Chapter Text
There are names written out on the board when you walk into history class on Tuesday morning.
Great. You knew that a project was going to be assigned soon, and you were hoping that it would be individual. You don’t need to worry about managing another person’s work on top of your own.
You scan the board, looking for your name. Your eyes flick over to read the name next to it.
Eddie Munson.
Great.
Despite being in the same building nearly every day for the last four years, you and Eddie Munson managed to circle around each other but never crash. Your table in the cafeteria is tucked safely in the corner, where you can watch his outbursts without worry of being seen. When he started repeating classes in his junior year, he was on the attendance sheet in a couple of your own. However, whenever he managed to get into class on time, he always fell into a seat far away from yours. You’re sure it wasn’t intentional. Eddie “The Freak” Munson simply doesn’t bother people who didn’t deserve it. You work hard to be someone others don’t have to notice.
(You’re pretty sure that the only time the two of you interacted was when you dropped a pencil in the hallway last year. He swooped it up, bowed deeply while presenting it to you, and then backed away, only to promptly get shoved into a locker by a jock.)
He’s not in the classroom yet. You sit in your usual spot, taking out your notebook and a pencil. Maybe being paired with Eddie was for the best. There was a good chance that he wouldn’t even appear in class today. Nobody likes group projects, even students who have friends to work with. Being paired with Eddie means working with Eddie, which is a challenge you’ve seen many others fail. The metalhead seems to prefer a show over a good grade.
You watch the clock as the seconds tick by, bringing the ring of the bell closer and closer. Your classmates trickle into the room, each sitting in their assigned partnerships. A few people shoot sympathetic smiles your way. You respond each time with a small one of your own and a shrug. What can you do, your body language says. Your mind, though, works frantically to try and figure out what the hell you’re supposed to do about this.
You begin to think that you’re in the clear. The bell is due to ring at any moment, and there’s no sign of him. This is for the best, you convince yourself, biting back any feelings of resentment. You want to work alone. It’s easier to be alone.
Eddie crashes through the door just as the bell rings. Giggles erupt from around the classroom as he looks around, obviously confused.
“Mister Munson,” the teacher says. “Congratulations for being on time, for once. Your assigned partner is on the board. Go sit with her, and then we’ll get started.”
You raise a hand to wave Eddie down, your face burning with embarrassment. You feel whoever’s sitting behind you tap their shoe against your chair and you can’t tell if it’s supportive or just to make you feel worse. You bet on the latter. This is Hawkins High, after all.
Eddie grins wolfishly at you and sits, but he doesn’t stop moving. As your teacher explains the research assignment, you constantly hear Eddie’s shoe tapping against the floor, his pencil tapping against his desk, his rings clinking together as he shifts. It’s distracting as all hell, but you don’t let him phase you. You take notes, you absorb all you can, because you know it’s your responsibility to keep up for both of you.
“Valentine’s Day is a couple weeks away,” your teacher says, smiling at the dramatic oooh’s and teasing shoves exchanged among the students. “So, I figured we could make this relevant to your romantic interests. Each group will be assigned a time period, in which you will research marriage customs of the era. Your project is to submit an individual research paper, as well as a presentation in front of the class with your partner. The presentations will begin on the fourteenth.”
The teacher walks around the classroom, handing each group a slip of paper that has their time period. Eddie snatches it from the man’s hand before he fully offers it, smiling innocently up at him when the teacher tries to comment on the behavior. God, I’m so screwed, you think to yourself.
Eddie unfolds the paper, his eyebrows raising thoughtfully. “Romans. I can dig the Romans.”
He tosses the paper on to your desk and leans back in his chair, focusing his attention on you. You smile awkwardly, adding your topic to your notes instead of looking back at him. His gaze is intense, almost uncomfortably so.
“So,” he says, breaking the silence.
“So,” you respond, finally turning to look at him.
He grins and leans forward, his elbows on his knees, his fingers laced together. “How do you want to do this?”
“I don’t know yet. How much can I expect from you?”
“Not much.” He grins, as if your growing annoyance with him is exactly what he wants. “I’ve got other commitments, probably won’t be super available.”
“Fine,” you say. You don’t bother to try to make this work. “I usually do work in the library after school. If you want to work together on research at any point, I’ll help you.”
“Noted,” Eddie responds, and you don’t speak anymore after that.
The class is cut in half by a fire alarm. You’re quick to evacuate the room, but you hear whispers in the hall that it’s just a drill, nothing to be worried about. Eddie was the first to dart out of the classroom, escaping like a bat out of hell. That will be the last time you see him for a while.
When your class returns to the room, the excitement of the unexpected break begins to calm down, and you realize that you have no way to contact Eddie Munson.
Fucking great.