Chapter Text
The smothering heat of a July afternoon taunts Mike as he sits on a plastic guard chair at Hawkins Community Pool, a considerable amount of sweat dragging down his forehead. Out of all the days to be understaffed, today had to be the worst. He pushes his fingers further into the temples of his burned skin, applying as much pressure as he possibly can to somehow soothe the dull pounding behind his eyes. He’s not sure if the headache is the result of a developing case of heatstroke, or from the 6 pack of Smirnoff ice he crushed last night – who’s to say for sure?
All he knows is that he is pissed off, hot, sweaty, hungover, and underpaid. A fantastic combination. He plays with his whistle in his hand as he contemplates his life choices, bouncing his leg anxiously as he checks his watch.
2:34
He’s 4 minutes over rotation. Where the fuck is Max?
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“No, I swear I’m not lying. He’s going to be so mad when he finds out. I think he already did. Why else do you think Andy isn’t here today?”
Max’s hot gossip is received with a gasp from both Will and Jane, who share a shocked – and maybe just slightly hopeful – look. Max leans back on the temporary sofa she made with some old, tattered guard tubes, the red vinyl shedding off onto the floor as she shifts to lean against Jane. She’ll just make Mike clean it up later or something, as per usual.
Guard office gossip is a sacred time shared among these three, and anyone who interrupts is immediately met with a dastardly scowl from the trio and is usually the next victim of their conversations.
Will turns from the disorganized guard counter (which is littered with old Slurpee cups, freezie wrappers, and a box of granola bars that Mike – and only Mike – can eat, or else he throws a hissy fit about his “finances” and the budget he creates to purchase them every week) to look out the door of the office, checking for any eavesdroppers. Lucas and Mike are currently on rotation, and Dustin has his headphones on at the counter, so they’re good. Will leans in cupping his hands around his mouth.
“I think he’s gone for good this time. I think he is coming today to give us the beats.”
He, as in their evil, twisted manager, not the element helium. They had already been on thin ice since the incident during the first week of summer operation (unattended pool, kids with food colouring and dish soap, a week-long pool shut down, you get the idea), it was a wonder Max still held her head guard position considering how much she doesn’t do her job.
If they couldn’t figure out that their manager hated them through the confusing and ever-changing schedule, impossible hours, and refusal to help on busy days, they were about to find out just how much he absolutely despised his teenage staff today.
“Where the fuck have you been?”
The angry voice outside the guard office door makes Will nearly jump out of his skin. It’s Mike. He stands in the frame with his fists clenched, the summer heat apparent on his increasingly reddening skin. His bangs are plastered to his forehead, and his small ponytail (or at least what he likes to call a ponytail, a better definition would be a stub) has just about fallen out. He shoots a bitter, accusing look at Max and raises an eyebrow, tapping his flip-flop adorned foot against the cracked concrete floor.
“Jesus Mike! Don’t sneak up to the door like that you creep.”
Max pushes herself off the tube-couch and makes her way to the counter to grab her guard pack and walkie talkie that she discarded the moment she went off rotation. She looks to the clock on the wall, contrasted by ancient brick painted over with some (already peeling) grey paint and an “employees must stop crying before returning to work” sign above it. Max scoffs at the time.
“I’m only 5 minutes over, stop being such a baby.”
Mike raises his eyebrows and quickly jumps to his own defense, his tone a whiny high pitch.
“Do you know how hot it is out there, Maxine? I’m out there working my ass off with a massive headache, meanwhile you’re in here having girl time and gossiping like it’s some fucking sleepover!”
“Excuse me, Will is right there-” Max points to Will, who is not focused on the conversation, and is instead looking worriedly past Mike out the door at something, beginning to mouth something along the lines of “guys, shut up!”
“-plus, it is not my fault you’re a lightweight. If I can recall correctly, I told you to slow down!”
She pokes at Mike accusingly, pushing her finger into his red chest, the impression turning almost white before fading back to a burnt lobster colour. The two continue to bicker mindlessly at the door, though the locations for their arguments expand much wider than the door.
“You know what?” Mike begins “Shit will hit the fan eventually for you, all your slacking will catch up to you one day. Just you wait until he finds out.”
Mike’s comment is met with an immediate response, but not from Max.
“Until who finds out?”
A new, but familiar voice fills the guard office, which is now silent with fear. A tall, lanky figure looms behind Mike, who is now frozen in place with a slender hand weighing on his shoulder. Despite the blistering heat outside, he’s never felt so cold with fear in his life.
It’s over. He’s here. Their evil manager.
Henry.
He looms behind Mike for a moment longer before removing his hand and pushing past him to center himself in the guard office. He straightens his golden nametag reading “CREEL”, attached to his white, perfectly ironed polo shirt, button done up to the top. His polo is tucked into his painfully white shorts, secured with a black belt containing keys to pretty much every entry to the pool, and quite possibly the entire town at this point. (Picture the “You know I had to do it to em” fit, if you will.)
He taps his orthopedic runner covered foot impatiently as he looks around the office, scanning the faces of his very obviously terrified teenage staff with his piercing blue eyes, before finally landing on Mike.
“Michael, why are you not at your rotation post? You have left Lucas out there all alone with 15 patrons to supervise. You do realize the severity of your actions, yes? I want you to look at this poster, Michael.”
He turns and taps a laminated poster labeled “patron to guard ratio” attached to the communal fridge with a silver pen, which he removed from the clipboard currently in his hands to do so.
“There are 15 patrons in the pool, 5 over the limit for a lone guard. Do you wish to explain yourself, Michael?”
Mike spares absolutely no time defending himself (fork found in kitchen).
“It was all Max’s fault! Henry, I swear I’m not lying-” Mike points over at Max, whose jaw has dropped in disbelief and fear. Mike is totally on bathroom duty for the next week.
“-she has been in here gossiping with Will and Jane and was late to her rotation. I came in here as a worried coworker.”
Will and Jane both scoff at Mike’s remark, and Will tosses his arms out in a “what the fuck, mike?” motion. Mike closes his eyes and puts his hand over his heart as if that would somehow prove his innocence.
“Maxine, William, Jane, is this true?”
Max is not having it, no way she is going to get in trouble because of Mike Wheeler.
“That is some bullsh- baloney! The only reason I stayed back was because, um-” She looks to Jane to somehow come up with a convincing story “because I am on my lady’s days, and I needed a tampon. Jane was just… getting me one from her bag, right?”
Jane meets this claim with a feverish nod and immediately hops on to Max’s story. “Yeah, totally. I guess Mike is just ignorant of the female struggle.” She shoots a shit-eating grin at Mike, who does not appreciate a single word coming us of either of their mouths. Before he can get a word in, Henry interrupts, flipping through his clipboard as he speaks.
“Impossible. I have tracked your menstrual cycle, as I do for all the ladies in the name of scheduling efficiency, and if I am correct, you are not currently menstruating.” Henry flips to a page on the clipboard to one containing some graphs and uses the silver pen to point at the one labelled “Maxine Mayfield”.
This situation perfectly sums up how Henry is. Insane, creepy, and controlling. If there was a news report of Henry running some illegal business from his basement cloning magic babies or something, none of the guards would be surprised. In fact, there is a bet on this happening, with Will starting it betting $20 on the situation.
“Anyway, I am far too busy to be concerned with your delinquency at this moment. I have come today to lead an emergency staff meeting regarding Andy’s absence. I have already instructed Lucas to clear the pool, please meet me outside to discuss.”
With that, Henry sharply turns around, almost on a perfect 180 swivel, and exits the guard office.
The office is filled with tense silence, that is only broken by Will’s whisper-yell.
“I’m telling you guys! He probably has graphs tracking his cloning progress on that clipboard.”
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By 2:50 pm, all the guards have moved from their usual day of work to an ominous emergency meeting led by their creepy, awful manager. They all sit lined up on a bench against the mechanical room wall, the low hum of the machinery behind them vibrating against their backs. Henry is pacing back and forth in front of them, flipping through his clipboard and writing down notes, shaking his head.
“I have gathered you here today to discuss the removal of Andy Johnson from the guard staff. As you may be aware, he tried to start a physical altercation with two adolescent boys over a misunderstanding regarding professional basketball teams and subsequently ended up losing said altercation.”
It is taking Lucas an absolute will of steel to keep from laughing, he is head guard after all. However, his partner sat next to him in both head guarding and in life has no will at all and is currently covering her face with her hands, laughing her ass off.
“Maxine, just what about this do you find amusing?”
Max immediately sobers up from her laughing high and sits as still as a stone, responding in the most monotone way she can muster.
“Nothing at all sir, it’s a true tragedy, sir.”
Henry’s gaze lingers on Max, his eyes full of disdain, before it switches back to the rest of the group.
“To fill his position, I had posted fliers indicating that there was an emergency need for a guard, and that we would be hiring one new staff member. I got a response almost immediately from a young man in Derry. I just finished an interview on the phone with him.”
Upon hearing that familiar town name, Will leans to Mike and whispers a question.
“Don’t you have a cousin in Derry who lifeguards? Isn’t his name-”
“Richard Tozier will be joining our lifeguarding team this summer.”
This is the exact moment where Michael Wheeler’s summer went from hell to super hell.
Mike immediately goes slack jawed and stands up from the bench in protest, throwing his arms around as he speaks.
“There is absolutely no way he is going to be spending summer with us! He is an awful person!” Mike protests. “He’s like the human embodiment of ball cancer, Henry!”
Henry snaps his terrifying blue-eyed stare to Mike, tapping his silver pen on his clipboard in an even, rhythmic motion.
“He was quite lovely over the phone, Michael. We are in need of staff, my decision is final.”
Mike shakes his head. “That was a lie! He’s deceiving you, Henry! He probably got his polite friend Stanley or whatever his name is to do the talking for him! I’m warning you, this is a warning!”
“I am finished with your complaining, either you work double shifts to cover the missing shifts, or you keep silent and oblige.” Henry’s mean gaze lingers on Mike for far too long, before addressing the group again. “If you have no further questions, you may be dismissed.”
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Mike and Will find themselves in the McDonald’s parking lot together for the third time this week (It’s Wednesday.) Their shifts usually end around the same time, which is the only thing Mike likes about Henry’s evil schedule. Will always stays 30 minutes later to lock up, and Mike always waits in his car for him.
“I just don’t get it, Will. Richie is like, pure bred from the 9th layer of hell. How did he get hired?”
Will looks up from his Junior Chicken, which he has been thoroughly enjoying through Mikes ranting.
“I donno, maybe he’s turned over a new leaf or something. I mean, how long has it been since you talked to him? Since you guys were 12?”
Mike rolls his eyes and anxiously taps his fingers against the steering wheel, the quiet drone of Age of Consent from Mike’s radio fills the car.
“I just- I don’t know. It doesn’t help that he looks scarily similar to me, minus his fucked-up vision. His personality is terrible, and yet people like him because they think he’s funny or something. I guess I’m just, worried? I’m worried people are going to like him more than me.”
“You think people like you?” Will playfully smirks behind his Junior Chicken.
“Okay, fuck you man, I guess I walk this world on a lonely road.” Mike sinks into his seat and crosses his arms, sulking.
Will heaves a sigh and places a hesitant hand on Mike’s shoulder. “Okay Billie Joe Armstrong, I was just kidding. I like you just fine, and I don’t think I’ll magically like some random cousin of yours better.”
Mike looks up at Will from his sunken position and pulls himself up, hissing at the sensation of his tank-top draped skin dragging on the fabric of his seat, which pushes a light giggle out of Will.
“Honest?”
“Yeah, honest.”
Mike smiles at Will – a genuine smile – a smile that only Will knows, and puts the car into drive. Will removes his hand from Mikes shoulder as he pulls out of the parking lot, trying to ignore the heat rising behind his buzzing ears, and his briskly increasing heart rate.
Oh, what a summer this is going to be.