Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Oh, Hannah, tell me something nice

Like flowers and blue skies

Oh, Hannah, I will follow you home

Although my lips are blue and I'm cold

I don't wanna be your friend, I wanna kiss your lips

I wanna kiss you until I lose my breath

-girl in red

⚘✾❀❊❁✿ꕥ✿❁❊❀✾⚘

Robin Buckley is in the corner. In her own world, the way she always is. The way Chrissy’s friends say it, ‘Buckley is in her world little world’ , makes it sound bad. Weird. Like, ‘why would someone not want to be in ours?’ Chrissy, however, was smack dab in the middle of their ‘real world’, of being popular and having it suck all the air and life out of her. She doesn’t think being in a place with, or created by and for Robin Buckley, sounded bad at all.

She wonders if it’s colorful. That world. Robin is, Chrissy thinks. Despite how muted most of her wardrobe is, there’s a vibrance that’s always shooting right out of her. The pinks that shoot out when she laughs match her lips and the blush she beams when she trips over something (usually after hurdling herself up to get out of class first). The bright green of her band uniform, the same uniform color that washes out just about anyone else who wears it, fits Robin so well. Green is real , of the earth, natural in the way that Robin is, but the bright, shiny hue of it, the thing that makes it too much on others, is just enough on the trumpet player.

Is it trumpet? It’s some kind of brass instrument. Whenever Chrissy catches herself watching from her spot with the squad, she isn’t always able to make out the details. It’s too far, and there’s so many people , moving and hustling between them. Not to mention, she’s not really focused on it . Not when she loses herself and forgets that she’s not supposed to be looking at all. 

It’s like she just stops. She doesn’t even know what she’s looking for . But there’s something nice about Robin Buckley being in her field of vision. Something that feels safe, until she remembers that it isn’t.

So when she does , and she pulls herself out of it just in time to yell something else at the crowd, or hop into a cheer or chant, she’s too embarrassed to look back. She evades her gaze from the band entirely until she forgets why she looked away, and lets the magnet start the whole process over again.

But if she closes her eyes and focuses, she knows it’s some kind of horn. Maybe not a trumpet. It’s that big twisty one. What’s that called again?

She never took band. Her required art credits were fulfilled with two years of choir, and once junior year came along the concerts started to conflict with cheer, so. She didn’t take any more after that.

She could’ve stayed with it, technically. There were girls on the team that still took choir, and a couple in orchestra, and they juggled the games and concerts just fine. And Amy B. was in just about every play that Hawkins High puts on. At least all the musicals. And those had a ton of conflicts.

But her mom said no. It’s not required to go to every game or cheer meet to be on the team, but it wouldn’t ‘look good’ when it came time to name a captain for the next year. At least, that’s what her mom said. Chrissy liked Choir. She liked singing, at least. And music, although the classical songs they harmonized over were no Cyndi Lauper. But she wasn’t great at it or anything, and it’s not like her parents came to the concerts, anyway, so Chrissy had been already expecting it when her mom crossed the class out on her proposed schedule for junior year. She didn’t put up any fight. Not that it would have mattered if she did.

Robin’s world would be filled with music, Chrissy thinks. She can’t hear what Robin sounds like in the sea of brassy, generic marching band music, but she just knows Robin is good at it. She seems so nervous the rest of the time, so the confidence and ease that comes when she’s blowing the horn can’t come from nowhere. Robin knows she’s good at it. And Robin is smart, so Chrissy believes her.

And she’s always humming, sometimes even in between her thoughts or words. What kind of music does she listen to? Something lyrical, probably. With soft voices and sweet melodies. Something–

Oh god.

Oh god.

She’s staring again. Chrissy is spacing out, lulled into that false sense of security and warmth that Robin Buckley and her music and colors radiate out. It pulled in her. But they weren’t at a game, where chaos was raging, or far away. They were in class.

The snap out of it is colder than usual. The fear is sudden and palpable, it sticks to her palms. She doesn’t even know how long she’s been sitting there, how much of her friends’ conversation she’s missed. She turns her attention back to them. At least, she tries to. But it feels like a pirouette without spotting. It’s disorienting and she can’t focus at first. The best she can do is put on the smile she always does, and pretend she’s fine until she is.

“–better to just work together, anyway,” Amy S is the first thing she hears after snapping back. She’s smacking her bubble hum while she talks, which always gives her that drawl that unnatural twang. Chrissy isn’t sure if it’s from the gum, or if it’s residual from the smirk that the gum puts on her face as she chews it, but either way it’s new. “Like, excuse me but I don’t wanna be stuck raising a kid with, like, that Curtis kid with the acne.”

Chrissy frowns. She’s pretty sure there isn’t a Curtis in this class. Or a Curtis in their grade at all.

“It’s a bag of flour, Ames, hardly a lifelong commitment,” Kate rolls her eyes. She ignores Amy’s scoff, and she checks behind her back like she’s making sure nobody heard them.

Oh. Cyrus Walter is a few rows behind them, isn’t he? Chrissy realizes it as her eyes trail towards where Kate’s have been. She guessed that made sense, although she felt a little pang for even thinking that much. His acne had actually cleared up recently. It was pretty bad in middle school, but that was years ago.

Chrissy bites her lip. She should say something. Should she say something? He doesn’t look like he heard; he’s nodding towards his deskmate and smiling at the conversation they’re having. So it’s not like it hurt him . Plus, Amy S is her meanest friend. At least, upfront. She’s kinda mean to everybody, and isn’t afraid of being loud about it. So maybe it’s better to just… keep quiet. To avoid any blowback, or risk the other blonde saying something that Cyrus Walter would actually hear.

She tells herself that that’s what stops her from speaking up. Not fear, but pragmatism.

The flour baby assignment was notorious at Hawkins High. It’s been around at least as long as Ms. Dennings has worked here, which… had to a long time, because she was Chrissy’s mom’s Home Ec teacher, too.

It’s only gotten worse with age. Since boys started having to take the class too, it’s become this whole thing .

Lots of couples use it as an excuse to be extra lovey-dovey and all over each other. Cooing over their bag of flour, calling out of classes for some ‘mommy daddy business’ , Chrissy remembered a few of the girls on the squad agonizing over names. Like it was a real kid, and being tied down in Hawkins with their boyfriend who was definitely not good enough for them wasn’t the most horrifying omen one could imagine.

A couple years ago, Kendra got pregnant during the assignment. She came into the gym crying about it right at the end of the unit. Her and Ricky got paired together for the project and had just started dating when it happened. Chrissy was surprised they were still allowing it at all, after the storm it caused.

Some of the other girls on the squad were excited about it, back when they were freshmen. She guessed they liked the idea of finding their own ‘future husband’ over a school sanctioned bag of baking goods. She didn’t get it.

Neither did most people, anymore. Most of the Hawkins population dreaded it. It was a bunch of busy work at best, and an awkward situation to be put in with a stranger at worst. (Or, maybe not worst, considering what happened to Kendra.)

Jason expects her to work with him. He seemed kind of excited about it the one time he brought it up. He said it would be good practice.

Good practice .

For being married , the way their moms had been envisioning since they started dating in the seventh grade. For having blond little babies that she’d have to do all the work for, just like every single school assignment they’ve ever worked on together.

The thought made her sick. Her stomach churns and her heart starts to beat too quickly. She brings her hands into her lap and clenches them into tight little fists, nails digging into her palm while she levels her breathing.

“It seems weird, though, that they’re making girls work together. Or boys, I guess,” Amy snorts. “Like, first of all, just ew. And second, wasn’t where babies come from, like, our first assignment for this class? We had to watch that birthing video and everything.”

Chrissy shudders. Twice. Once for Amy's comment, thrown out so casually and callously after Chrissy had just spent God-knows-how-long spacing off to thoughts of Robin Buckley in her band uniform. Then again, for the forced memory of the birthing video.

“Our first assignment was in the baking unit,” Chrissy mutters. The birthing video didn’t come into the end of January. It’s not a perfect response, but she’s knows she has to say something. Sometimes it feels like being too quiet can be just as damning as talking too much. Especially with Amy S. It’s an odd balance to strike.

“And if you don’t want to have my baby then, fine ,” Kate throws back, dawning a smirk as she tosses a lock of curls behind her shoulder. She makes a face as Chrissy while she does it, and she’d be more paranoid about what that might have meant if she wasn’t so clearly doing it to bring Chrissy in on the joke, raising her eyebrows quickly and chuckling.

Very funny , she thinks, no humor in it at all when she makes herself push out a giggle.

“Wait, why would I have to have it?” Amy huffs, crossing her arms after her chest, indignant for some reason.

“Well I’m obviously not gonna have yours –”

“Okay, everyone, let’s bring it back to me,” Ms. Dennings’ voice rings out, bouncing off the walls and onto Chrissy and her friends enough that they stop their squabble. In the corner of the room, Robin winces so strong that it sends one of her books falling to the ground. “Now that you’ve had time to read over the instructions, break into partners and we’ll get started.”

There’s rumbling around the room, a few people get up and shuffle towards each other, or trade seats to sit by whoever they’ve chosen.

Chrissy’s eyes trail back to Robin, who’s contorting herself over the desk to grab the book from the floor. She has to rise up a bit, arms not quite gangly enough to reach from sitting. She bends over the desk and–

Chrissy coughs out a choke. Mouth getting slippery and blood running hot, she quickly looks away and ignores the fight her eyes are making to look back.

Around the room, she sees that no one is going towards Robin. People are partnering up around the room and she isn’t even bothering to try to catch anyone’s eye.

“Is anyone not paired up? Who’s left?” Ms. Dennings asks, counting the students with her finger pointed out at the classroom. Chrissy sees Robin’s hand raise up, just a quick acknowledgement before it goes back down. She does the same.

“And we have… two missing, is that right?” Ms. Dennings looks down at the attendance sheet to confirm it. “Jason Carver and Chance Bronston. Do you two want to pair up with each other or them?”

Robin doesn’t move. She’s still curled up on her desk, biting her nails and tapping her foot, like she’s already resolved herself to be the odd one out. Last one picked. Working with whoever else was missing from class that day.

Chrissy’s supposed to tell Ms. Dennings that she wants to work with Jason.

She thrusts her hand up, waving a bit to catch the teacher’s attention.

And then she says, “No, it’s not problem! I can–” is she talking too fast? Does she sound too excited? Not… nonchalant enough? She pauses before she can stumble over her words, and finishes up with, “--uh, work with Robin.”

“Great!” Ms. Dennings, it would seem, couldn’t care less. She just shrugs her shoulders and gestures towards Robin. Eyes all around the room follow her hand. Chrissy can feel it when they shift towards her, and back toward Robin. The familiar zing of being stared at doesn’t need to be confirmed by actually seeing it. She knows.

Especially when she hears the pop of gum and Amy S’ hushed voice. She blocks it from the ears after hearing the initial “Um, what the fuck?”

Act calm, Chrissy, she tells herself as she gathers up her books and stands. Ms. Dennings doesn’t waste any time grabbing her ruler to continue with her lesson, and Chrissy is eternally grateful for the piercing quality of the teacher’s voice. Once she starts talking again, she can feel the voyeurs’ focus begin to shift back to the front of the room. Even if a few eyes linger on, they dwindle, and it makes the walk to Robin’s corner feel less like Chrissy is dragging her feet through lava.

Less . But it doesn’t remove the feeling completely. Because even as her fingers twinge with anticipation while she nears Robin, she’s also pretty sure she knows she just did something very, very stupid .

Jason will be livid. Her mom will ask questions. She’s almost positive Amy S is still whispering to Kate right behind her.

Robin turns and meets her eye, and butterflies flutter in her stomach and fly up to her throat. Chrissy’s lips pull up at the corners and she gives a little wave. Ms. Dennings is saying something about the grading scale while Chrissy reaches her new seat and settles into it as gently as she can.

The metal of the seat is cold, and she fidgets as it sinks into her warm skin. She puts her palms on the desk, the temperature is kind of nice when you’re expecting it. Ms. Dennings has gone back into full-on lecture mode, so they don’t say anything. Chrissy sneaks glances every once and a while, but never catches the other girl doing the same.

Ms. Dennings is finished talking about the importance of quality time in a child’s development and moved onto passing out the preliminary worksheet by the time she speaks up.

“Hi,” Chrissy says finally. She almost winces, it sounds so loud going back into her ears. Like she’s screaming over the chorus of classroom chatter even though she knows that she’s probably barely two steps away from whispering.

“Hi,” Robin returns the greeting, and then she smiles. Which is nice, it’s a nice smile. Well, kind of, it doesn’t seem very natural, and Chrissy can practically see the moment that the other girl’s brain told her to smile, and then gears that turned afterwards. It would be nice if Robin didn’t have to smile at her manually . But the way she raises her eyebrows, which makes her eyes pop out even more, that's nice. And the way her nose scrunches up. And her lips–

“What?” Chrissy blurts out.

Robin blinks. She even looks confused, maybe even a bit on edge. Chrissy probably does, too. “I didn’t…” Robin’s eyebrows furrow, like she’s second guessing herself, but then says, “I didn’t say anything,” anyway.

Chrissy could die.

She wants to die.

This is so embarrassing .

Maybe this was a mistake. Scratch that, this was definitely a mistake. She’s thought about talking to Robin Buckley before, a lot . About what they might talk about, and how she might dazzle the other girl with questions about music, or her taste in movies, or how she learned so many languages. Don’t say dazzle , she tells herself, even though she knows that’s exactly what she wanted.

But now, in front of Robin, she’s fumbling the whole thing. Badly. Hard . She thought that being, you know, up close and actually talking to her, there was no way she would get as distracted as she does when she’s creeping on her in the bandline. But here they are…

“Sorry,” Chrissy bites her lip, and then digs her fingernails into her leg. The pain isn’t bad or anything, but it’s just enough to ground her. Once she’s able to take a deep breath, in and out, she eases up her grip.

Robin, mercifully, doesn’t seem too bothered. When Chrissy looks back up, she’s giving half of her attention to the pen back in her hand, scribbling some doodles on the otherwise empty pages of her notebook. It doesn’t feel like she’s ignoring her, though. Because she can see the way Robin’s head is tilted towards Chrissy, so she can hear, and how her eyes are bouncing around, between the desk and her pen and Chrissy and the clock on the wall. Active, even as she keeps herself busy.

It was like she was giving Chrissy a moment. Like she knew exactly what she needed without having to ask. If Chrissy’s head wasn’t so warped, from exhaustion and confusion and skipping breakfast and Robin Buckley , maybe she would be worried about being so obvious. But mostly, she’s just grateful.

“I hear things all the time,” Robin says once Chrissy can breathe easy again. She’s still in her own space, shrugged over her notebook as she scribbles away. Her gazes comes back to Chrissy’s for a second, and the blonde wills her breathing to stay steady, lest she get all fuzzy again over two seconds of eye contact. And that’s not an exaggeration, it’s short , because Robin’s grimace ends it almost immediately. “I mean, not–not in a Son of Sam kind of way. I– oh my god , I can’t believe I–”

Robin’s energy suddenly starts spinning, and Chrissy tells herself not to laugh. Because it’s really funny, how she’s saying it, and she now looks as nervous as Chrissy felt, but it’s also so damn cute that it just makes Chrissy want to release some kind of sound of delight. Robin’s voice kind of breaks every time tries to start a new sentence, and her cheeks are getting pink. It looks really nice on her skin, it makes the freckles that dot her nose stand out even more.

“ Son of Sam , what a crazy thing to bring up on a Tuesday morning,” Robin grumbles to herself, and at that, Chrissy did laugh. A small one, almost a giggle that she tries to hide. She doesn’t want to make Robin feel bad, that’s the last thing she wants. Like, ever. But luckily, the other girl doesn’t seem to mind. If anything, she loosens up a bit, shaking her head and chuckling as she explains, “I meant, like, no schizo, voices in my head, telling me to believe in government conspiracies, or something. I don’t hear those voices.” She puts her pen down, letting her arms rest on the desk in front of her and slouching her body over, hands going to her face.

No, don’t do that, Chrissy thinks. Don’t cover up the blush .

“I just, y’know, listen, I guess,” Robin continues, suddenly looking serious again, trying to get the words right this time. “There’s always so much going on. So I wanna keep my ears open. But sometimes I’m paying too much attention, and then I second guess what I’m hearing. And so it’ll be like, I turn around because I think I heard my name but no one said it, or I mix two totally different conversations across the room together, or just hear a leaky faucet somewhere and I think it’s something really important .” She’s speaking quickly, but Chrissy makes sure to make out every word. “Might just be a human thing, looking for patterns, or… danger, or whatever.”

“Yeah,” Chrissy smiles as the air lingers between them. Cheeks warm, grip loosened, mind no longer swirling in a million different directions. “Maybe.”

Ms. Dennings starts talking again after that. Explaining the project, as if they don’t know exactly what it is. They don’t get the baby today. That’ll be on Thursday. Instead, the rest of the hour is spent hearing Ms. Denning’s groan on about the importance of early development stages and how it will be represented by their juvenile assignment. Chrissy sneaks a couple more glances at Robin. Maybe more than a couple. Every time her eyes sweep back over to the brunette, she’s writing in her own notebook. Or paying close attention to Ms. Dennings. Or resting on her hand and gazing in the opposite direction. Looking anywhere but at Chrissy.

That’s probably good, though. Because as class goes on, Chrissy’s grip gets tighter. No longer jotting down ideas for baby names or family activities that she could rope Robin into. Instead, she flips the page and starts a new list.

Excuses.

Because third period will end soon, and then they’ll have the pep rally. And then, at lunch, she’ll have to explain to Jason, and their friends, that actually, she’ll be spending the new few weeks raising her flour baby with Robin Buckley– yes, the girl from band . And she’s not sure how to say it out loud and not be happy. Or excited. Or scared.

And she’s really not sure what he’s gonna do when he finds out.

⚘❀❁❀⚘

That was kind of weird, right?

Robin has to ask herself. It’s in her head , she stops herself from actually saying the words out loud, even though she really wants to. Because she thinks it warrants a verbal response. But it’s just in her head. She can consciously hear her own voice, asking the question clearly, sounding as confused as she feels.

Maybe it’s the way that her world has gotten so different. She’s revved up from a suffering high school student to a suffering high school senior , and she’s so close to the freedom of college dorms, preferably in a city that is very much not Hawkins, Indiana. Or maybe it’s last summer’s trauma that made her begin to shrink as much as possible, and along with that went her social circle, and most of her interests, and nearly all of her already limited optimism in people.

But whatever caused it, she knows she’s somewhat of a loner now in school. She’s still the same person, just… content to be as passive as possible when it comes to socializing. In Ms. Denning’s class (which was, very regrettably, required) , she wasn’t that friendly with anyone. She’d spent the semester thus far either opting to work on her own or being paired with whoever was leftover. Either way, she ended up doing most (or all) of the work anyway, so it wasn’t a big deal. She was fine with it.

Perfectly, passively fine .

She knows, or at least thinks, that Chrissy probably just did it to be nice. She was the human equivalent of the ray of sunshine, after all, so the blonde probably saw poor, pathetic Robin sitting on her own once again and thought it was be the right thing to do. The thought alone makes Robin cringe.

Not only because pretty girls noticing how lame she is isn’t exactly something that she relishes in; the eyes she feels on her as she leaves her third period classroom feel like they could burn holes into her unreasonably heavy backpack. When she swears that she hears the hushed sound of her name, coming out like a bite from the back of the classroom, she tells herself that it’s her mind playing tricks again.

‘Not like Son of Sam,’ she’d said. Jesus Louise Christ, Robin, what the hell was that? No wonder people think you’re totally deranged.

She huffs as she heads towards the band room. The pep rally isn’t gonna ‘Fight Song’ itself.

The smell of B.O. and peanut butter sandwiches wafts as soon as she opens the doors. A few people who were apparently trailing behind her begin to file in as soon as it’s barely cracked. One or two going out, too. A few freshmen, probably, who were in there last period but haven’t moved up into marching band yet. So she’s left just standing there in the hallway, propping out the very large, very heavy door like she’s a gatekeeper.

She really hates when this happens. But there’s no use trying to fight the flow of traffic, so she lets it. A few people give her a nod of acknowledgement, or a half-hearted ‘thanks.’ She just hums or rolls her eyes in response.

“Yep. Okay, people, come on ,” she speaks up when Petey Van tries to stop to read a sign on the door. “Now is not the time.”

He mutters something at her under his breath, but lets the people behind him push things forward. The coast is finally just about clear when the last person comes through. She’s so distracted by being annoyed that she doesn’t even notice it’s–

“Thanks, Robin,” Vickie says as she walks through the door.

Robin looks at her. The redhead’s lips are turns up into a smile, their eyes catch for a moment before the girl is in the band room with everyone else. Robin tries to not look like cartoon character floating in the air towards a freshly baked pie following after her, but she can’t help feeling like it.

Robin feels a bit giddy. Vickie is nice, especially when she smiles, pretty all the time, and despite the way Robin protests when Steve says it, she does seem kind and quirky enough that it wasn't… out of the question . Her being like Robin. Or, her liking Robin. Or at least her not crucifying Robin with a social homicide and a scarlet letter if she found out that she liked her.

But the question is still there. So instead of sitting down next to Vickie and asking her about her weekend plans, or joining the gaggle of girls who are congregating in the Women’s Changing Room, she goes to her locker, grabs her uniform, and heads to the single stall bathroom in the back.

⚘❀❁❀⚘

The basketball assembly went… fine.

That was a lie, of course. Most of the joy Chrissy once got from cheering has petered out while the weigh-ins and expectations grew. And even at her most enthusiastic about school spirit, the assemblies were her least favorite part. They’re all about appearances. They don’t even get to do the harder routines, even though it would be the perfect place to do them (because at games no one watches, and at competitions nobody is even there).

The cheer team’s performance at the basketball assembly went fine. Chrissy didn’t make any mistakes, and Amy S didn’t make that grunt she sometimes does when Chrissy climbs to the top of the pyramid. So on paper, it went as well as she could expect.

But it was also awful . So awful that she kind of wants to scream. And Chrissy could feel her already brittle sense of control being pried away from her calloused fingers.

Amy S and Kate made fun of her in the locker room, first of all. Which wasn’t really a surprise, after Health class, but it still pushed her further towards the teetering edge of insanity. Especially when Amy S said “Buckley’s a total dyke, but she’s some freaky genius, right? So just don’t, you know, change in front of her or anything and you’ll be fine.”

Even Kate told Amy that was “sooo messed up, Ames” , but the conversation moved on as soon as Amy’s laughter died down. Chrissy kept quiet and hoped that it wasn’t so obvious that she didn’t look up until they were all finished getting changed.

Then on the way into the gym, Chrissy sees Steve Harrington running towards the band to give something to Robin, who squeals in thanks and grabs the bag he’s handing her, and then hugs him briefly before pushing him back towards the door.

Steve Harrington .

The only Hawkins High rumor about Robin that persisted more than her being… like Chrissy , was the one that claimed she was dating Steve Harrington. Which Chrissy didn’t really believe, because Robin always insists that they’re just friends. And because everybody knows that Steve Harrington dates around, and Chrissy is very confident that anyone who got to date Robin Buckley would not be dumb enough to cheat on her.

And Chrissy likes Steve. He’s always been nice to her, and he even stood up for her once, when Jason made a comment about how Chrissy’s outfit looked at one of his parties, and didn’t seem to expect anything from her afterwards. He was sweet. She likes Steve just fine.

But after he smiles shyly and waves towards the cheerleaders and basketball team as they set up, he turns around to mouth something at Robin that she not only apparently has no problem understanding across a room full out loud teenagers, but it makes her giggle and duck her face into her instrument (which Chrissy now remembers is called a french horn).

So right then, she kind of hated Steve Harrington.

And then , half of the glances that Chrissy risks through the whole thing, Robin is focused on the girl next to her. Not just looking at her, but not looking at her. Very pointedly not looking at her. Chrissy sees the way Robin’s blue eyes start to look and pull back forward, to down, so that they don’t hit the redhead straight on. And it pulls Chrissy’s heart so tight, and twists it over again with every complicated feeling it rouses.

Because Chrissy is doing that to Robin now, trying her best to keep the checks and balances of giving into the silly whims of gazing at your crush and making sure it’s not too much . And she’s pretty sure that’s what it looks like.

It could be wishful thinking, but it doesn’t make Chrissy feel particularly hopeful over it, so…

She didn’t know Vickie very well, but she’s sure she’s real nice and all. At least, that’s what she thinks as her stomach churns and her eyes start to ache.

She’s so distracted by Robin and Vickie, joining in as the girls shake their pom-poms and with little conscious thought, that she barely has time to register when Jason says her name.

“Chrissy,” he says, standing at the center of the gym, looking right at her. Kate nudges her side, and she tries to put on a grin, settles for a soft smile.

Wait, what? He did his whole speech for her the other night. It was all about the team needing the town to come together and support them after the random tragedies that had been hopping up since ‘83. And it definitely did not include anything about her. She’s not sure what that has to do with anything.

(She’s not even sure why he wanted to do the speech for her before in the first place. He said it was so she could give him her opinion, but when she gently tried to point out that she wasn’t sure if comparing the string of deaths and the mall fire to a basketball game was a good idea, he just shook his head and laughed, and pushed until she said it was great.)

“Chrissy, I love you babe,” he tells her, and the rest of the school, rubbing a hand to his heart. Her nerves are screaming, and she doesn’t know what she’s supposed to do. What he expects her to do, what her teammates or the student body expect her to do. So she blows him a kiss and holds her breath until the awww’s die down and he goes back to the speech he had actually planned out.

If he had said those things the other night, she would’ve asked him not to.

She doesn’t look at Robin after that. She doesn’t look at anyone . She keeps her focus soft and follows the herd of the rest of the cheer team until they’re all excused and she makes a run for the bathroom.

She’s late to her lunch hour. Her stomach turned and her anxiety buzzed, but she also hadn’t eaten since the toast and grapefruit her mom gave her at breakfast, so it takes a while to throw any of it up. Any satisfaction of cause and effect doesn’t last long, and the fleeting comfort is gone by the time she joins everyone at their usual lunch table.

The seat next to Jason is empty, his letterman jacket slung over the back and waiting for her. As always.

“Hey, Chrissy,” Patrick sees her first, greeting her from the other side of the table as she sits down. The rest of them hum with their own greetings, and Jason perks up.

“Hey, babe,” he smirks and pats the table in front of her. She nods back and waves to everyone else.

“We were talking about

“At least we don’t have to worry about that, right?” Jason smirks, leaning in, and Chrissy’s hair stands up in panic. It’s happening. And it’s happening now. “They’ll all be blonde haired, blue eyed, All-American superstars, huh?”

“Yeah yeah, you guys look exactly the same, but what are Chrissy and Buckley’s offspring gonna look like?” Amy S jokes (it doesn’t feel like one). “Maybe like the nerd from The Breakfast Club. What was his name?”

“Anthony Michael Hall,” one of the freshman provides, all helpful and nice like that conversation, and Jason’s demeanor, didn’t just take a hard left turn.

He pulls back, eying Chrissy, his lips still curled up. Since Chrissy’s hand is free now, she wrings it together with her other, coughing once.

“Wait, she didn’t tell you?” Kate at least looks kind of guilty, about it. She squints at Chrissy like she just did something wrong. Or, at the very least, something against the standards of ‘girl code’. Sometimes ‘wrong’ and ‘right’ aren’t really a hard line with her friends. Kate’s voice wavers, eyes wide for a minute before she quickly puts it all away, her facade of cool normality slips back on easily.

Amy S, however, doesn’t seem bothered by the slip in the slightest. She just snorts, “I mean, to be fair, she’ll probably do, like, all the work. She’s a total brain. Maybe I should’ve volunteered to be her partner. The last thing I need is more homework.”

“Wait, what do you mean volunteered ?” Jason asked, voice clipped and the smile plastered on his face feeling wrong . Uncanny with the frustration in his eyes. “You volunteered? To work with–”

“She just–” Chrissy speaks before she forms a real response . She can’t help it. If she’s being honest, she just didn’t want to hear whatever it was that Jason was about to say. “Ms. Dennings asked if anyone didn’t already have a partner. And she raised her hand, and, well, I didn’t have one there either, because you were getting ready for the assembly. So I did too.”

She tries not to flinch when she says that part. It sounds more accusatory than she meant it, and she can tell Jason thinks so, too, by the way his eyebrow twitches. Like her mom’s does during dinner, or Tommy Hagan when she said no to dancing with him at the Snow Ball. So she just barrels forward and hopes the sentiment doesn’t linger too long.

“Almost everyone else already had a partner, or at least sits with friends in class. And I just wanted to… be nice, I guess. I didn’t even really think.”

About how mad you would be. About what people would think. About you at all.

Jason considers this a moment. Chrissy feels the tension at the table. It feels thick , like no one is breathing, but that might not be true. Maybe it’s just her, feeling it too much because she’s not looking at anyone else. Her gaze is stuck ping-ponging between Jason and his half-eaten lunch tray, waiting for his reaction.

“You do love your projects, huh?” he chuckles, leaning over to rub her knee fondly before grabbing her hand. Waffling the fingers. His hands feel too big and too hot, like a blanket in the summer. “That’s sweet, Chris. Really.” He looks over at the table and nods, she hears a few murmurs and feels movement. Things are back to normal. Their normal, at least.

Jason leans in a bit closer, voice hushed as he says softly, “I still wish you would’ve thought about it, though. I’ve got a real busy month coming up with the championship, you know. And… you kind of embarrassed me here. But I know you meant well. Wanting to help that band girl. Just… think first next time. Okay baby?”

Think first .

Thinking is all she does, but clearly she doesn’t do it right.

She dips her head in agreement, wishing she could disappear. The warm hand on her bare legs starts to feel like it’s burning her. She wiggles a bit in her chair, trying to avoid it. The feeling or his hand, either one. But he doesn’t move. Until his fingers suddenly twitch into a firmer grasp when there’s a loud bang from the other side of the cafeteria.

“As long as you like band –” Eddie Munson’s voice comes booming. Chrissy’s whole group turns to look at him. And he’s– yep, he’s on the lunch tables again, egging on his crowd of growing onlookers. “Or science. Or… parties…”

Glen, the next table over, seems to take offense. Chrissy secretly always thinks it’s funny, though. How does he do that with his voice?

Jason doesn’t find it funny. He never does. He hates Eddie more than he’d like to admit, Chrissy thinks. His hand gets tigher on her knee. His fingernails feel different than hers. Bigger, less sharp, less clean. They can’t shock her into feeling grounded, they hurt the same way heels do at the end of a night. They’re piercing, and tiring, but it is what it is.

“Or a GAME where you toss BALLS into LAUNDRY BASKETS!”

Eddie’s ranting much have proves to be too much for him, because Jason stands up and yells back. “You want something, freak?”

The other boy makes some crazy face, putting up little devil horns while his friends laugh behind him. Jason’s chest is puffed and heaving, Chrissy thinks he might charge until she clears her throat and pulls on his sleeve, trying to stop the staring that keeps on finding her today.

“Prick,” he huffs when he finally slinks back down.

“The Freak is always an asshole, man,” Andy huffs, biting his sandwich like he’s angry at the bread and then talking with his mouth full. “Fuckin’ hate that guy. With his stupid rants and his screamo devil music shit.”

“If you hate him so much, why do you always buy from him?” Kate asks, smug. Patrick chuckles beside her, which only makes her grin wider and push on. “You’re probably the one funding all that screamo devil music shit .”

“And his leather addiction,” Amy S. adds with a snicker. Her eyes linger on Eddie long enough that it makes Andy scoff and bang his hands on the table to get her attention back. That only makes her more giddy, waggling her eyebrows like the way she’s staring Eddie down is some kind of challenge or joke for the boy next to her. “What? I’m just saying, babe, vote with your pocket. Isn’t that what your dad always says?”

Babe . So they’re on this week, then.

“He’s got the best shit in town, Ames,” he rolls his eyes. “Everyone buys from Munson.”

“Oh god, do you remember when Paul got really into Fast Times last year and started trying to sell his own homegrown stash?” Patrick laughs. He hasn’t said much all through lunch, but that’s not exactly uncommon. He’s nicer than Andy and quieter than Jason, and he’s sitting with one of the new freshmen on the team that Chrissy doesn’t recognize beyond that.

“ Fuck , dude, that shit made me so paranoid,”

“It made Paul paranoid!” Glen adds. “He was all twitchy and shit when he got caught, and then kept getting into fights on the court! Shit was crazy . It’s a good thing he got busted.”

“Then he had to start buying from that freak again , just to calm his ass down!”

Even through the sea of teenage snickering and bellowing, she can still hear Eddie’s voice across the room. It’s not yelling anymore. At least, not more than usual. If Chrissy said anything at that volume, she’s sure it would feel like screaming, or leading a cheer, but for him it probably feels like he’s keeping it down.

Calm doesn’t sound too bad, does it? Chrissy doesn’t smoke. Has never smoked, actually. She’s been around it enough, girls on the team do it, and even Jason once or twice at a party, but her mother always said it would make her hungry. Even if she didn’t need to eat, she’d end up stuffing herself and making ‘bad habits.’

But Paul was the most keyed up guy Chrissy could think of , really. And… well, if it could calm him down, maybe that wouldn’t be too bad, right? No matter how loud or intimidating he is, even a table full of people who hate him are saying that much.

She shifts her gaze through the lunch room, planning to stop on his table without making it too obvious. He’s talking, quickly, to a couple of the smaller boys in his troupe. She thinks maybe she’s seen the curly haired one talking to Robin before. The thought of the other girl’s name alone makes her heart beat faster. She can feel it in the pulse of her wrists, it feels too strong, like it might make the bones snap and she wouldn’t even hear because of the reverb in her ears.

Calm down , she tells herself.

It doesn’t work.

Looking back at Munson, who is now back on his feet and doing some kind of gyrating motion at he walks and rants towards his table, she bites her lip and decides. Why not? She didn’t second guess herself this morning and she ended up actually talking to Robin Buckley. Which, sure, could have gone better. But she did it. So maybe she doesn’t need to second guess this, either.

She starts to feel eyes on her again, and takes a moment to look up at the ceiling and sigh before smiling and bringing her attention back to the table. It was just Kate, thank god. Chrissy does her best to spring back to life, like she had just spaced out. Nothing to worry about.

She’ll ask her at practice how to get to Eddie. But for now, Chrissy is ‘totally fine . ’

⚘❀❁❀⚘

Family Video is a lot better than Scoops Ahoy. It’s not nearly as busy, doesn’t smell like spoiled milk and artificial sugar and Steve usually lets her pick the movie. So, that’s good.

But their newfound close relationship and freetime (on the clock) means Robin has been finding herself listening to tales of Steve’s perilous love life, and she can’t right now. Because even though she feels bad that his neverending sexcapades aren’t fulfilling him nowadays, and he wants more . She has a big fat nothing , and for whatever reason, the whining is grating her a bit more than usual today.

He apologizes when she tells him as much, which only makes her feel worse, so she says that he can run the front desk while she restocks the Drama section. She should’ve known the nosy bitch would use it as an excuse to go through her backpack that she left there.

“What are you doing?” she asks, understandably accusatory as she raises an eyebrow at him.

“I needed a pen,” he shrugs, waving her off. She huffs a laugh.

“Then why are you filing through my stuff?”

“Got distracted, Robs, keep up,” he winks, and then gasps. “Oh my god, Ms. Dennings!” Steve chokes out a fake gag as he pulls her schoolwork out, holding it up like he found a prize. “You’re taking Health right now?”

“You took her class last year, dingus,” Robin shoots back, throwing her now unneeded pencil towards his perfectly coiffed hair. He swats it away with a tut but doesn’t say anything else, opting to ready through her homework like he would find something juicy. “Stop acting like a disgruntled townie.”

“I am a disgruntled townie,” he shoots back. “And a bunch of parents made a big fuss about it last year, remember? Again? Those churchy ones who said it promoted premarital sex and bastard kids, or something?” She does remember, and they both shutter at the memory of the Hawkins congregation blaring gospel during a pep rally and talking about the moralistic ‘slippery slope. ’ “I thought Higgins would’ve just given in by now. Forced Ms. Dennings into an early retirement. Or at least, you know… actually teaching something besides how to properly bathe your bag of flour.”

“Well, they didn’t,” Robin steals the paper back. “Unfortunately, the assignment still exists, is worth 50% of my grade, and I am expecting.”

“Wow,” he muses, face going dumb and misty the way it only does when he’s feigning sincerity or one of those kids does something that kicks him in the heartstrings (not that he’d admit it). “I was starting to believe I’d never see the day. That you’d love the rest of your life sad and alone, house full of cats and 

“I—“ he frowns, staring at the TV a bit, like he’s assessing, and then doubling down with a cross of his arms and shake of his head. “I am not Big Edie!”

“You’re so Big Edie,” Robin laughs. “Obviously you’re the mom!”

He sputters a bit more, clearly wanting to disagree. They’d gone through this before, though, when Robin brought the documentary over for movie night and knocked Steve down a peg from his insistence that he’s “Kennedy. JFK. Bobby, at least.” But when he catches her eye going between him and the screen, he just gets a serious look on his face and poses like the matriarch instead. Hunched over and arms wrapping around himself like he’s got an expensive coat.

Robin snorts, clapping her hands enthusiastically. “Brava!”

“Who’s your other half then?” Steve snoops when he breaks character. It would be so smooth if Robin didn’t see the giddy interest that made it clear this was what he’d been waiting to ask. The twinkle he‘a getting in his eye only makes it worse, “Is it—“

“No!” she says quickly. Not even wanting to hear the name Vickie. Like it’ll burn her ears, probably from the blush of embarrassment that would be sure to overtake her. “It’s not.”

Vickie’s not even in that class. And even if she was, Robin doubts that pairing would come to fruition.

“It’s Chrissy Cunningham,” Robin answers, voice appropriately bright and crisp on her name. “You knew her, right?”

“Chrissy?” Steve seems surprised. Which, fair. Robin was too. But Robin really hopes he won’t make some kind of big deal about it. She already regrets telling him about Vickie. And Tammy. And Chrissy. Not that this is, like, the same. At all. “Yeah, I know her. Obviously. She’s nice.”

Robin hums in agreement. Chrissy is nice. Everyone knows that.

“Cute, too.”

She groans, wishing she hadn’t already thrown her pen at him so she couldn’t do it again now. Harder. With a skill and strength that she definitely doesn’t possess.

“Jason Carver certainly thinks so,” she says. The sour face he makes in response is enough to ease up her irritation.

“That tool?” he makes a sour face and gives a big thumbs down. Robin smiles. Petty as it may be, there will always be something so satisfying about the former Keg Stand King disliking the worst of what was he crowd. “They’re still together?”

“Obviously.” If the golden couple of Hawkins, Indiana had broken up, everyone would have heard. Even band geek Robin Buckley and reformed Prom King Steve Harrington. “So I’m preemptively moving her into the ‘You Suck’ tally. I can reaffirm if you want to fight Carver for her honor, you’re probably overdue for another concussion.”

“What?”

“I’m kidding!” she says quickly, her foot would be in her mouth if she could get it there. “Please don’t. More concussions would be very bad. Even though you refuse to go to an actual doctor, I don’t know what  I’d do if—“

“Robbie,” he interrupts her rambling with a chuckle. “I’m not—I didn’t mean…”

He trails off, seemingly ready to just let it go before he decides otherwise, dipping his head enough that his hair flips over with his suggestive look and raised eyebrows.

What?

Oh.

“You’re being a jerk!” she frowns. The insinuation was barely there, but it was there. Cute. Like Chrissy would be… like Robin would ever or could ever—it feels like she’s being mocked. And it feels meaner, somehow, that the actual poking and prodding she gets over Vickie.

She wants to curl out against the counter and pout. Until Steve agrees to stack for the rest of the night, or buy her dinner later. She’s deserve it. But she also kind of just wants to sock Steve on the ear or nose, where it’s sensitive but won’t rattle his brain around, and run away. She settles on a flick to the lobe and grabbing the rest of the returns by the rewind station.

“You don’t think she’s cute?” Steve asks defensively, rubbing the spot on his neck that her nails accidentally caught. Collateral damage. Worth it. “I’m sorry, my bad. I must’ve been totally hallucinating your obsession with I Dream of Genie. That’s on me.”

“Don’t bring Barbara Eden into this!” she groans. “And it doesn’t matter. None of that matters. I can’t think like that, okay? Not about—her.”

She sees the words hit his eyes. The ones spoken and unspoken. What she means. What could happen.

It’s not the same, Steve, she tells him every time he teases her about girls and her non-existent love life. I’m not like you.

He smiles kind of sad and nods. He looks a bit like a kicked puppy, but she feels worse for herself than for him, so she lets him change the conversation to gossip over Judd Kerry’s late fees. She hides the rest of her work back in her messenger bag. Because right now, with her nosy best friend 

Liking girls in a place like Hawkins was scary enough. Lonely. Unknown. Dangerous.

Liking someone like Chrissy Cunningham was all of that times ten. That is why despite her sweet laugh, and kind eyes, and (admittedly) striking resemblance to one Barbara-Eden-as-Jeannie, she had never even considered it.

⚘❀❁❀⚘

Chrissy has been to the woods by the school before.

Contrary to popular belief, she’s not that much of a priss. The east is pretty close to the giant patch of grass that houses the outdoor soccer and cheerleading practices, and therefore made for a great place to go and cry after particularly hard drills, and Chrissy was pretty good friends with Loni Pfefferman during freshman year, and she lived right on the other side of the woods. So whenever they went to Loni’s house after school, it cut their travel time in half by taking the road less traveled.

But she doesn’t make a habit of it. Especially recently. She remembers in middle school, kids used to hang out there all the time. Jocks after the games would drink beer after games, she’d even heard of people having their birthday parties there, huddled around those picnic tables with a giant sheet cake and streamers they wouldn’t tear down to clean up afterwards. But in the past couple of years, it’s become a bit… run down. After Will Byers and Barb Holland went missing, the citizens of Hawkins have been way more aware of any wildlife or being out in the woods at night. Even after Will came back and that article came out about Barb, the paranoia surrounding the dangers of nighttime in Hawkins didn’t subside much.

Since then, it’s been pretty much overtaken by the freaks and geeks. Whenever she sees people stumbling out of the trees and back toward the school or the road, it’s usually either Eddie and his friends or a teen or two coming out looking all nervous. She assumed it was because they took advantage of the shaded privacy to hook up. That’s most of the stories, anyway.

But apparently, it’s not only where Eddie goes to scream and howl and do drugs with his friends. It’s also where he conducts his business, according to her friends at lunch. So once practice is out, and with a forced smile toward Jason and Amy that had them convinced (but definitely not her) , she waits for the crowd to leave so she can sneak into the woods to find the picnic table under the trees where maybe, just maybe , she can find some respite.

It doesn’t go well, at first. Chrissy is jumpy, and the way he sneaks up on her doesn’t help. She’s standoffish, too, which Eddie seems to take offense to. He’s on the verge of leaving when–

“Do you ever feel like you’re losing your mind?”

“Uh…” he looks around, then down at himself, like that’s enough of an answer. “You know, just like… on a daily basis.”

They have that in common, then.

Maybe even more in common than she’d thought. Because it doesn’t take long before they’re laughing, and he’s got that voice again–the one he uses on the lunch tables. And the words Corroded Coffin are back in her mind for the first time in years.

“You’re not what I thought you’d be like,” she admits through giggles. The tales of Demonic Metalhead Eddie Munson were always too tall for real life, but she expected some kernels of truth in them. Some standoffishness, or anger. But beyond the clothes he’s just… nice .

Nicer than anyone she’s talked to for this long in a really long time . And he seems to get more satisfaction out of making her laugh than anything else.

When he tells her that he thought she would be the mean and scary one, she doesn’t even feel bad. Usually, if someone told her that, she’d get insecure. Or feel like she did something wrong. But he says it almost fondly.

“Is this… the strongest stuff you have?” she asks when he hands her a baggie.

Eddie shuts the lunchbox and looks at her. Maybe through her, with how hard he’s staring. There’s curiosity, but he doesn’t seem judgemental. Nevertheless, with the box literally closed, and his eyebrows pinched, she can’t help but feel like she did something wrong.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to–it’s fine.”

“Are you okay?” he asks. And she doesn’t know what to say to that.

“I… I’m fine.”

“Okay,” he pauses for a second, considering something before asking, “Have you ever smoked before?”

She doesn’t know why that matters. “No.”

“You know, drugs are fun. They can help a lotta people. Hurt a lot of ‘em, too,” he chuckles softly through his worried look, like he just made some private joke that Chrissy doesn’t get. “Do you… have a place that’s safe? That’s step 1.”

“What’s step 2?”

“Well, having a person there that’s safe is usually good, too,” he says carefully. “Especially if you’re… prone to paranoia. Or anxiety. It’s just pot, but it can knock you on your ass if you’re not ready for it.”

“And you… don’t think I am?” she guesses, feeling somewhat embarrassed at the insinuation, and even more so about that fact that he’s probably right.

“Don’t take what my dumb ass thinks too seriously,” he holds his hands up, and the self-deprecation doesn’t quite get her out of the funk, but it does start to the pull her. “I’ve already been wrong about you once today, so I wouldn’t dream of underestimating you again. Seems like it’d just make a fool out of me.”

He leans in, whispering conspiratorially as if they weren’t the only two in earshot. And when he adds, “I can do that myself,” she lets her walls down completely. Sending herself into hysterical tears that clearly confuse Eddie, especially since her smile is back.

“I’m sorry,” she says, wiping away tears before she can fall. “I don’t… why am I crying? I don’t know why I’m crying.”

“Well, unless you wanna tell me, we can just say it’s the pine needles out here,” he promises, winking. “They get to me sometimes, too. Allergies are a bitch, huh?”

She nods. They both know that the tears are tears, but she appreciates the gesture. A lot.

“It doesn’t gotta be me. But if you really wanna smoke, and have it calm you down, it might help if someone is there. To help you through it.”

“Could it be you?”

“Oh, I…” Eddie seems surprised. Chrissy is too, if she’s being honest. Then he starts to get all flush and fidgety. “Uh–”

“I didn’t mean–” she says quickly, before she thinks to put her foot in her mouth. “I’m not, like… I don’t mean as a date, or anything. So don’t–”

“ Nope,” he winces. “Yeah, definitely didn’t think that. Or want that. Not that you aren’t, you now–”

“Yeah, right, you too!” she nods. They’re pointing at each other with their shoulders raised and bodies now on anxious high-alert. She isn’t even sure what happened, or why it started (but she’s pretty sure it was her fault). And she’s about to apologize, when the next thing she knows, they’re both doubled over in laughter.

Eddie shakes his head, colors of disbelief in his eyes when he stands up straight and says. “It could totally be me. I will go out of my way to make sure you have a totally fun, not-stressful-at-all, herbal therapy sesh, if that’s what you want. I’d be honored. My uncle’s got some time off these next few days but after that, you’re welcome anytime.”

It might the first invitation in months that she’s actually looked forward to. “Okay.”

“Chrissy Cunningham,” he chews on her name. Usually it makes her squirm when people say the whole thing. All those c’s and consonants push up against each other to sound hard, harsh, like she’s in trouble or something. But the way Eddie says it, smile so wide its almost maniacal and eyes and 

He doesn’t say anything for a moment after that. And she doesn’t know what to say. So she tries to give it back, “Eddie Munson.”

It doesn’t have the same effect. She tries to draw out the letters and get that grumbly, inquisitive edge to her voice, but she doesn’t have the control over it–over herself –the way that Eddie does. But the way it makes him light up with glee and throw his head back with a cackle, flying all his limbs out like she’d just said something hilarious, almost makes her feel like she does.

“Oh, Chrissy,” he shakes his head and hums, leaning back down on the table as he stares up at her with wide eyes and a kind voice, “You know. I think this could be the start of a beautiful friendship.”

⚘❀❁❀⚘

Chrissy feels like she sleepwalks through the next couple of days.

On Tuesday night, Eddie gives her a ride home after their meeting in the woods. She has him drop her off down the street, so her mom doesn’t see, but he doesn’t seem to mind. She still feels awful when she does it, though.

One Wednesday, after practice, she and Jason go to her house after school. She tells him that she’s not sure about things. About them . Says maybe it would be good for them to take a break, especially since he wants to go Indiana State and she’s still waiting to her back from Chicago. Her hands shake the whole time, in fear of his response and in anticipation for them to finally be over.

It doesn’t matter, though, because he just laughs and takes her hands in his, and kisses the top of her head as he says, “Don’t worry, Chris, I don’t want to break up.”

She meant she wanted to break up. And she wonders if he knew that and ignored it, or truly misunderstood. But either way, her courage had already been used it. No matter whether or not it worked, she barely had enough of it to sit through dinner with her parents once he went home. That night, her dad asked why her plate was so empty, and then her mom told her to be careful when she went back for more peas.

It’s all hazy, and the automatic track she’s on must be losing battery. The motions she’s following haven’t changed, really, just get harder and harder every day.

Health class on Thursday comes quickly, and she knows it’ll be a mess, but there’s only so much she can do to actually prepare for it. So she walks into Ms. Denning’s classroom feeling totally prepared to matter who much time is spent agonizing over it.

Her usually desk is on the far right side of the room, always in front of Kate and Amy S. Ms. Denning’s doesn’t make them switch around, so it’s where she sat all semester. But today, she doesn’t even think twice about putting her books down on the desk next to Robin. And doesn’t think about the fact that Jason is already sitting in the seat by the window.

“Hi, Robin,” she says. She hopes it sounds okay. Not too nervous, or enthusiastic. Robin’s head whips up, making her short hair dance around her face as her wide eyes meet Chrissy’s.

“Oh, hi, Chrissy,” Robin greets her back. She nods, smile pinched and small but there . Genuine, the way that all of Robin is.

She doesn’t say anything after that. Neither does Chrissy. She’s not really sure what she would say. She’s usually pretty good at talking to people. But, to be fair, her friends or Jason usually guide the conversation.

The silence between them feels loud, though. Chrissy still feels like she’s talking too much .

Chrissy glances at the clock, they have a couple of minutes before the bell rings. If she wasn’t gonna actually talk to Robin , she shouldn’t have let her instincts overrun her mind, right? She has more discipline than that. She wants to. So she tries to quiet her mind to find what it is she wants to say. What she can say, that won’t make her sound like a complete idiot.

She’s mulling it over, nails playing against the skin of her wrist and eyes and ears alert but on pause . She wants to be aware in case Robin says something. But she doesn’t expect the movement on her right.

“Hey,” Chrissy hears Jason before she sees him. Her posture goes up straight and her eyes go straight to the hand he’s putting on her shoulder. “How’re we doing over here, huh?”

Chrissy is glad she doesn’t turn around too soon. Because then she’d miss the look on Robin’s face when he says it. It’s quick, like it bubbles out of her before she has the chance to stop it, but that just makes it even better. In a split second, Robin Buckley’s ridiculously expressive face goes from looking kind of… disgusted? Not in a mean way, just in a ‘I can’t believe this guy’ way. A way that tells Chrissy that Robin would never want a guy to talk to her like that. And then shifts into general annoyance, maybe an undercurrent of fear. People look at Jason like that more and more these days.

But then it shifts to her. To Chrissy. Right to her eyes, with a little nod and a kind expression that kind of makes Chrissy want to cry. Like she’s checking in on her, or something.

And then, the walls are back up. Robin’s face is normal, like she’s just another bored student sitting in Health Class. But Chrissy can still feel it, she thinks. Whether or not Robin means for her to, it helps either way.

“I’m alright, Jason,” Chrissy says, as gently as she can. Mostly to cushion the fact that she’s maneuvering her way out of his grasp. “Just getting ready for class.”

“Right,” Jason nods, expression unmoving. So is his hand, so even when it leaves Chrissy’s shoulder, he holds it there for a moment. Eyes on hers until he decides to move it, minimally, to the back of her chair. “Yeah, I’m paired with Chance Bronston, do you you know him?”

Chrissy almost responds, even though he’s not really looking at her anymore. Of course she knows him, but the fact that he’s talking to Robin, who is now pretty pointedly looking down at her desk, seems even more confusing. The other girl must agree, because she doesn’t register it, either. She doesn’t give him a reaction, just doodles something in her notebook.

“Robin, right? Buckley?” Jason adds, voice cheery, smile wide, and posture tense and puffed up as he looks down at them.

Robin coughs, twitching to look up in confusion. It’s written all over her face, with her 

It’s funny. Chrissy tries… so hard to not have her thoughts and feelings display on her face. She’s convinced she’s terrible at it, that she’s a book that’s laid hastily and completely open for anyone who would actually care to read it. So she tries . To keep a smile on her face, to keep her voice quiet. But Robin doesn’t hide a thing. It doesn’t even really seem like she cares to, honestly. Maybe that works just as well, because Jason lets the unamused look and furrowed brow wash right off of him.

Buckley’s just weird , people would say. Kind of like Eddie. Their minds are already made up, so whatever fuel she gives them will just keep it idle, anyway.

“That is me, yes,” Robin nods. With the nervous rasp of her voice, and the tight control making Jason’s sound so pingy , the difference in tone is so steep that Chrissy feels like she’s falling. “What was your name again?”

⚘❀❁❀⚘

“I don’t think your boyfriend likes me very much,” Robin says once Jason starts to walk off. He took her comment as a slight. And, like, yeah, it was absolutely meant as one, but still. The fact that someone not knowing who he is is enough to getting the guy huffing and puffing is a little funny, right?

It’s no wonder Chrissy didn’t want to work with him. She seemed uncomfortable, and he seemed kind of… overbearing? Even on top of his usual, popular jerk self. At least this whole situation is making a bit more sense now.

“Oh, um…” Chrissy fidgets and looks behind her towards the uber jock, but then just shrugs. “No, he… don’t worry about it.”

“I don’t,” Robin promises. That much is very true. The only jock she puts any thought into is Steve. And maybe Lucas, if he counts. Jason Carver wouldn’t even be on a the shortlist of the shortlist. Chrissy smiles at that, something 

Fuck. Why did Steve have to point out the Jeannie thing? When did Chrissy Cunningham become so–

Thank god Ms. Dennings interrupts that thought, wheeling in an entire shopping cart of flour.

“Oh wow,” Chrissy squeaks beside her. Robin can’t help but agree.

“Okay, children, come get your children!” Dennings cries, and ignores the groans that the class give her in return. “It’s construction day, people! Today, your flour baby is born. Grab a bag, grab the info packets, and any supplies you need to personalize them. You will be graded on concept and care, remember that!”

Robin may not care much about traditional family structures, but she loves a good helping of arts and crafts, so she hauls herself out of the desk and holds a hand out for Chrissy. “Divide and conquer?”

The blonde stares at Robin’s palm, and Robin kicks herself for a second. Why did she even do that? But before it can start to visibly sweat, there’s another hand slipping into it, and Chrissy pulls herself up.

“Thanks,” she says when she’s standing.

Robin pulls her hand away and clears her throat, “Yeah, no problem. I’ll, uh… get the crafty stuff, if you wanna…”

“Get the baby?”

“Pick a good one,” Robin nods, heading to the line of students that is starting to form. “We don’t wanna be stuck with some whole wheat sucker.”

Chrissy has an All-Purpose bag of flour when Robin comes back with hot glue, construction paper, safety scissors, and a giant pack of crayons. She’s also got the info packet, with a worksheet that says Build Your Child and a bunch of punnett squares.

“Do you want to write, or should I?” Chrissy asks, and Robin hums, already laying things out and picking up the scissors.

“You,” she answers. “You’ve got way better handwriting.”

Chrissy seems to preen at that. And Robin thinks, if that comment can make her so visibly happy, then Jason must be a total jerk. Chrissy should be getting, like, way better compliments, from someone she actually cares about.

“Okay,” the blonde says, picking up her pencil and getting started. “Boy or girl?”

“It’d have to be a girl,” Robin says, easily. What should she be making for this thing? The ones in the pictures all have clothes. So, based on her answer, she grabs some paper to start constructing some kind of dress. “Women can only give X chromosomes. Men can give X or Y. So if science somehow made it possible for two women to–”

Robin’s brain– very suddenly and much too late– catches up with her blabbing, flapping mouth. It’s not fast enough to stop her from the next word leaving her lips, but it is fast enough that her whole body cringes as she says it.

“–reproduce.” Oh god. Reproduce? She dips her teeth into her tongue and lets out what she hopes is a mostly-silent huff of embarrassment. Avoids looking at Chrissy like it would melt her eyes right out of her head. “Then it would only result in… other XX-chromosomed offspring.”

There’s a pause.

It’s a pretty long one, actually. A pregnant pause.

Pun intended.

Then Chrissy says, “Oh?”

“At least,” Robin huffs out a laugh and waves her hand. She can imagine, all too easily, Steve’s look of disappointment in that complete lack of cool that she’s displaying right now, but she tries for it anyway. “That’s what happened in Herland .” As if the mention of Charlotte Perkins Gilman– who, you didn’t even need to dig that far into her biography or theory to get to the girl-kisser allegations (not that anyone else at Hawkins High was looking)-- would be any help in this situation.

“I… haven’t read it,” Chrissy says softly. A totally normal response to Robin’s unnormal rambling. “It’s a book, right?”

Robin waits for her to say something else. Something… more . She’s not sure why she waits for pain or disgust or something bad , but she does. It never comes.

Risking a glance over at the other girl, seeing nothing but the big eyes and kind smile that Chrissy always gives her, she feels a bit guilty for expecting that. It was silly to, really. Normal people probably don’t read into the things she says at all. So she just nods.

“Yeah, it’s a book. By… were you in Carriman’s English class sophomore year?” Chrissy nods, and Robin makes a gesture with her pencil. “ The Yellow Wallpaper? The one about the…

“I remember it,” Chrissy says quickly. She looks a bit sad. Emotion hits her face pretty hard, Robin has realized. Her eyes fill up with whatever it is, the way they shine with happiness as opposed to wetting up with tears that won’t fall is striking, even if the muscles holding a small smile don’t move at all. But really, The Yellow Wallpaper is a perfectly normal thing to be sad about. Robin was a total wreck when she first read it. “About the woman who thinks she’s in the wallpaper.”

“Right. Well, the same author wrote Herland . I read a lot of her stuff, after we read it in English. Pretty much cleared out all the Gilman titles in the library for a bit. And then… the two more that the Hawkins Library had, too.”

Chrissy nods, leans against her desk in an uncharacteristically slouched position. Chews on her nail for a second before asking, softly. “And women are… they have kids together? Or, reproduce? In Herland?”

Robin’s instinct last time was to not look. Now she can’t look away. She searches Chrissy’s face for a sign… something. What is she even looking for? She just can’t stop looking. The pink in Chrissy’s cheeks get warmer, burn brighter, and Robin realizes, maybe stupidly late, that the ever present and perfectly placed blush on her face isn’t even makeup. It’s just her.

“Yeah,” Robin answers. Sees the way the color moves up her cheekbones, spread to her right ear but just barely . Then, because she just can’t help herself, adds, “Well, I guess it’s a little different, though. Because there’s no men at all and the women just reproduce asexually. I’m not totally sure how it worked. But it’s a real thing. Not, you know, in people , but… in lizards, I think.”

“Lizards?” Chrissy repeats with a smile. Almost a giggle, too. Robin smiles back.

“Probably other non-mammals, too,” she adds. “But either way, no punnett square needed.”

The points to the work in front of them. A melding of their genes to show their flour offspring’s potential. Jesus.

Chrissy continues to smile, setting her hands back down and bring the worksheet towards her again, reading her pen to continue. Back to work, that’s probably good.

“I liked The Yellow Wallpaper ,” she says instead. “It… stuck with me. The wife and the way she wrote about…” going crazy? Hating her husband? The societal expectations of women? “Anyway.” Yeah, maybe that was too much. “Maybe I would like Herland too?”

She’s looking at Robin like she just revealed something important. Steve did the same thing when they first started hanging out, every time he said something honest about himself he’d claim up and look at her like a deer in headlights like she was gonna mock her for liking romantic comedies. What are the popular kids doing to these people?

No one should feel like that. Robin’s embarrassed all the time, but something about the way it looks on Steve. On Chrissy. It’s just so sad . People as pretty as them really shouldn’t have to look that sad.

That being said, Robin isn’t sure what the right thing to say is. So she shrugs her shoulders a bit and nods, ignoring the way her mouth is starting to feel dry. “Charlotte Perkins Gilman is a really good writer.”

The punnett square is pretty easy. It’s not like it’s a Biology class or anything, so the cheat sheet it up there. It’s all just an excuse to make the project somewhat based in science and have some kind of actual work put to paper. Because Robin doesn’t think that the bags of flour having the right shade of hair suddenly makes them, like, more realistic , but whatever. It’s kind of fun. Like a craft day.

She hadn’t done one of those in a long time. She used to sometimes help with posters for the school plays, and making her over-the-top trifold posters was always the best part of the Science Fair. But coloring pink bows and doing the school-sanctioned equivalent of a horoscope feels very Girl Scout Camp, even moreso by the pep and giggles that fall out of Chrissy wherever she goes. It’s nice.

She hasn’t had a lot of girl friends in a while. She had band, and friendly acquaintances that she could count on accepting her partnership for group projects in at least half of her classes, but she stopped feeling like she really belonged sometime around middle school, when the realization that her liking girls was very much not normal to the Hawkins-minded masses, and also very much not going away . That, mixed with her best friend since first grade going AWOL, seemed too timely to be a coincidence. Maybe not intentional on poor Barb’s part, but by the God or universe that Robin only ever believed in when it intended to punish her.

Really, most people (supposed friends and peers alike) were kept as a distance until Steve wormed his way in. Who would’ve thought . Bringing with him his brigade of children that were now somehow in the social circle. None of whom were particularly… girly , save for Erica’s very normal affection for My Little Pony .

Robin didn’t mind it, really. She loved Steve, loved feeling like someone really knew her. For the first time ever, maybe. But even though she doesn’t know Chrissy, like at all. This is nice, too.

Very nice, actually.

The baby has a whole outfit now. A pink little dress, and even though it’s not what Robin would’ve chose, Chrissy calls the crayon her favorite color and after that Robin couldn’t really see it wearing anything else.

Sorry– her. Their freaky little flour child that they named Charlie, after Charlotte Perkins Gillman.

Which Robin refuses to read into.

Robin’s finishing up the touches on a matching beret, but hasn’t seen whatever it is that Chrissy is working on. They’re only a couple minutes off before the bell rings, and she’s been coloring it with a serious look on her face for the past fifteen or so.

“I made her, um…” Chrissy’s voice is as small as her cheeks are pink when she puts down the colored pencil and holds up her newest addition to Charlie the Flour Child’s flair. It’s more intricate than anything Robin made, sketched out and colored with multiple caryons, different outlines and strokes to make–

It hits Robin kinda funny when she sees it. Any words or breath stop in her throat and she has to stop an embarrassing gasp from escaping her mouth. Because it’s probably not a big deal.

But it kind of feels like one.

“A…” it doesn’t look quite right. The mouth piece is totally in the wrong spot, and the valves are in twisty, incomprehensible knots, but it’s unmistakable. “A French horn?”

“Mmhmm,” Chrissy looks away, and Robin swears she can hear a small gulp . Maybe she could see it, too, if her eyes could move.

Robin stares at it. How did Chrissy even know she played the French horn? She’s not sure Steve could pick out her instrument from a lineup, and it usually sits in the back of his car when it’s not being kept in the band room.

The brassy color she used fits perfectly inside the cold, freehand lines made by black marker and slim fingers. There’s a little spot, down by the curve of the bell, left white sticking out like the scratch on her rented hand-me-down that always catches the light a bit too much and causes a bright light when you get too close.

It’s… cute.

And Chrissy, with the nervous look on her face and the way her hands are shaking while she holds up the cutout, she’s cute, too.

Really cute. In a way that feels like it’s both stopping and breaking Robin’s heart right there.

The blonde makes a noise, halfway between a hiccup and another cough, and puts the drawing back onto her desk. While one hand goes down, the other goes up, to push a flyaway lock of her bangs behind her ear.

“Anyway—“

“Sorry!” Robin says quickly. And admittedly, abruptly. Like she’s jumping INTO SOMETHING. Chrissy’s eye goes wide, her cheeks are uneven, and Robin realizes, by the purse of her lips and the movement on her face, that it’s because she chewing on it. Chewing on her cheek with her teeth. A nervous tick that even Robin avoids. (It’s very effective in its ability to distract, but not worth the canker sores afterwards.)

And she can’t shake the thought that maybe it feels like a ‘big deal’ not because of the cardboard instrument that they’ll be taping to a bag of flour, but because Chrissy Cunningham is staring at her, with a blush on her cheeks and a little piece of Robin that she noticed and is holding out for her to see. After… wanting to be here.

Maybe to get away from Jason.

Maybe to…

She’s probably reading into this. She has to be. Chrissy is nervous, she’s sure, for another, totally normal, not-wanting-to-kiss-another-girl-least-of-all-Robin reason.

But…

If she’s not. If this were Robin who did something sweet. And thoughtful. And cute for another girl… she’d want some affirmation afterward, you know?

Not that Robin wasn’t gonna give it anyway. The idea of a flour baby playing the French horn is adorable and objectively funny, after all. But even so. Even if Chrissy is just going out of her way to be kind, then Robin wants to, too. To zoom so far past her usual instincts of sarcasm and emotional avoidance and straight into meeting Chrissy where she’s at.

“That’s amazing,” she tells the other girl. And Chrissy beams.

“Really?” she asks, excitedly putting the paper down by Charlie and looking up at Robin with an expression that just might mirror her own. “You like it?”

Oh god.

Oh god.

“Yeah,” Robin answers honestly. “I really do.”

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