off." The chair squeaked as she sat forward, laying her pen on the desk and clasping her hands together. "Believe it or not, I'm glad to hear you're doing more than just school work. Balancing a job, relationships, the simple tasks of daily living, and personal interests is an important skill to master. So I hope you'll build some time into your study schedule to take breaks." 

"Study schedule." Eddie released his hair. "I should probably make one of those."

Maybe Chrissy could help, like she had with his homework and extra credit work schedule. He hated to take up her time when she's got her own end-of-year projects and exams, though. 

Ms. Kelley reached across her desk and took a sheet of paper from a tray. "Why don't we look at your exam schedule now?"

"Could we?"

"It's what I'm here for," she said, smiling. "With a good strategy, you can accomplish this, Eddie. I believe in you." 

Eddie wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans. They'd had a strategy for defeating Vecna, and it had worked. Of course, having a superhero on their side helped a lot. If only Eleven could help him with this. 

But Ms. Kelley might have superpowers of her own. In no time at all, she'd drawn up a timetable for what to study when, complete with breaks. 

As Eddie was leaving her office, he caught snatches of the discussion happening on the other side of Principal Higgins' office door. 

"It was just a harmless prank!" Carver protested; Hopper must've had some indisputable evidence that made him confess, if he'd jumped straight to trying to worm out of trouble. "You know--like in Carrie."

"Bad analogy," Hopper shot back. "In Carrie, the school burned down and a lot of students died ."

"Well, nothing burned down Saturday night," Carver argued. "No one was killed." 

"And a good thing, too. Hawkins has had enough of that lately, wouldn't you agree?" 

Eddie was about to go--the secretary and attendance clerk were watching him eavesdrop (though they were, too)--but Hopper went on. "Maybe you were just pulling a prank on your ol' nemesis Eddie Munson, but it was hardly harmless. An entire neighborhood lost power--all the food spoiled in their refrigerators."

"I'll pay to replace it!"

"You mean Daddy will?"

At that, Eddie hitched his backpack on his shoulder and trudged from the office. Delightful as it was to see (or rather, hear) Carver get dressed down by the police chief, he knew how it would go. The basketball captain would get out of it, just like he always did.

***

"Jesus H. Christ!" 

Eddie threw up his fists and pummeled the air. He wanted to punch the goddamn typewriter , but that would be counterproductive to his current situation, which was typos. He yowled incomprehensibly, gnashing his teeth at the water-stained ceiling above the dinette, then released a hiss through them as he lowered his hands once more to the keys of Granny Munson's old typewriter which Wayne, the old packrat, had hung onto despite their limited storage space in case Eddie ever needed it. How prescient, or something.

From what his uncle could recall, Granny had mainly used it to write strongly-worded letters to newspaper editors and politicians, but--to Eddie's great delight--she'd also fancied herself a fiction writer. (Despite his proclivity for fantasy, Eddie hoped to God it was trashy romance novels. And that somewhere in Wayne's hoard were the manuscripts.)

Eddie banged the backspace button a couple of times, then pounded the e key over the w he'd mistakenly typed in Tolkien. If you could even call what he did typing, using only his index fingers. (Had Granny known how to type properly, or had she hunted-and-pecked her tawdry tales and maladroit missives?)

"Do you want me to type that for you?"

Eddie jerked his head up to see Chrissy padding down the hallway from the bedroom. 

"I took two years of typing class," she added. "My mom wanted me to have secretarial skills." Her forehead dimpled, cheeks hollowing with her frown, looking as though the thought made her a little sick. Then she brightened, cocking her head and puffing her chest a little as her hands went to her hips in a cheerleader stance, and said in the closest to bragging Eddie had ever heard her, "I can type eighty-two words a minute."

His eyes slid back to the crisp white paper curling from the top of the typewriter. He didn't think he'd typed eighty-two words in the whole goddamned hour he'd been at this.

"Sweetheart," he said, digging at the corners of his bleary eyes as he pushed to his bare feet and scuffed across the linoleum to her, "with your typing speed and your organizational skills, and--" He raked his gaze down her lean calves below the hem of her jean skirt. "--your legs in a pencil skirt and stilettos, you'd make one hell of a secretary." 

His hands settled on the curves of her hips, and Chrissy smiled sweetly up at him even though he was practically drooling at the mental image he'd conjured of her in one of those lady suits with shoulder pads and a skirt that hugged her ass when she bent over to place something on her desk…

"Ugh, but secretaries always get sexually harassed by their bosses." Eddie released her to pinch the bridge of his nose. "I hope you didn't feel harassed by me just now while I, uh…fantasized." 

Chrissy laughed. "My boss could be a woman, you know." 

Eddie swallowed. He didn't think she entirely grasped the full implications of that statement. "True." 

"Or I could be my own boss." She scrunched her forehead. "I'm actually thinking of something in finance, maybe?" 

"Yeah?" 

Chrissy hadn't talked much about what she wanted to do after graduation. She had that summer gymnastics instructor gig lined up at the Hawkins Rec Center, and she'd applied to Roane County Community College and perused the course catalog, but she hadn't settled on a particular field of study. Nevertheless, finance was…unexpected. And nothing against Chrissy--she was a great student--but she wasn't exactly cutthroat like those Wall Street guys in the movies. Though she'd cut a few dozen demobat throats.

"It's just…" The tips of her crooked front teeth peeked out as she bit down on her lower lip, and Eddie silently berated himself if she'd sensed anything negative from him. "I'm doing really well in my accounting class. Mrs. Baker suggested the CPA program. Or maybe banking? I don't know, I haven't really had time to think seriously about it."

"You've got a lot of options," Eddie said, arms circling her waist, drawing her against him as he bent his head to kiss her. "I'd definitely go to you for my banking or accounting needs." 

As if he'd have those, with his own lack of options. 

"I'd probably have to wear a pencil skirt for one of those jobs." Chrissy's voice lowered to a flirtatious pitch, and she peered up at him through her long lashes as she trailed her fingers down his chest. "And a blazer ." 

"With big shoulder pads, please, baby?" Eddie rasped against her lips.

For a few blessed minutes as tongues swirled together and hands caressed, Eddie forgot all about homework and finals and graduation and the uncertain future that came after, until Chrissy's palms flattened against his chest, gently pushing him away. 

"So…" She moved toward the dinette where he'd set up the typewriter. "We were discussing me typing your paper."

Had that been an actual discussion? Eddie lunged in front of her, blocking her view of his typed draft (such as it was), and snatching up the stack of handwritten pages that lay beside the typewriter.

"I, uh, don't think you'd be able to read my writing." 

"You could read it out loud, and I could type it. Then I'd really be like your secretary, Mr. Munson." She rose onto the balls of her feet, brushed some of his hair back behind his ear, and murmured into it, her warm breath making goosebumps prickle up on his neck. "And if you touched my butt, I wouldn't mind." 

"I, uh, think you're seriously overestimating my ability to be literate while roleplaying boss and secretary with you."

Jesus H. Christ! Eddie screamed internally. Had those words actually come out of his mouth instead of doing what the lady wanted ? The unwelcome voice of Gareth replayed in his mind: S he has you totally whipped . If there was proof that Eddie had retained his own autonomy in their relationship, then surely this was it. Or he'd just developed a healthy respect for deadlines, and tomorrow was the last day O'Donnell would accept his extra credit project. There was nothing like the thought of that old hag to kill a mood.

"Also, you haven't read Lord of the Rings yet," Eddie said.

"Nancy hasn't, either, but you let her proofread it." 

"Nancy's not going to read it. You don't need to spend all your time helping me with my work, Chrissy," Eddie said, resuming his seat at the dinette. "I'll get it done, don't worry about me." 

She looked dubious but said, "If you change your mind, just ask. But are you sure you wouldn't be more comfortable working in the bedroom? There's more room at the desk than here."

"I'm sure. Given my typing speed of eight letters a minute, I'll be up way past your bedtime. And I like to be near the snacks ."

Kissing him softly on the cheek, Chrissy retreated to their room to work on a French composition; she was trying to get her grade back up after that test she'd missed brought down her average a couple points. 

Between his sporadic clacking on the typewriter, he could hear strains of synthpop drifting down the hall. He thought about turning on his own music and trying to type to the beat to pick up the pace, but odds were good he'd just end up making more typos and playing air guitar or singing along and distracting himself, so he decided against it. Eventually, Chrissy's music stopped, and pipes on the other side of the wall groaned as she showered and went about her nightly bedtime routine. 

Around ten, she returned to the living room in a little pink nylon pajama set--to say goodnight, Eddie thought, but she curled up on the couch with The Weekly Streak, which Wayne had read before his shift. (Like Gareth, he'd called bullshit on Eddie's quote, though without the side order of sexism that riled all the girls up at lunch.)

Eddie still had a good half of his paper left to type, but he got up, stretched, and plopped onto the couch beside Chrissy. After all, breaks were important--Ms. Kelley said so. 

He wrapped his arms around Chrissy's petite little body, thinking that she could fit entirely inside him, like a Russian nesting doll, and breathed in the strawberry scent of her shampoo as he snuggled her into the arm of the couch.

Letting the newspaper flutter to the floor, she turned her head and asked, "Did you mean it at lunch when you said you didn't think Jason did it?" 

Hell no, Eddie didn't mean it! He didn't say that, though, just shrugged. "It was a compelling theory, but for once in my life, I didn't want to be an ass" 

"Why not? He's not a good person. And maybe I'm not a very good person, either," she added, nudging Eddie so she could sit more upright, "but I don't think he's really gotten his just desserts for all the trouble he caused you. So I hope he gets what he has coming to him."

“You’re a regular little Lady Macbeth here,” Eddie said, and leaned down to capture Chrissy’s laughing lips in a kiss.

"I don't want him to suffer bodily harm! But I wouldn't mind seeing him face the consequences of his actions." She was quiet for a moment, seemingly considering what those consequences might be. "Could he actually go to jail?"

That was certainly scope for the imagination in that, as Anne would say. But alas… 

"Guys like Jason don't tend to go to jail." Guys like Eddie, on the other hand, who not only didn't have rich daddies to get them off the hook but, on the contrary, had deadbeat dads in jail themselves…. "Maybe community service?"

Chrissy bounced on the couch cushions, clapping her hands like she was cheering on the sidelines of a basketball game. "What if he has to clean up trash in Forest Hills?"

Eddie grinned and pointed at her. "That might fall into the realm of cruel and unusual punishment. I like it."

Hey, a guy could dream, couldn't he?

***

Eddie did dream that night--not about Carver, but not about anything more pleasant, either. In fact, he would've preferred to dream about Carver than what actually disrupted the few hours of sleep he'd managed to get, and then proceeded to haunt him through his morning classes. By fourth period he couldn't take it anymore, and bugged out to his old meeting spot in the woods, where he'd been chain smoking cigarettes ever since. 

The bell system was faintly audible way out here, so he'd known without glancing at his watch when class was over. He wasn't surprised when, halfway through lunch, Chrissy emerged from between the trees, approaching him at a clip, hands gripping the pink straps of her backpack, looking very serious. No, worried, he amended when she was close enough that he could see the furrow of her brow. 

"Why aren't you at lunch?" he asked, bringing his cigarette to his lips.

"Why aren't you?" Chrissy countered. "I thought maybe you'd gone to Ms. Kelley's, or to turn in your work--"

Eddie exhaled a trail of smoke. "I did that this morning." He wondered if Chrissy had eaten, or if she'd spent the whole lunch break so far looking for him.

Her fingers flexed on her backpack straps as her eyes darted from the cigarette in his hand to the pile of butts on the table beside him. "You haven't smoked since spring break."

Great, he thought, tamping out the current one and adding it to the pile. She was grossed-out now and wouldn't want to kiss him. Not that she'd want to kiss him if she knew he'd cut class.

But she stepped onto the bench and sat down close to him on the top of the picnic table, easing her backpack off her shoulders. "What's wrong, Eddie?"

Hunching forward, he dragged a hand through his hair. "I dunno," he answered with a shrug. "Just feeling kinda generally shitty about everything?" 

When Chrissy didn't respond, he elaborated, "I had this dream that O'Donnell handed back my graded Tolkien essay, only it was just a stack of blank paper with a big fat zero at the top."

"Obviously that didn't happen," Chrissy said, cheerfully. "I saw your stack of paper, and it was definitely covered in words. And O'Donnell can't give you a zero on an extra credit assignment." 

 "Yeah, well, when I turned it in this morning, she flipped through it, and the only thing she said was, 'Twenty. Pages.'" 

"She was probably just surprised," Chrissy said. "Or doesn't want to read that much extra credit work. Or both."

"Ordinarily both would fill me with spiteful glee, but…" Eddie trailed off in a sigh and wished he hadn't finished the cigarette. "I guess it just sucks to see someone be visibly disbelieving that I can follow through and…do work. And you know how she grades, she's so… nit-picky ." 

Chrissy nodded sympathetically. 

With a groan, Eddie stood, hopped off the picnic table bench, and began to pace the leaf-carpeted ground. "Mr. Miller was kinda weird when I gave him my theory assignment, too. He looked at my composition and said, 'You didn't have to write a full score, Munson.'  Which probably means I'm gonna, like, lose points for not following the directions or some stupid shit like that." 

"It's just the jitters." Chrissy had gotten up and was standing in front of Eddie when he turned. "You run on adrenaline to complete a big task, and then afterward you're worn out and your nerves are all jangled." 

"Hence the chain-smoking." Eddie gestured toward the pile of smokes on the table. "I feel crappy about that, too. I know you don't like it." 

Chrissy's small, soft hand came up to touch his cheek. He leaned into her palm as she stretched up on her toes and pressed her lips to his, her tongue darting into his mouth, as if to taste him. She was getting the raw end of the deal, Eddie thought, as his tongue came alive with the cherry flavor of her lip gloss. But when she drew back, she didn't look repulsed or anything.

"It's just that it's not healthy." Her hands slid down to grip the edges of his battle vest. "I want you around for a long, long time." Her grip on the denim tightened. "Forever." 

"What if I don't graduate?" Eddie blurted out. "Will you want a loser who can't even provide for--"

He stopped himself, heart pounding. He hadn't meant to go that far. 

Chrissy's eyes had gone wide at his outburst, but now her face drew into a deep frown, which made his heart stall, then go into a freefall. Not just far, too far. 

"You shouldn't be so mean to yourself, Eddie," she said. "You're not a loser." 

Eddie's heart juddered into motion again, beating at a steadier pace, though it was still too fast. "You sound like Ms. Kelley. She told me to be kinder to myself." 

"Ms. Kelley's a smart lady. I'll take it as a compliment if I really sound like her." She studied him for a moment, then said, softer, "I'll work, too, you know. We'll provide for each other. Together. Just like we do everything. Including graduating together." 

The g-word again. Eddie tilted his head back, eyes rolling up to the clear blue sky above the vivid green treetops. 

"What is it?" Chrissy asked.

"Just…Has anyone ever tried to reassure you something was gonna be okay, but it felt like…I dunno, added pressure?"

"Oh, Eddie…" Her voice pitched high, breathy. Eddie looked down at her again, saw the shine of empathy in her eyes as she replied, "Yes." 

Of course she knew that feeling.

"I love you." She wrapped her arms around his waist, pressing herself tight against him as she gazed up at him. "Not your name on a diploma. Though…" She bit her lip, hesitating, before going on with conviction. "I'd still want it next to mine on…" Pink crept over her cheeks. "...on another kind of certificate." 

Hands on her upper arms, Eddie gently drew back so he could look her squarely in the eye. "Chrissy Cunningham, are you… proposing to me?"

Her flush deepened, and her eyes darted away. "The boy's supposed to do that." 

"And boy, will I." 

Cupping her face in his hands, Eddie kissed her, slow and deep, and the soft sounds they made into each other's mouths mingled with the chirps of birds and insects.They kissed until his stomach clenched and his knees buckled, and he felt Chrissy sway against him, her hands clamped around his wrists to keep herself upright, only stopping when they heard the bell ring for fifth period. As they half-ran hand-in-hand back toward campus--they were going to be cutting it close making it to their classes by the end of the passing period--Eddie still didn't feel exactly reassured about the certainty of graduation, but he at least felt…better.

Of other things, at least, he felt perfectly certain. 

Chapter Text

Time flew when you were having fun…and also, apparently, when you were studying for final exams.

Long weekends (or any school break) had never lasted long enough for Eddie, but this Memorial Day holiday hurtled by at a more frantic speed than normal. It shouldn't have. It should've dragged by, because doing homework was near the bottom of the list of ways Eddie wanted to pass the time (replaced by doing anything in the Upside Down). But pass it did, moments tumbling over themselves--study, break, study, break, eat, sleep, study, break--so he could hardly keep up with where one ended and another began.

He couldn't seem to cram in enough study time, though occasionally his mind would wander to the fact that he could've been in Detroit this weekend, performing at MemorMetal Fest, and he'd take a moment to mourn the harum-scarum he used to be, who'd apparently been replaced by this dweeb who conformed to societal norms of, like, graduating from the public school system and shit. (Honestly, though, he didn't miss that guy too much, since the new Eddie got to make out with Chrissy during study breaks.)

The main thing that made time careen forward was the sense of impending dread. It stole Eddie's breath away, made his chest feel heavy. One time, he actually reached up and touched the chain around his neck to make sure his guitar pick was dangling from it, and not the One Ring. 

"I reckon you two're gonna do just fine on that test," Wayne drawled from the porch recliner, where he enjoyed an after-dinner cigarette. 

He'd spent the holiday morning fishing with a buddy from the plant, then fried up his catch for their dinner, which they'd eaten on the picnic table across the street because Chrissy had declared it a perfect spring evening. Eddie had been surprised to step outside, like Gollum emerging from his cave, blinking and throwing up a hand to shield his eyes from the glaring sunlight, and see the trailer park and the forest foothills instead of the wastelands of Mordor below the ash-spewing Mount Doom.

He tilted his head back on the armrest of the couch to look at his uncle upside down.  "Can you believe you're saying that about me?" 

Wayne took a drag from the cigarette, tendrils of smoke curling from his nose with his exhale. He rubbed his stubbled chin. "Always knew you had it in ya." 

Eddie's chest relaxed slightly at the approval and praise, only for that vice-like grip to clench it harder again. "Don't count your eggs before the chickens lay 'em, or whatever," he muttered, returning his head to its upright position. 

Chrissy whacked his shoulder with the stack of flashcards. 

"Jeez, Cunningham!" Eddie made a show of massaging his shoulder, which did not, in fact, hurt at all. "Why so violent?" 

"What have Ms. Kelley and I told you about being unkind to yourself?"

Wayne made a grunt of agreement--or something. "Listen to the ladies, Ed." 

"Sorry." Eddie huffed out a long breath, reaching up to rub his sternum. "Nerves."

"Don't you get 'em before your shows, too?" asked Wayne. "But you go out on that stage and you rock, or whatever it is you say, because you practiced. Exams are no different." 

"Uh, they involve a lot less shredding on the guitar." When his uncle huffed smoke out his nostrils and rolled his eyes, Eddie quickly added, "But I see your point, and concede." 

Privately, he noted that the analogy fell a little short. He'd never bombed a show, but he had flunked twelfth grade, not once, but twice. Then again, until this year, he hadn't exactly put a lot of effort into trying not to.

Chrissy was gazing at him, head tipped and lips open slightly like she was about to say something, then she set the flashcards aside and hopped to her feet, porch creaking beneath her petite frame. 

"I agree with Wayne," she said. "You're gonna do just fine . No more studying." 

She grabbed Eddie's hand and tugged him until he stood, then dropped it to hop down from the porch and dart across the yard. 

"Just a sec!" Eddie called, hanging back as she crossed the street to the dilapidated playground. At the edge of the porch, he shoved his hands into his jean pockets and kicked at a clump of weeds, not looking at his uncle. "Could you, uh, pick me up an application for the plant?"

When there was no immediate reply, Eddie raised his eyes to peer up through the curtain of his bangs. 

Wayne gave him a searching look as he smoked, then he withdrew the cigarette. "Sure thing." 

Eddie muttered a thanks, then jogged off to join Chrissy on the swingset. 

Her back was to the trailer, and as he ran up he gave her a big push. She let out a squeal of joy that mingled with the squeak of the rusty chains. (Was her tetanus shot up to date? Was his? Lockjaw would be a helluva reason to miss finals.) He watched her pump higher and higher in the air, her flapping ponytail coppery in the slanting sunset glow, then he dropped into the other swing and kicked off. His ass was too wide for it, but he ignored the pinching of his hips and gave himself over to play.

They did all the stuff kids did on swings: twisting the chains around and around and then spinning till they were dizzy; lying on their bellies and picking up their feet, arms outstretched to fly like Superman. But the swingset wasn't properly anchored, and their weight (his, anyway), which was slightly more than the intended kid users, made the whole thing sway, one leg coming out of the ground, so they stopped their antics and settled for rocking gently back and forth, facing each other. 

"You see the irony in this, right?" Eddie asked. "Us goofing off on a playground the night before our senior final exams?"

Chrissy smiled, beautiful with her crooked front tooth and cheeks flushed from playing hard on the warm May evening. "We're freaks, Munson." 

He reached out and caught the chain of her swing, pulling her in toward him. A lock of hair had blown free from her ponytail; with his free hand, he brushed it out of her face, studying how the red-gold strands shone as they curled around his fingers. He brushed his knuckles over her cheekbone, skin so smooth and sweet, and Chrissy leaned into his touch, tilting her head to close the gap between their lips as her hand left the chain to curl around his. 

As Eddie yielded to the warmth of her mouth, the icy dread that clutched at him melted away.

***

"Eddie, wake up." 

Sunlight poured into the bedroom as Chrissy threw open the curtains, assaulting Eddie's closed eyelids. Groaning, he screwed them tighter shut, rolled over, and yanked the covers up over his face. 

"Nassty, nassty light," he hissed. "It hurts our eyes."

"Eddie."

He felt the weight of a hand at the side of his head and fingers curling around the edge of the comforter. Then tricksy Chrissy tugged it back, and the light flooded in.

A screech ripped from Eddie's throat. Chrissy sprang backward from the bed, the flimsy bifold closet doors rattling as she bumped against them. 

"THIEF!" Eddie shrieked, writhing around in the tangle of sheets. "The elf-maid stole our blanketses! Nassty light! Nassty yellow face! It keeps us awake when we wants to sleep! Cruel elf-maid! Tricksy! False! She betrays us!"

"She makes sure you don't oversleep and miss your exams today," Chrissy replied. 

Ugh --the dreaded word. But he could work with this. Eddie stopped thrashing and slithered upright onto his knees. "What's… exams, precious?"

"Well, they're…" Chrissy paused, forehead scrunching as if this were an exam. A laugh rattled at the back of Eddie's throat; it kinda was, he guessed, and she'd aced it by playing along. She grinned as the answer came to her. "...tests of your knowledge." 

Eddie blew a raspberry and crossed his arms over his chest. "We doesn't know nothing." 

"Whatever you say, Little Gollum Man." Chrissy tossed the comforter over his head. "Please remind Eddie he promised to cook a good breakfast."

He had promised that, and he silently cursed the more energetic Monday Night Eddie for it. Despite the rude awakening and the looming dread of finals, he mustered the strength to bound out of bed and land on all fours in front of Chrissy, blocking her path to the door. 

"Does the pretty elf-maid like fishes?" he panted.

Her eyebrows shot up. "For breakfast?"

Letting out a guttural laugh, Eddie nodded and capered. "We eats fishes three times a day! But we makes the elf-maid something crunchable…something tasssty…"

He scrambled to the kitchen, where he stood upright again to make bacon and eggs, toast, and a little fruit cup of sliced bananas and strawberries, while Chrissy dressed for school. 

"Brain food for my lady," he said, placing a heaping plate before her at the dinette. 

She thanked him with a smile as he plopped down across from her, then turned her attention to a French textbook she'd brought with her to the table. 

"Hey, now--what's this?" Eddie asked around a mouthful of eggs. "Breaking your own rule, Cunningham?"

Her eyes darted up from her book, round as the yolks of her sunny side up eggs. She'd just taken a bite of toast, and while a full mouth wouldn't have stopped him from yammering, Chrissy was refined and didn't speak. 

"Last night," he elaborated. "You said no more studying." 

Chrissy swallowed, then brought her hand up to daintily wipe away toast crumbs and a blob of strawberry jelly with her fingertips. "I'm not really studying, I'm just… reviewing ." 

Eddie raised his eyebrows." Really? You're gonna try and get out of this one with semantics?"

Pink tinged her cheekbones as she snapped her French text closed and set it aside. "You're right. I'm ready for this exam." 

"Hell yeah, you are!" 

It was music to Eddie's ears to hear her being kinder to herself, as well. He leaned back in his chair, tilting his head back to eat a piece of bacon like a trout taking the bait off a hook. 

"If you really feel like you need to review," he said, "you could just talk only in French to me till we get to school." 

Chrissy giggled as she speared strawberry and banana pieces with her fork. "You won't understand me, though." 

"I'll understand you're sexy."

"La flatterie vous emmènera partout." 

"Was that something about flattery?" Eddie asked, chomping into his toast. 

"Ne parlez pas avec la bouche pleine." 

Eddie waggled his eyebrows. "I don't have a clue what you're saying," he said, mouth full, "but I told ya: it's sexy!"

Chrissy ducked her head, lips twitching with soft laughter, like she had a private joke. Him, probably. That was just fine by Eddie. In fact, he was more than fine with being her own personal jester. 

So long as he wasn't a fool who couldn't graduate. 

***

They kissed at her locker before parting ways for their respective first periods, as they had every morning since spring break. Eddie lingered a little longer than usual today with his forehead against hers and arms looped around her waist, keeping her hips pressed to his. 

"Ew, can't you take it under the bleachers like normal people?" muttered a passing student, prompting Eddie to remove one arm from around his girlfriend to flip the bird. 

Returning his gaze to Chrissy, he pointed at his cheek. "Would the fair damsel perhaps bless me again with her sweet lips?" 

Giggling, she replied, "You have only to ask, good sir." 

She bounced up on her toes, and he stooped to help her reach his cheek. Even though her mouth had just been on his, tongues swirling and sliding together (okay, maybe the wisecrack about PDA had been a little justified) the brush of her lips made Eddie catch his breath as a shiver went down his spine. Would he ever get used to how gently she treated him? How tenderly? He felt like he might write a goddamn poem about it.

When she drew back, the smile on her upturned face buckled into a wince. "I got lip gloss on you." 

She started to wipe it away, but Eddie tilted his head out of her reach. 

"I shall wear it proudly into my battle of the mind," he said, hands going to his hips as he puffed his chest, "as a talisman against failure." 

Chrissy's smile returned, and she drew up close against him again, tracing the edge of his battle vest. "It's too bad boys don't wear lip gloss so I can have a talisman, too." 

"Yeah…And you probably don't wanna walk into French class with a big ol' hickey on your face, huh?"

"No!" Chrissy cried, laughing. "I love you," she said, softer. "You'll do great today." 

"I love you more," Eddie replied, because apparently he was a total sap now, "and you'll do better."

***

Four exams were scheduled for Tuesday, and the other four would be on Wednesday. Shop was easy--multiple choice about kinds of tools and how to use them safely--and putting the finishing touches on and submitting his final project. He did pretty good on economics--passed, for sure--though it was hard, as was Kaminsky's chem exam.

"But I was kinda riding high on that one," Eddie told Chrissy when he met her at her locker after school, "because Mr. Miller handed back the composition projects and asked me if Corroded Coffin would play my song at the senior assembly Friday morning." 

"Oh my goodness!" Chrissy did little cheerleader hops and grabbed Eddie's hands, and he bounced with her. "Eddie, that's awesome!"

He opened his backpack and pulled out his slightly crumpled "Fearful Symmetry" score with a big, fat 105 written across the top in red ink. (Double underlined! With an exclamation point!) On the back, Mr. Miller's spikey cursive read, You really went above and beyond. With your permission, I'd like to keep a copy of this as an example for future theory classes. 

"Pretty rad, right?" Eddie said. Even back when he'd done well enough in his classes to make the A-B honor roll, no teacher had ever been effusive about his work.

"Are you going to give him your permission?" Chrissy asked.

"Hell yeah! Suck on that , Tipper Gore--this metalhead's an example for schoolchildren." As they started down the hall, hand-in-hand, he asked, "Hey, how was your French exam?" 

"Très difficile," Chrissy replied.

"Hey, I understood that! But you think you did okay?"

"Je pense avoir obtenu une bonne note."  

"Uh, I hope that means you got an A? But I'm gonna need to stop off in the locker room for a cold shower."

Chrissy's laugh rang out, and Eddie spied Jeff heading out the doors. He dropped her hand and loped after his bandmate. 

"Yo, Jeff! We got a gig!"

***

On Wednesday, Eddie snapped awake first, well before the alarm went off. He lay there in the dark, trying to distract himself from the juddering in his chest as O'Donnell's Brit lit syllabus tumbled through his brain. He listened to Chrissy's steady breathing beside him, punctuated by occasional sighs and soft whimpers. She curled on her side facing him, and he rolled toward her so he could watch her materialize bit by bit as the bedroom gradually lightened with the sunrise.

In his weirdo Gollum act, he'd called her an elf-maid, but it should be impossible outside of Tolkien for anyone to be this pretty when she slept. (His extra credit paper had to give his overall grade a boost, didn't it? Or had O'Donnell hated it? No. Stop. Don't think about that.) 

Chrissy's arms curled against her chest, hands tucked daintily beneath her pillow. Her hair fanned out around her like a halo in a medieval painting. Warmth colored her cheeks a faint pink, and above them, her lashes rested against her skin, long and flaxen without the usual daytime layer of mascara. The only thing about the picture that convinced Eddie this was actually reality and not some fantastical dream he'd stumbled into was the puddle of drool on her pillowcase. She looked so natural and comfortable. He was one lucky chucklefuck to get to see her like this. 

Delicately, he reached across her to switch off the alarm clock before it blared, settling back down closer to her and angling his head to brush his lips against hers. 

"Morning, Sleeping Beauty," he murmured, feathering her bangs through his fingers. (How was her hair so silky after a night of sleeping, and not a matted rat's nest like his?) "Time to wake up." 

Chrissy made a high, sleepy "Hmm ?" and her eyes opened just a slit. She could only have seen him blearily before she closed them again, but it was enough to make her slide her top arm from under her pillow and wrap it around Eddie, pulling her toasty little body flush against him, knees and feet tucked between his legs. 

For several minutes they shared soft, sleepy kisses. His lips alighted on her forehead, cheekbones, chin, the tip of her nose like a bee collecting nectar from blossoms. As they came more awake, heat mounted between them. Eddie pushed Chrissy onto her back, and as leaned over her, deepening his kisses, she parted her legs to make room for him in the cradle between her thighs. 

Gasping as he went hard in boxers, he pulled his lips from hers to kiss her neck, the ticklish spot behind her ear, the hollow of her throat…the place down lower where the button-up PJ top revealed a tantalizing bit of cleavage. He nuzzled at it, at the gentle swell of her breasts, felt chillbumps prickle up across her chest and abdomen as he slipped a hand beneath the hem of her shirt. She squirmed beneath him, hips bucking against his pelvis, making him go even harder. He bit his lip to stifle a grunt, but didn't totally succeed. With one hand buried in his hair, the fingertips of Chrissy's other hand brushed his jawline, nudging his chin until he lifted his eyes to her. 

His heart thudded as he gazed down at her, eyes darkened with her pupils blown wide, lips kiss-swollen and parted, then he all but lunged to capture them again, their fingers twining together, squeezing, as he ground against her. 

Holy fuck , he wanted her…and she wanted him, too, he knew it. But they couldn't…not now…

Chrissy's thoughts seemed to mirror his; at least, she backed off as he did, their touches and kisses becoming gentle again. Though when Eddie raised his head so he could see her face and read her expression, a frown tugged at her lips, and she sighed. "Maybe I should make breakfast," she whispered. 

Eddie swallowed. "Yeah." 

Neither of them moved right away. Hearts pounding, they gazed into each other's eyes as what had just happened between them took root in their minds. They would've had sex this time, if it hadn't been for school. (Fuck school, always ruining everything--though not for much longer.)

He rolled off her and onto his side as she slipped out of bed. His breath heaved as he tried to will his boner into submission, like a middle schooler. He needed to cool his jets…They had to go to school….They had exams--the most important one, for him…The one that would make or break him…

"Eddie, what's this?" 

"Huh?" He craned over his shoulder to see Chrissy standing by the door. "What's what?"

She padded around the end of the bed to his side with a sheet of paper and a furrowed brow. "An application for the plant?"

Now that was a thought to kill even the most raging hard-on. "Oh. Yeah. I asked Wayne to pick it up." 

This explanation didn't appear to satisfy her. In fact, the dimple between her eyebrows deepened as she clutched the application tightly. "You don't want to work at the plant." 

Well, duh, but that wasn't exactly the point, was it? 

Eddie pushed to sit up and scrubbed at the back of his head. "I gotta work somewhere, sweetheart. Tiger Tones didn't work out, and the garage filled that opening. But we need to start saving up so we can get our own place." 

Chrissy shook her head. "You don't need to worry about this till after exams."

Eddie's hand fell to his lap. "Job options in Hawkins aren't magically gonna improve just because I'm making decent grades in a couple classes and passing my finals, you know." 

Her mouth opened like she wanted to argue with this (and he did, too, honestly), then she pressed her lips tightly together. 

"I know." She lowered herself onto the mattress beside him, turning her big blue-gray eyes to him as her hand found his. "I just want you to be happy." 

Who besides her had ever said that to him? It made Eddie's heart inflate like a big balloon, filling his chest cavity. He was happy with her, didn't she know it? So happy if his heart kept swelling it might explode. Which wouldn't be very happy. In fact, it'd be gross. 

He squeezed her hand. "It'll only be till something better comes along. And I won't take a shitty night shift or anything like that and never see you. I promise." 

She looked a little relieved at that, but still skeptical. And for good reason. Eddie had his own doubts that an assembly line job wouldn't beat him down, though he sure as hell wasn't about to tell that to the woman he loved. A life with her, gigs in his spare time…He could hack it, for her. For their kids down the road. Couldn't he? If not, he had no one but himself to blame. 

"Do you, uh, mind if we don't talk about this right now?" He rubbed the sweaty palm of his free hand on his thigh. Which was bare beneath the edge of his boxers, so it didn't really help. "O'Donnell's final's kinda freaking me out." 

At that, Chrissy gave her head a little shake, as if inwardly she'd told herself to snap out of it, or something. "For sure." Her fingers tightened around his. "You can do this." 

"Maybe you should throw me a little pep rally."

He was kidding, but Chrissy let go of his hand, got up, and went to the closet. The scrape of the rickety doors opening was followed by a rustling sound that made Eddie pick up his legs and scooch awkwardly on his ass on the mattress. He barked out a laugh, delighted by the image of her standing with green and orange pom poms on her hips, poised to cheer. Beggars couldn't be choosers, so he didn't ask her to change into her whole uniform, much as he would've loved that. Anyway, it wasn't like she wasn't cute as a button in her little matching PJ shorts set. Eddie ogled up at the expanse of bare, slender legs exposed by the silky pink shorts. 

"Ready! Okay!" Chrissy began, at a lower volume than her usual cheer captain's voice, due to Wayne being asleep in the living room. She held her pom poms together over her head, forming a point. "Gimme an A!"

She paused, giving Eddie an expectant look. 

"Oh--A?" He tended to skip pep rallies, despite his appreciation for the cheerleaders, and hadn't expected this to be a call and response thing. He threw his arms up in the air. 

Chrissy spread her arms straight out. "Gimme a plus!"

"Plus!" 

"Put 'em together and whaddya got?" Chrissy asked, shaking her pom poms in front of her.

"A-plus!" they cried together. 

Eddie thought she was done, but Chrissy hopped onto the mattress, knelt in front of him, and danced the pom poms on top of his head. 

"A-plus! A-plus!" she chanted, like a zealous cultist in one of his campaigns. "Eddie's gonna ace O'Donnell's exam!"

She threw her arms in the air, and now she was done, grinning at Eddie in triumphant glee. 

"Goofiest cheer ever," he said, with a slow clap. "And by that I of course mean I love it." 

With a growl, he threw his arms around her and tackled her onto the disheveled bedding. 

He loved his own personal cheerleader even more.

***

A-plus might've been just a tad optimistic. 

One by one, the other students laid down their pens, got up from their desks, and handed in their test papers to Ms. O'Donnell, while Eddie continued to scribble away in his test booklet. He tried not to let his mind wander to how how easy this apparently was for everyone else, or how they could afford not to take it as seriously as him, as he scrawled every detail he could think of about the depiction of monsters in British lit, citing examples from Beowulf, Macbeth, Frankenstein, and The Picture of Dorian Gray (that book blew chunks). 

He wrote until the bell rang; as everyone around him stood and filed out of the room, he scanned over his essay responses for obvious mistakes. They were kinda longish for short essay responses, which hopefully O'Donnell wouldn't count against him for, like, being a third time senior and not knowing what short meant.

"Aa-CCCHHMMM." She cleared her throat. (Honestly, it sounded like a loogie of pretty superfucking massive proportions. Eddie felt something in between disgusted and really damn impressed.)

He looked up and saw that it was just him and O'Donnell left. 

"Alone at last." He waggled his eyebrows at her as he hoisted his backpack over his shoulder.

The teacher just stared at him over the frames of her glasses as he plodded to her desk at the front of the classroom like a condemned man marching to the gallows.

"Mr. Munson," she rasped, adding his exam to the stack on her desk and picking up a stapled sheaf of paper which Eddie knew, even face-down, was his extra-credit Tolkien essay. "I owe you an apology." 

His stomach did a roller coaster drop, only on the other side there wouldn't be an upward swoop and a surge of adrenaline. 

His paper wasn't good enough. 

It hadn't been what he needed to push his grade up into solid D territory. 

A hard, painful knot lodged in his throat, which no amount of hocking would be able to clear. Please don't cry, please don't fucking cry. Not in front of O'Donnell…

"When you handed me a twenty-page paper," she continued, "I thought I was going to have to spend my Memorial Day weekend reading twenty pages of your horse hockey."

"Fair," Eddie forced out in a pinched voice. "I've turned in some pretty half-assed assignments over the years." 

"I didn't know you were capable of this. I…should've worked harder to engage you in class." 

Wait, what? What was happening? 

O'Donnell's liver-spotted hands turned the paper over, and she offered it to Eddie. 

Through the kaleidoscope prism of tears, he saw the angular red letter at the top of the page. 

A+.

Eddie had to be dreaming--like Ralphie imagining his teacher filling every square inch of blackboard with a whole slew of plus signs after she read his essay about the Red Ryder BB Gun with a compass in the stock and that thing which told time. At any moment, he'd wake up and see O'Donnell had actually given him a C+ and written a comment like You'll invoke the devil with this fantasy drivel. 

But this was no dream. Ol' O'Donnell really had given him an A-fucking-plus. 

Not only that, but there were all kinds of comments written in the margins in her spidery cursive, which said things like, Good or Nice textual reference , and even Insightful . He, Eddie Munson, had insight --and he hadn't even had to roll for it.

"I'm sorry for writing you off," Ms. O'Donnell said. 

"It's okay," Eddie replied. "To be honest. I kinda wrote myself off." 

"In the future, don't ." She adjusted the oversized glasses on the bridge of her nose, then hunched over the stack of exams. "I look forward to reading your responses on the final." 

"And I'm looking forward to that D on my report card, Ms. O'D." 

Eddie strutted to the classroom door and slapped the doorframe, rings clacking, because he was just so full to bursting, he had to raise a ruckus somehow. 

Behind him, Ms. O'Donnell let out a yelp, and he cringed. Good one, Munson. She's about to grade your test, and you go and scare her. But when he turned back, she laughed for once. He didn't think he'd ever seen her laugh. 

Grinning back, he pointed. "D for done." 

***

"So, what'd you think?" Chrissy asked Eddie as they exited the Hawk on Thursday afternoon. 

It was Senior Skip Day, and though Eddie, a nonconformist, had declared innumerable unofficial Senior Skip Days during the last three years--hey, he was a senior, he was skipping, ergo that made it Senior Skip Day--who was he to eschew the hallowed traditions of teenage rebellion? (Even if said rebellion was fully endorsed by the school administrators, required a signed permission slip and checking in with the school attendance clerk to in fact have their attendance recorded, and Eddie was technically no longer a teenager.) 

He and Chrissy had chosen to spend part of their day off seeing Top Gun, which came out the weekend of prom. It was supposed to be a double date with Nancy and Jonathan, but somehow wound up including Buckley, who didn't drive and therefore couldn't leave school without a ride, her band friend Vickie, and Jeff, for lack of anything better to do. 

Eddie sucked the watery dregs of root beer through his straw and contemplated Chrissy's question. What did he think? 

Tossing the paper cup in a trashcan, he replied, "Aside from the pro-military propaganda?" (Jonathan chuckled at this.) "Not a bad flick, I guess?"

"You were sniffling and rubbing your eyes when Goose died," Chrissy said, sharing a quick look of amusement with Nancy.

"That was my allergies," Eddie said. "The Hawk's infested with mold. I miss the Starcourt Cinema." He didn't stand a chance against Chrissy's raised eyebrow. Sighing, he reached up and dragged a hand through his hair. "Okay, you got me. He left his young wife and kid behind!"

"And Tom Cruise," Vickie said, and Robin's cackle rang out, startling a pair of housewives as they came out of the theater.

"That volleyball scene was pure homoeroticism," Jeff said.

"Yes!" Robin grabbed his shoulder violently. "The man gets it!"

"I'm sure a lot of people appreciated the shirtless hunks," Nancy said. 

Eddie glanced at Chrissy and saw her nodding in agreement. Jealousy spiked through him--those muscly dudes were kinda her type, at least as far as her meathead ex was concerned. On the other hand, she didn't seem to have a problem with Eddie's bare chest and its lack of chiseled pectorals, so he slung an arm around her and made a mental note to tease her later instead. 

For now, Jonathan ribbed Nancy. "Should I buy you a new Tom Cruise poster for your dorm at Emerson?" 

Nancy smirked back at him, but there was an unmistakable flush across her cheeks. 

"C'mon, Nance," Robin piled on. "You can't have weapons on campus. You'll need a new top gun." 

"It'll take your breath away," Jonathan added. 

Everyone hooted, dumb as the jokes were--except for Nancy, of course, who shut them up by suggesting they go for ice cream. 

They strolled through downtown Hawkins, taking their time getting to the ice cream parlor. As they approached Tiger Tones, the musical instrument store, Eddie's chest constricted. He fixed his gaze straight ahead on Jeff's back, steadfastly avoiding even a glance at the shop windows. 

"Eddie." Chrissy stopped on the sidewalk, tugging him back by the sleeve. "The ‘help wanted’ sign's still up." 

His heart stuttered, and against his will, his eyes flickered to the red and white sign. 

"Yeah, well," Eddie said, pulling his hand from hers to cross his arms, "I already barked up that tree. Mr. Brooks didn't want my help." 

He pivoted to walk on after their retreating friends, but Chrissy caught his arm. "He did want it. He was going to hire you on the spot. I bet he regrets not taking you on." 

Eddie glanced from Chrissy's earnest face, to the sign, then back to Chrissy. Her eyes were so big and hopeful. I just want you to be happy, she'd said yesterday. 

 "You don't think I should go in and ask, do you?" he asked.

"Seems like a sign to me." 

"Yeah, a literal one." Eddie scrubbed his hands over his face, finding relief in the hard metal of his rings boringinto his skin. "I guess the worst that can happen is he still says no and I apply at the plant." 

"And the best?" Chrissy prompted.

Eddie tried not to picture himself chatting to hopeful young musicians about the instruments that might get them through the toughest years of their lives (even if they were marching band instruments). 

"I end up gainfully employed and wearing khaki pants every day."

Honestly, he could deal better with coveralls at the plant. On the other hand, the plant would probably make him cut his hair. Khakis or a haircut? Which was the lesser of two evils? He yanked open the door, bell jangling, and stepped inside. 

The owner, Roger Brooks, stood at the register tending a customer. "Be with ya in a jiff!" he called out in his singsong Minnesota accent, acknowledging Eddie. When his eyes wandered to him, they widened behind his glasses. 

Maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe he should go--

"Eddie!" Mr. Brooks greeted him as the customer brushed past Eddie to exit the store. "Haven't seen you in a while." He looked away, sheepishly, pulling off his glasses to buff them on a handkerchief he took from the pocket of his khaki pants. 

"Yeeeah…" Eddie scuffed his thumb against the ring on his middle finger. This was awkward. "I, uh, haven't needed any strings. But the band's playing at the senior assembly tomorrow, so it might be nice to have a spare set?"

He had spare strings galore, actually; they'd turned up when he organized his room (score!) but whatever. 

"Coming right up." Mr. Brooks perched his glasses back on his nose and scurried to the guitar accessories. "What'll your band be playing?" he asked over his shoulder as Eddie followed.

"Uh, a song I composed, actually." 

"A performer and a songwriter!" Mr. Brooks had leaned forward to scan the rack of guitar strings, but he turned his head and gave Eddie kind of an awe-struck look.

While Eddie felt a swell of pride, he thought the music store owner was more impressed than he probably should be. Shoving his hands deep in his pockets and rocking back on his heels, he said, "A writer of a song. For music theory class." 

He'd fucked around with original songs, but nothing he'd worked up with the whole band.

"Excellent!" Mr. Brooks plucked the package of strings from the rack and went to the register. "Will you be studying music in college?"

"Afraid I didn't quite have the grades for college," Eddie said, pulling his wallet from his back pocket. 

Oh shit--he probably shouldn't have mentioned that to a potential employer. Not that Mr. Brooks was. Wouldn't he have said something if he was desperate for help? Maybe he'd forgotten about his sign in the window. But then, where was the new employee? Lunch break? Day off? Eddie handed over a few bills. Why couldn't he just man up and ask ? 

"Did you get a summer job lined up?" asked Mr. Brooks, counting out Eddie's change. 

"Uh, not yet…That's why I came in, actually. I saw the sign." He twisted toward the front windows, where he saw Chrisy perched on a bench, waiting patiently with her purse in her lap, no doubt crossing her fingers for him.

"Do you really need the strings?" asked Mr. Brooks.

"Well, yeah?" Eddie avoided his eyes as he stuffed his change in his wallet. "Kinda? I mean I will. Eventually." 

"Could you start on Monday?" 

Eddie's head snapped up. Was this really happening? He was getting a second chance at an opportunity he'd thought had passed him by? 

"I can start on Saturday if you want me to." 

Mr. Brooks waved him off with a smile. "I'm sure you'll be busy celebrating graduation." 

Or drowning my sorrows. 

"Do you need, like, an application or anything?" Eddie asked. "My grades? References?"

"Do you have any references?"

"Uh…Ms. Kelley, I guess? The school counselor? And maybe, uh, Mr. Miller?"

As far as previous employment went, he'd only worked for Reefer Rick. He imagined Mr. Brooks making a reference call to fucking jail .

"I can talk to them," Mr. Brooks said, "but so long as you show up to work on time and work hard, I can't see why we'd have a problem. You've always seemed like a good kid to me, and being a musician, you're a lot more qualified than most applicants would be."

Eddie couldn't help but think that someone like Buckley, who’d actually been in marching band, would be more qualified than him.

"Do you have any questions about the position?" asked Mr. Brooks.

"Is there, uh…a dress code?"

Mr. Brooks looked him over. "You do have that whole rockstar look, don't you?" He chuckled. "Tell you what. Jeans without holes, button-down shirt, maybe fewer rings? Don't want to scratch the brass instruments."

Relief flooded through Eddie. "I can handle that. Thanks, Mr. Brooks. I won't let you down." 

"Don't you want to discuss salary?"

"Uh…" Eddie had just assumed it would be minimum wage. 

"I can pay you six fifty an hour while you're learning the ropes. That'll increase with time and responsibility. I'd like to scale back my hours sooner than later, so assuming things go well, you'd basically be the manager." 

Eddie's hand went up, fingers burrowing into his hair, as he sucked his lower lip between his teeth. Him? In charge? He'd never seen him as a managerial kinda guy--though he guessed he was a leader, both of Corroded Coffin and Hellfire Club. And he ate, slept, and breathed music, so…who better than him to manage a music store?

"Mr. Brooks, that's…Holy… Wow." 

Mr. Brooks extended his hand. "Congratulations on your graduation. See you at nine Monday morning? Store opens at ten." 

"I'll be there at eight forty-five!" Eddie said. 

Accompanied by his new boss's chuckle, Eddie burst through the door. Chrissy jumped to her feet, and he swept her up in a hug, lifting her off the pavement. 

"You got the job?" she asked.

"I got the job, baby! And I'll eventually be the manager!" 

"Eddie, I'm so proud of you!" Chrissy pressed her lips to his in a dizzying kiss. Or maybe that was the twirling.

He stopped spinning, but didn't set her on her feet, just gazed down at this little miracle who'd pushed him to try…and try again.

She squirmed in his arms, wriggling till her feet touched the ground. "Let's catch up with the others--we really need that ice cream now. We have to celebrate !"

***

It was like prom all over again. 

After ice cream, while they were still downtown, Chrissy had asked to stop in the record store for the Top Gun soundtrack, which Eddie had bought for her. 

"I have money, you know," she'd protested when he'd taken out his wallet.

"So do I," Eddie had countered, thrusting bills at the cashier. "And I'm about to have a whole lot more, cause I got a job!" 

Yessir, that was him, Eddie Moneybags, rolling in dough.

Chrissy had just laughed and shaken her head. "All right. If you insist." 

"I do insist." He'd draped his arm around her on their way out of the store. "I'm celebrating." 

"We just celebrated with ice cream, and you paid for that, too." 

"Can't think of a better way to celebrate than by treating my girl."

Now, his girl was bouncing around the trailer, shimmying and sashaying, shaking her hair, and singing along to the synthy beats of "Lead Me On" while Eddie browned ground beef on the stove. His ears were kinda bleeding from the cheesy horns, but it was a sacrifice he was willing to make to see her dance her little heart out. Her cutoff jean shorts didn't hurt, nor did the knotted t-shirt that occasionally rode up to reveal her bellybutton. But what really captivated him was how happy and carefree she was. Although he wasn't exactly unanxious himself, with exam results TBA (If he flunked after all, would Mr. Brooks still let him work at Tiger Tones?) he turned off the burner under the meat and let Chrissy pull him into the living room to slow dance to "Take My Breath Away." 

And goddammit if she didn't actually leave Eddie a little breathless as she pressed her body close to his and gazed up at him with those big eyes full of love. 

"I'm gonna hafta send ol' Tom Cruise a letter," he said, or else he would've ended up a sobbing mess at her feet, because his nerves were so frayed. 

"What, like, fanmail?" Chrissy's forehead puckered.

"Nah, more like a thank you note." 

"For what?"

"Getting you all in an affectionate mood for me." 

She laughed, but said, "I don't think I need his help getting affectionate for you." 

Eddie dipped his head to kiss her, but before he could brush his lips to hers, Chrissy quirked a little smile and added, "Just the sight of you at the stove cooking Sloppy Joes is enough to do that." 

He threw back his head and cackled, then lunged and stole a kiss anyway before releasing Chrissy to return to the kitchen. If all else failed, he guessed he could be a househusband. 

As he dumped the hamburger meat into the colander to drain, the crunch of gravel outside drew their attention. 

"Is that our driveway?" Chrissy asked, getting up from the couch, where she'd plopped down to thumb through a community college course catalog. 

"Maybe Wayne forgot something." Eddie left the meat in the sink and went to the door as Chrissy opened it. He staggered backward when he saw the person getting out of the blue Toyota Tercel. 

Ms. Kelley. 

Oh no. 

She'd come to deliver the bad news in person. To let him down gently. 

It's okay, Eddie told himself and tried to slow his breathing. You got a job. You've got Chrissy. You're gonna get married. You don't need a diploma for any of that.

Then, in the midst of his panic, his brain regained a semblance of function, registering that Ms. Kelly was smiling as she climbed the porch steps.

"I hope I'm not interrupting anything," Ms. Kelley said, stepping inside when Chrissy, who thankfully had her wits and manners about her and invited the counselor in, "but I wanted to see your face when I told you the good news."

She paused, or maybe everything was just weird in Eddie's head right now. He was dimly aware of Chrissy at his side and her fingers wrapping around his. 

"Grades are in," Ms. Kelley went on, taking a print-out from her purse and extending it to him. "You passed every subject. You even managed to pull your English grade up to a C-minus. Eddie, you're graduating!"

He had no idea how much time passed as he stared down at the paper, attempting to decipher the typed text on the grade sheet. It might as well have been Chinese or Greek or ancient Egyptian hieroglyphics, for all the sense it made to him. He didn't know how what she said could be true, because apparently he'd become illiterate. 

But she was beaming at him, her words echoing in his mind, or maybe that was Chrissy repeating them. Eddie, you're graduating! 

"I'm graduating?" he said, tentatively at first, then more confidently as reality seeped slowly into that thick skull of his like rainwater into clay. "I'm graduating !" 

Before he could think what to do next, he threw his arms around Ms. Kelley and hugged her fiercely. Belatedly, it occurred to him that maybe he was being a total weirdo or, worse, inappropriate, but before he could release her, Ms. Kelley returned the embrace, patting him on the back. 

"You did it, Eddie," she said. "I'm so proud of you." 

Second time that day someone said it, and Eddie felt his throat tighten and tears prick at the insides of his eyelids. 

With a huge sniffle, he stepped back from Ms. Kelley and asked, "Wanna stay for dinner? We're having Sloppy Joes." 

Eddie's face reddened; who invited their guidance counselor to stay for Sloppy Joes? Him, apparently. It had just seemed like the right thing to do, in the moment. Marilla Cuthbert invited Anne's teacher to dinner after she dropped by Green Gables with good news. And there'd been a mouse in the custard sauce, too. Thank fuck Eddie didn't have any custard sauce in the pantry. Mice were occasionally a problem here.

"Thanks, I wish I could," Ms. Kelley said, as if this hadn't been a socially unacceptable offer for Eddie to make at all. "Sadly, I already have dinner plans." 

"Hot date?" Eddie blurted out.

Ms. Kelley blinked at him. Interesting response. What could it mean? 

"Do you like older men?" Eddie's mouth just wouldn't stop running. "Because my uncle's totally available." 

Ordinarily, the counselor was unflappable--or at least, she'd never flapped during any of Eddie's visits, and he tended to have the opposite effect on the school faculty and staff. Now, she adjusted the strap of her beige purse on her shoulder and moved toward the door. Back away slowly from the crazy person…

"Oh! Wait!" Eddie cried. "I have something for you!"

He dashed through the trailer, footfalls making Wayne's mug collection rattle on the shelf, to the bedroom, where he immediately forgot what he'd gone in there for (oh, yeah) or where it was (on the desk), then back to the living room, where Chrissy and Ms. Kelley were talking quietly. 

"You said you wanted to see something I made in shop class," Eddie said. "This is for you." 

Uncertainly, Ms. Kelley accepted his offering: a varnished wooden box in an elongated hexagonal shape with a hinged lid. "Is this…" She looked up at Eddie. "...a coffin ?"

Eddie's chest puffed with pride. "For my two failed senior transcripts. RIP." 

She laughed, a sunshiny sound, and her face scrunched up. "It's beautiful craftsmanship, Eddie," she said, sincerely, turning it over and tracing his initials burned on the lower back corner. "I'll treasure it." 

He and Chrissy walked her out to her hatchback and waved as she drove away. As soon as she'd rounded the bend in the road, out of sight, Eddie completely and totally lost his shit. 

He leapt into the air, shaking his fists, and let out a shriek that made the Mayfield trailer door open and Max's red head poke out.

"Eddie just found out he's graduating!" Chrissy called, hands cupped around her mouth like a megaphone. 

"Nice!" Max gave a thumbs up, then retreated back into her house. 

"I'M GRADUATING!" Eddie bellowed, jumping up and down with as much enthusiasm as he ever had in a mosh pit. Chrissy bounced with him, alternating between her cheerleader clap and wiggling her fingers in the air.  "I'M GRADUATING!"

"You're graduating! You did it, Eddie! A C-minus!"

Suddenly, all the adrenaline that had been pumping through his body fled. 

Legs no longer able to support him, he sank down onto the porch steps and burst into tears. Just folded over his knees and sobbed into his own lap. Chrissy lowered herself beside him, stroking his hair, kissing it as she wrapped her arms around his quaking shoulders and held him as weeks…months…years' worth of emotion flooded out of him. Like the overgrown Alice's pool of tears. 

Somehow, even with Chrissy's weight pressed against him, he felt so light. A burden had been lifted. The Ring was gone, destroyed in the fires of Mt. Doom. 

Eddie's quest was complete.

"I'm graduating," he croaked when he could speak again. He sat up and dug the heels of his hands into his eyes to wipe away his tears. "I'll have a diploma. And a job . And best of all, I get to be with you ." He cupped Chrissy's face in his hand, scuffing his thumb over her cheekbone. "I never believed my life could be this good ."

"You'd better believe it, Munson," said Chrissy, "because it really, truly is." 

Chapter Text

Eddie hadn't sat through a school assembly since…he couldn't remember when. It definitely hadn't been last year's Senior Assembly…or the Senior Assembly before that. He hadn't even bothered coming to school either of those days, not after he'd learned he wouldn't be graduating. What the hell would've been the point? (To be honest, if he had passed then, he still probably wouldn't have shown up. Because, again, what the hell would've been the point? He wouldn't have won any awards, and none of his friends had been of the award-winning variety, either.) 

Today, though…today…he sat right up front in the musty-smelling auditorium, beside his girlfriend, who was called onstage not once but thrice--three times!--to receive medals for outstanding achievement in fourth-year French and accounting, and a Presidential Service Award for performing more than a hundred service hours for the National Honor Society. Each time her name reverberated through the auditorium, Eddie leapt to his feet, put thumb and index finger in his mouth, and whistled. When this turned heads, he just shrugged and played dumb. Wasn't that what you were supposed to do at these things? He wouldn't know, he'd never been to one. Chrissy Cunningham, Cheer Captain, deserved her own cheering section for once, and she didn't seem to mind one bit that Eddie was making a spectacle, smiling down at him from the stage. (She got called up a fourth time, for her outstanding contributions to varsity athletics, and he did his best impression of a cheerleader going nuts on the sidelines after a big play in a championship game.)

While on his feet, he also made use of the vantage point to scan the crowd for Carver. Eddie hadn't seen the disgraced King of Hawkins High since that day in the principal's office, when Hopper came to interrogate him about the prom night trailer park power outage. Rumors had been running rampant: that Carver had been hauled off to jail (Eddie wished) or was suspended (again) for the rest of the year. He wasn't here now, that was for damn sure, and it made suspension like a real possibility. Delicious, Eddie thought, all but salivating.

His leg bounced as he waited for his own turn onstage. The seat squeaked, his wallet chain jangled, and Chrissy placed her hand with her pretty pale pink fingernails lightly on his thigh. Eddie stopped jiggling, curling his hand around hers and raising it to his lips, channeling his pent-up energy into nibbling at her knuckles. He wasn't nervous about his performance, exactly--okay, maybe he was. Just a little. But that was only because the last time Corroded Coffin played at school, the audience had clapped their hands over their ears and tried to boo them offstage. (They'd been playing too loud to actually hear the booing, so at least there'd been that.) 

They were practically a different band than they were in middle school, Eddie reminded himself. He'd put his ego aside and admitted he wasn't a singer, for one. Jeff had gone through puberty since he was a creaky-voiced sixth grader, Shawn was a way better bassist than Donnie ever thought about being, and Gareth could hold a beat. Also, today they wouldn't be covering a song that was way too advanced for them. Even better, the audience wouldn't know their song at all. It was going to be fine. 

Nevertheless, Eddie hunched forward in his seat, knuckles pressed against his lips, when the last award had been handed out and Principal Higgins spoke into the microphone. 

"Next we have a special musical performance by Eddie Munson, Jeff Brown, Shawn Thompson, and Gareth Clark. Eddie composed this song for music theory class, and Mr. Miller asked if they could perform it for the senior class today."

Eddie scoffed and sat up straight. Mr. Miller asked--making it clear there was no way in hell Higgins would've invited the freaks to play. 

"So, without further ado…" Higgins met Eddie's eye for just the briefest of instances before darting away again as he gestured for the band to come onstage. 

"Knock 'em dead, rock star!" Chrissy stage-whispered. 

She clapped, which got most of the rest of the auditorium applauding, too (some more enthusiastically than others), as the four musicians stood, chair seats folding up as they filed out of the narrow row and took to the stage, where the black curtains had parted to reveal their instruments. 

Eddie slung his guitar strap over his shoulder and stepped up to the mic. "On behalf of Corroded Coffin, I just want to thank Principal Higgins for that very warm welcome." 

Sniggers rippled through the auditorium. 

Bolstered by the response, Eddie went on, "He's one of our regulars on Tuesday nights at The Hideout." 

They laughed outright at that, and it gave him a rush. Okay, so it had been fun to taunt them all in the cafeteria for six years, but uniting the student body against the principal was better--though from the front row, Higgins glowered up like he wanted to flunk Eddie in spite of his passing grades. (Could he do that?) Eddie's eyes raked over the audience, which included parents and--his heart clenched-- Wayne , who'd swapped for graveyard shift so he could go to graduation tonight and ought to be sleeping now; his uncle shook his head, so Eddie backed off Higgins. 

"I dunno know if you guys heard the news, but I'm graduating tonight!" 

He couldn't believe it, but there were cheers now--from Chrissy, of course, and his bandmates and Nancy and Jonathan and Robin and kids who'd attended prom and even teachers (ready to be rid of him, Eddie was sure, and the feeling was mutual, with the exception of Ms. Kelley, who he believed was genuinely thrilled for him). 

"Third time's the charm!" someone bellowed.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, haven't heard that one before. Anyway, that means like all the rest of you, I passed O'Donnell's English class, which is where the lyrics to this song come from." He strummed the opening chord. "This is 'Thy Fearful Symmetry,' and it's based on 'The Tyger,' by William Blake." 

Maybe that was the nerdiest shit they'd ever heard, but Eddie hadn't given a fuck what anyone at Hawkins High had thought of him for six years, so why the fuck would he start now? 

"It's metal, so that means you gotta stand up for this. Come on, up, up up!" He played the next chord, then swept his hand upward. "Off your butts, onto your feet!" 

To his delight, his reverberating chord was underscored by the creaks of chairs as a lot of his fellow seniors actually stood.

"Oh, and Ms. O'Donnell? This is for you."

From the stage, he couldn't see the details of her face, but he was familiar enough with the particular shake of her head that he was ninety-nine point nine percent positive she was rolling her eyes behind the reflective lenses of her glasses. He stuck out his tongue, waggling it, then winked at Chrissy, who was already bouncing. 

Finally, he turned to Gareth as he hit another chord. Gareth clacked his sticks together four times, then he pounded the drum intro. In the audience, heads began to bob to the beat as Jeff growled into the mic. 

"Tyger Tyger, burning bright,

In the forests of the night; 

What immortal hand or eye, 

Could frame thy fearful symmetry?"

His voice was a little savage and a little sensuous above the mysterious-sounding melodic minor tune Eddie coaxed from the Warlock. Rhythm guitar, bass, and drums drove the verses in a steady crescendo until lead singer and lead guitar were wailing a duet with all the operatic melodrama Iron Maiden poured into their music. Eddie glanced into the audience again and saw that his classmates weren't exactly moshing, but bodies were moving, heads doing something between bobbing and banging. Most importantly, no one was booing. 

"When the stars threw down their spears 

And water'd heaven with their tears:

Did he smile his work to see?

Did he who made the Lamb make thee?"

An unresolved chord hung in the air; Gareth brushed the ride cymbal, making it shimmer. Eddie began to fingerpick a delicate solo, weaving a spell over the auditorium before the melody returned and the song came to a subdued conclusion that mirrored the beginning.

"Tyger Tyger, burning bright,

In the forests of the night; 

What immortal hand or eye, 

Could frame thy fearful symmetry?" 

The band stopped, and for several pounding heartbeats there was a void of sound, then the vacuum was filled by applause and the odd whoop or whistle. Eddie wasn't delusional enough to think he'd converted the senior class to the Church of Heavy Metal or anything--they wouldn't be clamoring to get into The Hideout to see Corroded Coffin next Tuesday night. Maybe their reaction was more about it being the last day of school--their day--but he'd take it, and the feeling of being a part of something, accepted as a campus group just like the marching band or the choir.

Eddie returned to the mic. "Class of '86! Go Tigers!"

When he turned to face his bandmates, they gawked at him; they could've been the picture in the dictionary next to incredulous. 

"Go Tigers?" Jeff said. "Seriously, Eddie? You get school spirit now?"

Eddie was a little appalled with himself for being in a state of mind where something like that could just slip out, but he sure as hell wasn't gonna admit that. "The spirit of getting the fuck out of here," he said. 

Gareth scoffed. "Whatever, man, we all know this is what happens when you date cheerleaders."

The assembly was over, and Principal Higgins dismissed the seniors to the football field to rehearse the commencement ceremony. As Eddie and the band broke down their gear, two girls made their way onstage. He recognized the brunette as the girl Gareth had made out with at prom. 

"Hi, Gary." She gave a little wave.

"Gary???" echoed Shawn in a voice so pinched it was really more of a wheeze, while Jeff nearly choked to death laughing. 

"Hi, Lynn," Gareth squeaked, flushing. 

"You're a really good drummer," Lynn told him, making him go even redder. 

"You are a really good drummer," a male voice interrupted, and they turned to see Mr. Miller, white-haired but broad-shouldered and perpetually buzzing with energy, had joined them onstage. "Why aren't you in marching band?"

"I was, in middle school," Gareth replied. "I quit because I didn't want to wear one of those dorky uniforms." 

If this offended the band director, he didn't look fazed. "You realize you'd get PE credit for it."

The shit-eating grin fell from Gareth's face. "Wait, are you serious?"

Mr. Miller turned to Eddie, leaving Gareth to contemplate whether PE credit was worth the sacrifice of his dignity and to flirt awkwardly with Lynn as he dismantled his drum kit. 

"I really enjoyed the live performance," the band director told Eddie, "and I think your classmates did, too. You must be Mr. Munson," he added as Wayne came to stand at the foot of the stage. He stooped to shake his hand. "You've got a very gifted nephew." 

Wayne nodded. "He taught himself everything." 

"Really?" Mr. Miller's eyebrows went up. "Very impressive. Have you ever considered teaching?"

Eddie reached up and twisted a lock of hair around his finger. "I'm graduating high school by the skin of my teeth. Kinda doubt I'm teacher material." 

"You'd be surprised." 

"To be totally honest, I don't love the thought of spending more time in school after my bonus years." 

"Fair enough," Mr. Miller said. "But there are always private lessons. I'm asked fairly regularly if I can recommend guitar teachers. How would you feel if I gave people your name?"

This came almost as much of a surprise to Eddie as Mr. Brooks saying he could eventually manage Tiger Tones. He wasn't sure why he'd never considered giving guitar lessons. Maybe that whole thing about being the town pariah and corrupting the minds of innocents? But he was pretty good at explaining things. And he liked kids, despite what he led the freshmen to believe. 

"Yeah," Eddie said. "Yeah, I'd be down."

Mr. Miller nodded. "Good luck, Eddie." He extended his hand, and Eddie shook it. "Thanks for playing today. Who knows, maybe I'll stop by The Hideout this summer." 

"Well, I'll be," Wayne said when Mr. Miller was out of earshot.

When Eddie looked down at his uncle, he was taken aback by the look of pride on his face. He hopped down from the stage and asked, "What'd you think of the song?" 

"Well…" Wayne scratched his face. "It was loud." The corner of his mouth twitched. "But it sounded like something you might hear on the radio." 

Eddie threw his fists in the air. "Hear that, gentlemen? Wayne says we were loud and sounded like something you'd hear on the radio. We have arrived!" 

He froze at the sight of Principal Higgins approaching. "People say a lot of things about heavy metal, but your song was surprisingly Christian." 

"Uh…" Eddie slowly lowered his hands to his sides. "That would be William Blake. I'm not a Christian." He'd heard the description of blood running cold; Higgins looked like that, now. Catching Wayne's eye, Eddie hastily added. "I'm not, like, hail Satan or anything, either. There's lots of biblical stuff in metal. It's pretty rad, actually." 

Higgins heaved an exasperated sigh. "See you tonight, Munson." 

"It's a date!" Eddie called after him, leering when Higgins wheeled back in horror.

Tonight. He was graduating tonight. 

The guys hauled their gear out to Eddie's van for him to drop off at their respective houses after graduation practice. He'd just finished loading his Warlock when Chrissy rushed up to him, urgency written on her face. 

"Eddie. Jenny Watson told me that Tina Westbrook told her that Bobby Carmichael from the basketball team said Jason isn't allowed to walk tonight." 

Passing all his classes had been quite a hit to Eddie's knowledge reservoir, and his brain stumbled over the flurry of names that had just tumbled from Chrissy's mouth until it landed on the most pertinent piece of information.

He put his hands on her shoulders and asked, "Are you telling me that I'm graduating and Carver isn't?"

"I think he'll get his diploma." Disappointment flickered across her face before a smile tugged and she bit her lip to restrain it. "But they won't let him walk since he was formally charged with vandalism and is, like, potentially a felon." 

Eddie had just told Higgins he wasn't a Christian, but this news was almost enough to make him drop to his knees, repent of his unbelief, and give his heart to Jesus--though he guessed Jesus probably wouldn't be too into a heart filled with this much vindictive glee. 

"My life just keeps getting better and better." 

***

When Eddie and Chrissy got home, Wayne was presiding over the grill. 

"Good thing we didn't go out for lunch with Nancy and Jonathan," Chrissy said, climbing down from the van, as Eddie took the hanging bags containing their regalia from the hook behind the passenger seat. 

"I'm fucking starving," he said. "What's on? Burgers?" 

"Now, what kind of graduation meal's a burger?" Wayne replied. He lifted the lid of the grill as Eddie approached. 

"Holy shit, steak?" Eddie tried not to salivate on the sirloins. "Uncle Wayne, I could kiss you!"

"Please don't."

That just made Eddie want to plant a big juicy one on Wayne's cheek, but since he was holding the graduation gowns and Wayne the grill tongs, he refrained. 

"What if I kiss you, instead?" Chrissy asked. 

Wayne chuckled and tipped his head to the side as she arched up on her toes to press her lips to his cheek. 

"Careful, or I'm gonna think you like her better than me," Eddie said. 

But his heart swelled a little that Chrissy was so comfortable with Wayne and loved him as much as Eddie did, and that Wayne had accepted her as his own, just as he had Eddie all those years ago. Especially since Eddie hadn't exactly asked if he could bring a third person to live in their already overcrowded trailer.

Blinking back happy tears (ugh, graduating had turned him into an absolute basketcase, and he hadn't even walked yet), he went inside to hang up the robes before unloading the amps from his van. He walked through the bedroom door and stopped in his tracks. 

Spread across the bed was a full-length, long-sleeved, high-necked green flannel nightgown that looked like something Ma Ingalls would've worn. Next to it lay a baseball cap emblazoned with CLASS OF '86. Dropping the graduate regalia, Eddie snatched them up and darted back outside. 

"What the hell are these?"

Wayne turned from the grill. "A cap and gown." 

"Yes, I know. But why?"

"For graduation." Wayne stared at Eddie with a straight face, though when Chrissy let out a screech of laughter, a grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. "You're supposed to wear a cap and gown tonight."

"That is dumb as hell," Eddie said, "but you know I love a pun." 

"Yep." Wayne tended the grill, shoulders shaking with laughter. 

Eddie went back inside, toed off his Reeboks and stripped off battle vest, jeans, and t-shirt, and wriggled into the nightgown. He hadn't noticed the button on the collar, and his head was stuck for a few seconds while he flailed his arms awkwardly around in the sleeves to find it from the outside. When his head was finally free, he popped the baseball cap on his wild hair and pranced back outside, gathering the skirt in front so he wouldn't trip on the ruffled hem. 

"I'm all dressed for graduation!" he announced, leaping down into the yard in his sock feet and skipping around his uncle and girlfriend. 

"Eddie!" Chrissy burst out laughing. 

Wayne just shook his head. "The neighbors were finally startin' to think you were normal."

"Gross!" Eddie stuck out his tongue and gave a full-body shudder, arms flapping at his sides. "Who wants anyone to think that ? I'm a freak ." He stopped and said, "Actually, I think I'm gonna start sleeping in this. It's got good airflow down there, if ya know what I mean." 

He waggled his eyebrows suggestively at Chrissy; she blushed and shot Wayne a panicky look.

"Sorry, Miss Chris," he apologized. 

"Kidding!" Eddie picked at the sleeves, pulling the fabric away from his neck. "It's super itchy. Where'd you get this thing, Wayne?"

"Thrift store. Didn't wash it, because I didn't think you'd be dumb enough to put it on." 

"It's like you don't know me at all." 

Eddie nearly peeled the nightgown off right there in the yard, but he managed to refrain until he went inside, even if the door was still open.

He heard Wayne announce, "Chow time!"

Except for the part where they ate in the living room on TV trays since there wasn't room at the dinette for three, it was a proper steak dinner, with baked potatoes and all the fixins, hot, dark brown rolls, and a salad. Eddie wolfed his down, along with what Chrissy didn't finish of hers. (She was a little quiet during the meal, which wasn't all that unusual, but he wondered if it was a food thing.)

"Good thing those graduation gowns are flowy," he said, sitting back on the couch, undoing the button of his jeans, and rubbing his stuffed belly. "Or maybe I'll just look pregnant." 

"Did you actually pass biology?" Wayne asked, carrying a stack of plates to the kitchen. He deposited them in the sink, then returned to the living room with an envelope, which he handed to Eddie, and a thin, rectangular wrapped package for Chrissy. "These are some actual graduation presents." 

"Aw, Wayne, you didn't have to," Chrissy said. 

"Hush." Wayne settled into his recliner. "Ain't much. They're kinda for both of you." 

She looked at Eddie, and he nudged her with his shoulder. "Ladies first." 

Unsurprisingly, Chrissy's present-unwrapping technique was to carefully slide a fingernail under the tape and open the paper without tearing it. She slid from the packet a simple brassy-gold picture frame. Eddie leaned in to see the picture it contained, and they both gasped. 

"The talent show!" she exclaimed. 

All the performers were onstage, dressed in a hodgepodge of outfits pertaining to their acts, though Eddie with his buzzcut was more or less at the center of the group. Beside him stood tiny, strawberry blonde Chrissy, pompoms perched on her hips with a sassy little tilt of her head.  

"Our first picture together," Chrissy said, beaming her toothiest grin at Eddie. "It's like we were meant to be." 

"I didn't even know you had this picture," Eddie said, looking at his uncle. 

Tickled by their reactions, Wayne said, "When y'all mentioned being in that talent show together, it jogged a memory of an old box of pictures I squirreled away somewhere. Took me a while to hunt 'em down." 

"In this packrat's den?" Eddie said. "I can't believe it!"

Chrissy hopped up from the couch and bent over Wayne's recliner to hug him and plant another kiss on his cheek. "This is perfect, Uncle Wayne. It'll go in a place of honor when we move out. Maybe we'll have a mantel." 

Looking pleased as punch, Wayne nodded to Eddie. "Gonna open yours?"

As Chrissy rejoined him on the couch, Eddie ripped open the envelope with the energy of a kid on Christmas morning and pulled the card from the shredded remains. On the front was a cartoon guy in a cap and gown beside block letters that read Graduate, here's a card you're sure to like--it doesn't quiz, test, teach, assign, review, critique, instruct, or lecture. 

"Ha!" Eddie said. "You get me, Uncle Wayne."

"Thought it was like they made the card about you." 

Eddie opened it, but he forgot to read the inside because of all the cash that fell out into his lap. He gathered up the bills, counting as Chrissy collected them in a neat stack. Twenty…forty…eighty…two hundred…two-sixty…three-twenty… 

He looked at Wayne, whose gaze was fixed steadfastly on his lap. "Uncle Wayne…This is a lot …You shouldn't have…"

Five hundred dollars. 

Still not looking at him, Wayne shrugged. "Been puttin' a bit by, here and there. I knew you'd graduate one day." 

Eddie looked down at the card again. It just sits in your hand and says CONGRATULATIONS ON YOUR GRADUATION. Beneath the printed text was scrawled, Proud of you and the man you've become. Love, Uncle Wayne. 

Despite his newfound ability to write long short-answer exam responses and a twenty-page Tolkien paper, Eddie didn't have the words to express how much Wayne's support and sacrifice meant to him all these years. Even if he did, he had a feeling it would just embarrass his uncle. 

He heard himself rasp, "This is really for you, isn't it? So we can move out sooner and you can get the place back to yourself." 

"Damn straight." 

Wayne flipped on the TV and found a Gomer Pyle rerun to nap to. With his full belly, Eddie started to nod off, too--it was weird to have free time, with no homework to do or tests to study for--when he remembered he hadn't unloaded the van. Groaning, he reluctantly hefted to his feet and shuffled down the hall to find his sneakers. 

When he returned with the Warlock and the small amp, Chrissy was in the bedroom, standing in front of the bookshelf. She'd put the talent show picture between The Lord of the Rings trilogy and her Anne books (pride of place) and was staring at it, though there was a distant look in her eyes, and Eddie guessed her thoughts were someplace else. He set down the amp and guitar case, then went to her, slipping his arms around her waist from behind. Sighing, she relaxed against him, resting her hands on his, and he kissed the Aqua Net-scented top of her head. 

"You okay?"

Chrissy shrugged her shoulders. "Just…Wayne cooking us a nice meal and giving us presents got me thinking about my family. I know they suck but…"

"You wish they were here for you on your day." Eddie squeezed her tighter against him and rested his cheek on the top of her head. "I'm sorry, sweetheart." 

"You get it." She turned in the circle of his arms, hands resting on his chest as she looked up at him. "But Wayne was here for me as much as for you, and that means something. How long do you think he saved up to give you that money?"

"Us," Eddie corrected. He shook his head. "Too long. He shouldn't have."

Chrissy slid her arms around his waist. "What'll you spend it on?"

Hoo boy--if anyone asked Eddie three months ago what he'd blow five hundred smackaroos on, it would've been a very different list, which mainly included concert tickets and band shit and a new leather jacket and boots for all those gigs Corroded Coffin wasn't getting. He still wanted those things, but now they were a little further down the list of priorities. 

"Maybe…" He sank onto the foot of the bed, pulling Chrissy with him so she was sitting sideways on his lap, her arms looped around his neck. "...a deposit on our own place?"

Hawkins didn't have a lot of apartments, so who even knew when one would be available? Though an apartment wasn't ideal for a musician--neighbors would definitely complain about the noise. Would an apartment even have room for all his gear? Not that they had much else besides band gear to put in it. Just a mattress, a beat-up dresser, and the bookshelves he'd built, and the first two were technically Wayne's.

Chrissy was smiling, but said, "We should probably work at least through the summer and save." 

"We're gonna need furniture, too," Eddie said. "And we'll have your tuition and books to cover." Would their schedules let them get by with just the van? Or would Chrissy need her own car? 

"You need clothes for work." 

Eddie stuck out his tongue and made gagging sounds. Jeans without holes and button-down shirts, ew. But, not as bad as it could be. And maybe it would be an excuse to buy a new leather jacket, after all… 

"Our imaginations just spent all our money in less than five minutes, plus some we don't even have yet," Eddie said. "We just daydreamed about debt, Chrissy. Life after high school graduation blows." 

She laughed and hugged him. "I won an accounting award this morning, remember? I'll make a budget for us." 

"Uh, why do I find it sexy as hell when you talk about budgeting?"

"Were you thinking about me in a suit with shoulder pads again?" Chrissy nuzzled at his cheek.

"I am now." 

She was stroking his neck, and as their lips met and Eddie reached up to cover her hand with his own, he was struck by a lightning bolt of inspiration. 

"I know what I'm gonna spend that five hundred dollars on." 

Chrissy leaned back to meet his eyes, a dimple between her brows. 

"Something for you to wear." 

"I don't think you'll need that much for a ladies' power suit," Chrissy said. "Unless it's designer--"

"Nuh-uh." Eddie wagged his head. "Not a suit. Well-- maybe a suit, too. Definitely. But…" He scuffed his thumb over the ridges of her knuckles. "I was thinking about something to wear on your hand. Something sparkly ." 

Chrissy squeezed his neck and jiggled her dangling feet, and Eddie hoped he'd be able to find an engagement ring that sparkled as brightly as her eyes.

They goofed around until time to get dressed for graduation. Eddie grumbled about having to wear slacks and a dress shirt. He had a speech prepared about how he was going to buck the system one last time by not wearing the required tie, but when Chrissy emerged from the bathroom after an eternity, in a yellow dress with her coppery hair in long curls, he shut up and let her put a tie on him. "It'll look better," she insisted, and who was Eddie to argue with the beautiful, intelligent woman? (She had the NHS stole, award medals, and cords from various clubs and organizations to prove it.) Especially when it involved her touching him? 

Getting his mortarboard on over his mane presented a bit of a challenge, but Chrissy, endlessly clever and resourceful, secured it with bobby pins and stepped aside to let him see his reflection in the bathroom mirror. Eddie turned this way and that to check himself out from all angles. He worried he was gonna have major hat hair later when the thing came off, but he grinned. 

"I don't usually think of myself as a hat guy but I'm kinda digging this." He pushed the tassel to make it swing and turned to Chrissy. Clutching the lapels of his unzipped gown, he put on a sophisticated tone. "Does it make me look scholarly?"

Chrissy giggled (so much for his newfound sophistication). "You look very handsome. Green's a good color on you." 

Eddie made a mental note to wear more green--especially now that it wouldn't be a Hawkins High School color.

He crooked his arm and offered it to Chrissy. "M'lady…let's go graduate." 

***

The marching band, minus the seniors, limped through "Pomp and Circumstance," which made it pretty fucking hard to process around the football field without halting along like a zombie. Eddie wanted to break ranks and shove his mortarboard down a tuba--pomp their circumstances, or something--but by some miracle (maybe it was the power of wearing a tie) he maintained his dignity to continue the solemn march toward his future. Except that he was self-conscious about his stride length and it made him think about that Monty Python sketch, "The Ministry of Silly Walks," and Eddie really, desperately wanted to do a Silly Walk. It would take the edge off being right smack dab in the middle of a place where sports happened.

Instead, he stepped just to the side to look up the line of green caps and gowns for Chrissy's strawberry blonde hair and found her, flowing tresses shining like burnished gold in the early evening sun. He tried to scan the bleachers for Wayne, for the Hellfire kids and Harrington, but the light glared in his eyes. 

When the graduates reached their folding chairs on the field and the band played their last out-of-tune chord, Eddie plopped gratefully down in his seat. He hated that Munson was basically dead in the middle of the class, while Cunninghams was near the beginning…as were Brown, Buckley, Byers, and seemingly all of his other friends. Wheeler should be near the end, but Nancy was Valedictorian, so she'd be called first. Still, alphabetical order was preferable to calling names in order of GPA, he guessed. 

"Buckle up, chucklefuck," he whispered to the guy beside him, who he'd never seen before rehearsal that day, "we're in for a long wait."

An angelic voice in his brain reminded him that he'd waited for this moment for three years, so he should cut the negative crap, only for Principal Higgins to step up to the podium and the devil that also resided in Eddie's brain to talk over the angel. Eddie rolled his eyes and muttered sarcastic running commentary throughout the speech about hard work and bright futures, which the girl on his right shushed him for while the guy on his left sniggered and egged him on. Guess which one Eddie listened to? He wouldn't be Eddie Munson if he didn't annoy someone, would he? 

But when Nancy took Higgins' place to give her Valedictory address, Eddie zipped his lips and sat up and listened . He could hardly believe his ears when she slipped in a D&D reference, then another, and holy shit, the whole speech was a D&D metaphor about how high school was a campaign and you had to shore up all your skills and defenses and fight for your goals (and sometimes your life). And now, with high school behind them, they were about to embark on a whole new campaign, but they had the experience points to win. It was the best speech Eddie had ever heard outside of a book, and he loved how subversive it was--a big ol' middle finger to Higgins and all the dumbfucks who'd clutched their pearls about Hellfire Club. When it was finished, it brought him, along with everyone else, to his feet. 

After Nancy resumed her seat, Ms. Kelley stepped up to the podium to read names, while Principal Higgins and Mr. Blanchard, the Vice Principal, stood to the side to hand out diplomas and shake hands. 

"Here we go," Eddie murmured, and his heart began to judder wildly in his chest. He clapped for all his classmates, let out whoops for his friends (who he still couldn't believe were really his friends now), and when Chrissy walked across the stage, he leapt to his feet, cupped his hands around his mouth, and yelled, "I LOVE YOU, CHRISSY CUNNINGHAM!" She laughed (he couldn't hear it, of course), and he thought maybe she blushed, but again, she was too far off for him to say for sure, and looked out at him, so happily, as the photographer snapped her picture shaking Higgins' hand. 

After that, things got hazy. Eddie was vaguely aware of his row standing up and making their way toward the stage. His ears roared, and he couldn't hear any of the names, until suddenly Ms. Kelley's voice rang out clearly through the PA system: Edward James Munson. Were people cheering for him? This wasn't how he'd thought this moment would go, if it ever came, and the scene refracted like a kaleidoscope image as he couldn't stop himself from crying as he reached out for his diploma with one hand and shook Principal Higgins’ with the other, then posed for a photo, probably making the dorkiest face. 

As planned, he ran off the stage, but instead of high-tailing it away from Hawkins, he raced to Chrissy's seat. 

"Look, Cunningham--a diploma with my name on it!" he cried, then caught her in a fierce hug. 

Laughter rippled through the crowd of students and attendees in the bleachers. 

As Eddie released her, he hoped he hadn't embarrassed her, but he didn't think so. He stumbled, blindly happy, back to his seat, and regretted nothing, not even that it took him three tries to get to this point…

…or that, after all his daydreaming, he forgot to flip off Principal Higgins.

***

A few stray mortarboards littered the football field, unclaimed after the hat toss. Eddie and Chrissy had found theirs and put them back on at the request of Karen Wheeler, who wanted to take their pictures. (And also, because Eddie didn't want anyone to see his hat hair.)

As he and Wayne mugged for her camera, Wayne slapped Eddie's shoulder, gave it a squeeze, and said, "You did it, kid." 

He didn't add a qualifier like finally or about damn time, so Eddie didn't, either. He had done it, and that was all that mattered. 

"I can't believe you really won't be here next year," said Dustin, after Mrs. Wheeler photographed the Hellfire freshmen with Eddie. "Who'll stand on the cafeteria tables and bloviate?"

"Wheeler, probably."  Eddie glanced at Mrs. Wheeler trying to get a family picture while Mike bitched about how he was smiling, that was just how his face looked, and oh my god could she just stop with the camera? "Don't let him be a  dick, okay? Look out for the sheepies. Promise me?"

"I will," Dustin said, as if he were taking a solemn vow. "Hey--you never named a DM successor to Hellfire Club." 

"School's out, but there's no rest for the wicked," Eddie said in a dark and booming voice. "You know we're doing a summer campaign." 

"Right, but I'll be at Camp Know Where most of the time, and, you know--"

Yeah. Eddie knew. It wouldn't be the same. He'd thought about this, in between homework and studying and Chrissy, but he hadn't arrived at a decision he felt good about. 

He lay a hand on Dustin's shoulder. "Put it to a vote. I don't trust myself not to show extreme favoritism." Emotion welled again, and Eddie couldn't stop himself from pulling the kid in and wrapping him in a bear hug. "I love you, man." 

"God," Dustin squeaked, "you sound like you're dying." But his arms went around Eddie, squeezing him back as he actually tucked his face into Eddie's shoulder and said, "I love you, too." 

When Eddie straightened up and stepped back, he saw Chrissy standing a few feet from Dustin, staring at something behind Eddie with big, round eyes and a slightly open mouth. He turned to follow her gaze and his own face mirrored hers at the sight of Chrissy's father and brother walking toward them. 

Philip Cunningham's arms were laden with the biggest bouquet of roses Eddie had ever laid eyes on. Those were definitely not gonna fit in the bongs. 

"Daddy," Chrissy choked out in a voice that made Eddie take her hand, "you came." 

"Mom wouldn't," Brian said, "but Dad grew a pair and said he wasn't gonna miss your graduation." 

Philip grimaced at that, but apparently the pair he'd grown wasn't quite big enough to scold his teenager. Or maybe he just didn't care. He thrust the bouquet at Chrissy (Jesus, it was almost as big as she was, and she had to let go of Eddie's hand to cradle it), then took an envelope from his inner blazer pocket and gave her that, too. 

"Just a little graduation present. We're very proud of you, Chrissy. Are you, um…" His eyes darted to Eddie, then back to her. "...doing all right?"

Though dwarfed by her flowers, Chrissy stood up straighter and squared her shoulders. With a decisive little nod of her head, like she was beginning a cheer, she said, "I've never been better." 

Philip's jowls reddened slightly, and he acknowledged Wayne. "Thank you? For letting her stay? Can I, um, give you--?"

"We've got all we need," Wayne replied. "Kids're starting work in a couple days." 

Philip's mouth opened in a silent o as he returned his attention to Chrissy. "And school?"

"I'm going to take classes at the community college." 

Nodding, Philip murmured, "Good…that's good…"

"Are you guys partying tonight?" Brian asked. 

"We're stopping by a couple open houses," Chrissy told him. "Jenny Watson's? And Jeff Brown's--he's in Eddie's band--then a barbecue at Nancy Wheeler’s." 

When they'd gotten the invitations, Chrissy had told Eddie that Laura had been planning Chrissy's open house for months, and had put down deposits for catering and decorations and shit. With uncharacteristic venom, she'd said she hoped they were nonrefundable, and Eddie had cackled. He'd also told her he hoped she wasn't sad there wouldn't be anything like that for them, and she'd replied that they'd already hosted prom, and that was better than an open house. Valid point--but he still hoped she didn't feel Laura's absence tonight. 

"Right," Philip said. "Brian and I had better get back to your mother. Call me? At the office. If you'd like me to take you to lunch sometime." He glanced at Eddie. "Both of you."

That was unexpected. Would he take them someplace nice? Enzo's? The Country Club? Would Eddie have to wear this goddamn tie again? He hooked his index finger over the knot and tugged. 

"Okay," Chrissy replied. "Thanks for coming." 

Philip made a lurching movement toward her, as if he intended to hug her, but then he looked at the bouquet and hesitated, like he was afraid she'd be cut up about squashed roses. He settled for an awkward shoulder pat, instead, but Chrissy, blinking rapidly, turned it into a kind of side-hug. 

As Philip and Brian walked away down the football field, Eddie imagined yelling after him, I'm gonna marry your daughter! but that wasn't how he wanted to announce their engagement, and they weren't even actually engaged yet. 

First things first.

***

Eddie's van was one of the last vehicles left in the high school parking lot. He and Chrissy sat up front as the sun sank low on the horizon, most of the sky now deepened to violet and dark blue, though some magenta and vivid orange burned over the treetops. The scent of roses hung thick in the air (stronger, Eddie swore, than any weed he'd smoked in here), wafting from Chrissy's bouquet on the floor between their seats. She held her father's graduation card open in her lap, not reading whatever Philip had scrawled beneath the printed message, but staring at the rectangular slip of paper tucked inside. 

"A check," she said, flatly. 

A big check. A helluva lot more money than Wayne had given them. How was it that though technically the same gift, a check seemed so much more impersonal than the fat stack of cash Wayne had stuffed in Eddie's card? At least, it did to Eddie, but Chrissy's response and blank expression made him think she felt the same. 

"What are you thinking?" he asked, when she'd been silent for too long. 

"I don't know if I want to cash it." 

"What, like, on principle?"

Chrissy shrugged. "They kicked me out because they didn't approve of my choices." 

That was fair. But…ugh, that was a lot of money. 

Eddie reached up and scratched the back of his head beneath the elastic band of his mortarboard. He'd ditched the gown and his tie and the top few buttons of his white dress shirt and rolled up the sleeves, but left the hat, and so did Chrissy. 

"Look, it's up to you what you do with it. But for what it's worth, if it were my old man--and the fantasy here being that it wasn't a hot check--I wouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth. It's literally the least he can do for you." 

She looked at him, eyes big, her bottom lip caught between her teeth. That was too cold and jaded for sweet Chrissy. 

Softer, he added, "Maybe it's the only way he knows how to say he's sorry. Or he loves you." 

Tears slid from the corners of her eyes, and Eddie leaned awkwardly across the van to wrap his arms around her and hold her. 

"I'm really glad he came," Chrissy sobbed. "I know that's silly--" 

"Not a bit silly."

"That might be the first time he’s defied my mom? Or did something behind her back? So maybe there's hope." 

"Maybe so," Eddie said--though he knew the pain of hoping shitty parents would change. But hey--some told dogs learned new tricks. Eddie had. Maybe ol' Phil would, too. Both his kids were rebels. 

Sitting up, Chrissy wiped her cheeks with the tips of her manicured fingers. "I'd like to meet him for lunch one day. If you want to." 

"Sure," Eddie said. "Like I said, gift horses and mouths." 

Chrissy gave a watery laugh. 

They lingered in the parking lot a little longer, staring at the school building aglow in the waning daylight. Eddie told himself it was to give Chrissy a little more time to collect her emotions before they hit the parties, but he had to admit, he was a little reluctant to go just yet. 

"Hard to believe we'll never be back here," he said, echoing Dustin's sentiment.

"We'll be back next year," Chrissy replied. When Eddie gaped at her, she went on, "For Shawn's graduation. And Gareth's, the year after that. And then Dustin, Mike, Lucas, and Will. And then a few years after that, Brian." 

Eddie covered his face with his hands and tilted his face toward the van's saggy headliner. "Ugh, we are never getting out of Hawkins, are we?"

"We can leave and come back to see our friends graduate, goofy." 

"Hyuck!" Eddie did his best Goofy laugh. 

But honestly, right now, he wouldn't care if they stayed forever. He was happy. He was starting his life with Chrissy here. 

"Okay," she said. "We should probably get these parties started." 

Eddie turned the key in the ignition, then reached into the center console for a cassette tape. He popped it in the deck, and a bluesy electric guitar riff blared through the speakers, followed by Alice Cooper growling: 

Well, we got no choice

All the girls and boys (girls and boys)

Making all that noise (ooh)

'Cause they found new toys

We can't salute ya

Can't find a flag

If that don't suit ya

That's a drag

School's out for summer

School's out forever

"You queued that up!" Chrissy cried, laughing. 

Eddie just rolled out his tongue. 

Chrissy reached up and unlooped the tassel from her mortarboard, then held out her hand. Eddie followed suit and watched in delight as she hung them both over the rearview mirror and said, "Eighty-six, baby!"

No more pencils, no more books

No more teachers, dirty looks

Out for summer, out 'til fall

We might not come back at all

Eddie shifted the van into drive, hit the gas, and gunned it out of the parking lot, tires squealing for old time's sake. He knew Hawkins High was shrinking in the rearview mirror, but he drove ahead, toward the setting sun, and didn't give it another glance.

School's out for summer 

School's out forever

The End