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“Where the freaks, because we like to play a fancy game,” Eddie pronounced.
Mike’s eyes twinkled as he looked up at the boy. No, a man.
Eddie jumped onto the table, articulating his arms around, moving his body like a mad hyena. He looked across the table onto the hall.
“But as long as you’re into band, or science, or parties”—he put emphasis on the word parties, adding squeaky mockery to his voice.
He didn’t care what anybody else thought. He couldn’t give a fuck about whether his dad approved of him or not, whether the town approved of him.
Then he got really riled up, looking over at the table with the jocks and sports nerds and cool kids, coalesced around one lunch table, or a game—he balled his hands, cupped over his mouth.
“Where you throw a ball into a laundry basket”—again putting mocking emphasis, this time a bit crazier and wild, no squeak behind this mockery, not this time, this was pure devilish nature.
Mike nearly laughed. He caught himself, glancing around the cafeteria, even though Dustin was laughing beside him.
And as Eddie put his hands up to form devil horns on his face, to mock those who would call them spawns of Satan, a rush of heat entered Mike’s body, his cheeks going puffy and red. He smiled victoriously, eyes fixated on the man, as Eddie took his final bow and continued pacing on the table.
And Mike, he watched him, eyes fixed on him. He told himself it was Eddie’s confidence he was staring at. It was easier that way.
Mike pined to be like that, to not give a damn, to do what he liked, to not give a flying fuck what Ted Wheeler thought, to spin this town upside down.
As he walked past Mike, he preached, “It’s forced conformity,” his legs moving coolly. Mike’s eyes dropped for a second, catching on Eddie’s ankles before he quickly looked away. He rushed forward, his hand behind his back, jumping off the table, running into a blonde-haired girl with glasses. Not really caring, “That’s what’s killing the kids!” he screamed in her face. Forced conformity is killing the kids. She jumped back. He cackled like a wild creature, his eyes glaring at the girl with that same charming menace. Mike caught himself staring again. Charming. The word came into his head, and he couldn’t get it out.
He listened to his words about conformity, but Mike knew he wasn’t that brave. No matter what anybody else thought, he just wasn’t.
There was nothing in Eddie that looked conflicted, not to Mike. He was envious. Then a thought hit him: had Eddie ever wanted to do unspeakable things to his best friend?
No. Eddie hadn’t. Who would? Why would he? He was just rebelling against the D&D stigma. What Mike had hidden inside was a lot worse. A hell of a lot worse.
He was scared and didn’t want to feel broken. He was approved of. He had a girlfriend. He acted normal. He had friends, if not nerdy, but he still had them. This was something that Ted could be, at least briefly, proud of.