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1981 November
Chief Jim Hopper felt a headache coming on. He was slowly getting used to Hawkins, Indiana. The small town was pretty quiet and desolate compared to other places he was stationed. He supposed that he should be happy. He had heard rumors of small towns being full of Satanists or drug rings. He should have been happy in a boring place. A town where he could come to terms with his grief.
But instead, he found himself driving down to the Harrington Household on a Friday night. Hopper heard from Flo that it was only a matter of time until he started to get calls. With school started up again, students decided to drink and party. Last year wasn’t so bad, as many of the troublemaker students were moving away to college instead of sticking around.
However, with the new appearance of the Harrington’s, all hope fizzled away. The Coopers were much better. They were a large family, mostly young kids that didn’t need to drink. Ever since they went on a vacation a couple of years ago, they never came back. Instead, they sold off their house.
Flo and Callahan loved to gossip. Powell would tune in sometimes, but lately he was listening to the games on the radio. “I heard that the Harrington’s are rich,” said Flo.
Callahan would reply, “I stop by the place sometimes, but no one’s ever there.” He mimicked banging on the door, only to receive no reply. To all appearances, the house was empty.
That changed a few months ago around May. The curtains of the house opened up, a lawn mower would be heard by the neighbors, and giggles echoed in the backyard with splashing noises. Flo was the one to announce that the Harrington’s were getting enrolled into Hawkins High and Elementary school. The parents faxed over the papers for the fall of 1981.
During the summer, though, not many new things happened. Joyce Byers and him would talk while he bought cigarettes at the store. Small talk to get through the day. She’d say that some kids that used to buy out their can aisle late at night when she was the only one around, started to buy more products from the actual store. She seemed happy about it, too.
“Kids, huh,” replied Hopper.
Joyce would nod along. “The brother’s about Jon’s age.”
Jon, meaning Jonathan, Joyce’s son. Hopper knew all of the kids around, it felt like. Jonathan and Will Byers had sucky luck. Joyce did too. Hopper pretended not to notice the bruises on the three of them and the bloodied knuckles of Lonnie. But each time he left the store with his cigarette, he’d accidentally leave a card with his number on it at Joyce’s checkout station. Neither of them ever mentioned it.
Joyce continued after a second of running along the six-pack of beer Hopper bought, “The sister’s about Will’s age. They’re both scrawny things.” She smiled at the picture of it, which made something in Hopper’s gut ease. Joyce wouldn’t have smiled if the kids were beat on.
Hopper paid for his few items and left the store. He tried not to narrow his gaze at the bruise across Joyce’s cheek. If he left his card again, well, it was a secret between the two of them. He went back out to his car and started patrol. Hours could go by without getting a call. Most days went by without the radio springing to life. It was Flo that answered most of the people’s concerns.
But tonight was not like that. Flo sighed from her desk as she announced, “The Harrington Household in Loch Nora wants the police out there.”
Hopper slowly got up from his spot. The other officers around were either gone for the night or cruising along the streets to give people that speed a warning. Hardly anyone gave out tickets. Hawkins was too nice about that, unless it was near the school zone.
So, Hopper drove down to the Harrington’s House. Before he even turned onto the street, he could hear the loud music. He groaned, feeling the headache come to the surface of his skull. He pulled along on the street, taking in the amount of cars that were already there. The driveways to the Harrington Household was already full with multiple other cars parked poorly on the grass or curb.
When Hopper was walking up the path to the house, he was surprised that the door flew open. A tall boy was there, his brown eyes wide with panic. His hair was scruffy-looking, jutting out in every which way. To put simply, he looked a mess. He walked towards Hopper, arms flailing. It was then that Hopper noticed the bracelets that littered his left wrist, many of them thick. It must have taken hours to make the designs of the strings being pulled together.
“You’re the police right? Of course, you’re the police.” The boy scoffed at himself, taking in Hopper’s uniform and badge. “You need to get these people out of my house. Now. Please.”
Hopper paused. He didn’t expect the person who hosted the party to call the cops. “Steve Harrington, I assume?”
Steve quickly bobbed his head up and down. “That is me. Now… Please get them out.” He ran a hand through his brown locks, looking paler and paler by the second. His eyes sparked around like a pinball machine.
“How much have you had to drink, son?”
“Drink?” Steve tested the word out a few times. “A lot. Carol made this really pretty-colored punch. I had a few cups of that. And then Micky brought over this keg. Tommy dared me to try it out. I got through, like, a quarter of it, I think. Then Jackson finished it off. Everyone was shouting, and then Nicole handed me a can of something. It didn’t taste good, like, at all. I think… I think I had some more punch after that.”
Hopper sighed. This wasn’t going to be good. It seemed the Harrington just had his first experience at a party. Drinking was the whole point of it. Dancing and hooking up too, but drinking was where it started. Hopper held in a groan as he watched Steve wobble down from the steps of the house. He looked frail on his legs as they twisted. Steve was hammered, the chief could tell.
He patted the kid on the shoulder. “I’ll run my sirens. If that doesn’t make them scram, I’ll call down some of my officers and we’ll run them off, got it?”
Oddly enough, Steve nodded his head and followed him. Hopper kept looking behind him, only to see the wobbling figure. There was a moment when the kid stopped in order to throw up into a bush but he quickly moved on to keep up pace. Hopper started up his sirens, pitying Steve as he clamped his hands over his ears. The sirens did their job, though.
Hopper watched with some gratification as the cars along the street and in the driveway left one by one. The stragglers seemed to even catch rides, not willing to leave anybody behind. Hopper turned off his sirens when the last car left, then started up his rig. He slowly drove while Steve made gurgling noises in the passenger’s seat.
Steve rolled out of the car, body loose and rigid at the same time. He put on his best smile and waved. “Thank you, officer. You have been a wonderful help.”
Hopper felt a chuckle escape his throat. “Be safe, kid. Things like this are bound to happen, but don’t do it too often.”
Steve looked confused for a moment. “It’s not an initiation thing, then?”
“What?”
“Tommy said that in order to make try-outs for the basketball team, I needed to throw a killer party so that we’d be in their good graces, you know? So when El told me she was staying the night with a friend, I thought this would be perfect.”
“Don’t get bullied into throwing a party.” Hopper huffed at the thought. “It’s the coach that decides who makes the team or not. No actual adults were there, I take it?” Steve shook his head. “Good. And next time, don’t drink so much. Alcohol isn’t good for your body.”
Steve squinted his eyes at the chief. “Neither is smoking.”
Hopper frowned but couldn’t argue. Smoking wasn’t good at all. To make the kid happy, he took out his box of cigarettes and dropped them into the cupholder in between them. “I won’t smoke anymore tonight, and you don’t drink. Fair?”
Steve gave a few hefty nods, probably going too hard because his face turned green with nausea. Hopper cracked a grin. He watched as Steve shut the door slowly and climbed into the large house. Hopper waited until he heard the click of a metal lock. He stayed around for a few more minutes, keeping an eye out for any lights or stragglers. When he saw a bedroom window light up, only to go off after a minute, he knew that Steve was safe in his bed. He slowly drove away.
1981 December
Hopper was driving down the road to Benny’s. He loved that piss-poor diner. It had the best food in Hawkins, but that wasn’t saying much. The man who ran it was a good soul, too. Not to mention that they were open at odd hours when everything else wasn’t. There was a new diner, Darlene’s, that opened at the other side of town but the fries there weren’t as good. Darlene’s was more for milkshakes and bizarre drink combos. Benny’s was where the good, greasy food resided.
Hopper never made it to Benny’s. At least, not then. He was driving along when he noted a lone girl walking on the side of the road. Normally, Hopper wouldn’t think anything of it. However, it was winter and the girl was barely wearing two shoes. There wasn’t a jacket or coat in sight. He stopped a little ways in front of the girl before getting out.
His shoes hit the snow as he settled into position. He called out, “Kid, are you alright?”
The girl shot a glare at him. Her hair was curly, even her bangs. It was to her shoulder, a nice brown with small dark green highlights hidden throughout. She looked like an outcast, to be frank. Her striped shirt and jeans weren’t abnormal, but the fanny pack around her waist was. Plus, she had on Converse that were covered in sharpie and drawings that he couldn’t decipher. Her wrists were covered in homemade bracelets and he could see marker drawings on the top side of her hand making stars and flowers.
She looked like she wasn’t from around Hawkins. Most of everyone wore simple clothing with puffy hair. This girl was going to have a rough school life ahead, he knew. Small towns – and practically everything else – hated change. Hopper was against some things, too, but not someone coming into their own skin. Teenagers had it rough. Young Hopper was a wild thing. He tried not to think about the time back then.
“I’m fine,” she stated, voice firm. Her eyes were twitchy, like she couldn’t hold the glare she was sending him.
“Let’s get you home,” he tried. Hopper stepped closer, but with every step forward the girl stepped back. “Hey. I just want to make sure you get home safely. Tell me the address. I’ll drop you off.” And, he added mentally, make sure your home life isn’t bad.
The girl flayed her hands out, widening her span in anger. “I don’t want to go home!” she announced. There was something in the air. It rattled Hopper’s senses. He could taste metallic on his tongue and felt a slight vibration stinging his skin.
“That’s alright.” He paused, licking his lips to think it over. “Are you hungry, kid?”
She looked at him strangely, eyes confused and lips twisted. Eventually, she said softly, “Yeah.”
Hopper couldn’t help but smile. “Alright. Hop in, kid.”
As he drove to Benny’s, he couldn’t help but take peeks to his right. She was quiet, like she didn’t want to be known. Something in Hopper’s gut stirred. It was a taught behavior. Kids were loud, even if they were shy or introverted. They didn’t mean to be. They just didn’t know any better.
“What’s your name?” he asked, tapping the wheel with his fingers to relieve some anxiousness buried under his skin. His eyes flew from her and the road, back and forth.
“El.”
“El?” he questioned. That was usually a nickname, or short for something longer. He knew Elle Rogers, an old woman that died a few years back. No one else was just called El, though.
She simply hummed, her shoulders tense within her guarded body language. “Short for Eleanor, my middle name.”
“What’s your first name, then?”
“Jane.” She gripped the hem of her shirt. “I don’t like that name.”
“Well, alright.” Hopper wondered if she associated bad memories with her first name. His thoughts were spinning up into a twisted theory. “How do burgers sound, El?”
She looked interested with her twinkling eyes. He chuckled at her expression. All kids liked food. It didn’t really matter what it was. Especially free food. Hopper could recall he days he used to work for hours during the week only to afford a small sack of groceries. Rent was expensive, after all. Now, his most expensive bill in Hawkins was for electricity. He shouldn’t watch so much television, but what else was he supposed to do with his time?
At Benny’s, he ordered two burgers with fries and sodas. The sounds of the fryer crackling with boiling oil and the sound of fresh patties hitting a hot metal surface made Hopper grin. Benny’s was the best around. Darlene’s sucked. Not that Hopper had really sat down there. He heard from Flo that her grandkids loved the place, but she detested the pristine checkered tiles and new red booths. Time gave diners the comfortable feel that was needed to unwind.
“Why were you walking alone?” he decided to ask.
El looked at him with an expression of resilience. She didn’t want to talk to him, that was certain. It made Hopper’s gut flicker to life. She eventually settled on, “I got in a fight.”
“Oh?” He tried not to sound condescending or fishing. “With who?” Your dad? he wanted to ask. Someone older and stronger than you?
“My friends.”
All of his anger dwindled down to a soft boil. It was ready to rise out of the pot if necessary, but for now it was calm. “What was the fight about? It made you leave without a coat in winter. That’s dangerous, kid. Frostbite, where your fingers fall off, could happen to you. Or you could have gotten lost and froze to death.”
She bit her lip, clearly trying to determine if he was trustworthy. El eventually said, “They don’t want me to play their game… since I’m a girl. I thought that– I thought that we were friends. We were riding around on our bikes and stopped at Mike’s house. His basement is where it all goes down. I thought that it would be fine if I go too. We had spent the entire afternoon together. But then– but then Mike said that girls weren’t allowed in the Party. That it wasn’t for girls.”
Hopper grimaced. Kids, especially snot-nosed boys, were complete brats. Most kids were, to be fair. They had their own idea, usually sculpted by their parents because that was their main influence. He didn’t want to talk about how small-minded the people in Hawkins were compared to other places like San Francisco or New York.
“You should get new friends if they’re rude to you again,” he replied gruffly. El’s eyes sparkled at it. “What?”
“You give good advice,” was her evasive response.
A beat later Benny brought over their trays of food and glasses of soda. He gave Hopper an approving-look. Hopper rolled his eyes at the thought. They both knew the only reason Hopper stopped here was for dinner, and that somehow he acquired a duckling. Benny often saw the kids that Hopper brought along. Hopper couldn’t help but have a soft spot. Kids weren’t born evil. They were innocent. They didn’t deserve to have the world against them.
Hopper ate while watching El dig into her smaller burger in delight. She was in her element, squeezing ketchup and mustard over the fries with amusement and glee. She was carefree, like a kid should be. They were halfway done with their plates when they spoke again.
El asked, almost too politely, “What did you do when you fought with your friends?”
“We’d yell and scream at one another. After an hour or two we’d be calm from fighting and hang out or get food like nothing happened. There’s no point in clinging onto the past.”
“So I shouldn’t be upset at them,” she concluded.
“No.” Hopper raised a finger from off of the grip of his burger. “No, I did not say that. Your feelings are justified, got it? You’re allowed to be mad or sad or whatever else you’re feeling. Just… if they apologize and try to correct their wrongs, then you should give it another shot. Unless it happens again and again. If there’s a pattern, then they don’t actually mean their apology.”
El nodded seriously before snapping a fry in her mouth. She was a bit like a venus fly trap. Once something was in her jaws, it was never seen again. She grinned at him. Hopper smiled right back. He must have shown his amusement.
It was a little while later when he proposed, “How about I drive you home.”
She shook her head, almost looking conflicted. “I, uh, I need to call my brother first. He’s probably worried. I’m usually home by now.” El’s eyes ping-ponged back and forth across the diner. She was looking for a clock.
Hopper looked down to the watch on his left wrist. “It’s 7 P.M.” She looked startled at the announcement. “Are you okay, El?”
“No,” she whispered out. She was pale, as if she’d seen a ghost. Or was in trouble. Hopper was leaning towards the latter. “I’m home by 6 P.M. every day. He’s going to freak out. I need– I need– can I borrow some quarters?”
A minute later El and Hopper were at the payphone just outside of Benny’s. He stood a few feet away to give her space. She was messing with the zipper on her fanny pack nervously as she called up multiple places. The first was a, “Mrs. Wheeler, hi, did my brother come by? Oh. Alright. Thanks.” Then it was, “Mr. Byers, did my brother stop at the house?” Followed by, “Mr. Sinclair, uhm, did my brother…” Then finally, she got to, “Mrs. Henderson, I was wondering if you saw my brother– You did? He’s there? Can you tell him I’m at Benny’s? I’m with, uh, Chief Hopper. He watched over me.”
Eventually, El turned to him with relief. She said, “Mrs. Henderson is with my brother. She’ll drive us both home.” El smiled for a moment. “Apparently Dustin’s tagging along.”
“Is Dustin one of your rude friends?” questioned Hopper.
El seemed hesitant to answer. “He’s friends with Mike. We’re all friends. But I guess, uh, they talked and decided that it was stupid to exclude girls from the Party. They’ll teach me how to play DnD over the weekend, if my brother approves of it.”
“Your brother, eh.”
El frowned at Hopper’s tone. “My brother is a good person,” she stated calmly.
Hopper wanted to question her about it but the snow started back up again. Large flakes fell onto his coat. He swept some off of his shoulder. He set his face into a grim line before corralling El back to Benny’s for cover.
“He’s looking after me,” she added once they were inside. Hopper glanced down to her. El seemed resolute that her brother was a good person. Hopper wanted to agree with her, but something in her past made her quiet. “Our parents… they left him in charge while they’re away. He needs to make sure I’m safe.” There was a hint of a lie in her words.
“If anything goes wrong, don’t be afraid to call 911, kid. Flo will answer and she’ll direct the line to me if you ask for it.”
“I won’t need to call for you because my brother would rather die than let me get hurt.”
Hopper widened his eyes reflexively. El sounded so certain of that fact. It must be a true statement. He felt the tension fade from his shoulders. He could rely on her big brother to keep an eye on her if their parents weren’t there.
1982 January
The snow should have made teens careful on the roads. It should have made them not want to party down at the quarry. But no. One of the mom’s from the middle school – Stacy Howard, if he remembered correctly – drove by the quarry and saw loads of cars and trucks parked. Stacy called it in, knowing how dangerous teens, alcohol, and the snow mixed together. Not to mention the death drop down into the water. An accident was bound to happen.
So, Hopper drove his own vehicle while Powell and Callahan took another. He was the first on scene. He was the closest when the radio call came in. He sighed, slowly going over the gravel. He didn’t want to spook anyone. If they got into a panic, their driving could be worse or they could stomp on one another.
He trudged out onto the snow. With every step, he heard a hard crunch. It was an incredibly chilly night. He was starting to tire of the winters of Hawkins. Hopper surveyed his surroundings. He was surprised to see that the teens were all in their cars. It took him a moment to see that the large snow bank was lit up. There was no sound except for the silent night air. He peered into the cars to see that the people that were out were eating popcorn and candy as if it was movie night.
Hopper saw a familiar face that would be more inclined to answer his questions. He ignored the black and white film that lit up the snowbank in order to march toward a beat-up car. He was met with a trio of teens. A boy with short hair and freckles was in the driver’s seat while a girl with red hair was in the passenger’s seat. Steve was in the back, grinning as his eyes focused on the movie.
Hopper knocked on the window. The teens in the front looked afraid, probably knowing who he was. He was known as a hard ass around town. He was the police chief. It was his job to make sure that kids didn’t do stupid things, and that adults knew that the law wasn’t above them. He tapped on the window until Steve rolled it down.
“Hey, chief?” he said casually. Steve’s brown eyes darted to the teens in the front that were wary. “What do you need?”
“I want to know what’s going on?”
Steve shrugged. He truly looked innocent. Hopper couldn’t tell if it was a facade or not. The freshman answered, “Some of the upperclassmen rented a machine– the one that spits out movies. There’s no audio, but it’s a silent film so it doesn’t matter anyway. They invited everyone down to watch the movie if they wanted.”
Hopper blinked repeatedly. “It’s not a party,” he said blankly.
“I don’t think so.” Steve turned to his friends. Hopper heard them whisper. The boy turned back to him, bobbing his head up and down. “It’s not a party,” he confirmed. “We’re congratulating ourselves on finishing midterms, I guess. I’m pretty sure I failed it, but, uh, let’s celebrate, right?”
Hopper felt a smile grow on his face. “Sure, kid. Celebrate the small things in life.” He shrugged his shoulders. “I’ll tell my officers not to come by. We got a call that there was a party. Alcohol isn’t a good idea out here.”
Hopper turned his head to the kid in the front. He looked to be Steve’s age. Hopper had talked to the boy before, he knew. The kid’s name was at the tip of his tongue. He asked, “Do you have a license?” The teen sweatdropped, his fingers twiddling with the soda can in his hand. “A permit at least?” At that, the boy nodded his head. “Alright. I’ll let it go tonight. Be careful on your way home. Ice isn’t a joke. It’s dangerous.”
When Hopper returned to his vehicle, he turned on his radio and told Callahan and Powell that he took care of everything. He remembered how nerve wracking big tests were. Since there was no drinking involved, he’d let this slide.
1982 February
Hopper frowned as he pulled up to the school. It was a pep rally day that turned into a night. Hawkins High was flooded with cars from not only the students and staff, but the proud parents in Hawkins and a member of the Hawkins Post that at least gave a little blurb on their newspaper about each game. Sometimes it would be followed up with a photo if the home team won. Hopper expected a drunken disorderly, maybe a car bumper accident.
He didn’t expect to see a large group of teenage boys facing off against one another. He walked into the gym to find the crowd in disarray, the coaches and referees barely able to keep them from joining the fight. The players of the basketball teams were throwing insults at one another while holding each other back.
Hopper then noticed that one of the players had a bloody nose. He shouldn’t be surprised. Teenagers, heck, even adults still had issues keeping their emotions at bay during tense moments. Adrenaline didn’t help with that fact at all. He sighed, making his steps loud and clear as he walked in. The other team – the Crown Point Cows, he was pretty sure – looked more hostile than the Hawkins team, who was in the defensive position.
“What’s going on here?” he demanded, tone forcefully casual.
Hawkins’ coach ran over, looking just as frazzled as the Crown Point’s coach. Eventually, it was a freckled boy next to Steve that said, “These assholes got mad that Stevie scored a 3-pointer before the buzzer went off. They’re surprised that some hick town was able to beat them.” The boy had enough anger towards the Cows for him and Steve combined. Steve didn’t look pained, but his nose was crooked and bleeding.
A tall, well-built boy from the other team hissed, “We’re better from any backwater town around.”
Hopper looked between the two teams. The freckled boy – Steve’s friend Tommy – looked ready to fight. “You want to see what the Tiger’s got?” he asked, jumping forward. Steve luckily held his friend back. They both looked too young and scrawny to take on the other team. They must be the newest players, needing to prove themselves and all.
An older boy on the Tiger’s team stepped forward with hate in his eyes. “We ain’t afraid of you city people.” Before the teen could get another word out, he tripped. It looked rigid and strange. Hopper saw Steve’s eyes turn to the crowd with a knowing look. Hopper helped the boy stand up and inwardly sighed.
Hopper waved his hands out before more fighting could ensue. The teens backed away with the help of the coaches and referee. Hopper said plainly, “I don’t want to arrest a bunch of kids that are sweaty. It would stink up the precinct. However,” he paused, trying his best to glare at the room, “I need to know who punched Harrington.”
The room was silent, no one making a move. Hopper then turned his attention to Steve. The kid wasn’t budging. There was an unspoken agreement to not backstab one another, even if the teams were opponents. One arrest could ruin a scholarship or the chance to get scouted. Not all of these kids planned to make a career out of the sport they played, but the possibility lingered.
Hopper sighed, trying not to stare at Steve. “Alright.” He wiped his hands together. “Let’s all get to our rides, yeah?” The crowd begrudgingly left. Steve was about to head with them, but was stopped. “Harrington, I’m taking you to the E.R. Don’t try to argue with me.”
Steve gave him a wonky smile. “Can I check on my sister first?”
Hopper gave an O.K. with his hand. Steve turned to the stands where only a few were still sitting. Hopper watched with interest. Who was the other Harrington sibling? He had to still himself when he saw Steve run up to a gaggle of nerds. 4 boys and a girl. There was an older girl next to a dark-haired boy, her eyes solely on Steve while he was busy fussing over the girl Hopper met at Benny's.
Hopper hummed. He supposed that made sense. El was Steve’s sister, and it wasn’t anything new to know that the Harrington Household was usually quiet, if painfully so. No cars were in the driveway nor the garage. There was no adult supervision. Hopper thought about charging the elder Harrington’s with parental neglect, but that would get nowhere if the wealth rumors were true.
Steve festered over El, checking with her multiple times. She smiled right back at him, even poking and prodding at his nose. Steve shook his head at her. Hopper had the urge to step closer yet that seemed rude. Instead, he watched as the group got up due to Steve’s gestures. He led them out and Hopper followed.
In a car resided Ted Wheeler. He was asleep at the wheel. Hopper could technically arrest him, but most cops didn’t do something like that. Ted wasn’t a trouble maker. Hopper almost wished the man was. Instead, Ted was known for being boring and out-of-touch. He didn’t really pay attention to anything but a few infomercials. Hopper could never understand why Karen settled for that man but he knew that was no business of his.
Nancy, the eldest of the Wheeler children, patiently woke up her dad. Mike begrudgingly got in the back along with Will, Joyce’s youngest. El, Lucas, and Dustin got the backseat while Nancy took the passengers. Steve waved them off with a goofy grin plastered on his face. Hopper didn’t understand how the kid wasn’t in pain.
“Kid,” he called out gruffly, “get in the truck.” Steve looked up to him, eyes sparkling, and did as told.
Hopper messed with the radio. He told Flo that he handled the situation at Hawkins High, and how he’d be driving to the next town over for medical. Hawkins had a few clinics, but they were closed once it was 8 P.M. For Steve to get medical treatment, he’d have to be taken to an actual hospital with an E.R.
The drive was longer than Hopper wanted. He had a frozen meal to heat up in his microwave when he got him. He planned on watching some of the horrible comedy shows that ran late while eating the horrible food he nuked. He didn’t expect to spend a few hours at the hospital.
Steve wasn’t horrible company, though. In fact, he liked to talk after the wave of awkwardness ended.
“When I was learning to cook, El thought it would be good to get a cookbook. We already had one in the house, but it was mostly crockpot stuff, you know? It couldn’t teach me how to slice certain vegetables or how to poach eggs. The library was a huge help, too. El laughed the first time I boiled eggs. I somehow overcooked them. It made the white part of the egg brown and hard, like rubber. She still teases me about it, as if she didn’t break the blender on her first attempt at making a smoothie.”
Hopper side-eyed him. He wanted to say something but didn’t know what words wanted out. He ended up saying, “A smoothie?”
“Yep.” Steve chuckled to himself. “She didn’t put any liquid in. It was just the metal chopper and frozen berries. She added some honey, too, but that didn’t help it much. I heard the noise from upstairs but I was too late. The blender’s blades were all warped and she looked like she was going to cry. The noise was awful. I think that scared her more than anything.”
“I’m not a good cook either,” he supplied.
“Really?” Steve seemed genuinely curious. “I thought all adults had to learn how to cook.” It didn’t sound like an insult yet it felt like one. Hopper knew that the teen wasn’t trying to be mean. Cooking was a part of life, after all. He was simply curious.
Hopper tapped on the wheel. The highway was practically clear. The snow scared most people off from doing anything too risky. Adding a dark night into that made it almost a ghost town. He looked out in the snowy darkness wondering if this is where it came to an end.
“I can cook spaghetti, use the microwave, and make sandwiches. That’s about it.”
“If you can use the microwave then you can make baked potatoes.”
Hopper spared a moment from the road to give Steve a look. “Potatoes aren’t a full meal, kid.”
“But if you fry bacon – I’m sure you can fry bacon bits in a skillet – then you can have loaded baked potatoes. You can even cook extra bacon and store it for later in the week so all you have to do is reheat it.”
“I’m more of a steak person,” he said.
“Then cook all the steaks you want then freeze them. I would let them thaw in the sink then fry them up in the skillet, but you could warm ‘em up in the microwave if you really wanted.”
Hopper laughed, he couldn’t help it. He was getting meal-prep advice from a freshman. “Look, kid, I just don’t eat at home. And if I do, I warm up a frozen meal. It’s not a big deal.”
“It’s not healthy, though,” stated Steve. He was very opinionated on that fact. “I know for a fact that greasy and processed food is bad for the human body. I know that produce is pricey and so is meat, and that I still eat some bad things. I like the stuff too much. But most days I cook at-home meals. I need to be a good, uh, a good role model for El. She’ll eat healthier if I eat healthier. And since I care about her well-being, I make myself plan out weekly meals so that we don’t end up eating out of cans or getting take-out every night.”
“That’s a lot of responsibility,” murmured Hopper. He didn’t understand why the elder Harrington’s didn’t drop by Hawkins much. Their kids were absolute delights. Steve had his head on straight while El was a good kid figuring out her way in the world.
They arrived at the E.R. not long after. Steve quickly got put back together. Hopper knew that the kid was lucky that he didn’t have a concussion on top of his broken nose. Those were nasty things. The brain was fickle. It was good that Steve didn’t get his first concussion so soon after starting basketball. Hopper could only hope that the fight at the basketball game would be the largest scandal of the year.
1982 April
Hopper frowned when he heard a knock resound in his head. He shuffled around and sighed as he realized that the noise was a person at his door. He wondered if he left his radio off so Flo or Callahan came over to wake him up. He put on a shirt and slid on a jacket, ignoring the bottles of beer that rolled off the table as he walked to the door.
“Who is it–” He frowned immediately. Hopper didn’t expect to see a teenager at his door.
“Hey, Chief.”
“Harrington,” replied a skeptic Hopper.
“I, uh, I need some– some help.”
“With your parents?”
“No, uhm, with getting a permit.”
“A permit?”
“I’m 15-years-old, now. That means that I need a permit for at least 6 months before I can take the driver’s test or wait until I’m 18 to get it.”
Hopper raised an eyebrow. “Why are you here, then?”
“I need to learn how to drive.”
Hopper stared, completely flabbergasted. “... And you’re asking me?”
Steve frowned at him like he didn’t understand why Hopper was so confused. “You drive safely. Tommy offered to teach me but I’ve seen him almost cause accidents tens of times. You’re my safest bet at making sure that I drive correctly.”
A part of Hopper’s heart squeezed. He realized that Steve wasn’t talking about being able to drive for the fun of it. No, Steve wanted to make sure he could safely get his sister from place to place. “Alright, kid, I’ll teach you how to drive.”
Steve grinned at him. Hopper reigned in a sigh as he dug into his pocket for his keys. It was going to be a long few months, wasn't it?