Chapter Text
Eleven is sprawled across the sofa in Mike’s basement, lying on her stomach, propped up on her elbows, chin resting on her hands. She is wearing the pink flannel pyjamas that Mrs. Wheeler bought her last month, a present ‘just because’, and they feel soft against her skin. In front of her is a stack of Mike’s old comic books, mostly X-Men, and for the past three hours she’s been carefully, though absently, flipping through their delicate pages. Eleven has been learning to read; Hopper has been teaching her. He’s a very good teacher, gentle and patient, but upon the pages of the comic books are several words that Eleven still doesn’t recognize. She wants to try reading them aloud, sounding out each letter with exaggeration, as Hopper does when they encounter a new word, but she also doesn’t want to disturb the boys, her friends, who sit gathered around the small table in Mike’s basement nearing the end of the Dungeons and Dragons game. Instead, Eleven takes in the colourful pictures of the strong men and pretty women. She pays special attention to the ones Mike has called Jean Grey and Emma Frost, one with fiery red hair and the other with light blonde that reminds her of the wig she used to wear. Mike once explained to her that these women, especially Jean, are like her. He calls it telekinesis and asks if she, like Emma, also has telepathy, explaining that it meant she could read people’s minds. Eleven had shaken her head.
“Can’t read,” she had said. This was why Mike had started teaching Eleven how to read. When Hopper dropped Will off a little earlier than expected one afternoon, he had noticed them, under the oak tree in Mike’s front yard, and offered to take up the lessons himself, as Mike ‘had his own schooling to worry about’.
Eleven wonders if she’ll ever be like Jean Grey or Emma Frost. Pretty, with long hair, and with friends who can do magical things. She loves her friends now; Mike, with his goofy smiles and the way he sometimes squeezes her hand when no one is looking; Dustin, who always brings her candy and snacks and tells jokes, trying to make her laugh; Lucas, whose smiles she values so much more because they were difficult to earn; and Will, the boy she helped rescue, just like Jean Grey; the boy whose thoughts she thinks she can sometimes hear, just like Emma Frost.
Her friends always ask her to join them in playing Dungeons and Dragons, but she always silently declines, enjoying instead listening. Mike is a good storyteller. As Eleven continues to carefully glance through the comic books, the half an ear she has open to the boys catches a shift in conversation, the campaign ending and the boys coming back to reality.
“Pretty excited for your mom’s Thanksgiving dinner on Saturday,” she hears Dustin say. Out of the corner of her eye, she watches him look over at Mike as they tidy the table-top, “I’m gonna eat so many potatoes…”
“Just stay away from the beans,” Lucas mutters, eliciting a guffaw of laughter from Will and an emphatic nod from Mike. Eleven grins. This is a joke she’s heard before. But she is curious…
“What’s Thanksgiving?” Eleven pipes up from her spot on the couch, tearing her eyes away from the spectacular scene on the comic book page and looking over to her friends.
“You don’t know about Thanksgiving?” Dustin is the first to speak, his voice incredulous, “How is that…How…?”
“Dustin!” Mike shoots him a glance and Eleven knows he is being protective of her feelings.
“She showed up right after Thanksgiving last year, dummy!” Lucas chimes in. El, who has watched the exchange in silence, focuses her warm brown eyes on Mike, as she always does when something needs to be clarified.
“Thanksgiving is a holiday,” Mike begins to explain, his voice taking on the soft encouraging tone it always does when he explains things, “You get together with your family and friends and…”
“Have a GIANT dinner,” Dustin interrupts him.
“With turkey,” Lucas adds, “And mashed potatoes, and…”
“Pumpkin pie,” Will chimes in merrily.
“Yeah,” Mike nods, “All those things.”
“And you eat until you’re ready to explode!” Dustin looks excited; “We come over for Thanksgiving every year. It's tradition.”
“And this year you’ll be there too,” Mike smiles at her.
“Don’t forget,” Will says, looking briefly at Mike before he settles his gaze on Eleven, and she’s almost certain she already knows what he’s going to say; that she can hear his words before they leave his mouth, “Mike’s mom makes us all say what we’re thankful for before we start eating.”
“I always say I’m thankful for her cooking,” Dustin grins, “Every year. That’s why your mom likes me so much.” Mike rolls his eyes and reaches over the table, gently shoving Dustin in the arm.
“This year,” Will is still looking at Eleven, “I’m going to say I’m thankful for you, if that’s okay…” his voice trails off, unsure. Eleven smiles, feeling warmth rise in her cheeks. It’s the same warmth she feels when Mike holds her hand.
“Okay,” her voice comes out softer than she had intended, but Will doesn’t seem to mind. There’s a lull in the conversation, a heavy silence. Lucas clears his throat and it’s broken. The boys go back to clearing off the table and Eleven returns to the comic books, distracted now because she wonders what she’s thankful for. There are so many people, so many things.
Hopper, for teaching her how to read.
The boys, for being her friends and lending her comic books.
Nancy, for teaching her to put on lip-gloss.
Mrs. Wheeler, for the flannel pyjamas she loves so much.
Ms. Byers, who always stops by with books and toys on her way home from work.
Mike, for explaining the world to her.
“Night, El!” Dustin calling to her from the bottom of the stairs draws her out of her distraction.
“See you tomorrow, weirdo,” Lucas smiles at her, the name now a term of teasing and endearment. Eleven likes this. It feels special.
“Night,” she replies, waving softly. There’s a mischievous smile on her lips, “Mouthbreathers.”
The two boys laugh and clomp up the stairs, making more noise than is necessary. Will follows at a distance; also stopping to wish her a goodnight before he heads up the stairs where she knows his brother is waiting. She had heard him come in an hour ago. Eleven focuses on Will's back as it retreats up the stairs, trying to be like Emma Frost. But she hears nothing.
Finally, it is only her and Mike. She gently closes the comic book in her hands and slides it back into the protective plastic that Mike calls a ‘dust jacket’. She shifts her body so that she is sitting up; scoots over so there is room for Mike next to her. He takes a seat, keeping a safe distance between them. This is their nightly routine. Mike looks at her and speaks.
“If you don’t wanna say anything at dinner, I’ll tell my mom so you won’t have to.”
Eleven considers this for a moment. It would be easy to choose not to say anything. If she can only be thankful for one thing, then all the people and things she doesn’t mention might feel hurt. But, she craves being normal, like Mike and the other boys. Saying what you're thankful for is normal, so she makes up her mind to do it.
“No,” she answers, taking care to parrot Will’s words from earlier, “I’m going to say I’m thankful for you, if that’s okay…because you hold my hand.”
Mike turns bright red. It’s a colour she’s seen in his cheeks before, when Nancy caught them holding hands under the dinner table one night and nudged Mike in the ribs knowingly. From this colour, Eleven knows it is not okay.
“That’s…uh…that’s sweet,” Mike speaks as though his mouth is full of cotton, “But maybe leave out that last part. Dustin would make fun of us forever. Nancy too...even though I could make fun of her back for that time I saw her kissing Jonathan in his car. Maybe you can say you’re thankful for all of us?”
“Yes,” Eleven likes this solution. It will make everyone feel special in the same way that they make her feel special.
“But El,” Mike continues, and now he reaches his hand out, letting it linger in the void between them, “I’m thankful for you too. Thankful you came back.”
Eleven feels warm on the inside and her hand closes the gap, her fingers intertwining with Mike’s. They sit, quietly for a moment, until the door to the basement begins to creak open. Mike pulls his hand back as Nancy appears at the top of the stairs.
“El,” she stoops to look down at them and a smirk spreads across her lips, “Mom’s just taken a practice pumpkin pie out of the oven and says you should be the first to try it.”
Eleven’s face perks up and she briefly glances at Mike, who nods with encouragement, before she bounds up the stairs, pausing to give Nancy a hug and a small thank you before moving into the kitchen. Mike trudges up the stairs behind her, still under the teasing eyes of his older sister.
“Don’t start,” he mumbles, scrunching up his face as he walks by her, also wanting a slice of pie.
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Nancy grins, suddenly feeling very thankful herself.