lovers left me hopeless

On Monday morning, Gareth peddled to school like a man on a mission.

Nothing was getting in his way today, not his mother, who had accidentally washed his Hellfire Club shirt with all his little sister’s dance clothes,

“You know what, honey, I think it looks better this way…”

not his sister, who had been hogging the bathroom all morning because she couldn’t get her hair right,

“Look, you don’t understand the pressure I’m under right now. Becca Singer is finalizing her birthday party guest list today. I have to look my best if I wanna make the cut.”

not the weatherman, who was painfully misinformed when he called for clear, sunny skies today…

and certainly not the piece of crap Chevy that just cut him off in the middle of the crosswalk.

Gareth swerved out of the way and kept on peddling. The rain pelted his face in a spray of ice-cold bullets.

Behind him, the driver yelled, “Hey, watch where you’re going, you little shit!”  

It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. Because Gareth was sitting on a goldmine of information right now. It was truly the scoop of the century. Eddie Munson—that’s right, Eddie “the Freak” Munson—had gone home with somebody after the senior prom.

Who was this mysterious (not to mention incredibly lucky) woman? A curious cheerleader desperate to defy her clique? A rich girl trying to piss off her dad? A shy bookworm who wanted to act out the plot of her favorite romance novel? Who? Who? Gareth’s head was spinning! The question hungrily devoured the rest of his weekend (something Gareth wasn’t too proud to admit, of course, but hey, Sundays were always uneventful days for him). He had to get to school quickly and consult his most trusted sources.

He found Jeff and Grant sitting at their usual table in the cafeteria. Grant was eating the school’s hot breakfast while Jeff sat with his head in his hands, lamenting the sorry state of his love life.

“Tara’s still not talking to me. I’m pretty sure she’s gonna dump me for Patrick McKinney.”

Grant put down his fork. “Wait, you two were dating?”

“No…” Jeff heaved a quiet sigh. “But if we were, she’d definitely dump me for Patrick.”

Grant frowned, sympathetic yet envious of his friend’s plight. “Man, I wish Meg would stop talking to me. She had me on the phone all night yesterday. I think she wants me to be her boyfriend or something.” Grant cringed at the thought. He didn’t have the strength to put up with her. He’d barely survived prom. 

“You don’t like her?” Jeff asked.

“Not really,” Grant answered. “I mean, yeah, she’s pretty and all, but as soon as she starts talking—”

Gareth slammed a wrinkled piece of notebook paper onto the table. The loud bang echoed through the entire cafeteria, making a few students gasp and flinch in their chairs. Jeff and Grant didn’t move in the slightest. This was typical Monday morning behavior for Gareth.

“What’s with the pink shirt?” Grant asked, unfazed. 

“Doesn’t matter,” Gareth said. They had more pressing matters to discuss. He sat down and folded his hands in front of him, his blue eyes clear and focused. He wasted no time getting straight to the point: “Who’d Eddie go home with after prom?”

Jeff and Grant exchanged a subtle, secret glance.

“How do you know Eddie went home with someone after prom?” Jeff asked.

“Because I called him that night.”

“Why’d you call him?”

“Because I’m a good friend, unlike some people.” Nobody had called him asking how his night went. Gareth sat home alone on Saturday night, eating popcorn and watching old sci-fi movies in his basement, while the rest of his friends had a blast at prom. It wasn’t fair. “I wanted to check in on him because I figured he might be a little depressed after getting rejected by Chrissy. Because let’s be honest here, there was no way that Chrissy was ever gonna dance with him. You all agree with me, right? I’m not just being a dick here. Like, yeah, I know Eddie’s riding high right now because he thinks this year is his year and everything, but… yeah, he was aiming a bit too high with that goal.” 

“Can you get to the point, please?” Grant said. “My breakfast is getting cold.” 

“Well, multitask, man!” Gareth grabbed Grant’s fork and threw it back onto his tray. “What, you can’t listen and eat at the same time?”

Grant rolled his eyes and went back to his breakfast. Gareth carried on with his story:

“So anyway, when I called him on Saturday, I expected him to sound all mopey and depressed, but he wasn’t. Yeah, Eddie wasn’t depressed at all. In fact, he sounded oddly… happy, but also a little bit distracted. You guys see where I’m going with this, right?”

“I hate that I do,” Grant said, struggling to enjoy his food.

“Well, that’s when I started getting suspicious. See, I could tell I didn’t have his full attention, and that’s just so unlike Eddie because he’s normally really good at maintaining proper phone etiquette. Weird, right? So then I got curious and I started listening, and… and I can’t be sure, but I think I heard a girl talking in the background.”

“Maybe it was just the TV,” Grant said.

Gareth shook his head. “No way… I know the difference between a TV voice and a live human voice. Someone was definitely with him.”

“Well, did you recognize the voice?” Jeff asked.

“No, I couldn’t hear well enough.”

Grant’s eyes narrowed. “And yet you’re sure it wasn’t the TV…”

“Oh come on, it wasn’t the TV, you guys. Wake up and smell the coffee! Eddie brought a girl to his house. He brought a girl to his house. She was with him in the room while he was on the phone with me. I could hear her talking. Then Eddie started acting really weird, said he had to go, and rushed me off the phone.”

“Gross,” Grant muttered, sickened. “Yeah, these are details I did not need.” 

Gareth’s mouth fell open in a silent gasp. “Wait, do you guys think he slept with her?” and that was more than Jeff could handle.

He buried his face in his hands and said, “Please stop. I don’t wanna go to class with these images in my head.”

Grant shrugged. “Maybe it was just a one-night stand.”

Jeff threw him a sharp, side-eyed glare. 

“Just saying,” Grant finished, smirking.

“No, I seriously doubt it,” Gareth went on, completely unaware. “Eddie’s not really a one-night stand kinda guy… not by choice, anyway. No, I think this might be the real deal, you guys, ‘cause listen to this: I went to go see him yesterday. Eddie wasn’t home.”

“So?”

“So I think he was with her. I called him last night and asked him where he was all day. He said he was out running errands.” Gareth scrunched up his face at that, doubtful. “Since when does Eddie run errands? So I said, ‘What sort of errands were you running?’ He said he had to swing by the drugstore. I said, ‘Well, what did you need at the drugstore?’ but he wouldn’t answer that. Yeah, he was being awfully mum.”

“Mum?” Jeff repeated to himself, mystified by his friend’s bizarre word choice.

Grant said, “He was probably annoyed that you were digging around in his business. I know I would be.”

“Oh yeah, he was definitely getting annoyed,” Gareth said. “Then he cut the conversation short and told me he was stepping out for the night. That’s when I knew this was serious. Eddie doesn’t just ‘step out’ on a Sunday night. He hardly goes out any night. If he’s not with us, he’s sitting at home and playing songs on his guitar. Yeah, he was definitely with her last night.”

Grant sighed, hoping they’d finally reached the end of this long-winded story. “Well, I guess you cracked the case then, Gareth.”

“But that’s just it, I haven’t!” Gareth said. Grant let out an exhausted moan. “I still don’t know who this girl is. You guys swear you didn’t see Eddie go home with anybody after prom?”

Another secret glance.

“Nope,” Jeff said. “I didn’t see him go home with anyone that night.”

Gareth nodded, disappointed but not yet defeated. “Yeah, I thought you might say that. That’s why I made this.”

He gestured toward the piece of paper on the table. Jeff picked it up and read it over. Then he passed it to Grant so he could do the same.

“Okay, what exactly am I looking at here?” Grant asked.

“It’s a list of suspects,” Gareth said, a proud smile on his face. “Yeah, last night I compiled a list of every girl I’ve ever seen Eddie interact with at school, and then this morning I whittled that list down to what I think are the most likely suspects.”

“Not a very long list,” Jeff said.

“Really?” said Grant. “I was gonna say it’s too long.” 

They shared a little chuckle over that. Gareth glowered at them, unamused. He didn’t appreciate them making little jabs about their Dungeon Master’s love life, stagnant as it was.

“You know,” Grant began with ominous deliberation, “I can’t help but notice there’s a name missing from this list.”

Gareth's head snapped back in surprise. “Who?”

“You know who,” Grant said. Beside him, Jeff was holding in a grin.

A disturbing chill crept up Gareth's spine. Then—

BAM!

Your name cracked down from above like a fiendish lightning bolt, striking Gareth and making all the little hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. For a second, he could see your name so clearly. It loomed before him, ugly and terrible, festering with puss and crawling with maggots, getting pecked savagely by vultures and other scavengers. It made him retch with disgust.

“Oh, very funny…”

“Hey, I’m just saying,” Grant said, “there’s no denying that she’s a likely suspect.” 

“In fact,” Jeff continued, “some might say she’s the most likely suspect.” 

“Yeah, maybe back in middle school,” Gareth said, “but Eddie hasn’t so much as looked at her in years.”

Except for that one time, he thought, remembering the mournful look on his friend’s face that day.

They were all eating lunch when your laughter suddenly sprang up from the other side of the cafeteria, obnoxious and shrill. Eddie glanced your way and his eyes darkened with such hollow sadness. It was as if someone had died.

But that didn’t mean anything, Gareth decided, so he shoved the memory away.

“All right, look, I’ll admit we lost him briefly for that one summer. I dunno how she did it, but somehow she got her claws in him real deep and he was completely under her spell. I won’t deny that. But then Eddie woke up and saw her for what she really is—an ugly green hag! At first, she appears as this beautiful, enchanting woman, but underneath that guise, she’s a wretched old witch who thrives on torment. Yeah, Eddie got over her a long time ago,” and Gareth refused to waste another thought on it.

He snatched the paper from Grant and laid it out in front of him. “Now, here’s what I’m thinking: if we split this up among the three of us, we can get through this list by lunch and then confront Eddie with our findings.”

“Yeah, we’re not doing that,” Grant said.

Gareth frowned. “Why not?”

“Because we already know who it is.”

Gareth’s eyes widened in surprised anger. “I KNEW IT! I FUCKING KNEW IT! I knew you two were messing with me this whole time. Sitting there with your smug little faces. Making your little jokes. You know what, screw you guys, I don’t even want your help anymore.”

He stuffed the paper back into his bag, climbed to his feet, and stomped off.

Over his shoulder, Jeff said, “Shoulda gone to prom, man.”

Gareth paused, dejected. “Well, no one would go with me…” He pushed through the double doors and was gone.

Afterward, Grant picked up his milk carton and took a few slow slips.

“You know what,” he said thoughtfully, “Gareth should’ve asked Y/N to prom.”

Jeff chuckled to himself. “Well, she did need a date… Shit, should we have just told him?”

“No,” Grant said. “No, this is something Gareth needs to see with his own eyes.”

Now Gareth, his resolve reignited and burning brighter than ever, was prowling the senior locker area with his suspect list in hand. 

Let them keep their secrets, he thought. I don’t need their help. A lot of help they would’ve been, anyway. Yeah, I can solve this mystery all on my own.

And he would. 

Gareth was a fantastic investigator, you see. He could win a game of Guess Who? in less than five turns and had a lifetime record of fifty-three wins and only fifteen losses (such losses were unavoidable when you drew an easily guessable character like Anita. Ugh, Anita… with those rosy cheeks and annoying blonde pigtails. His little sister beat him in only two moves after that unlucky draw). Now Gareth would apply those same deductive reasoning skills to this. Ask careful, complex questions. Gather information. Cross those ladies off one by one.

There was only one problem: the girls at Hawkins High weren’t exactly forthcoming about their personal lives, especially when it involved Eddie Munson. In fact, most girls denied ever having spoken to the guy. 

Claire Dunnock, the most recent inductee into the popular clique, was being especially difficult.

Her blue eyes shifted back and forth anxiously. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, and then leaned forward to make sure none of her new friends were eavesdropping. Claire had to be very careful. One misstep and she would slide all the way back down the social ladder. She couldn’t afford to let that happen.

Gareth sensed her unease. “Hey, relax,” he told her, “I’m not here to ruin your reputation, okay? This conversation stays between us. You have my word.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Claire said. “I wouldn’t be caught dead with that freak.”

“Hey, that freak is my best friend,” Gareth said. “And you and I both know that’s not true, Claire. I saw you get into his van that one—”    

Claire seized him by the arm and hissed, “Shut up!” Her eyes blazed with fearful, self-protective rage. “Look, that was a year ago, okay? I was a stupid junior who didn’t know any better. Eddie and I had a class together. I guess I got a little curious, but that’s it. We hung out once and I never spoke to him again.” Loosening her grip, she said, “Besides, he was nothing but a big disappointment, anyway.”

Anger flared in Gareth’s chest. “All right, that's it. I’m not gonna stand here and listen to you slander my friend.” 

“It’s not slander if it’s true,” Claire said. 

Gareth didn’t know how to respond to that.

“Look, just answer my question, okay? Did you go home with Eddie after prom or not?”

“Of course not,” Claire answered, practically cackling at the thought. 

(Why were high school girls so needlessly cruel?)

“I went to prom with my boyfriend. I was with him all night. Ask anyone.” Claire swung her locker door closed, put her hand on her hip, and raised her eyebrows impatiently. “Are we done now?” She walked off to join the rest of her friends. 

Gareth glared at her back, his insides boiling with indignation and righteous fury.

You got curious and Eddie got his heart broken. Again. 

He crossed out Claire’s name with his pen. 

Two suspects down. Eight more to go. 

He tucked his pen behind his ear, turned, and suddenly the hallway froze over! Okay, that didn’t actually happen, but a bitter wind did blow. Gareth felt it on his face as soon as he saw you step out from around the corner. 

Coincidence? 

Doubtful.

You were wearing blue jeans and a Fleetwood Mac shirt. Yeah, you would like Fleetwood Mac, Gareth thought, scoffing. As usual, you were walking side by side with Chrissy Cunningham, your best friend since elementary school. She was smiling and laughing at one of your jokes. Laughing out of politeness, probably. Why you two were friends, Gareth would never know. Chrissy was sweet like cotton candy and you were so… so…

(evil, pure evil)

rotten to the core, like moldy fruit.

“I swear,” you said with a groan, “it’ll be weeks before your mom lets me into the house again. God, she’s such a prude. How was I supposed to know she was gonna invite the whole family over for Sunday brunch? At least I was dressed up for the occasion.”

Chrissy looked at you in baffled amusement. “You were still wearing your prom dress.”

“And it was a very nice prom dress. Your grandma even complimented it. She said it made me look like Madonna.” You weren’t too thrilled about that comparison, but who were you to pass up a free compliment? “Now your mom, on the other hand… man, if looks could kill… I probably would’ve choked on one of those blueberry scones she was serving, which were a tad overbaked if I’m being honest.”

Chrissy went to her locker and fiddled with the padlock for a second before opening it. You stood patiently beside her, the wall clock barely within view. 

It was a quarter past eight, you noted with a frown. Was Eddie here already or…? 

While hanging up her pink backpack, Chrissy said, “Yeah, she definitely had some colorful words to describe you last night.” 

You turned your attention back to her. “Your mom called me a slut, didn’t she?”

Chrissy didn’t answer at first. She was busy unloading her homework. While she was doing that, one of her fellow cheerleaders snuck up behind her, tapped her on the shoulder, and gave a cheerful, heartfelt hello. Chrissy hugged her and asked how her weekend was. The two chatted casually for a minute and then the girl went on her way. Never so much as glanced at you. 

“Umm, I believe she used the word harlot,” Chrissy said to you afterward. 

“Oh, she got biblical, huh?” Great, you thought, as if that woman didn’t despise you enough already. “You know, I don’t understand your mom. First I’m too fat to be your friend. Now I’m too much of a slut. That lady needs to pick a lane and stay in it… and then drive herself right off a cliff.”  

Chrissy threw you a friendly glare.

“Just kidding,” you said. “You know I love your mom. She keeps me grounded. Without her, I might develop a healthy self-esteem, and we all know how dangerous that is. Yeah, that might lead to confidence and success… perhaps even lifelong happiness.” 

Ignoring you (or pretending to), Chrissy started digging through her backpack again. “Dammit,” she said under her breath, “I think I left my pencil case at home.” 

“Don’t worry, I’m sure Jason has a pencil for you.” You smiled inwardly—a willful, wicked smile. “Then again…”  

Chrissy pushed her locker closed, grabbed both your hands, backed you up against the lockers, and brought her face really close to yours. “Shut up,” she whispered in half-hearted anger, a rosy blush blooming on the apples of her cheeks. 

You took one look at her and busted out laughing. Chrissy started laughing, too. 

“I hate you so much,” she said, and released you. 

“I know,” you replied affectionately. “But see, this is why the whole situation with your mom is so funny to me. I’m the one who’s still a virgin, yet somehow it’s me who gets labeled the…” 

You spotted a familiar face down the hall. 

“Gareth?” You leaned toward him, squinting. “What are you doing in the senior locker area?”

The sound of your voice made him flinch. “Nothing,” he said, acting strangely defensive for some reason.

That’s when you noticed the piece of paper in his hand. You gestured toward it with your chin and said, “What’s that you got there? Is that a love letter? You finally asking someone out on a date? Will you go out with me? Check yes or no. Who’s the lucky lady? Wait, aren’t you a little young to be dating?”

Gareth hid the paper behind his back and glared at you. “We’re the same age.” 

“And yet I’m a senior and you’re a junior. Hmm, how did that happen?” You tipped your head and smiled at him. “You’ve got company, by the way.” 

“Huh?” Gareth stepped back and—

A hand landed on his shoulder, closed around his flannel shirt, and spun him around. Gareth jumped back, swallowing a scream. He was now standing nose to chest with Ben Jabruski, outside linebacker and two-time defensive player of the year. Eric Kordell stood beside him, smaller but no less intimidating. His brown eyes gleamed with feral, territorial aggression. 

“Get outta here, freak,” Eric said. 

Gareth squared up to him, unafraid. “Last time I checked this was a free country.” He wrenched his shirt out of Ben’s grip, careful not to tear his favorite flannel. It was a Christmas gift from his mother. 

While he was distracted, Eric reached out and ripped the paper out of Gareth’s hand. 

“Hey, give that back!” 

“What’s this?” Eric asked. He opened the paper and studied it for a minute. His expression went from amused to curious to downright furious. He crushed the list in his fist. “Why’s my girlfriend on here?” 

“Oh…” Panic shot up Gareth’s spine. He took a step back and let loose a nervous chuckle. “Oh… you must be Claire’s boyfriend. You know, I heard you two had a lovely time at prom.” 

He turned on his heel and took off running down the hallway. 

“Bye, Gareth!” you said, fluttering your fingers as he passed. Then you looked back at Chrissy with a smile. “God, I love that kid…”

You went to your locker after that, ignoring all the busy little voices, the occasional odd glance and stifled giggle you received from the other students. Chrissy followed with her first-period textbook cradled in her arms. 

“Just ignore them,” she told you. 

“I already am,” you said… but then you saw Sarah, Sally, and Stacy huddled around Stacy’s locker. Talking about their hair. Talking about their clothes. Stirring their black cauldron of boiling bones and animal guts. Sarah looked at you, whispered something to Sally, who passed the same message on to Stacy, and all three of them tittered gleefully at your expense. 

“Just ignore them,” Chrissy said.   

“I will,” you said, but first—

You whipped around and burst out: “So which one of you got knocked up after prom? My money’s on you, Stacy.” 

Chrissy, dismayed but secretly delighted, tugged gently on your right elbow. Before going with her, you tossed Satan’s mistress (AKA Stacy Raab) a snide little wink. Stacy rolled her eyes in disgust. 

“Stop it,” Chrissy said. 

“They started it.” 

“I know… but stop it. You’re better than that.” 

At the end of the hallway, you spotted Chance Gallagher standing in front of his open locker, wearing the same green letterman jacket that he wore when he asked you to prom six weeks ago. Chance closed his locker and caught your eye for a moment. Then he gave you a small, apologetic smile. 

What was he apologizing for? For asking you to prom, getting your hopes up, and then humiliating you in front of the entire senior class? You weren’t sorry he did it. In fact, you were glad he did it. Yeah, you wanted to go up to him, shake his hand, and thank him for being such a spineless little worm. If he were a decent guy, your night might have gone differently, and you were quite pleased with how your night went. So thank you, Chance. Thank you for being a complete scumbag. Maybe I should write him a thank-you note. 

Smiling, you turned back around. As you did, you stole another quick glance at the clock on the wall. 

Eight-nineteen… 

You sighed. 

… and now eight-twenty. 

“He’s running late, huh?” Chrissy said. You looked her way and she flashed you a sweet, teasing smile. “I know you’re waiting for him.”

A small flush of heat tickled your cheeks, threatening to set your whole face on fire. Resisting it, you grabbed your padlock and started spinning the dial: three turns to the right, one full turn to the left, another quick turn to the right, and

“Are you nervous about seeing him?”

you missed the last number and had to start all over again. 

“Kind of,” you admitted. “Is that weird?”

Chrissy shook her head, her smile growing brighter and brighter. “Nope, it’s totally normal and absolutely adorable.” Giggling, she hugged her book tightly to her chest. If her hands were free, she probably would have hugged you instead. “I’m so happy for you. I really, really am. I swear, I feel like my heart’s about to burst right now.” 

“Well, you should probably see a doctor about that.” 

Chrissy stuck her tongue out at you. You did it right back, popped off your lock, and pulled on the handle. The locker door swung outward, squeaking on its hinges, and almost smacked Chrissy in the face. “Hey!” she said, laughing. She stepped back, skipped around you, and planted herself comfortably on your left side.

“So did you see him last night?” she asked, practically beaming. 

“Nope.” You slipped off your messenger bag and hung it on the hook. 

Chrissy squinted at you suspiciously. “Why do I feel like you’re lying right now?” 

“I’m not lying,” you told her, only to be betrayed by your blushing face. “I didn’t see him last night… technically it was this morning.” 

Twelve-o-two, to be exact. That’s when you saw the headlights flashing through your bedroom window blinds.

“Oh my god,” Chrissy said.  

“What? He just stopped by to say goodnight.” You smiled softly to yourself. “It was kind of romantic, actually.” 

“Uh-huh,” Chrissy said, laughing at you. “And how long did you two say goodnight?”

“Only for an hour… and a half.”

It was raining last night. You couldn’t invite Eddie into the house, so you two hung out in his van for a while. A very long while. W.A.S.P. was playing on the stereo. Eddie had found the cassette tape while cleaning out his van that afternoon. He was very proud of this accomplishment. It was adorable. He had you listen to a few of his favorite songs, asked you about your day, told you about his, and during “Cries In the Night,” he leaned over the center console and kissed you. Everything after that was a bit of a blur. The last thing you remembered was the horn blaring. You had accidentally pressed it with your elbow.  

“Oh my god,” Chrissy said.

“Stop saying, ‘Oh my god.’ You sound like my mom.”  

She had said the exact same thing after confronting you about it in the kitchen this morning. Turns out, the car horn had woken her up. Then she caught you creeping back inside through the front door. It was an awkward breakfast, to say the least. 

Chrissy poked your shoulder playfully. “That’s how it starts, you know. Late-night visits. Long, drawn-out goodbyes. You two are gonna be inseparable this summer.” She breathed a long, lovesick sigh. “Jason and I used to be like that.” 

“You’re still like that.” 

“Yeah,” she said, smiling. 

“Speaking of…” You saw Jason Carver coming down the hallway, his pants ironed and creased, white collared shirt tucked in, a brand new Rolex glinting on his left wrist (an early graduation present from his father, apparently). He looked like a Ralph Lauren catalog model. “Is it weird that I’m picturing him naked right now?”   

Chrissy hid her face in embarrassment. “I swear to God, if you say anything…” 

“What am I gonna say to him? ‘Thank you for deflowering my best friend’? ‘I heard your penis is rather pleasing’? I don’t wanna talk to him about that. I don’t even wanna think about that.”

Prior to this weekend, you couldn’t even imagine Jason Carver having genitals. You always figured he was like a Ken doll down there. Nothing but smooth plastic.

Chrissy looked at you, mortified. “Why do I tell you anything?”  

“I have no idea,” you said. Then you checked the clock again. 

Eight twenty-three. 

Where the hell’s Eddie? you wondered, starting to get a little worried.

Jason’s arrival reclaimed your attention. 

“Hey, guys,” he said in that smooth drawl that made all the girls swoon. 

You expected to find him standing with his million-dollar smile, but he wasn’t. No, today Jason seemed different—humble, approachable, perhaps even a little shy. It was as if he’d reverted back to his ten-year-old self. Little Jason Carver, who could barely dribble a basketball. The boy who stammered when he introduced himself to the rest of the class. The boy who sat down next to you, smiled, and said he liked the character on your favorite shirt. The boy who talked to you every day. Encouraged you. Defended you. The boy you caught staring at your best friend way too many times to be a coincidence. 

Then you looked at Chrissy and she seemed younger, too. A blushing, fidgeting ten-year-old who always forgot to stand up straight. She got so excited when Jason offered to walk her home from school. He even carried my books!

Back then, your happiness for them had been counterfeit, complicated, but not anymore. Yeah, now you could say you were genuinely happy for both of them. 

This was still awkward as hell, though.

“Hey, Chrissy needs to borrow a pencil,” you blurted out, breaking their amorous trance.

A soft pink flush rose to Jason’s cheeks. “What?”

“Just ignore her,” Chrissy said, struggling to keep a straight face. 

Meanwhile, you punched Jason on the shoulder. “Hey, don’t forget about our deal, buddy.” 

“I haven’t,” he told you. “I’ll buy your lunch, as promised. It’s the least I can do.” 

“What if I want two lunches? And a whole plate of cookies?”

“Then I guess I’m buying you two lunches and a whole plate of cookies.” 

Jason smiled at you… but then his demeanor changed, hardening like armor. 

“Are you okay?” he asked.

You blinked at him. “Am I okay?” you repeated slowly, a little taken aback. “Well, I did wake up with a strange tattoo on my wrist. It’s like a crucifix, except it’s upside down. Weird… Also, I can’t be sure, but I think I might be dealing with a Rosemary’s Baby scenario. Yeah, I’m definitely gonna be giving birth to the Antichrist in about nine months. Buy something black.” 

Jason’s eyes widened in confused horror. 

“Oh my god, I’m kidding!” you said. “Eddie was a complete gentleman. He even asked for permission before he impregnated me with his hellseed. Naturally, I gave him the green light because… well, have you seen his face? It’s kinda perfect.” 

Chrissy put her hand over her mouth and giggled. Jason didn’t appreciate your joke. 

“Come on, be serious.” 

“I am being serious. Believe it or not, I actually find him insanely attractive. He’s like a discount version of Eddie Van Halen, and I can’t afford the real thing, so…” 

“So you actually slept with him?” Jason sounded disappointed and ashamed. He reminded you of your father. 

No, worse than your father.

“Well, no, I was kidding about that. I mean, I did sleep with him, but not in the way you’re assuming. And are you seriously gonna judge me for having sex? It’s been a while since I’ve been to church, but I’m pretty sure the bible condemns hypocrisy. You might wanna reread those sections. I think you’ll find them very enlightening.”

Jason ground his jaw in irritation. “Stop making jokes!” 

“I don’t want to,” you said finally, your voice breaking, “because then I’m just gonna get really, really mad like I’m doing right now, and I don’t wanna be mad at you, Jason. I was having a really good morning until you showed up.” 

By now, Chrissy had stopped laughing. Her shoulders drooped and she looked at you with a sick, sorry expression. 

Jason said, “Look, I just think you’re undervaluing yourself, okay? You can do so much better than that—”

“Oh, please don’t do that. Don’t try to talk to me like you’re my friend.” 

“I am your friend.” 

“Then be my friend, Jason. Stop trying to ruin my happiness!”

The school bell dinged and students began making their way to class. Jason went, too. Didn’t even bother saying goodbye. Chrissy told you not to worry about him. “Jason’ll come around eventually.” Then she smiled, waved goodbye, and ran to catch up with him. 

You weren’t half as optimistic as she was. 

This is gonna be a huge problem, isn’t it? 

You groaned, dreading it. 

Behind you, another wave of students came rushing down the hallway. Brittany Wirth was among them. You knew because you could hear her shrill voice piercing through the dull chatter around her. She was ranting about prom, complaining about the flowers, complaining about the food, about the music, about—

“YOU!” 

You flinched and turned around, thinking she was talking to you. 

What you saw made your eyes light up with glee. Brittany Wirth had Eddie Munson pinned up against the lockers, and she was jabbing him in the chest with her index finger. 

“You, sir, are a total asshole! Do you have any idea how hard I worked on that event? I was planning it for months, planning it to perfection, and then YOU had to go and make it all about yourself, as usual.” She stepped back and huffed, exhausted. “I hope you’re proud of yourself.” 

“I’m a little proud of myself,” Eddie replied candidly. 

Brittany shot him a deadly glare. “Oh, shut up!” She swept her hair off her shoulder and walked away.

You stopped her as she passed. “You know what, Brittany, all things considered, I thought it was a very successful night.” 

Brittany’s jaw dropped and got stuck like that, locked in befuddled rage. Not a single sound came out, but you could tell she was trying to speak. Was this it? Had it finally happened? Did Brittany Wirth actually crack? She worked her lips unsuccessfully for a minute and then closed them again, steaming in her hatred, screaming internally like a boiling teapot. She brushed past you and continued on her way. 

Then you heard Eddie approach you.  

“Did I really make the night all about me?” 

His question made you giggle. “A little bit.” You turned around with a smile, glad to see him, relieved to see him. “I still had a good time, though.” 

“Well, that’s all that matters,” Eddie said, but there was something in your eyes that made him frown with concern. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, everything’s fine,” you said, and blinked that silly little worry away. “Jason’s just being… well, Jason.” 

“I take it he doesn’t approve of me.” 

“Yeah, you’ve really got him clutching his bible. He thinks you’re gonna drain my blood and sacrifice me to the devil.” 

“Really?” Eddie said, his eyes widening in false astonishment. “Well, he just spoiled our next date.” 

“Oh, really?” you replied, giggling. “Well, I guess that explains why I’m still a virgin.” 

Eddie winced, looked down at his shoes, and grinned bashfully. “Okay, I walked right into that one.”

“Yeah, you did,” you said; and God, it drove you crazy seeing him get so flustered.

Kinda like last night, you thought, startling yourself, and immediately shooed that dangerous thought away. Now was not the time for that, young lady. You still had a full day of school to get through. Somehow.

“You’re late,” you said.   

“Yeah, I uh…” Eddie brought his hand to his face and started rubbing it. “I got pulled over for speeding.”

You gasped. “No, you didn’t.” 

“Yeah, I did.” 

“Prove it.”

Eddie pulled a folded-up piece of paper out of his back pocket and handed it to you. You opened it and immediately busted out laughing. 

“Oh, wow… going fifty-five in a forty-five.” 

“Eh, they went easy on me… I was going at least sixty.” 

“Wow…” 

“Yeah…” Eddie said, tilting his head. “The one time I’m in a rush to get to school.” 

His brown eyes sought yours and settled there for a moment, his lips curling into a tender, captivated smile. You smiled back helplessly, feeling girly, feeling giddy, feeling like you were probably grinning like an idiot right now. Embarrassed, you pressed the paper to your mouth in a vain attempt to hide it. When that didn’t work, you thrust the ticket back into Eddie’s hand and turned away, pretending to pull books from your locker. 

You felt along the spines like someone fumbling around in the dark. What class were you going to again? History? English? French? 

No, you weren’t even taking French.

You spoke to Eddie in a frazzled voice: “Well, since you’re not in handcuffs right now, I’m assuming they didn’t find anything when they searched your van, huh?” 

“Luckily, no…” 

“Good thing you cleaned out your van yesterday.”

“Mhm…” Eddie said, his voice seeming much closer than before.

Your roaming fingers slowed, then stopped, sliding all the way down the stack of books. With one more step, his presence had consumed you, making you blind and deaf to everything else, everything except Eddie. You could feel him standing next to you, leaning into you, his left hand outstretched and resting against the locker beside you. His voice sent a pleasant shiver down your spine.

“Find what you’re looking for yet?”

You gazed into his eyes and got lost in them. “… I can’t remember what class I’m going to.”

You laughed at yourself sheepishly, senselessly, and saw Eddie crack a small smile: half amused and half… something else, something that brought you back to last night—that quiet, rainy night. Sitting in the dark and listening to music. Eddie humming softly beside you, drumming his right hand on the steering wheel, watching the tiny droplets race down his windshield. You sitting in your seat nervously. Fidgeting restlessly. Running your fingers over the plastic cassette case on your lap. Pretending to take interest in it while secretly watching Eddie out of the corner of your eye. Waiting for him to kiss you. Hoping he’d kiss you. Catching him staring at you with that smile… the same smile he was giving you now… right before he leaned in and…

“Ahem.” 

Another student appeared behind you, tapping her foot impatiently. “Uhh, can I get to my locker, please?”

Eddie drew away from you, embarrassed and a little frustrated, and took two giant steps back.

The girl assumed his place without a word, opened her locker, hung up her backpack, her jacket, grabbed her textbook and notebook, snatched a few pens from her bag, and closed her locker again. Before leaving, she motioned between you and Eddie and said, “So is this like a thing now?”

You caught Eddie’s eye for a second. “Uhh, yes,” you said while he fought back a huge smile.

The girl shook her head as if dizzy. “Weird,” she said, and left. 

Afterward, you turned to Eddie with a puzzled frown. “Wait, is it weird that I’m dating you or that you’re dating me? I need to know where I rank in this relationship.”

“Maybe you should ask her.” 

“Maybe I will…” 

Giggling, you stepped past him, spotted your locker neighbor at the end of the hallway, cupped your hands over your mouth, and shouted, “Hey, Carmen!” but you never got a chance to finish. Eddie had grabbed your hand and dragged you back to him, pulling you into his arms, putting you right where he wanted you, intending to pick up exactly where he left off.

The second bell rang before you could even feel his breath on your lips. Eddie closed his eyes tightly, as if pained. 

“I really hate that I have to be in school right now.” 

“Me too,” you said, staring up at him, your heart still pounding in your chest. “We should probably get to class.”  

Eddie wrapped his arms around your waist and held you tighter against him. “Or we could just, y’know, skip first period altogether… since you don’t know where you’re supposed to be anyway.” 

He swooped down and placed a few chaste kisses along the side of your head. Blushing, you buried your face into his chest. 

“Are you trying to get me to cut class, sir?”

“No, just giving you options.” 

“Mhm,” you said, giggling. 

While you contemplated his offer, you traced your hand over the button pocket of his denim vest, feeling the fabric, flicking each of his treasured pins one by one: Judas Priest, Accept, Mercyful Fate. You found the W.A.S.P. pin last and focused on it, teasing it with your finger. 

“And then what?” you asked, lifting your head to look at him. “We go back to your van and finish what you started last night?” 

Eddie’s eyes brightened in surprise. “Finish what you started, if I remember correctly.”  

“Was I the one who started it?” You frowned, pretending not to remember. 

Meanwhile, your hand had drifted up to the collar of his leather jacket. You nudged it out of the way and started tugging along the neckline of his shirt, revealing a faint pink bruise on the base of his collarbone. Eddie winced as your finger brushed over it. You smiled softly, remembering how his breath hitched when your lips made the first budding mark, how he cursed and moaned while you planted all the others, his hands slipping underneath your shirt and sliding across your skin. 

“I may have gotten a little carried away…”   

“Yeah, you definitely did,” Eddie said, smiling at you.  

“I just really like W.A.S.P.”

“Do you?” 

“Mhm…”

Eddie’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he laughed. “Well, I still have the tape in my van. We can go listen to it right now if you want.” 

You bit your lip hard, unable to answer right away. God dammit, what had you gotten yourself into? You weren’t seriously considering his proposition before, but now…

“Go to class, please.” 

Now Ms. Kelley had come out of her office and was sweeping away the last few stragglers, you and Eddie included.

“I know we’re all a little sluggish this morning, but let’s start this week off strong, okay? There’s still another month before graduation. Don’t lose your focus now.” She looked at you and Eddie tiredly. “You two. Class. Now.”   

You sighed as you saw your window of opportunity close. Eddie peeled himself away from you and started down the hallway.  

“See ya later,” he said over his shoulder. 

“Bye,” you said back, hiding your disappointment behind a smile. 

Upon returning to your locker, you grabbed your textbook—the right textbook—and wedged it in the crook of your left elbow. While hunting around for the matching notebook and folder, you heard Eddie’s voice behind you again, catching you completely by surprise.

“Oh, wait,” he said hurriedly, “I forgot to tell you something.” 

“Hmm?”

You turned around and felt Eddie’s hands cup the sides of your face, drawing you in for a soft, sweet kiss. You closed your eyes, savoring it. A moment later, he broke the kiss and pulled away.   

“See you in third period,” he said, departing with a smile. 

It took you a second to recover from that. When you finally did, you clutched your textbook to your chest and smiled uncontrollably, tears brimming in your eyes, your heart racing, stomach fluttering, face glowing with pure, radiant joy. 

Under your breath, you whispered, “I hate so much that I have to be in school right now.”

Gareth, on the other hand, was glad to be in school today. Admittedly, his morning had gotten off to a rough start, but things were finally starting to look up for him, and now he felt like he was on the verge of a major breakthrough. 

Maybe. 

Hopefully.

But he didn’t wanna jinx it. 

In first period, Gareth snuck into the library and talked to Matilda Gunn: salutatorian, captain of the debate team, and the third name on Gareth’s list (his new list, of course; the original list was long gone, probably lying in a trashcan somewhere).

Matilda, anyway, was sitting at the back table and studying for her upcoming physics test. Matilda preferred studying in the library over her study hall class because she couldn’t stand the sound of her neighbor chewing and slurping his nails. She wasn’t too happy when Gareth pulled out the chair across from her and sat down. She was even less happy when he brought up Eddie Munson. 

“First of all, I’m offended that you would even think I would associate with that moron. I hate the guy. He ruined my GPA. Stupid group projects… God, I hate them!” Enraged, Matilda tore a random leaf out of her notebook and ripped the poor thing to shreds. Gareth watched her do it, horrified, and hoped there was nothing important written on that page. “You know, if I’d known he was gonna slack off like he did, I would’ve just done the whole thing myself. But no… I gave him the benefit of the doubt. I gave him the easiest task and he couldn’t even do that. He said he forgot about it. Said he was busy working on a campaign or something.”

“Yeah, he gets like that sometimes,” Gareth said. “Like last month, he spent the whole weekend learning ‘Master of Puppets.’ Have you heard that song?” 

Matilda shook her head, her eyes glazed with boredom. 

“Well, doesn’t matter. It’s a very hard song to play. That’s all you need to know. And Eddie became obsessed with it. He locked himself in his room all weekend and practiced over and over and—” 

Matilda pressed her hand to her temple and hissed, “Listen, junior freak, I don’t give a shit about Eddie Munson and his fucking guitar. Okay? Second of all, I didn’t even go to prom on Saturday. I was studying all weekend, studying for this test, and if I don’t get an A, I’m gonna hold you personally responsible. Now get lost.”

Gareth lurched back in his seat and felt his mouth go dry. 

(Once again, why were high school girls so needlessly cruel?)   

“Okay,” he said in a small voice. “I’m, uhh, sorry for bothering you.” 

He got up to leave. 

“Wait,” Matilda said with a sigh; then after a moment of careful, painful deliberation, she put out her hand. “Gimme your stupid list.”

Gareth held the list against his chest, protecting it. “You’re not gonna rip it up, are you?” he asked, observing the tattered remains of her last victim. “Because I’m getting kinda tired of writing all these names out.”

And some of those girls had really long names.  

“I’m not gonna rip it up.” Matilda’s voice was strained with frustration and fatigue, but there was still some warmth hiding in there, dimly glowing beneath the cold black coals of her heart. “I’m gonna help you narrow it down, okay? Otherwise, you’ll never figure it out.” She motioned impatiently with her hand. “Come on, hurry up.” 

Gareth handed her the list and she looked it over for a minute, vaguely amused.  

“Not a very long list,” she said while uncapping her highlighter with her teeth. 

“Well, Eddie’s very picky.” 

As he should be, Gareth thought. That man deserved the best.

(much better than you) 

Matilda snorted under her breath. “Yeah, I’m sure that’s it.” She rolled her eyes, bent her head, and began marking up the list with her highlighter. Her hand was calm and controlled, each movement deliberate, precise, as to be expected of an advanced test taker. “Okay, she has a boyfriend… she, I’m pretty sure, has a girlfriend… boyfriend… boyfriend… boyfriend… she’s been out of town for a funeral… and she… doesn’t even live in this state anymore.”

She crossed off the last name and slid the paper across the table. 

Gareth gaped at it, speechless. “You just eliminated everyone.” 

Matilda shrugged. “Like I said, not a long list.” 

It was a major setback, the kind of setback that made you want to tear the whole thing to pieces, cut your losses, and give up. Gareth seriously considered it. He almost did it while sitting in his second-period class. 

But then an angel appeared. A blonde-haired, blue-eyed angel named Olivia Kent.

She peered over his shoulder during class. “Whatcha doin’?” she asked, sitting with her chin on her palm. 

Gareth considered lying, saying he was working on his assignment or something, but in his current state, he didn’t have the heart to deceive anyone, especially not Olivia, who was so innocent and kind.

“I’m trying to figure out who my friend went home with after prom.” 

“Oh? Who’s your friend?”

“Eddie Munson.” 

“Oh...” Olivia giggled a silly, unaffected giggle. “Yeah, he had quite the night.” 

Gareth turned around in his seat. “You were at prom, Livvy?” 

“Mhm! It was a lotta fun.” 

“And you saw Eddie there?”

“Sure. I saw him lots of times.” 

“Did you see him leave with anybody?”

“Sure did… I saw everything.” 

“You saw everything?” Gareth sat back, awestruck, and felt tears come to his eyes. This was it. This was finally it. This was the breakthrough that Gareth had been waiting for. An eye witness—a star witness—had emerged at last, willing and eager to cooperate. “Oh, Livvy, you beautiful, beautiful, heavenly creature, tell me everything.” 

“About what?”

“About prom, Livvy.” 

“Oh, you wanna hear about prom?” Olivia shrugged, smiled, and said, “Okay! Philip Cuthbert asked me. I didn’t think he was going to, but then he totally surprised me! I wore a frilly pink dress and matching pink heels. Phillip wore a dark blue tux and a black bowtie. I think it was black, but it might’ve been blue, too. Then Philip got me one of those really pretty flower bracelets… What are those called again? Oh, right, corsages! Anyway, we took pictures on the front lawn of my house, then we took pictures at his house, and then we took more pictures in front of City Hall. I don’t normally like taking so many pictures, but I didn’t mind so much in this case. It was a special occasion. Phillip said I looked very pretty. He was really nice to me all night. He held my hand. He bought me dinner. He got me some cake. I actually ate two slices of cake that night, but don’t tell anybody, okay? I was only supposed to have one. And then we danced and drank punch and we danced again—”

Gareth put his hand on top of hers, making Olivia blush and look at him in doe-eyed wonderment. “Livvy, I’m glad you had such a fun time at prom, but since class is gonna be ending soon, do you think you could speed things up and get to the part where you saw Eddie? Is that okay?”

“Sure,” Olivia said, smiling. “I saw him talking to Chrissy.” 

“Yeah, he went there to ask her to dance. I told him it was a terrible idea, but he refused to listen to me.” 

“Yeah, that was a bad idea. Why would he do that?” 

“Because Eddie’s a hopeless romantic.” 

“Really?" Olivia frowned, considering it. “He doesn’t seem like one.” 

“He hides it behind a mask of cynicism, and he hides it very well.” 

“Oh,” Livvy said, mystified by the concept. “Well, I guess that explains why he got up on stage then.”

“Wait, Eddie got up on stage?” 

Damn, Gareth thought, that’s actually really impressive. 

“Mhm! He gave this long speech and everything. My friends said it was really weird and embarrassing, but honestly, I thought it was kinda sweet. Super embarrassing, but sweet. It was kind of like a… hmm… well, I guess you could call it a love confession. I don’t remember what he said exactly, but it was really adorable, and normally I wouldn’t use that word to describe Eddie—you know, ‘cause he’s so mean and scary-looking—but at that moment, he really was adorable. Kinda like a puppy. And then he played Journey and—” 

Gareth’s head rocked back. “He played Journey? Eddie played Journey? Eddie doesn’t like Journey. Nobody likes Journey. Nobody except…” 

(you)

Gareth’s eyes widened. His stomach plummeted to the floor. Then he shook his head and the thought was gone. 

“Okay, maybe it’s just a coincidence,” he said. “Maybe the DJ suggested Journey. Do you remember what song it was, Livvy?” 

“No, I don’t. Sorry, I’m not very good with song titles.” 

“Was it ‘Separate Ways’? ‘Any Way You Want It’? ‘Don’t Stop Believin’’? ‘Faithfully’? ‘Open Arms’?” 

“You know, for someone who doesn’t like Journey, you sure know a lot of Journey songs.” 

And for someone who seemed like such an airhead, Olivia Kent was shockingly observant. Gareth was rather impressed. He couldn’t help but tip his head to her. Touché, fair lady. 

“I think it was the last one,” Olivia said. 

“‘Open Arms’?” 

“I think so.” 

“So Eddie played a sappy love song,” Gareth concluded while rubbing his chin. “Makes sense.” 

“Mhm… and it must’ve worked ‘cause she left with him right after.” 

“You saw the girl who left with him?”  

“Yep.” 

“You saw her face?”

“Of course I did. She walked right past me.” 

“And did you recognize her?”

“Uh-huh!” 

“YES!” Gareth pumped his fists excitedly. He almost leaped out of his chair and kissed her, he was so happy. “Who was it, Livvy? Tell me who it was!”

Olivia sighed. “I don’t remember.” 

“What?” Gareth’s heart shattered. “But you just said you recognized her.”

“I did recognize her face, but I don’t remember her name… Sorry, Gareth, I’m not very good with names.” 

“You’re not good with names,” Gareth repeated softly, beside himself. “She’s not good with names. She’s not good with names. My star witness isn’t good with names.” 

He laughed madly to himself, feeling dizzy and delirious, feeling like the whole room was spinning like a turntable. A turntable playing Journey. Journey! Of all the bands in the world, Eddie, why Journey? Why? Why?

Meanwhile, Olivia rested her cheek against her palm and smiled at him. “You have really pretty eyes. Do you want my number?”  

Gareth paused, considering it. His face turned bright red. 

“Yes, Livvy. Yes, I’d love to get your number.” 

“Cool!” She scribbled it on a piece of notebook paper and handed it to him. “Call me sometime, okay?” 

So now Gareth was strolling away from his third-period class with a laminated hall pass in hand, Olivia Kent’s phone number in his pocket, a massive pit in his stomach, and Steve Perry’s annoying voice in his head. 

Journey. 

Eddie had requested Journey.  

It wasn’t a coincidence, was it? 

Gareth walked past Mr. Prichard’s math class, stopped, and backpedaled a few paces. He pressed his face against the glass and peered inside. 

Eddie was sitting at his desk with his assignment out and textbook open in front of him. He had his pencil in his hand, but he had yet to write a single answer. He was just tapping it against his notebook while he stared absently at the chalkboard, stared with a faraway look in his eyes. Gareth knew that look. It meant Eddie was lost in thought, usually about D&D or whatever new song he was learning, but today Gareth had a sneaking suspicion that Eddie was thinking about something else—or rather someone else. 

But not you. Please, God, not you. 

You were sitting behind him and quietly working on your assignment, just working on your assignment, and that caught Gareth a little off guard. If you had gone home with Eddie (as Gareth begrudgingly suspected now), shouldn’t you have been acting a little… happy? excited? Shouldn’t you have been staring at the back of his head with a dumb, lovesick expression? Daydreaming and doodling about him in your notebook? Naming your future children and planning your destination wedding?

Gareth expected to feel something when he peeked into that classroom. A change in energy. A shift in the natural balance of the universe. Call it whatever you want, but there should have been a noticeable difference in the air, right? Right?  

But there wasn’t.  

Everything was totally normal. 

You and Eddie were acting totally normal. 

And that filled Gareth with an exhilarating sense of relief. 

It wasn’t you. Thank God, it wasn’t you. 

Gareth backed away with a smile. If he had stayed a minute longer, he would have seen the exact change in energy he had been waiting for. If he had stayed a minute longer, he would have seen Eddie turn around and start talking to you. He would have seen you smile and blush and tell him to go back to his assignment (even though you didn’t really want him to go back to his assignment). Then he would have seen Eddie turn back to the front, try to do his work, give up, and turn around again five minutes later. 

But Gareth didn’t stay. Instead, he continued down the hallway in blissful ignorance, pulled out his list, ripped it up, and tossed the pieces into the trash. 

If it wasn’t any of them and it wasn’t you, there was only one logical conclusion. 

“She doesn’t go to school here, does she?”

Gareth forced this treasonous charge onto Eddie as soon as he arrived at the cafeteria. He had found his target sitting at his usual place at the head of the table. The seat of high honor. Eddie’s chair. The king’s chair. Gareth, a once-honorable and faithful soldier, slammed down his tray, leaned forward, pressed his palms into the table, and looked Eddie Munson square in the eye. Unblinking. Unflinching. Unyielding against his Dungeon Master’s powerful, intimidating aura.  

A moment of tense silence passed. Jeff and Grant looked at each other and immediately stopped eating. Jeff put down his peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Grant screwed on the lid of his soup thermos and set the container aside. There was no telling how long this would take. Gareth had a talent for prolonging his inevitable demise. It was like watching a slow hanging. 

Oh, but what a show it would be. 

“Who is she, Eddie?” Gareth thrust out his finger accusingly. “Huh? Is she a teacher? A townie? Some drunk chick you picked up at the bar while drowning your pathetic sorrows away?” 

“Yikes,” Jeff said, cringing. 

And Grant said, “That is quite the allegation.”  

Indeed it was, and Eddie didn’t seem to appreciate the open assault on his character. His brown eyes sharpened into a steely glare. They reflected Gareth’s destruction like a black crystal ball. Doom. Doom. Doom. 

“Get your finger outta my face,” Eddie said, and that was all he needed to say.  

“I’m so sorry,” Gareth said, and fell back into his chair with a thump. His heart thudded in his chest while the color slowly returned to his face. That was as close to death as Gareth had ever come. It was a miracle he’d survived. He bent his head and capitulated: “I sincerely apologize for my previous statement. It was malicious and rude, completely unbecoming of my position.”

Grant squinted his eyes curiously. “And what is your position, exactly?” 

“I’m Eddie’s best friend, obviously.” 

“Obviously,” Jeff echoed, snickering. 

Grant, wryly amused, said, “Uhh, I’m pretty sure Scottie’s his best friend.” 

Eddie, having dropped his tyrannous facade, was pretending to listen while absentmindedly picking through his snack bag, his thoughts elsewhere, eyes elsewhere. But where, Gareth couldn’t say. He had strained his neck to see who Eddie was looking at, but it was impossible to tell with so many people in the cafeteria. He could have been looking at anyone, anyone, anyone except you.

“He’s right,” Eddie murmured. “Scottie’s my best friend.” 

Gareth shrugged, unconcerned with such trivial technicalities. “Well, then I’m your second best friend, Eddie, and since Scottie’s in prison right now, I have to step in and assume the role in his stead.” 

“Ah, the interim best friend. So that’s the imaginary position you gave yourself.” 

“Oh, shut up and eat your soup, Grant.” 

“I will eat my soup,” Grant said, “and I’ll enjoy it while you continue to embarrass yourself.” 

“You’re embarrassing yourself,” Gareth grumbled nonsensically. He stabbed a piece of broccoli with his fork, stuffed it into his mouth, chewed, and swallowed. It tasted like dirt. “I’m having a really horrible day.”   

“Well, that’s too bad,” Eddie said, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Mine’s actually going pretty well.”

Another cryptic response. Gareth simply couldn’t take it anymore.

“You know,” Jeff began, “speaking of Scottie—” 

Gareth flung down his fork angrily, sending a spear of broccoli whizzing past Grant’s left shoulder. 

“Oh, come on, just tell me who it is already! Enough with the hints and the coded language. I swear to God, you’re driving me crazy, Eddie! You’ve been torturing me for days with this mystery. I can’t eat. I can’t sleep. I can’t think about anything else. As your friend, I’m begging you to stop. Please, for my sanity, stop.” 

Eddie popped a pretzel into his mouth and chewed. “I’ve been torturing you?”

Grant said, “He’s been torturing himself, honestly.” 

Jeff nodded, seeming on the verge of laughter. “Yeah, he made a list and everything.”

Eddie grimaced. “Wait, there’s a list? Why is there a list?” 

“Because you’ve driven me to madness, Eddie!” Gareth blurted out in blind white rage. “I hope you’re happy because you’ve driven me to complete madness! Who were you with on Saturday? Don’t even try to deny it because I heard a girl talking in the background. It wasn’t the TV. It was a girl. A living, breathing girl. I know you were with her that night, and I know you were with her yesterday.” 

“I wasn’t with her yesterday,” Eddie replied, his eyelids heavy with annoyance. “I already told you, I was out running errands.” 

“Oh, you’re sticking with that story, huh? Okay, Eddie, let’s assume you were out running errands. Let’s assume you spent your whole Sunday exactly as you said. You got up bright and early, stopped by the drugstore for God knows what, and then spent the rest of the day by yourself at home, cleaning out your van.” 

“I did clean out my van yesterday. That’s how I found my lost W.A.S.P. tape.”  

“Oh, which album?” Grant asked. 

“The Last Command,” Eddie answered, a soft smile touching his face. 

Wait, was that another clue?

“Nice,” Grant said. “That’s a solid album.” 

Eddie nodded, agreeing, but now there was a distant glimmer in his eyes that wasn’t there before. Gareth couldn’t take his eyes off it. It was as if his friend was lost in a cherished memory. 

What significance did this W.A.S.P. tape hold?

Was there any significance? 

These questions twisted Gareth’s mind into a pretzel. 

And speaking of pretzels, Eddie had set down his snack bag and stopped eating. Weird. He now sat with his arms folded over his chest, fingers drumming impatiently against his right bicep. His wandering eyes kept going back to the clock. Counting down the minutes. What had him so restless all of a sudden? What was he waiting for? His next class? English? Was that significant? Eddie hated English. He dreaded English. He complained about it every day because it meant he had to see— 

Eddie pushed off the table and stood up. Gareth climbed up from his chair, too. 

“Where are you going, Eddie?” 

“Dude,” Jeff said, looking up at him. “You need to calm down.” 

“Otherwise,” Grant went on, “you might get demoted to third best friend.”

The two of them dissolved into laughter. Gareth didn’t even hear them.  

“It’s happening,” he muttered. “Something’s happening.”

“Yeah, you annoyed Eddie so much that he had to leave to get away from you.” 

But that wasn’t it. Eddie wasn’t fleeing for the exit like a coward. No, he was marching straight through the middle of the cafeteria like a lone soldier charging through the battlefield. Charging to victory or to death. He was infiltrating the enemy’s stronghold, impervious to their hostile glares and raised eyebrows. Even Jason Carver himself, who had begun to get out of his chair, could not stop him today. Eddie was a man determined, a man determined to get to

(of course)

you. 

He wedged himself between two basketball players, pushed his palms into the table, and greeted you with a charming smile. You gazed up at him in sweet surprise. 

“Hi,” you said. 

“Hi,” he said back. “You wanna skip next period?”

Chrissy’s jaw dropped. “Oh my god,” she said while you blushed, buried your face in your hands, and giggled. 

Gareth, dumbstruck, slumped back into his chair with the bitter taste of defeat in his mouth. 

That bitch, he thought. That Journey-loving bitch, she actually did it. 

Grant regarded him with an impressed frown. “You know, you’re handling this a lot better than I thought you would. When did you figure it out?” 

Gareth sighed. “Second period.” 

Eddie just had to play Journey.

There was a moment of solemn silence after that. Then Grant unscrewed his soup thermos and lunch resumed as usual. Jeff took a bite of his sandwich. Gareth, now resigned to his grim fate, stuck his fork into his meatloaf and cut himself a modest slice. The meat looked dry and grey. What a horrible new world he lived in. 

But, he supposed, there was something to look forward to. 

“I got Olivia Kent’s number today. I think I’m gonna ask her out this weekend.” 

SERIES MASTERPOST

FANFICTION MASTERLIST

On Monday morning, Gareth peddled to school like a man on a mission.

Nothing was getting in his way today, not his mother, who had accidentally washed his Hellfire Club shirt with all his little sister’s dance clothes,

“You know what, honey, I think it looks better this way…”

not his sister, who had been hogging the bathroom all morning because she couldn’t get her hair right,

“Look, you don’t understand the pressure I’m under right now. Becca Singer is finalizing her birthday party guest list today. I have to look my best if I wanna make the cut.”

not the weatherman, who was painfully misinformed when he called for clear, sunny skies today…

and certainly not the piece of crap Chevy that just cut him off in the middle of the crosswalk.

Gareth swerved out of the way and kept on peddling. The rain pelted his face in a spray of ice-cold bullets.

Behind him, the driver yelled, “Hey, watch where you’re going, you little shit!”  

It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. Because Gareth was sitting on a goldmine of information right now. It was truly the scoop of the century. Eddie Munson—that’s right, Eddie “the Freak” Munson—had gone home with somebody after the senior prom.

Who was this mysterious (not to mention incredibly lucky) woman? A curious cheerleader desperate to defy her clique? A rich girl trying to piss off her dad? A shy bookworm who wanted to act out the plot of her favorite romance novel? Who? Who? Gareth’s head was spinning! The question hungrily devoured the rest of his weekend (something Gareth wasn’t too proud to admit, of course, but hey, Sundays were always uneventful days for him). He had to get to school quickly and consult his most trusted sources.

He found Jeff and Grant sitting at their usual table in the cafeteria. Grant was eating the school’s hot breakfast while Jeff sat with his head in his hands, lamenting the sorry state of his love life.

“Tara’s still not talking to me. I’m pretty sure she’s gonna dump me for Patrick McKinney.”

Grant put down his fork. “Wait, you two were dating?”

“No…” Jeff heaved a quiet sigh. “But if we were, she’d definitely dump me for Patrick.”

Grant frowned, sympathetic yet envious of his friend’s plight. “Man, I wish Meg would stop talking to me. She had me on the phone all night yesterday. I think she wants me to be her boyfriend or something.” Grant cringed at the thought. He didn’t have the strength to put up with her. He’d barely survived prom. 

“You don’t like her?” Jeff asked.

“Not really,” Grant answered. “I mean, yeah, she’s pretty and all, but as soon as she starts talking—”

Gareth slammed a wrinkled piece of notebook paper onto the table. The loud bang echoed through the entire cafeteria, making a few students gasp and flinch in their chairs. Jeff and Grant didn’t move in the slightest. This was typical Monday morning behavior for Gareth.

“What’s with the pink shirt?” Grant asked, unfazed. 

“Doesn’t matter,” Gareth said. They had more pressing matters to discuss. He sat down and folded his hands in front of him, his blue eyes clear and focused. He wasted no time getting straight to the point: “Who’d Eddie go home with after prom?”

Jeff and Grant exchanged a subtle, secret glance.

“How do you know Eddie went home with someone after prom?” Jeff asked.

“Because I called him that night.”

“Why’d you call him?”

“Because I’m a good friend, unlike some people.” Nobody had called him asking how his night went. Gareth sat home alone on Saturday night, eating popcorn and watching old sci-fi movies in his basement, while the rest of his friends had a blast at prom. It wasn’t fair. “I wanted to check in on him because I figured he might be a little depressed after getting rejected by Chrissy. Because let’s be honest here, there was no way that Chrissy was ever gonna dance with him. You all agree with me, right? I’m not just being a dick here. Like, yeah, I know Eddie’s riding high right now because he thinks this year is his year and everything, but… yeah, he was aiming a bit too high with that goal.” 

“Can you get to the point, please?” Grant said. “My breakfast is getting cold.” 

“Well, multitask, man!” Gareth grabbed Grant’s fork and threw it back onto his tray. “What, you can’t listen and eat at the same time?”

Grant rolled his eyes and went back to his breakfast. Gareth carried on with his story:

“So anyway, when I called him on Saturday, I expected him to sound all mopey and depressed, but he wasn’t. Yeah, Eddie wasn’t depressed at all. In fact, he sounded oddly… happy, but also a little bit distracted. You guys see where I’m going with this, right?”

“I hate that I do,” Grant said, struggling to enjoy his food.

“Well, that’s when I started getting suspicious. See, I could tell I didn’t have his full attention, and that’s just so unlike Eddie because he’s normally really good at maintaining proper phone etiquette. Weird, right? So then I got curious and I started listening, and… and I can’t be sure, but I think I heard a girl talking in the background.”

“Maybe it was just the TV,” Grant said.

Gareth shook his head. “No way… I know the difference between a TV voice and a live human voice. Someone was definitely with him.”

“Well, did you recognize the voice?” Jeff asked.

“No, I couldn’t hear well enough.”

Grant’s eyes narrowed. “And yet you’re sure it wasn’t the TV…”

“Oh come on, it wasn’t the TV, you guys. Wake up and smell the coffee! Eddie brought a girl to his house. He brought a girl to his house. She was with him in the room while he was on the phone with me. I could hear her talking. Then Eddie started acting really weird, said he had to go, and rushed me off the phone.”

“Gross,” Grant muttered, sickened. “Yeah, these are details I did not need.” 

Gareth’s mouth fell open in a silent gasp. “Wait, do you guys think he slept with her?” and that was more than Jeff could handle.

He buried his face in his hands and said, “Please stop. I don’t wanna go to class with these images in my head.”

Grant shrugged. “Maybe it was just a one-night stand.”

Jeff threw him a sharp, side-eyed glare. 

“Just saying,” Grant finished, smirking.

“No, I seriously doubt it,” Gareth went on, completely unaware. “Eddie’s not really a one-night stand kinda guy… not by choice, anyway. No, I think this might be the real deal, you guys, ‘cause listen to this: I went to go see him yesterday. Eddie wasn’t home.”

“So?”

“So I think he was with her. I called him last night and asked him where he was all day. He said he was out running errands.” Gareth scrunched up his face at that, doubtful. “Since when does Eddie run errands? So I said, ‘What sort of errands were you running?’ He said he had to swing by the drugstore. I said, ‘Well, what did you need at the drugstore?’ but he wouldn’t answer that. Yeah, he was being awfully mum.”

“Mum?” Jeff repeated to himself, mystified by his friend’s bizarre word choice.

Grant said, “He was probably annoyed that you were digging around in his business. I know I would be.”

“Oh yeah, he was definitely getting annoyed,” Gareth said. “Then he cut the conversation short and told me he was stepping out for the night. That’s when I knew this was serious. Eddie doesn’t just ‘step out’ on a Sunday night. He hardly goes out any night. If he’s not with us, he’s sitting at home and playing songs on his guitar. Yeah, he was definitely with her last night.”

Grant sighed, hoping they’d finally reached the end of this long-winded story. “Well, I guess you cracked the case then, Gareth.”

“But that’s just it, I haven’t!” Gareth said. Grant let out an exhausted moan. “I still don’t know who this girl is. You guys swear you didn’t see Eddie go home with anybody after prom?”

Another secret glance.

“Nope,” Jeff said. “I didn’t see him go home with anyone that night.”

Gareth nodded, disappointed but not yet defeated. “Yeah, I thought you might say that. That’s why I made this.”

He gestured toward the piece of paper on the table. Jeff picked it up and read it over. Then he passed it to Grant so he could do the same.

“Okay, what exactly am I looking at here?” Grant asked.

“It’s a list of suspects,” Gareth said, a proud smile on his face. “Yeah, last night I compiled a list of every girl I’ve ever seen Eddie interact with at school, and then this morning I whittled that list down to what I think are the most likely suspects.”

“Not a very long list,” Jeff said.

“Really?” said Grant. “I was gonna say it’s too long.” 

They shared a little chuckle over that. Gareth glowered at them, unamused. He didn’t appreciate them making little jabs about their Dungeon Master’s love life, stagnant as it was.

“You know,” Grant began with ominous deliberation, “I can’t help but notice there’s a name missing from this list.”

Gareth's head snapped back in surprise. “Who?”

“You know who,” Grant said. Beside him, Jeff was holding in a grin.

A disturbing chill crept up Gareth's spine. Then—

BAM!

Your name cracked down from above like a fiendish lightning bolt, striking Gareth and making all the little hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. For a second, he could see your name so clearly. It loomed before him, ugly and terrible, festering with puss and crawling with maggots, getting pecked savagely by vultures and other scavengers. It made him retch with disgust.

“Oh, very funny…”

“Hey, I’m just saying,” Grant said, “there’s no denying that she’s a likely suspect.” 

“In fact,” Jeff continued, “some might say she’s the most likely suspect.” 

“Yeah, maybe back in middle school,” Gareth said, “but Eddie hasn’t so much as looked at her in years.”

Except for that one time, he thought, remembering the mournful look on his friend’s face that day.

They were all eating lunch when your laughter suddenly sprang up from the other side of the cafeteria, obnoxious and shrill. Eddie glanced your way and his eyes darkened with such hollow sadness. It was as if someone had died.

But that didn’t mean anything, Gareth decided, so he shoved the memory away.

“All right, look, I’ll admit we lost him briefly for that one summer. I dunno how she did it, but somehow she got her claws in him real deep and he was completely under her spell. I won’t deny that. But then Eddie woke up and saw her for what she really is—an ugly green hag! At first, she appears as this beautiful, enchanting woman, but underneath that guise, she’s a wretched old witch who thrives on torment. Yeah, Eddie got over her a long time ago,” and Gareth refused to waste another thought on it.

He snatched the paper from Grant and laid it out in front of him. “Now, here’s what I’m thinking: if we split this up among the three of us, we can get through this list by lunch and then confront Eddie with our findings.”

“Yeah, we’re not doing that,” Grant said.

Gareth frowned. “Why not?”

“Because we already know who it is.”

Gareth’s eyes widened in surprised anger. “I KNEW IT! I FUCKING KNEW IT! I knew you two were messing with me this whole time. Sitting there with your smug little faces. Making your little jokes. You know what, screw you guys, I don’t even want your help anymore.”

He stuffed the paper back into his bag, climbed to his feet, and stomped off.

Over his shoulder, Jeff said, “Shoulda gone to prom, man.”

Gareth paused, dejected. “Well, no one would go with me…” He pushed through the double doors and was gone.

Afterward, Grant picked up his milk carton and took a few slow slips.

“You know what,” he said thoughtfully, “Gareth should’ve asked Y/N to prom.”

Jeff chuckled to himself. “Well, she did need a date… Shit, should we have just told him?”

“No,” Grant said. “No, this is something Gareth needs to see with his own eyes.”

Now Gareth, his resolve reignited and burning brighter than ever, was prowling the senior locker area with his suspect list in hand. 

Let them keep their secrets, he thought. I don’t need their help. A lot of help they would’ve been, anyway. Yeah, I can solve this mystery all on my own.

And he would. 

Gareth was a fantastic investigator, you see. He could win a game of Guess Who? in less than five turns and had a lifetime record of fifty-three wins and only fifteen losses (such losses were unavoidable when you drew an easily guessable character like Anita. Ugh, Anita… with those rosy cheeks and annoying blonde pigtails. His little sister beat him in only two moves after that unlucky draw). Now Gareth would apply those same deductive reasoning skills to this. Ask careful, complex questions. Gather information. Cross those ladies off one by one.

There was only one problem: the girls at Hawkins High weren’t exactly forthcoming about their personal lives, especially when it involved Eddie Munson. In fact, most girls denied ever having spoken to the guy. 

Claire Dunnock, the most recent inductee into the popular clique, was being especially difficult.

Her blue eyes shifted back and forth anxiously. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, and then leaned forward to make sure none of her new friends were eavesdropping. Claire had to be very careful. One misstep and she would slide all the way back down the social ladder. She couldn’t afford to let that happen.

Gareth sensed her unease. “Hey, relax,” he told her, “I’m not here to ruin your reputation, okay? This conversation stays between us. You have my word.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Claire said. “I wouldn’t be caught dead with that freak.”

“Hey, that freak is my best friend,” Gareth said. “And you and I both know that’s not true, Claire. I saw you get into his van that one—”    

Claire seized him by the arm and hissed, “Shut up!” Her eyes blazed with fearful, self-protective rage. “Look, that was a year ago, okay? I was a stupid junior who didn’t know any better. Eddie and I had a class together. I guess I got a little curious, but that’s it. We hung out once and I never spoke to him again.” Loosening her grip, she said, “Besides, he was nothing but a big disappointment, anyway.”

Anger flared in Gareth’s chest. “All right, that's it. I’m not gonna stand here and listen to you slander my friend.” 

“It’s not slander if it’s true,” Claire said. 

Gareth didn’t know how to respond to that.

“Look, just answer my question, okay? Did you go home with Eddie after prom or not?”

“Of course not,” Claire answered, practically cackling at the thought. 

(Why were high school girls so needlessly cruel?)

“I went to prom with my boyfriend. I was with him all night. Ask anyone.” Claire swung her locker door closed, put her hand on her hip, and raised her eyebrows impatiently. “Are we done now?” She walked off to join the rest of her friends. 

Gareth glared at her back, his insides boiling with indignation and righteous fury.

You got curious and Eddie got his heart broken. Again. 

He crossed out Claire’s name with his pen. 

Two suspects down. Eight more to go. 

He tucked his pen behind his ear, turned, and suddenly the hallway froze over! Okay, that didn’t actually happen, but a bitter wind did blow. Gareth felt it on his face as soon as he saw you step out from around the corner. 

Coincidence? 

Doubtful.

You were wearing blue jeans and a Fleetwood Mac shirt. Yeah, you would like Fleetwood Mac, Gareth thought, scoffing. As usual, you were walking side by side with Chrissy Cunningham, your best friend since elementary school. She was smiling and laughing at one of your jokes. Laughing out of politeness, probably. Why you two were friends, Gareth would never know. Chrissy was sweet like cotton candy and you were so… so…

(evil, pure evil)

rotten to the core, like moldy fruit.

“I swear,” you said with a groan, “it’ll be weeks before your mom lets me into the house again. God, she’s such a prude. How was I supposed to know she was gonna invite the whole family over for Sunday brunch? At least I was dressed up for the occasion.”

Chrissy looked at you in baffled amusement. “You were still wearing your prom dress.”

“And it was a very nice prom dress. Your grandma even complimented it. She said it made me look like Madonna.” You weren’t too thrilled about that comparison, but who were you to pass up a free compliment? “Now your mom, on the other hand… man, if looks could kill… I probably would’ve choked on one of those blueberry scones she was serving, which were a tad overbaked if I’m being honest.”

Chrissy went to her locker and fiddled with the padlock for a second before opening it. You stood patiently beside her, the wall clock barely within view. 

It was a quarter past eight, you noted with a frown. Was Eddie here already or…? 

While hanging up her pink backpack, Chrissy said, “Yeah, she definitely had some colorful words to describe you last night.” 

You turned your attention back to her. “Your mom called me a slut, didn’t she?”

Chrissy didn’t answer at first. She was busy unloading her homework. While she was doing that, one of her fellow cheerleaders snuck up behind her, tapped her on the shoulder, and gave a cheerful, heartfelt hello. Chrissy hugged her and asked how her weekend was. The two chatted casually for a minute and then the girl went on her way. Never so much as glanced at you. 

“Umm, I believe she used the word harlot,” Chrissy said to you afterward. 

“Oh, she got biblical, huh?” Great, you thought, as if that woman didn’t despise you enough already. “You know, I don’t understand your mom. First I’m too fat to be your friend. Now I’m too much of a slut. That lady needs to pick a lane and stay in it… and then drive herself right off a cliff.”  

Chrissy threw you a friendly glare.

“Just kidding,” you said. “You know I love your mom. She keeps me grounded. Without her, I might develop a healthy self-esteem, and we all know how dangerous that is. Yeah, that might lead to confidence and success… perhaps even lifelong happiness.” 

Ignoring you (or pretending to), Chrissy started digging through her backpack again. “Dammit,” she said under her breath, “I think I left my pencil case at home.” 

“Don’t worry, I’m sure Jason has a pencil for you.” You smiled inwardly—a willful, wicked smile. “Then again…”  

Chrissy pushed her locker closed, grabbed both your hands, backed you up against the lockers, and brought her face really close to yours. “Shut up,” she whispered in half-hearted anger, a rosy blush blooming on the apples of her cheeks. 

You took one look at her and busted out laughing. Chrissy started laughing, too. 

“I hate you so much,” she said, and released you. 

“I know,” you replied affectionately. “But see, this is why the whole situation with your mom is so funny to me. I’m the one who’s still a virgin, yet somehow it’s me who gets labeled the…” 

You spotted a familiar face down the hall. 

“Gareth?” You leaned toward him, squinting. “What are you doing in the senior locker area?”

The sound of your voice made him flinch. “Nothing,” he said, acting strangely defensive for some reason.

That’s when you noticed the piece of paper in his hand. You gestured toward it with your chin and said, “What’s that you got there? Is that a love letter? You finally asking someone out on a date? Will you go out with me? Check yes or no. Who’s the lucky lady? Wait, aren’t you a little young to be dating?”

Gareth hid the paper behind his back and glared at you. “We’re the same age.” 

“And yet I’m a senior and you’re a junior. Hmm, how did that happen?” You tipped your head and smiled at him. “You’ve got company, by the way.” 

“Huh?” Gareth stepped back and—

A hand landed on his shoulder, closed around his flannel shirt, and spun him around. Gareth jumped back, swallowing a scream. He was now standing nose to chest with Ben Jabruski, outside linebacker and two-time defensive player of the year. Eric Kordell stood beside him, smaller but no less intimidating. His brown eyes gleamed with feral, territorial aggression. 

“Get outta here, freak,” Eric said. 

Gareth squared up to him, unafraid. “Last time I checked this was a free country.” He wrenched his shirt out of Ben’s grip, careful not to tear his favorite flannel. It was a Christmas gift from his mother. 

While he was distracted, Eric reached out and ripped the paper out of Gareth’s hand. 

“Hey, give that back!” 

“What’s this?” Eric asked. He opened the paper and studied it for a minute. His expression went from amused to curious to downright furious. He crushed the list in his fist. “Why’s my girlfriend on here?” 

“Oh…” Panic shot up Gareth’s spine. He took a step back and let loose a nervous chuckle. “Oh… you must be Claire’s boyfriend. You know, I heard you two had a lovely time at prom.” 

He turned on his heel and took off running down the hallway. 

“Bye, Gareth!” you said, fluttering your fingers as he passed. Then you looked back at Chrissy with a smile. “God, I love that kid…”

You went to your locker after that, ignoring all the busy little voices, the occasional odd glance and stifled giggle you received from the other students. Chrissy followed with her first-period textbook cradled in her arms. 

“Just ignore them,” she told you. 

“I already am,” you said… but then you saw Sarah, Sally, and Stacy huddled around Stacy’s locker. Talking about their hair. Talking about their clothes. Stirring their black cauldron of boiling bones and animal guts. Sarah looked at you, whispered something to Sally, who passed the same message on to Stacy, and all three of them tittered gleefully at your expense. 

“Just ignore them,” Chrissy said.   

“I will,” you said, but first—

You whipped around and burst out: “So which one of you got knocked up after prom? My money’s on you, Stacy.” 

Chrissy, dismayed but secretly delighted, tugged gently on your right elbow. Before going with her, you tossed Satan’s mistress (AKA Stacy Raab) a snide little wink. Stacy rolled her eyes in disgust. 

“Stop it,” Chrissy said. 

“They started it.” 

“I know… but stop it. You’re better than that.” 

At the end of the hallway, you spotted Chance Gallagher standing in front of his open locker, wearing the same green letterman jacket that he wore when he asked you to prom six weeks ago. Chance closed his locker and caught your eye for a moment. Then he gave you a small, apologetic smile. 

What was he apologizing for? For asking you to prom, getting your hopes up, and then humiliating you in front of the entire senior class? You weren’t sorry he did it. In fact, you were glad he did it. Yeah, you wanted to go up to him, shake his hand, and thank him for being such a spineless little worm. If he were a decent guy, your night might have gone differently, and you were quite pleased with how your night went. So thank you, Chance. Thank you for being a complete scumbag. Maybe I should write him a thank-you note. 

Smiling, you turned back around. As you did, you stole another quick glance at the clock on the wall. 

Eight-nineteen… 

You sighed. 

… and now eight-twenty. 

“He’s running late, huh?” Chrissy said. You looked her way and she flashed you a sweet, teasing smile. “I know you’re waiting for him.”

A small flush of heat tickled your cheeks, threatening to set your whole face on fire. Resisting it, you grabbed your padlock and started spinning the dial: three turns to the right, one full turn to the left, another quick turn to the right, and

“Are you nervous about seeing him?”

you missed the last number and had to start all over again. 

“Kind of,” you admitted. “Is that weird?”

Chrissy shook her head, her smile growing brighter and brighter. “Nope, it’s totally normal and absolutely adorable.” Giggling, she hugged her book tightly to her chest. If her hands were free, she probably would have hugged you instead. “I’m so happy for you. I really, really am. I swear, I feel like my heart’s about to burst right now.” 

“Well, you should probably see a doctor about that.” 

Chrissy stuck her tongue out at you. You did it right back, popped off your lock, and pulled on the handle. The locker door swung outward, squeaking on its hinges, and almost smacked Chrissy in the face. “Hey!” she said, laughing. She stepped back, skipped around you, and planted herself comfortably on your left side.

“So did you see him last night?” she asked, practically beaming. 

“Nope.” You slipped off your messenger bag and hung it on the hook. 

Chrissy squinted at you suspiciously. “Why do I feel like you’re lying right now?” 

“I’m not lying,” you told her, only to be betrayed by your blushing face. “I didn’t see him last night… technically it was this morning.” 

Twelve-o-two, to be exact. That’s when you saw the headlights flashing through your bedroom window blinds.

“Oh my god,” Chrissy said.  

“What? He just stopped by to say goodnight.” You smiled softly to yourself. “It was kind of romantic, actually.” 

“Uh-huh,” Chrissy said, laughing at you. “And how long did you two say goodnight?”

“Only for an hour… and a half.”

It was raining last night. You couldn’t invite Eddie into the house, so you two hung out in his van for a while. A very long while. W.A.S.P. was playing on the stereo. Eddie had found the cassette tape while cleaning out his van that afternoon. He was very proud of this accomplishment. It was adorable. He had you listen to a few of his favorite songs, asked you about your day, told you about his, and during “Cries In the Night,” he leaned over the center console and kissed you. Everything after that was a bit of a blur. The last thing you remembered was the horn blaring. You had accidentally pressed it with your elbow.  

“Oh my god,” Chrissy said.

“Stop saying, ‘Oh my god.’ You sound like my mom.”  

She had said the exact same thing after confronting you about it in the kitchen this morning. Turns out, the car horn had woken her up. Then she caught you creeping back inside through the front door. It was an awkward breakfast, to say the least. 

Chrissy poked your shoulder playfully. “That’s how it starts, you know. Late-night visits. Long, drawn-out goodbyes. You two are gonna be inseparable this summer.” She breathed a long, lovesick sigh. “Jason and I used to be like that.” 

“You’re still like that.” 

“Yeah,” she said, smiling. 

“Speaking of…” You saw Jason Carver coming down the hallway, his pants ironed and creased, white collared shirt tucked in, a brand new Rolex glinting on his left wrist (an early graduation present from his father, apparently). He looked like a Ralph Lauren catalog model. “Is it weird that I’m picturing him naked right now?”   

Chrissy hid her face in embarrassment. “I swear to God, if you say anything…” 

“What am I gonna say to him? ‘Thank you for deflowering my best friend’? ‘I heard your penis is rather pleasing’? I don’t wanna talk to him about that. I don’t even wanna think about that.”

Prior to this weekend, you couldn’t even imagine Jason Carver having genitals. You always figured he was like a Ken doll down there. Nothing but smooth plastic.

Chrissy looked at you, mortified. “Why do I tell you anything?”  

“I have no idea,” you said. Then you checked the clock again. 

Eight twenty-three. 

Where the hell’s Eddie? you wondered, starting to get a little worried.

Jason’s arrival reclaimed your attention. 

“Hey, guys,” he said in that smooth drawl that made all the girls swoon. 

You expected to find him standing with his million-dollar smile, but he wasn’t. No, today Jason seemed different—humble, approachable, perhaps even a little shy. It was as if he’d reverted back to his ten-year-old self. Little Jason Carver, who could barely dribble a basketball. The boy who stammered when he introduced himself to the rest of the class. The boy who sat down next to you, smiled, and said he liked the character on your favorite shirt. The boy who talked to you every day. Encouraged you. Defended you. The boy you caught staring at your best friend way too many times to be a coincidence. 

Then you looked at Chrissy and she seemed younger, too. A blushing, fidgeting ten-year-old who always forgot to stand up straight. She got so excited when Jason offered to walk her home from school. He even carried my books!

Back then, your happiness for them had been counterfeit, complicated, but not anymore. Yeah, now you could say you were genuinely happy for both of them. 

This was still awkward as hell, though.

“Hey, Chrissy needs to borrow a pencil,” you blurted out, breaking their amorous trance.

A soft pink flush rose to Jason’s cheeks. “What?”

“Just ignore her,” Chrissy said, struggling to keep a straight face. 

Meanwhile, you punched Jason on the shoulder. “Hey, don’t forget about our deal, buddy.” 

“I haven’t,” he told you. “I’ll buy your lunch, as promised. It’s the least I can do.” 

“What if I want two lunches? And a whole plate of cookies?”

“Then I guess I’m buying you two lunches and a whole plate of cookies.” 

Jason smiled at you… but then his demeanor changed, hardening like armor. 

“Are you okay?” he asked.

You blinked at him. “Am I okay?” you repeated slowly, a little taken aback. “Well, I did wake up with a strange tattoo on my wrist. It’s like a crucifix, except it’s upside down. Weird… Also, I can’t be sure, but I think I might be dealing with a Rosemary’s Baby scenario. Yeah, I’m definitely gonna be giving birth to the Antichrist in about nine months. Buy something black.” 

Jason’s eyes widened in confused horror. 

“Oh my god, I’m kidding!” you said. “Eddie was a complete gentleman. He even asked for permission before he impregnated me with his hellseed. Naturally, I gave him the green light because… well, have you seen his face? It’s kinda perfect.” 

Chrissy put her hand over her mouth and giggled. Jason didn’t appreciate your joke. 

“Come on, be serious.” 

“I am being serious. Believe it or not, I actually find him insanely attractive. He’s like a discount version of Eddie Van Halen, and I can’t afford the real thing, so…” 

“So you actually slept with him?” Jason sounded disappointed and ashamed. He reminded you of your father. 

No, worse than your father.

“Well, no, I was kidding about that. I mean, I did sleep with him, but not in the way you’re assuming. And are you seriously gonna judge me for having sex? It’s been a while since I’ve been to church, but I’m pretty sure the bible condemns hypocrisy. You might wanna reread those sections. I think you’ll find them very enlightening.”

Jason ground his jaw in irritation. “Stop making jokes!” 

“I don’t want to,” you said finally, your voice breaking, “because then I’m just gonna get really, really mad like I’m doing right now, and I don’t wanna be mad at you, Jason. I was having a really good morning until you showed up.” 

By now, Chrissy had stopped laughing. Her shoulders drooped and she looked at you with a sick, sorry expression. 

Jason said, “Look, I just think you’re undervaluing yourself, okay? You can do so much better than that—”

“Oh, please don’t do that. Don’t try to talk to me like you’re my friend.” 

“I am your friend.” 

“Then be my friend, Jason. Stop trying to ruin my happiness!”

The school bell dinged and students began making their way to class. Jason went, too. Didn’t even bother saying goodbye. Chrissy told you not to worry about him. “Jason’ll come around eventually.” Then she smiled, waved goodbye, and ran to catch up with him. 

You weren’t half as optimistic as she was. 

This is gonna be a huge problem, isn’t it? 

You groaned, dreading it. 

Behind you, another wave of students came rushing down the hallway. Brittany Wirth was among them. You knew because you could hear her shrill voice piercing through the dull chatter around her. She was ranting about prom, complaining about the flowers, complaining about the food, about the music, about—

“YOU!” 

You flinched and turned around, thinking she was talking to you. 

What you saw made your eyes light up with glee. Brittany Wirth had Eddie Munson pinned up against the lockers, and she was jabbing him in the chest with her index finger. 

“You, sir, are a total asshole! Do you have any idea how hard I worked on that event? I was planning it for months, planning it to perfection, and then YOU had to go and make it all about yourself, as usual.” She stepped back and huffed, exhausted. “I hope you’re proud of yourself.” 

“I’m a little proud of myself,” Eddie replied candidly. 

Brittany shot him a deadly glare. “Oh, shut up!” She swept her hair off her shoulder and walked away.

You stopped her as she passed. “You know what, Brittany, all things considered, I thought it was a very successful night.” 

Brittany’s jaw dropped and got stuck like that, locked in befuddled rage. Not a single sound came out, but you could tell she was trying to speak. Was this it? Had it finally happened? Did Brittany Wirth actually crack? She worked her lips unsuccessfully for a minute and then closed them again, steaming in her hatred, screaming internally like a boiling teapot. She brushed past you and continued on her way. 

Then you heard Eddie approach you.  

“Did I really make the night all about me?” 

His question made you giggle. “A little bit.” You turned around with a smile, glad to see him, relieved to see him. “I still had a good time, though.” 

“Well, that’s all that matters,” Eddie said, but there was something in your eyes that made him frown with concern. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, everything’s fine,” you said, and blinked that silly little worry away. “Jason’s just being… well, Jason.” 

“I take it he doesn’t approve of me.” 

“Yeah, you’ve really got him clutching his bible. He thinks you’re gonna drain my blood and sacrifice me to the devil.” 

“Really?” Eddie said, his eyes widening in false astonishment. “Well, he just spoiled our next date.” 

“Oh, really?” you replied, giggling. “Well, I guess that explains why I’m still a virgin.” 

Eddie winced, looked down at his shoes, and grinned bashfully. “Okay, I walked right into that one.”

“Yeah, you did,” you said; and God, it drove you crazy seeing him get so flustered.

Kinda like last night, you thought, startling yourself, and immediately shooed that dangerous thought away. Now was not the time for that, young lady. You still had a full day of school to get through. Somehow.

“You’re late,” you said.   

“Yeah, I uh…” Eddie brought his hand to his face and started rubbing it. “I got pulled over for speeding.”

You gasped. “No, you didn’t.” 

“Yeah, I did.” 

“Prove it.”

Eddie pulled a folded-up piece of paper out of his back pocket and handed it to you. You opened it and immediately busted out laughing. 

“Oh, wow… going fifty-five in a forty-five.” 

“Eh, they went easy on me… I was going at least sixty.” 

“Wow…” 

“Yeah…” Eddie said, tilting his head. “The one time I’m in a rush to get to school.” 

His brown eyes sought yours and settled there for a moment, his lips curling into a tender, captivated smile. You smiled back helplessly, feeling girly, feeling giddy, feeling like you were probably grinning like an idiot right now. Embarrassed, you pressed the paper to your mouth in a vain attempt to hide it. When that didn’t work, you thrust the ticket back into Eddie’s hand and turned away, pretending to pull books from your locker. 

You felt along the spines like someone fumbling around in the dark. What class were you going to again? History? English? French? 

No, you weren’t even taking French.

You spoke to Eddie in a frazzled voice: “Well, since you’re not in handcuffs right now, I’m assuming they didn’t find anything when they searched your van, huh?” 

“Luckily, no…” 

“Good thing you cleaned out your van yesterday.”

“Mhm…” Eddie said, his voice seeming much closer than before.

Your roaming fingers slowed, then stopped, sliding all the way down the stack of books. With one more step, his presence had consumed you, making you blind and deaf to everything else, everything except Eddie. You could feel him standing next to you, leaning into you, his left hand outstretched and resting against the locker beside you. His voice sent a pleasant shiver down your spine.

“Find what you’re looking for yet?”

You gazed into his eyes and got lost in them. “… I can’t remember what class I’m going to.”

You laughed at yourself sheepishly, senselessly, and saw Eddie crack a small smile: half amused and half… something else, something that brought you back to last night—that quiet, rainy night. Sitting in the dark and listening to music. Eddie humming softly beside you, drumming his right hand on the steering wheel, watching the tiny droplets race down his windshield. You sitting in your seat nervously. Fidgeting restlessly. Running your fingers over the plastic cassette case on your lap. Pretending to take interest in it while secretly watching Eddie out of the corner of your eye. Waiting for him to kiss you. Hoping he’d kiss you. Catching him staring at you with that smile… the same smile he was giving you now… right before he leaned in and…

“Ahem.” 

Another student appeared behind you, tapping her foot impatiently. “Uhh, can I get to my locker, please?”

Eddie drew away from you, embarrassed and a little frustrated, and took two giant steps back.

The girl assumed his place without a word, opened her locker, hung up her backpack, her jacket, grabbed her textbook and notebook, snatched a few pens from her bag, and closed her locker again. Before leaving, she motioned between you and Eddie and said, “So is this like a thing now?”

You caught Eddie’s eye for a second. “Uhh, yes,” you said while he fought back a huge smile.

The girl shook her head as if dizzy. “Weird,” she said, and left. 

Afterward, you turned to Eddie with a puzzled frown. “Wait, is it weird that I’m dating you or that you’re dating me? I need to know where I rank in this relationship.”

“Maybe you should ask her.” 

“Maybe I will…” 

Giggling, you stepped past him, spotted your locker neighbor at the end of the hallway, cupped your hands over your mouth, and shouted, “Hey, Carmen!” but you never got a chance to finish. Eddie had grabbed your hand and dragged you back to him, pulling you into his arms, putting you right where he wanted you, intending to pick up exactly where he left off.

The second bell rang before you could even feel his breath on your lips. Eddie closed his eyes tightly, as if pained. 

“I really hate that I have to be in school right now.” 

“Me too,” you said, staring up at him, your heart still pounding in your chest. “We should probably get to class.”  

Eddie wrapped his arms around your waist and held you tighter against him. “Or we could just, y’know, skip first period altogether… since you don’t know where you’re supposed to be anyway.” 

He swooped down and placed a few chaste kisses along the side of your head. Blushing, you buried your face into his chest. 

“Are you trying to get me to cut class, sir?”

“No, just giving you options.” 

“Mhm,” you said, giggling. 

While you contemplated his offer, you traced your hand over the button pocket of his denim vest, feeling the fabric, flicking each of his treasured pins one by one: Judas Priest, Accept, Mercyful Fate. You found the W.A.S.P. pin last and focused on it, teasing it with your finger. 

“And then what?” you asked, lifting your head to look at him. “We go back to your van and finish what you started last night?” 

Eddie’s eyes brightened in surprise. “Finish what you started, if I remember correctly.”  

“Was I the one who started it?” You frowned, pretending not to remember. 

Meanwhile, your hand had drifted up to the collar of his leather jacket. You nudged it out of the way and started tugging along the neckline of his shirt, revealing a faint pink bruise on the base of his collarbone. Eddie winced as your finger brushed over it. You smiled softly, remembering how his breath hitched when your lips made the first budding mark, how he cursed and moaned while you planted all the others, his hands slipping underneath your shirt and sliding across your skin. 

“I may have gotten a little carried away…”   

“Yeah, you definitely did,” Eddie said, smiling at you.  

“I just really like W.A.S.P.”

“Do you?” 

“Mhm…”

Eddie’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he laughed. “Well, I still have the tape in my van. We can go listen to it right now if you want.” 

You bit your lip hard, unable to answer right away. God dammit, what had you gotten yourself into? You weren’t seriously considering his proposition before, but now…

“Go to class, please.” 

Now Ms. Kelley had come out of her office and was sweeping away the last few stragglers, you and Eddie included.

“I know we’re all a little sluggish this morning, but let’s start this week off strong, okay? There’s still another month before graduation. Don’t lose your focus now.” She looked at you and Eddie tiredly. “You two. Class. Now.”   

You sighed as you saw your window of opportunity close. Eddie peeled himself away from you and started down the hallway.  

“See ya later,” he said over his shoulder. 

“Bye,” you said back, hiding your disappointment behind a smile. 

Upon returning to your locker, you grabbed your textbook—the right textbook—and wedged it in the crook of your left elbow. While hunting around for the matching notebook and folder, you heard Eddie’s voice behind you again, catching you completely by surprise.

“Oh, wait,” he said hurriedly, “I forgot to tell you something.” 

“Hmm?”

You turned around and felt Eddie’s hands cup the sides of your face, drawing you in for a soft, sweet kiss. You closed your eyes, savoring it. A moment later, he broke the kiss and pulled away.   

“See you in third period,” he said, departing with a smile. 

It took you a second to recover from that. When you finally did, you clutched your textbook to your chest and smiled uncontrollably, tears brimming in your eyes, your heart racing, stomach fluttering, face glowing with pure, radiant joy. 

Under your breath, you whispered, “I hate so much that I have to be in school right now.”

Gareth, on the other hand, was glad to be in school today. Admittedly, his morning had gotten off to a rough start, but things were finally starting to look up for him, and now he felt like he was on the verge of a major breakthrough. 

Maybe. 

Hopefully.

But he didn’t wanna jinx it. 

In first period, Gareth snuck into the library and talked to Matilda Gunn: salutatorian, captain of the debate team, and the third name on Gareth’s list (his new list, of course; the original list was long gone, probably lying in a trashcan somewhere).

Matilda, anyway, was sitting at the back table and studying for her upcoming physics test. Matilda preferred studying in the library over her study hall class because she couldn’t stand the sound of her neighbor chewing and slurping his nails. She wasn’t too happy when Gareth pulled out the chair across from her and sat down. She was even less happy when he brought up Eddie Munson. 

“First of all, I’m offended that you would even think I would associate with that moron. I hate the guy. He ruined my GPA. Stupid group projects… God, I hate them!” Enraged, Matilda tore a random leaf out of her notebook and ripped the poor thing to shreds. Gareth watched her do it, horrified, and hoped there was nothing important written on that page. “You know, if I’d known he was gonna slack off like he did, I would’ve just done the whole thing myself. But no… I gave him the benefit of the doubt. I gave him the easiest task and he couldn’t even do that. He said he forgot about it. Said he was busy working on a campaign or something.”

“Yeah, he gets like that sometimes,” Gareth said. “Like last month, he spent the whole weekend learning ‘Master of Puppets.’ Have you heard that song?” 

Matilda shook her head, her eyes glazed with boredom. 

“Well, doesn’t matter. It’s a very hard song to play. That’s all you need to know. And Eddie became obsessed with it. He locked himself in his room all weekend and practiced over and over and—” 

Matilda pressed her hand to her temple and hissed, “Listen, junior freak, I don’t give a shit about Eddie Munson and his fucking guitar. Okay? Second of all, I didn’t even go to prom on Saturday. I was studying all weekend, studying for this test, and if I don’t get an A, I’m gonna hold you personally responsible. Now get lost.”

Gareth lurched back in his seat and felt his mouth go dry. 

(Once again, why were high school girls so needlessly cruel?)   

“Okay,” he said in a small voice. “I’m, uhh, sorry for bothering you.” 

He got up to leave. 

“Wait,” Matilda said with a sigh; then after a moment of careful, painful deliberation, she put out her hand. “Gimme your stupid list.”

Gareth held the list against his chest, protecting it. “You’re not gonna rip it up, are you?” he asked, observing the tattered remains of her last victim. “Because I’m getting kinda tired of writing all these names out.”

And some of those girls had really long names.  

“I’m not gonna rip it up.” Matilda’s voice was strained with frustration and fatigue, but there was still some warmth hiding in there, dimly glowing beneath the cold black coals of her heart. “I’m gonna help you narrow it down, okay? Otherwise, you’ll never figure it out.” She motioned impatiently with her hand. “Come on, hurry up.” 

Gareth handed her the list and she looked it over for a minute, vaguely amused.  

“Not a very long list,” she said while uncapping her highlighter with her teeth. 

“Well, Eddie’s very picky.” 

As he should be, Gareth thought. That man deserved the best.

(much better than you) 

Matilda snorted under her breath. “Yeah, I’m sure that’s it.” She rolled her eyes, bent her head, and began marking up the list with her highlighter. Her hand was calm and controlled, each movement deliberate, precise, as to be expected of an advanced test taker. “Okay, she has a boyfriend… she, I’m pretty sure, has a girlfriend… boyfriend… boyfriend… boyfriend… she’s been out of town for a funeral… and she… doesn’t even live in this state anymore.”

She crossed off the last name and slid the paper across the table. 

Gareth gaped at it, speechless. “You just eliminated everyone.” 

Matilda shrugged. “Like I said, not a long list.” 

It was a major setback, the kind of setback that made you want to tear the whole thing to pieces, cut your losses, and give up. Gareth seriously considered it. He almost did it while sitting in his second-period class. 

But then an angel appeared. A blonde-haired, blue-eyed angel named Olivia Kent.

She peered over his shoulder during class. “Whatcha doin’?” she asked, sitting with her chin on her palm. 

Gareth considered lying, saying he was working on his assignment or something, but in his current state, he didn’t have the heart to deceive anyone, especially not Olivia, who was so innocent and kind.

“I’m trying to figure out who my friend went home with after prom.” 

“Oh? Who’s your friend?”

“Eddie Munson.” 

“Oh...” Olivia giggled a silly, unaffected giggle. “Yeah, he had quite the night.” 

Gareth turned around in his seat. “You were at prom, Livvy?” 

“Mhm! It was a lotta fun.” 

“And you saw Eddie there?”

“Sure. I saw him lots of times.” 

“Did you see him leave with anybody?”

“Sure did… I saw everything.” 

“You saw everything?” Gareth sat back, awestruck, and felt tears come to his eyes. This was it. This was finally it. This was the breakthrough that Gareth had been waiting for. An eye witness—a star witness—had emerged at last, willing and eager to cooperate. “Oh, Livvy, you beautiful, beautiful, heavenly creature, tell me everything.” 

“About what?”

“About prom, Livvy.” 

“Oh, you wanna hear about prom?” Olivia shrugged, smiled, and said, “Okay! Philip Cuthbert asked me. I didn’t think he was going to, but then he totally surprised me! I wore a frilly pink dress and matching pink heels. Phillip wore a dark blue tux and a black bowtie. I think it was black, but it might’ve been blue, too. Then Philip got me one of those really pretty flower bracelets… What are those called again? Oh, right, corsages! Anyway, we took pictures on the front lawn of my house, then we took pictures at his house, and then we took more pictures in front of City Hall. I don’t normally like taking so many pictures, but I didn’t mind so much in this case. It was a special occasion. Phillip said I looked very pretty. He was really nice to me all night. He held my hand. He bought me dinner. He got me some cake. I actually ate two slices of cake that night, but don’t tell anybody, okay? I was only supposed to have one. And then we danced and drank punch and we danced again—”

Gareth put his hand on top of hers, making Olivia blush and look at him in doe-eyed wonderment. “Livvy, I’m glad you had such a fun time at prom, but since class is gonna be ending soon, do you think you could speed things up and get to the part where you saw Eddie? Is that okay?”

“Sure,” Olivia said, smiling. “I saw him talking to Chrissy.” 

“Yeah, he went there to ask her to dance. I told him it was a terrible idea, but he refused to listen to me.” 

“Yeah, that was a bad idea. Why would he do that?” 

“Because Eddie’s a hopeless romantic.” 

“Really?" Olivia frowned, considering it. “He doesn’t seem like one.” 

“He hides it behind a mask of cynicism, and he hides it very well.” 

“Oh,” Livvy said, mystified by the concept. “Well, I guess that explains why he got up on stage then.”

“Wait, Eddie got up on stage?” 

Damn, Gareth thought, that’s actually really impressive. 

“Mhm! He gave this long speech and everything. My friends said it was really weird and embarrassing, but honestly, I thought it was kinda sweet. Super embarrassing, but sweet. It was kind of like a… hmm… well, I guess you could call it a love confession. I don’t remember what he said exactly, but it was really adorable, and normally I wouldn’t use that word to describe Eddie—you know, ‘cause he’s so mean and scary-looking—but at that moment, he really was adorable. Kinda like a puppy. And then he played Journey and—” 

Gareth’s head rocked back. “He played Journey? Eddie played Journey? Eddie doesn’t like Journey. Nobody likes Journey. Nobody except…” 

(you)

Gareth’s eyes widened. His stomach plummeted to the floor. Then he shook his head and the thought was gone. 

“Okay, maybe it’s just a coincidence,” he said. “Maybe the DJ suggested Journey. Do you remember what song it was, Livvy?” 

“No, I don’t. Sorry, I’m not very good with song titles.” 

“Was it ‘Separate Ways’? ‘Any Way You Want It’? ‘Don’t Stop Believin’’? ‘Faithfully’? ‘Open Arms’?” 

“You know, for someone who doesn’t like Journey, you sure know a lot of Journey songs.” 

And for someone who seemed like such an airhead, Olivia Kent was shockingly observant. Gareth was rather impressed. He couldn’t help but tip his head to her. Touché, fair lady. 

“I think it was the last one,” Olivia said. 

“‘Open Arms’?” 

“I think so.” 

“So Eddie played a sappy love song,” Gareth concluded while rubbing his chin. “Makes sense.” 

“Mhm… and it must’ve worked ‘cause she left with him right after.” 

“You saw the girl who left with him?”  

“Yep.” 

“You saw her face?”

“Of course I did. She walked right past me.” 

“And did you recognize her?”

“Uh-huh!” 

“YES!” Gareth pumped his fists excitedly. He almost leaped out of his chair and kissed her, he was so happy. “Who was it, Livvy? Tell me who it was!”

Olivia sighed. “I don’t remember.” 

“What?” Gareth’s heart shattered. “But you just said you recognized her.”

“I did recognize her face, but I don’t remember her name… Sorry, Gareth, I’m not very good with names.” 

“You’re not good with names,” Gareth repeated softly, beside himself. “She’s not good with names. She’s not good with names. My star witness isn’t good with names.” 

He laughed madly to himself, feeling dizzy and delirious, feeling like the whole room was spinning like a turntable. A turntable playing Journey. Journey! Of all the bands in the world, Eddie, why Journey? Why? Why?

Meanwhile, Olivia rested her cheek against her palm and smiled at him. “You have really pretty eyes. Do you want my number?”  

Gareth paused, considering it. His face turned bright red. 

“Yes, Livvy. Yes, I’d love to get your number.” 

“Cool!” She scribbled it on a piece of notebook paper and handed it to him. “Call me sometime, okay?” 

So now Gareth was strolling away from his third-period class with a laminated hall pass in hand, Olivia Kent’s phone number in his pocket, a massive pit in his stomach, and Steve Perry’s annoying voice in his head. 

Journey. 

Eddie had requested Journey.  

It wasn’t a coincidence, was it? 

Gareth walked past Mr. Prichard’s math class, stopped, and backpedaled a few paces. He pressed his face against the glass and peered inside. 

Eddie was sitting at his desk with his assignment out and textbook open in front of him. He had his pencil in his hand, but he had yet to write a single answer. He was just tapping it against his notebook while he stared absently at the chalkboard, stared with a faraway look in his eyes. Gareth knew that look. It meant Eddie was lost in thought, usually about D&D or whatever new song he was learning, but today Gareth had a sneaking suspicion that Eddie was thinking about something else—or rather someone else. 

But not you. Please, God, not you. 

You were sitting behind him and quietly working on your assignment, just working on your assignment, and that caught Gareth a little off guard. If you had gone home with Eddie (as Gareth begrudgingly suspected now), shouldn’t you have been acting a little… happy? excited? Shouldn’t you have been staring at the back of his head with a dumb, lovesick expression? Daydreaming and doodling about him in your notebook? Naming your future children and planning your destination wedding?

Gareth expected to feel something when he peeked into that classroom. A change in energy. A shift in the natural balance of the universe. Call it whatever you want, but there should have been a noticeable difference in the air, right? Right?  

But there wasn’t.  

Everything was totally normal. 

You and Eddie were acting totally normal. 

And that filled Gareth with an exhilarating sense of relief. 

It wasn’t you. Thank God, it wasn’t you. 

Gareth backed away with a smile. If he had stayed a minute longer, he would have seen the exact change in energy he had been waiting for. If he had stayed a minute longer, he would have seen Eddie turn around and start talking to you. He would have seen you smile and blush and tell him to go back to his assignment (even though you didn’t really want him to go back to his assignment). Then he would have seen Eddie turn back to the front, try to do his work, give up, and turn around again five minutes later. 

But Gareth didn’t stay. Instead, he continued down the hallway in blissful ignorance, pulled out his list, ripped it up, and tossed the pieces into the trash. 

If it wasn’t any of them and it wasn’t you, there was only one logical conclusion. 

“She doesn’t go to school here, does she?”

Gareth forced this treasonous charge onto Eddie as soon as he arrived at the cafeteria. He had found his target sitting at his usual place at the head of the table. The seat of high honor. Eddie’s chair. The king’s chair. Gareth, a once-honorable and faithful soldier, slammed down his tray, leaned forward, pressed his palms into the table, and looked Eddie Munson square in the eye. Unblinking. Unflinching. Unyielding against his Dungeon Master’s powerful, intimidating aura.  

A moment of tense silence passed. Jeff and Grant looked at each other and immediately stopped eating. Jeff put down his peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Grant screwed on the lid of his soup thermos and set the container aside. There was no telling how long this would take. Gareth had a talent for prolonging his inevitable demise. It was like watching a slow hanging. 

Oh, but what a show it would be. 

“Who is she, Eddie?” Gareth thrust out his finger accusingly. “Huh? Is she a teacher? A townie? Some drunk chick you picked up at the bar while drowning your pathetic sorrows away?” 

“Yikes,” Jeff said, cringing. 

And Grant said, “That is quite the allegation.”  

Indeed it was, and Eddie didn’t seem to appreciate the open assault on his character. His brown eyes sharpened into a steely glare. They reflected Gareth’s destruction like a black crystal ball. Doom. Doom. Doom. 

“Get your finger outta my face,” Eddie said, and that was all he needed to say.  

“I’m so sorry,” Gareth said, and fell back into his chair with a thump. His heart thudded in his chest while the color slowly returned to his face. That was as close to death as Gareth had ever come. It was a miracle he’d survived. He bent his head and capitulated: “I sincerely apologize for my previous statement. It was malicious and rude, completely unbecoming of my position.”

Grant squinted his eyes curiously. “And what is your position, exactly?” 

“I’m Eddie’s best friend, obviously.” 

“Obviously,” Jeff echoed, snickering. 

Grant, wryly amused, said, “Uhh, I’m pretty sure Scottie’s his best friend.” 

Eddie, having dropped his tyrannous facade, was pretending to listen while absentmindedly picking through his snack bag, his thoughts elsewhere, eyes elsewhere. But where, Gareth couldn’t say. He had strained his neck to see who Eddie was looking at, but it was impossible to tell with so many people in the cafeteria. He could have been looking at anyone, anyone, anyone except you.

“He’s right,” Eddie murmured. “Scottie’s my best friend.” 

Gareth shrugged, unconcerned with such trivial technicalities. “Well, then I’m your second best friend, Eddie, and since Scottie’s in prison right now, I have to step in and assume the role in his stead.” 

“Ah, the interim best friend. So that’s the imaginary position you gave yourself.” 

“Oh, shut up and eat your soup, Grant.” 

“I will eat my soup,” Grant said, “and I’ll enjoy it while you continue to embarrass yourself.” 

“You’re embarrassing yourself,” Gareth grumbled nonsensically. He stabbed a piece of broccoli with his fork, stuffed it into his mouth, chewed, and swallowed. It tasted like dirt. “I’m having a really horrible day.”   

“Well, that’s too bad,” Eddie said, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Mine’s actually going pretty well.”

Another cryptic response. Gareth simply couldn’t take it anymore.

“You know,” Jeff began, “speaking of Scottie—” 

Gareth flung down his fork angrily, sending a spear of broccoli whizzing past Grant’s left shoulder. 

“Oh, come on, just tell me who it is already! Enough with the hints and the coded language. I swear to God, you’re driving me crazy, Eddie! You’ve been torturing me for days with this mystery. I can’t eat. I can’t sleep. I can’t think about anything else. As your friend, I’m begging you to stop. Please, for my sanity, stop.” 

Eddie popped a pretzel into his mouth and chewed. “I’ve been torturing you?”

Grant said, “He’s been torturing himself, honestly.” 

Jeff nodded, seeming on the verge of laughter. “Yeah, he made a list and everything.”

Eddie grimaced. “Wait, there’s a list? Why is there a list?” 

“Because you’ve driven me to madness, Eddie!” Gareth blurted out in blind white rage. “I hope you’re happy because you’ve driven me to complete madness! Who were you with on Saturday? Don’t even try to deny it because I heard a girl talking in the background. It wasn’t the TV. It was a girl. A living, breathing girl. I know you were with her that night, and I know you were with her yesterday.” 

“I wasn’t with her yesterday,” Eddie replied, his eyelids heavy with annoyance. “I already told you, I was out running errands.” 

“Oh, you’re sticking with that story, huh? Okay, Eddie, let’s assume you were out running errands. Let’s assume you spent your whole Sunday exactly as you said. You got up bright and early, stopped by the drugstore for God knows what, and then spent the rest of the day by yourself at home, cleaning out your van.” 

“I did clean out my van yesterday. That’s how I found my lost W.A.S.P. tape.”  

“Oh, which album?” Grant asked. 

“The Last Command,” Eddie answered, a soft smile touching his face. 

Wait, was that another clue?

“Nice,” Grant said. “That’s a solid album.” 

Eddie nodded, agreeing, but now there was a distant glimmer in his eyes that wasn’t there before. Gareth couldn’t take his eyes off it. It was as if his friend was lost in a cherished memory. 

What significance did this W.A.S.P. tape hold?

Was there any significance? 

These questions twisted Gareth’s mind into a pretzel. 

And speaking of pretzels, Eddie had set down his snack bag and stopped eating. Weird. He now sat with his arms folded over his chest, fingers drumming impatiently against his right bicep. His wandering eyes kept going back to the clock. Counting down the minutes. What had him so restless all of a sudden? What was he waiting for? His next class? English? Was that significant? Eddie hated English. He dreaded English. He complained about it every day because it meant he had to see— 

Eddie pushed off the table and stood up. Gareth climbed up from his chair, too. 

“Where are you going, Eddie?” 

“Dude,” Jeff said, looking up at him. “You need to calm down.” 

“Otherwise,” Grant went on, “you might get demoted to third best friend.”

The two of them dissolved into laughter. Gareth didn’t even hear them.  

“It’s happening,” he muttered. “Something’s happening.”

“Yeah, you annoyed Eddie so much that he had to leave to get away from you.” 

But that wasn’t it. Eddie wasn’t fleeing for the exit like a coward. No, he was marching straight through the middle of the cafeteria like a lone soldier charging through the battlefield. Charging to victory or to death. He was infiltrating the enemy’s stronghold, impervious to their hostile glares and raised eyebrows. Even Jason Carver himself, who had begun to get out of his chair, could not stop him today. Eddie was a man determined, a man determined to get to

(of course)

you. 

He wedged himself between two basketball players, pushed his palms into the table, and greeted you with a charming smile. You gazed up at him in sweet surprise. 

“Hi,” you said. 

“Hi,” he said back. “You wanna skip next period?”

Chrissy’s jaw dropped. “Oh my god,” she said while you blushed, buried your face in your hands, and giggled. 

Gareth, dumbstruck, slumped back into his chair with the bitter taste of defeat in his mouth. 

That bitch, he thought. That Journey-loving bitch, she actually did it. 

Grant regarded him with an impressed frown. “You know, you’re handling this a lot better than I thought you would. When did you figure it out?” 

Gareth sighed. “Second period.” 

Eddie just had to play Journey.

There was a moment of solemn silence after that. Then Grant unscrewed his soup thermos and lunch resumed as usual. Jeff took a bite of his sandwich. Gareth, now resigned to his grim fate, stuck his fork into his meatloaf and cut himself a modest slice. The meat looked dry and grey. What a horrible new world he lived in. 

But, he supposed, there was something to look forward to. 

“I got Olivia Kent’s number today. I think I’m gonna ask her out this weekend.” 

SERIES MASTERPOST

FANFICTION MASTERLIST

Now Gareth, his resolve reignited and burning brighter than ever, was prowling the senior locker area with his suspect list in hand. 

Let them keep their secrets, he thought. I don’t need their help. A lot of help they would’ve been, anyway. Yeah, I can solve this mystery all on my own.

And he would. 

Gareth was a fantastic investigator, you see. He could win a game of Guess Who? in less than five turns and had a lifetime record of fifty-three wins and only fifteen losses (such losses were unavoidable when you drew an easily guessable character like Anita. Ugh, Anita… with those rosy cheeks and annoying blonde pigtails. His little sister beat him in only two moves after that unlucky draw). Now Gareth would apply those same deductive reasoning skills to this. Ask careful, complex questions. Gather information. Cross those ladies off one by one.

There was only one problem: the girls at Hawkins High weren’t exactly forthcoming about their personal lives, especially when it involved Eddie Munson. In fact, most girls denied ever having spoken to the guy. 

Claire Dunnock, the most recent inductee into the popular clique, was being especially difficult.

Her blue eyes shifted back and forth anxiously. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, and then leaned forward to make sure none of her new friends were eavesdropping. Claire had to be very careful. One misstep and she would slide all the way back down the social ladder. She couldn’t afford to let that happen.

Gareth sensed her unease. “Hey, relax,” he told her, “I’m not here to ruin your reputation, okay? This conversation stays between us. You have my word.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Claire said. “I wouldn’t be caught dead with that freak.”

“Hey, that freak is my best friend,” Gareth said. “And you and I both know that’s not true, Claire. I saw you get into his van that one—”    

Claire seized him by the arm and hissed, “Shut up!” Her eyes blazed with fearful, self-protective rage. “Look, that was a year ago, okay? I was a stupid junior who didn’t know any better. Eddie and I had a class together. I guess I got a little curious, but that’s it. We hung out once and I never spoke to him again.” Loosening her grip, she said, “Besides, he was nothing but a big disappointment, anyway.”

Anger flared in Gareth’s chest. “All right, that's it. I’m not gonna stand here and listen to you slander my friend.” 

“It’s not slander if it’s true,” Claire said. 

Gareth didn’t know how to respond to that.

His jaw clenched in irritation. “Look, just answer my question, okay? Did you go home with Eddie after prom or not?”

“Of course not,” Claire answered, practically cackling at the thought. 

(Why were high school girls so needlessly cruel?)

“I went to prom with my boyfriend. I was with him all night. Ask anyone.” Claire swung her locker door closed, put her hand on her hip, and raised her eyebrows impatiently. “Are we done now?” She walked off to join the rest of her friends. 

Gareth glared at her back, his insides boiling with indignation and righteous fury.

You got curious and Eddie got his heart broken. Again. 

He crossed out Claire’s name with his pen. 

Two suspects down. Eight more to go. 

He tucked his pen behind his ear, turned, and suddenly the hallway froze over! Okay, that didn’t actually happen, but a bitter wind did blow. Gareth felt it on his face as soon as he saw you step out from around the corner. 

Coincidence? 

Doubtful.

You were wearing blue jeans and a Fleetwood Mac shirt. Yeah, you would like Fleetwood Mac, Gareth thought, scoffing. As usual, you were walking side by side with Chrissy Cunningham, your best friend since elementary school. She was smiling and laughing at one of your jokes. Laughing out of politeness, probably. Why you two were friends, Gareth would never know. Chrissy was sweet like cotton candy and you were so… so…

(evil, pure evil)

rotten to the core, like moldy fruit.

“I swear,” you said with a groan, “it’ll be weeks before your mom lets me into the house again. God, she’s such a prude. How was I supposed to know she was gonna invite the whole family over for Sunday brunch? At least I was dressed up for the occasion.”

Chrissy looked at you in baffled amusement. “You were still wearing your prom dress.”

“And it was a very nice prom dress. Your grandma even complimented it. She said it made me look like Madonna.” You weren’t too thrilled about that comparison, but who were you to pass up a free compliment? “Now your mom, on the other hand… man, if looks could kill… I probably would’ve choked on one of those blueberry scones she was serving, which were a tad overbaked if I’m being honest.”

Chrissy went to her locker and fiddled with the padlock for a second before opening it. You stood patiently beside her, the wall clock barely within view. 

It was a quarter past eight, you noted with a frown. Was Eddie here already or…? 

While hanging up her backpack, Chrissy said, “Yeah, she definitely had some colorful words to describe you last night.” 

You turned your attention back to her. “Your mom called me a slut, didn’t she?”

Chrissy didn’t answer at first. She was busy unloading her homework. While she was doing that, one of her fellow cheerleaders snuck up behind her, tapped her on the shoulder, and gave a cheerful, heartfelt hello. Chrissy hugged her and asked how her weekend was. The two chatted casually for a minute and then the girl went on her way. Never so much as glanced at you. 

“Umm, I believe she used the word harlot,” Chrissy said to you afterward. 

“Oh, she got biblical, huh?” Great, you thought, as if that woman didn’t despise you enough already. “You know, I don’t understand your mom. First I’m too fat to be your friend. Now I’m too much of a slut. That lady needs to pick a lane and stay in it… and then drive herself right off a cliff.”  

Chrissy threw you a friendly glare.

“Just kidding,” you said. “You know I love your mom. She keeps me grounded. Without her, I might develop a healthy self-esteem, and we all know how dangerous that is. Yeah, that might lead to confidence and success… perhaps even lifelong happiness.” 

Ignoring you (or pretending to), Chrissy started digging through her backpack again. “Dammit,” she said under her breath, “I think I left my pencil case at home.” 

“Don’t worry, I’m sure Jason has a pencil for you.” You smiled inwardly—a willful, wicked smile. “Then again…”  

Chrissy pushed her locker closed, grabbed both your hands, backed you up against the lockers, and brought her face really close to yours. “Shut up,” she whispered in half-hearted anger, a rosy blush blooming on the apples of her cheeks. 

You took one look at her and busted out laughing. Chrissy started laughing, too. 

“I hate you so much,” she said, and released you. 

“I know,” you replied affectionately. “But see, this is why the whole situation with your mom is so funny to me. I’m the one who’s still a virgin here, yet somehow it’s me who gets labeled the…” 

You spotted a familiar face down the hall. 

“Gareth?” You leaned toward him, squinting. “What are you doing in the senior locker area?”

The sound of your voice made him flinch. “Nothing,” he said, acting strangely defensive for some reason.

That’s when you noticed the piece of paper in his hand. You gestured toward it with your chin and said, “What’s that you got there? Is that a love letter? You finally asking someone out on a date? Will you go out with me? Check yes or no. Who’s the lucky lady? Wait, aren’t you a little young to be dating?”

Gareth hid the paper behind his back and glared at you. “We’re the same age.” 

“And yet I’m a senior and you’re a junior. Hmm, how did that happen?” You tipped your head and smiled at him. “You’ve got company, by the way.” 

“Huh?” Gareth stepped back and—

A hand landed on his shoulder, closed around his flannel shirt, and spun him around. Gareth jumped back, swallowing a scream. He was now standing nose to chest with Ben Jabruski, outside linebacker and two-time defensive player of the year. Eric Kordell stood beside him, smaller but no less intimidating. His brown eyes gleamed with feral, territorial aggression. 

“Get outta here, freak,” Eric said. 

Gareth squared up to him, unafraid. “Last time I checked this was a free country.” He wrenched his shirt out of Ben’s grip, careful not to tear his favorite flannel. It was a Christmas gift from his mother. 

While he was distracted, Eric reached out and ripped the paper out of Gareth’s hand. 

“Hey, give that back!” 

“What’s this?” Eric asked. He opened the paper and studied it for a minute. His expression went from amused to curious to downright furious. He crushed the list in his fist. “Why’s my girlfriend on here?” 

“Oh…” Panic shot up Gareth’s spine. He took a step back and let loose a nervous chuckle. “Oh… you must be Claire’s boyfriend. You know, I heard you two had a lovely time at prom.” 

He turned on his heel and took off running down the hallway. 

“Bye, Gareth!” you said, fluttering your fingers as he passed. Then you looked back at Chrissy with a smile. “God, I love that kid…”

You went to your locker after that, ignoring all the busy little voices, the occasional odd glance and stifled giggle you received from the other students. Chrissy followed with her first-period textbook cradled in her arms. 

“Just ignore them,” she told you. 

“I already am,” you said. 

At the end of the hallway, you spotted Chance Gallagher standing in front of his open locker, wearing the same green letterman jacket that he wore when he asked you to prom six weeks ago. Chance closed his locker and caught your eye for a moment. Then he gave you a small, apologetic smile. 

What was he apologizing for? For asking you to prom, getting your hopes up, and then humiliating you in front of the entire senior class? You weren’t sorry he did it. In fact, you were glad he did it. Yeah, you wanted to go up to him, shake his hand, and thank him for being such a spineless little worm. If he were a decent guy, your night might have gone differently, and you were quite pleased with how your night went. So thank you, Chance. Thank you for being a complete scumbag. Maybe I should write him a thank-you note. 

Smiling, you turned back around. As you did, you stole another quick glance at the clock on the wall. 

Eight-nineteen… 

You sighed. 

… and now eight-twenty. 

“He’s running late, huh?” Chrissy said. You looked her way and she flashed you a sweet, teasing smile. “I know you’re waiting for him.”

A small flush of heat tickled your cheeks, threatening to set your whole face on fire. Resisting it, you grabbed your padlock and started furiously spinning the dial: three turns to the right, one full turn to the left, another quick turn to the right, and

“Are you nervous about seeing him?”

you missed the last number and had to start all over again. 

“Kind of,” you admitted shyly. “Is that weird?”

Chrissy shook her head, her smile growing brighter and brighter. “Nope, it’s totally normal and absolutely adorable.” Giggling, she hugged her book tightly to her chest. If her hands were free, she probably would have hugged you instead. “I’m so happy for you. I really, really am. I swear, I feel like my heart’s about to burst right now.” 

“Well, you should probably see a doctor about that.” 

Chrissy stuck her tongue out at you. You did it right back, popped off your lock, and pulled on the handle. The locker door swung outward, squeaking on its hinges, and almost smacked Chrissy in the face. “Hey!” she said, laughing. She stepped back, skipped around you, and planted herself comfortably on your left side.

“So did you see him last night?” she asked, practically beaming. 

“Nope.” You slipped off your backpack and hung it on the hook. 

Chrissy squinted at you suspiciously. “Why do I feel like you’re lying right now?” 

“I’m not lying,” you told her, only to be betrayed by your blushing face. “I didn’t see him last night… technically it was this morning.” 

Twelve-o-two, to be exact. That’s when you saw the headlights flashing through your bedroom window blinds.

“Oh my god,” Chrissy said.  

“What? He just stopped by to say goodnight.” You smiled softly to yourself. “It was kind of romantic, actually.” 

“Uh-huh,” Chrissy said, laughing at you. “And how long did you two say goodnight?”

“Only for an hour… and a half.”

It was raining last night. You couldn’t invite Eddie into the house, so you two hung out in his van for a while. A very long while. W.A.S.P. was playing on the stereo. Eddie had found the cassette tape while cleaning out his van that afternoon. He was very proud of this accomplishment. It was adorable. He had you listen to a few of his favorite songs, asked you about your day, told you about his, and during “Cries In the Night,” he leaned over the center console and kissed you. Everything after that was a bit of a blur. The last thing you remembered was the horn blaring. You had accidentally pressed it with your elbow.  

“Oh my god,” Chrissy said.

“Stop saying, ‘Oh my god.’ You sound like my mom.”  

She had said the exact same thing after confronting you about it in the kitchen this morning. Turns out, the car horn had woken her up. Then she caught you creeping back inside through the front door. It was an awkward breakfast, to say the least. 

“That’s how it starts, you know,” Chrissy said. “Late-night visits. Long, drawn-out goodbyes. You two are gonna be inseparable this summer.” She breathed a long, lovesick sigh. “Jason and I used to be like that.” 

“You’re still like that.” 

“Yeah,” she said, smiling. 

“Speaking of…” You saw Jason Carver coming down the hallway, his pants ironed and creased, white collared shirt tucked in, a brand new Rolex glinting on his left wrist (an early graduation present from his father, apparently). He looked like a Ralph Lauren catalog model. “Is it weird that I’m picturing him naked right now?”   

Chrissy hid her face in embarrassment. “I swear to God, if you say anything…” 

“What am I gonna say to him? ‘Thank you for deflowering my best friend’? ‘I heard your penis is rather pleasing’? I don’t wanna talk to him about that. I don’t even wanna think about that.”

Prior to this weekend, you couldn’t even imagine Jason Carver having genitals. You always figured he was like a Ken doll down there. Nothing but smooth plastic.

Chrissy looked at you, mortified. “Why do I tell you anything?”  

“I have no idea,” you said. Then you checked the clock again. 

Eight twenty-three. 

Where the hell was Eddie?

SERIES MASTERPOST

FANFICTION MASTERLIST

On Monday morning, Gareth peddled to school like a man on a mission. 

Nothing was getting in his way today, not his mother, who had accidentally washed his Hellfire Club shirt with all his little sister’s dance clothes,

“You know what, honey, I think it looks better this way…”

not his sister, who had been hogging the bathroom all morning because she couldn’t get her hair right, 

“Look, you don’t understand the pressure I’m under right now. Becca Singer is finalizing her birthday party guest list today. I have to look my best if I wanna make the cut.”

not the weatherman, who was painfully misinformed when he called for clear, sunny skies today… 

and certainly not the piece of crap Chevy that just cut him off in the middle of the crosswalk. 

Gareth swerved out of the way and kept on peddling. The rain pelted his face in a spray of ice-cold bullets. 

Behind him, the driver yelled, “Hey, watch where you’re going, you little shit!”  

It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. Because Gareth was sitting on a goldmine of information right now. It was truly the scoop of the century. Eddie Munson—that’s right, Eddie “the Freak” Munson—had gone home with somebody after the senior prom. 

Who was this mysterious (not to mention incredibly lucky) woman? A curious cheerleader desperate to defy her clique? A rich girl trying to piss off her dad? A shy bookworm who wanted to act out the plot of her favorite romance novel? Who? Who? Gareth’s head was spinning! The question hungrily devoured the rest of his weekend (something Gareth wasn’t too proud to admit, of course, but hey, Sundays were always uneventful days for him). He had to get to school quickly and consult his most trusted sources. 

He found Jeff and Grant sitting at their usual table in the cafeteria. Grant was eating the school’s hot breakfast while Jeff sat with his head in his hands, lamenting the sorry state of his love life. 

“Tara’s still not talking to me. I’m pretty sure she’s gonna dump me for Patrick McKinney.” 

Grant put down his fork. “Wait, you two were dating?”

“No…” Jeff heaved a quiet sigh. “But if we were, she’d definitely dump me for Patrick.” 

Grant frowned, sympathetic yet envious of his friend’s plight. “Man, I wish Meg would stop talking to me. She had me on the phone all night yesterday. I think she wants me to be her boyfriend or something.” Grant cringed at the thought. He didn’t have the strength to put up with her. He’d barely survived prom.   

“You don’t like her?” Jeff asked. 

“Not really,” Grant answered. “I mean, yeah, she’s pretty and all, but as soon as she starts talking—”

Gareth slammed a wrinkled piece of notebook paper onto the table. The loud bang echoed through the entire cafeteria, making a few students gasp and flinch in their chairs. Jeff and Grant didn’t move in the slightest. This was typical Monday morning behavior for Gareth.

“What’s with the pink shirt?” Grant asked, unfazed 

“Doesn’t matter,” Gareth said. They had more pressing matters to discuss. He sat down and folded his hands in front of him, his blue eyes clear and focused. He wasted no time getting straight to the point: “Who’d Eddie go home with after prom?”

Jeff and Grant exchanged a subtle, secret glance. 

“How do you know Eddie went home with someone after prom?” Jeff asked. 

“Because I called him that night.” 

“Why’d you call him?” 

“Because I’m a good friend, unlike some people.” Nobody had called him asking how his night went. Gareth sat home alone on Saturday night, eating popcorn and watching old sci-fi movies in his basement, while the rest of his friends danced and had a blast at prom. It wasn’t fair. “I wanted to check in on him because I figured he might be a little depressed after getting rejected by Chrissy. Because let’s be honest here, there was no way that Chrissy was ever gonna dance with him. You all agree with me, right? I’m not just being a dick here. Like, yeah, I know Eddie’s riding high right now because he thinks this year is his year and everything, but… yeah, he was aiming a bit too high with that goal.” 

“Can you get to the point, please?” Grant said. “My breakfast is getting cold.” 

“Well, multitask, man!” Gareth grabbed Grant’s fork and threw it back onto his tray. “What, you can’t listen and eat at the same time?” 

Grant rolled his eyes and went back to his breakfast. Gareth carried on with his story: 

“So anyway, when I called him on Saturday, I expected him to sound all mopey and depressed, but he wasn’t. Yeah, Eddie wasn’t depressed at all. In fact, he sounded oddly… happy, but also a little bit distracted. You guys see where I’m going with this, right?” 

“I hate that I do,” Grant said, struggling to enjoy his food.  

“Well, that’s when I started getting suspicious. See, I could tell I didn’t have his full attention, and that’s just so unlike Eddie because he’s normally really good at maintaining proper phone etiquette. Weird, right? So then I got curious and I started listening, and… and I can’t be sure, but I think I heard a girl talking in the background.” 

“Maybe it was just the TV,” Grant said. 

Gareth shook his head. “No way… I know the difference between a TV voice and a live human voice. Someone was definitely with him.” 

“Well, did you recognize the voice?” Jeff asked. 

“No, I couldn’t hear well enough.” 

Grant’s eyes narrowed with skepticism. “And yet you’re sure it wasn’t the TV…” 

“Oh come on, it wasn’t the TV, you guys. Wake up and smell the coffee! Eddie brought a girl to his house. He brought a girl to his house. She was with him in the room while he was on the phone with me. I could hear her talking. Then Eddie started acting really weird, said he had to go, and rushed me off the phone.”

“Gross,” Grant muttered, sickened. “Yeah, these are details I did not need.” 

Gareth’s mouth fell open in a silent gasp. “Wait, do you guys think he slept with her?” and that was more than Jeff could handle. 

He buried his face in his hands and said, “Please stop. I don’t wanna go to class with these images in my head.” 

Grant shrugged. “Maybe it was just a one-night stand.” 

Jeff threw him a sharp, disapproving glare.  

“Just saying,” Grant finished, smirking. 

“No, I seriously doubt it,” Gareth went on, completely unaware. “Eddie’s not really a one-night stand kinda guy… not by choice, anyway. No, I think this might be the real deal, you guys, ‘cause listen to this: I went to go see him yesterday. Eddie wasn’t home.” 

“So?”

“So I think he was with her. I called him last night and asked him where he was all day. He said he was out running errands.” Gareth scrunched up his face, doubtful. “Since when does Eddie run errands? So I said, ‘What sort of errands were you running?’ He said he had to swing by the drugstore. I said, ‘Well, what did you need at the drugstore?’ but he wouldn’t answer that. Yeah, he was being awfully mum.” 

“Mum?” Jeff repeated to himself, mystified by his friend’s bizarre word choice. 

Grant said, “He was probably annoyed that you were digging around in his business. I know I would be.” 

“Oh yeah, he was definitely getting annoyed,” Gareth said. “Then he cut the conversation short and told me he was stepping out for the night. That’s when I knew this was serious. Eddie doesn’t just ‘step out’ on a Sunday night. He hardly goes out any night. If he’s not with us, he’s sitting at home and playing songs on his guitar. Yeah, he was definitely with her last night.” 

Grant sighed, hoping they’d finally reached the end of this long-winded story. “Well, I guess you cracked the case then, Gareth.” 

“But that’s just it, I haven’t!” Gareth said. Grant let out an exhausted moan. “I still don’t know who this girl is. You guys swear you didn’t see Eddie go home with anybody after prom?”

Another secret glance. 

“Nope,” Jeff said. “I didn’t see him go home with anyone that night.”

Gareth nodded, disappointed but not yet defeated. “Yeah, I thought you might say that. That’s why I made this.” 

He gestured toward the piece of paper on the table. Jeff picked it up and read it over. Then he passed it to Grant so he could do the same. 

“Okay, what exactly am I looking at here?” Grant asked.  

“It’s a list of suspects,” Gareth said, a proud smile on his face. “Yeah, last night I compiled a list of every girl I’ve ever seen Eddie interact with at school, and then this morning I whittled that list down to what I think are the most likely suspects.”

“Not a very long list,” Jeff said. 

“Really?” said Grant. “I was gonna say it’s too long.” 

They shared a little chuckle over that. Gareth glowered at them, unamused. He didn’t appreciate them making little jabs about their Dungeon Master’s love life, stagnant as it was. 

“You know,” Grant began with ominous deliberation, “I can’t help but notice there’s a name missing from this list.” 

Gareth's head snapped back in surprise. “Who?” 

“You know who,” Grant said. Beside him, Jeff was holding in a smile. 

A disturbing chill crept up Gareth's spine. Then—

BAM!

Your name cracked down from above like a fiendish lightning bolt, striking Gareth and making all the little hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. For a second, he could see your name so clearly. It loomed before him, ugly and terrible, festering with puss and crawling with maggots, getting pecked savagely by vultures and other scavengers. It made him retch with disgust. 

“Oh, very funny…” 

“Hey, I’m just saying,” Grant said, “there’s no denying that she’s a likely suspect.” 

“In fact,” Jeff continued, “some might say she’s the most likely suspect.” 

“Yeah, maybe back in middle school,” Gareth said, scoffing, “but Eddie hasn’t so much as looked at her in years.” 

Except for that one time, Gareth thought, remembering the mournful look on his friend’s face that day. They were all eating lunch when your laughter suddenly sprang up from the other side of the cafeteria, obnoxious and shrill. Eddie glanced your way and his eyes darkened with such hollow sadness. It was as if someone had died.   

But that didn’t mean anything, Gareth decided, so he shoved the memory away. 

“All right, look, I’ll admit we lost him briefly for that one summer. I dunno how she did it, but somehow she got her claws in him real deep and he was completely under her spell. I won’t deny that. But then Eddie woke up and saw her for what she really is—an ugly green hag. At first, she appears as this beautiful, enchanting woman, but underneath that guise, she’s a wretched old witch who thrives on torment. Yeah, Eddie got over her a long time ago,” and Gareth refused to waste another thought on it.

He snatched the paper from Grant and laid it out in front of him. “Now, here’s what I’m thinking: if we split this up among the three of us, we can get through this list by lunch and then confront Eddie with our findings.” 

“Yeah, we’re not doing that,” Grant said. 

Gareth frowned. “Why not?” 

“Because we already know who it is.”

Gareth’s eyes widened in surprised anger. “I KNEW IT! I FUCKING KNEW IT! I knew you two were messing with me this whole time. Sitting there with your smug little faces. Making your little jokes. You know what, screw you guys, I don’t even want your help anymore.” 

He stuffed the paper back into his bag, climbed to his feet, and stomped off.

Jeff said, “Shoulda gone to prom, man.”

“Well, no one would go with me,” Gareth replied, dejected. He pushed through the double doors and was gone. 

Afterward, Grant picked up his milk carton and took a few slow slips.

“You know what,” he said thoughtfully, “Gareth should’ve asked Y/N to prom.” 

Jeff chuckled quietly to himself. “Well, she did need a date… Shit, should we have just told him?”

“No,” Grant said. “No, this is something Gareth needs to see with his own eyes.”

SERIES MASTERPOST

FANFICTION MASTERLIST

And this sweet, serendipitous feeling caught Eddie a little off guard… but not as much as he thought it would. Frankly, he expected to be dumbstruck by the sight of you. He expected to step back, shake his head, and think, Holy shit, this is really happening, isn’t it? But when he walked through that door, all he felt was this wonderful sense of wholeness.

After years and years of waiting, you two were finally exactly where you were supposed to be.

Eddie leaned against the doorframe and observed you for a minute, unwilling to disturb you, afraid that if he spoke or moved in the slightest, this perfect moment would ripple away like a mirage. You were standing with your back to him, preoccupied with all the clutter on his desk. You weren’t snooping, though; no, you were just learning more about him, browsing through all of his junk like they were tiny sculptures in a fine art exhibit, handling each object so carefully, like you were scared you might break it. 

Watching you do this, Eddie couldn’t help but smile.

That’s when you glanced over your shoulder and caught him staring at you with gentle, adoring eyes. Your face flushed and your heart started beating a little faster. It was embarrassing to be standing in front of Eddie while wearing his clothes. 

Even more embarrassing was how long it took you to put them on.

You spent the first three minutes glaring at them from across the room, thinking (and you hated yourself for thinking this), 

What if they don’t fit? 

It was such a silly thought. You even laughed when it popped into your head. You weren’t that ugly, miserable twelve-year-old girl anymore, yet here you were, slipping back into those same bad habits: obsessing over whether or not certain clothes would fit you, changing with your back to the mirror because you were too disgusted to look at yourself.

It took you two whole minutes to convince yourself to turn around, and when you finally did, you were overwhelmed by this sudden surge of… joy? Relief? Those didn’t seem like strong enough words to describe it, but whatever that emotion was, it made you tear up as soon as you saw your reflection in the mirror. Then you spent another five minutes just looking at yourself with the goofiest, giddiest smile, mesmerized by how perfectly Eddie’s clothes fit you, how naturally they fit you. You felt stupid for even doubting it.

Of course, to be standing in front of Eddie now, to have him staring at you so deeply… well, that made you feel self-conscious in a completely different way. 

You had to break his gaze and turn away for a second to regain your composure. As you did, you noticed a plastic skull sitting on top of Eddie’s desk, half covered by an old denim jacket, and your eyes widened with recognition. You picked it up and spun around to face him.

“You know, sir,” you said while smugly showing off your latest find, “there’s a production of Hamlet that’s been missing this for about three months now.”

“Yeah…” Eddie replied guiltily, holding in a laugh. “But it’s not technically stealing. Mr. Carlson and I have an agreement, you see. He agrees to let me raid his prop room for my campaigns, and I agree to not crash his dress rehearsals.” He punctuated this with a self-amused grin, like he was so terribly clever.

Rolling your eyes, you said, “Just admit you wanna be in theater, already.”

He returned your teasing smile with one of his own. “Pretty sure I just like bothering the girl in theater.”

Your face fell and warm blood flooded your cheeks. As the color deepened, you shyly tucked your chin into your chest and looked away. To Eddie, this was a sweet and irresistibly feminine gesture, its charm highlighted by your stubborn denial of its existence. You raised your chin proudly, as if nothing had happened, and placed the skull back on the desk.

While your back was to him, Eddie said, “Hey, how come you never try out for anything?”

The question made you pause, but only for a second. “Because I prefer to stay in the background and mock everyone.”

“Oh…” he said, “so it has nothing to do with your fear of public speaking?”

“Nope,” you said, and turned around. Eddie was looking at you with a skeptical frown, his dark eyes probing but patient. Frustratingly patient. He already knew the truth, but he wasn’t going to force you to admit it when you clearly weren’t ready. “I suppose I should be more like you, huh? Turn a simple English reading into a dramatic stage performance?”

“Well, no one else was committed. I had to do something.”

“Yeah, but did you really have to walk on top of the desks?”

“Uhh, yes,” Eddie said, and you both laughed. “Besides, whose desk did I always end up on?”

The answer caught you both by surprise:

“Mine,” you whispered, and then you both went quiet for a minute, reflecting on all those little moments that now seemed much more meaningful than they initially appeared.

“You know what’s weird?” Eddie said. “I don’t even think I knew what I was doing at the time. In fact, I know I didn’t. Believe me, it’s not like I was trying to seek you out or anything. I wanted nothing to do with you, but my body just sorta moved on its own… like muscle memory or something. I’d look down and there you were, staring back at me.” He flashed a bittersweet smile that made your heart ache. “Then, of course, you’d shove me really hard and I’d fall off the desk and almost break my neck.”

You smirked. “Well, your foot was on my notebook.”

“Mmm, I think you just wanted to touch me.”

“No, I think I wanted you off my desk,” you said, but there was no denying a small part of you had enjoyed it. Back then, you relished even the briefest touch. They were so rare, practically nonexistent. “I wasn’t really aware of it either, to be honest. I mean, I think there might’ve been a couple times where I thought maybe… but, I dunno, I guess I just didn’t wanna get my hopes up.”

Eddie frowned. “Yeah, well… I guess we were both pretty oblivious.”

“You especially,” you said, simpering at him, “you know, considering I made it annoyingly obvious that I was obsessed with you back in middle school. Seriously, how did you not figure it out? Everyone knew except you… well, you and Gareth, but that kid lives on another planet. He never knows what’s going on.”

Eddie chuckled bashfully. “Y’know, when I think back on it now, it was really obvious, but I swear I had no idea at the time. I definitely should’ve known, though. I mean, you sat outside the school every day, waiting for a chance to talk to me.”

“And some days I had to wait a really long time. In the rain and the snow. I was freezing my ass off.”

That brought a small smile to Eddie’s face. “Well, you don’t have to wait anymore.”

“Yeah,” you replied softly, and let that sink in for a moment.

You didn’t have to wait anymore. After six long years, your suffering was finally over. Thank goodness.

“Are you ready for bed now?” Eddie asked.

“Yes,” you answered, shivering a little.

While he closed the door and walked to the other side of the room, you climbed onto the bed and started crawling toward the middle. As soon as your palms touched down and your right knee sank into the mattress, you froze, looked up at the pillows, and thought with a sudden flush of excitement, Oh my god, we’re gonna be sharing the same bed. How the hell am I supposed to sleep tonight?

Nervously, you dragged your limbs a little further, rolled over to a sitting position, and scooted your hips back a bit more. When you looked up, Eddie was rubbing his face and staring at the bed with a gravely conflicted expression.

“What?” you said.

“Nothing,” he answered. “I’m just not sure how to go about this.”

“What do you mean?” you said. “Just do what you always do.”

“… yeah, I don’t think I should…”

“Why?” you asked, grimacing. “Do you sleep nude or something?”

“No, it’s just…” He scratched under his chin pensively. “I don’t wanna make you uncomfortable.”

Eddie gave you a pleading look, like you were supposed to read his mind and instantly know what great conundrum was plaguing him. Unfortunately, you weren’t that far into your relationship yet, so you were lost in the dark.

“I’ll be fine,” you insisted. “Just sleep how you normally do.”

“Okay…” Eddie said with a cautionary tone. Then he crossed his arms in front of him and grabbed the bottom of his shirt with both hands.

Your entire upper body flinched with surprise. Eddie was taking off his shirt right in front of you. Were you supposed to act all coy and innocent? Avert your eyes? Blush and cover your face? Look up awkwardly at the ceiling and whistle “Yankee Doodle” until the coast was clear? You’d never seen Eddie shirtless before. Naturally, you were a little curious. But was that okay? Was it ladylike to look? To actually want to look? Mrs. Cunningham would have said, Absolutely not, young lady. Now you go sit in the corner and pray those sinful thoughts away, but screw that! You weren’t a kid. This wasn’t sex ed (which Mrs. Cunningham did not let her daughter attend because it went against her religious values, and then she banished you from the house for like three days because she thought you were “unclean” and you would tell Chrissy everything… even though you already had, literally as soon as you got out of class). Why should you feel embarrassed? If you wanted to watch Eddie take off his shirt, you were going to without feeling any shame.

So you did watch, respectfully.

You watched him bunch up the fabric until his entire abdomen was exposed. Admittedly, you blushed a tiny bit when you noticed the faint line of hair that trailed down his belly button and disappeared under the waistband of his jeans. You weren’t searching for it; it was just there. But you kept your cool. You stayed calm. Even while your stomach fluttered and flopped, even while Eddie’s muscles flexed gorgeously as he rolled the shirt over his shoulders and pulled it over his neck, his head, while he dragged it off his arms and let it fall to the floor, you stayed perfectly calm. Yeah, up until that point, you had been doing very well.

But then, god dammit, you saw the tattoos on his chest and devolved into a horny monster of a girl.

God, I wish we had condoms right now.

“Yeah, me too,” Eddie said, cracking a smirk.

That’s when it hit you:

“Oh my god!” You gasped and clapped your hands over your mouth. “Did I just say that out loud?”

“Yeah, you did,” Eddie replied, unblushing, now standing before you with a full-on grin. “And thank you, by the way. Glad to know I’m not the only one struggling here.”

Yeah, you were struggling, all right. Struggling to hide your embarrassment. Succumbing to it, you drew in both your legs, grabbed a fistful of Eddie’s blanket, and buried your blushing face against it.

“I’m so sorry,” you mumbled, “I didn’t mean to say that.”

“What are you apologizing for?” Eddie asked, bemused. “If I saw you topless, I’m pretty sure my jaw would be on the floor right now.”

You seriously doubted that. “Eh, they’re not that impressive,” you said, and Eddie’s brow wrinkled with utter bewilderment.

“Uhh, I humbly disagree… and to avoid sounding like a total creep, I’m gonna leave it at that.”

That made your face flare up again. Emboldened by his words, you poked your head out and said with a kittenish look, “So you’ve been checking me out, huh?”

“Oh, constantly,” Eddie replied with a playful, unabashed smile, setting your warm cheeks ablaze. 

This time, however, you didn’t hide your face or look away. You wanted to, but Eddie’s deep brown eyes held you captive. Like two beautiful black holes, they sucked you right in and you got lost in them, hypnotized, while he slowly undid his belt, unzipped his jeans, pushed them down, and kicked them away. A flicker of desire twitched through him. Your eyes fell and your breath hitched in your throat.

With a long, tortured sigh, Eddie said, “We really didn’t think this through, did we?”

“Nope,” you said, shaking your head, and Eddie’s face scrunched up with indecision.

“Do you want me to just take you home?” he asked. “I don’t want you to feel weird and not be able to sleep.”

“I’ll be able to sleep,” you said. “Yeah, I’m one of those people who can sleep anywhere, so you don’t have to worry about me.”

That was actually a lie, but…

“Look, I really don’t want you to take me home,” you said, wincing as you heard the fragility in your voice. God, you felt so pathetic. You hugged your knees to your chest and laid your forehead on top of them. “I swear I’m not gonna be one of those annoying, clingy girlfriends or anything. It’s just… I’ve had to go years without you, Eddie, and right now the thought of leaving you just cripples me. I don’t… yeah, I don’t really how to explain it.”

Reluctantly, you lifted your head and saw Eddie staring at you with a soft, empathetic smile

“You don’t have to explain,” he said. “I get it.”

He flipped the wall switch and the bedroom fell into darkness, the covered windows glowing with a soft, silver light. Your heart was pounding with anticipation as you watched Eddie cross the room and climb into bed. He came toward you slowly, wrapped his hands around your ankles, and tugged on them gently, dragging your feet across the mattress, extending your bent legs one by one.

“You can be clingy if you want,” he said. “I don’t mind.”

Eddie moved closer, planted his palms on either side of your hips, and hovered over you. Speechless, you raised your eyes to meet his. As soon as you did, he leaned down, tilted his head, and captured your lips in a slow, sensual kiss that made your thoughts scatter like leaves in the wind. You closed your eyes and surrendered to him. Pleasure prickled up your spine. Goosebumps broke feverishly across your skin. Timidly, you lifted your hand to his bare chest and began tracing your fingers over his tattoos. Eddie shuddered at your touch, pulled away, and let out a low groan.

“What’s wrong?” you asked breathlessly. “Are my hands cold?”

“No,” Eddie answered, “I just, uhh…” He laughed under his breath. “I dunno how I’m gonna be able to sleep tonight.”

“Me either,” you confessed quietly. “This was a really bad idea.”

“Oh, it was a terrible idea.” He placed another kiss on your lips and drew back with a smile. “Now move over, crazy, you’re in my spot.”

You scooted over and Eddie settled into the space beside you, sitting upright in bed with the blanket draped loosely around his naked waist. He looked so beautiful like that, ethereal almost, his silhouette softly illuminated by moonlight. Meanwhile, you sat with the blanket pulled all the way up to your chin. Underneath it, your body felt hot and tense and your heart was hammering wantonly in your chest. It was almost four o’clock in the morning, yet you were wide awake. How could you be expected to sleep with Eddie lying half-naked next to you?

Yeah, this is gonna be a huge problem, you thought, nervous and a little excited.  

(Because wasn’t this a wonderful problem to have?) 

You closed your eyes, took a deep breath, and released it in a noiseless sigh. Then, just to be safe, you moved a bit closer to the edge of the mattress. 

That didn’t help much, either.

Funny, you thought anxiously, somehow the bed seemed much smaller now than it did before. Not uncomfortably smaller, just noticeably smaller. Eddie was inches away from you, close enough to feel his heat mingling with yours, close enough to feel the vibrations of every little move he made, close enough to drive you absolutely fucking crazy. His last kiss still lingered on your lips, sweet and intoxicating. You wanted to be closer to him. You wanted to feel his lips on yours again. Feel his soft, smooth skin underneath your fingertips. Feel his strong hands on your hips, gripping you, guiding you. Feel deep brown eyes piercing into yours while you…

Oh boy, you thought, shuddering, I’m having a lot of thoughts tonight, each more dangerous than the last.

Eddie, unaware of your inner turmoil, switched on the lamp and started taking off his rings one by one: pinching the band between his fingers, gliding it over each of his knuckles, first one, then the other, pulling it off his fingertip and dropping it onto the nightstand beside him. One. Two. Three. Each ring clattered as it landed on the table. The soft rattling sound made you groan. 

Dammit, Eddie…

Did he have to take them off so slowly? So teasingly? If you didn’t know better, you would have thought he was doing this on purpose. Couldn’t he sense the torment he was causing? You were teetering on the edge right now, both metaphorically and literally. You couldn’t move any further away from him. It was physically impossible… unless, of course, you wanted to end up on the floor. If he didn’t yank off that last ring quickly, you were gonna—

“What?” Eddie said, staring at you. “You okay?”

His deep voice jolted you from your libidinous thoughts. You looked up at him, blinking, your cheeks tinged with embarrassment. “Huh…? Yeah, I’m okay.” 

“You sure?” Eddie asked. He sounded concerned but also, vaguely, amused. The final ring—a fanged skull—still clung loosely to his left ring finger. Eddie had started to remove it, but stopped when he caught you looking at him. Now you could practically hear it taunting you as Eddie said, “You seem a little… agitated right now.” 

Agitated, huh? 

Sure, Eddie, let’s go with agitated. 

“I’m just tired,” you said. Then, in an obvious and pathetic act of bad theater, you covered your mouth with your hand and pretended to yawn.

Eddie’s face wrinkled with teasing suspicion. “Well, you should go to sleep,” he said, and started gently tugging on his ring again. This time you were certain he was doing it on purpose. Helplessly, you followed it anyway. Your mouth hung open as you watched the fanged skull move slowly up his finger, past his first knuckle, past his second knuckle… then slide all the way back down. A frustrated huff blew through your lips. As soon as it did, Eddie’s expression brightened with surprised fascination.  

“Wait,” he said, smirking, “do you have a hand fetish or something?”

His accusation startled you. “What?” you said. “I don’t have a hand fetish.” That sounded creepy and perverted, albeit true. “It’s just your hands… and those rings.” Those damn rings. “You’ve been playing with them all night, Eddie. Do you even realize you’ve been doing that?”

“Yeah,” he answered bashfully, “it’s kind of a nervous habit of mine.” 

“It’s fucking torture is what it is.” 

Your eyes widened. Eddie’s widened, too. Then they drifted back to the skull ring on his hand and settled there for a moment, as if enchanted by some marvelous discovery. Eddie had just found himself some buried treasure and you led him straight to it. You had drawn up a map, marked the X, handed it over, and said, Here ya go, Eddie. Here’s some lovely ammunition to use against me for the rest of our relationship. Did you really expect him not to pull the trigger? 

“Interesting…” Eddie said to himself, his voice dropping into that ponderous yet provocative tone that meant nothing but trouble for you.      

“Oh, don’t do that…” 

“What?”

“Don’t say ‘interesting.’ It’s not interesting, it’s just…” Embarrassing, extremely embarrassing. Another loud huff escaped you. You turned away from Eddie, lay down, and threw the blanket over your shoulders. 

“It is interesting, though,” Eddie went on, chuckling to himself. “In fact, it’s very interesting.” 

There was a soft click behind you and suddenly the room collapsed into darkness again. Eddie had turned off the lamp and was now coming over to you. You knew because you could feel the bed shifting underneath his weight, closer, closer, and the closer he got, the deeper the mattress sank behind you. Eddie’s gravity was pulling you backward, drawing you into him. You gasped as you felt your back press up against his bare chest, and gasped again when you felt his right arm slip under the covers and settle snuggly around your waist. Instantly, your face flushed and your heart skipped a beat, but you didn’t try to pull away from him… as if you even could. You lay quiet, captive, waiting.       

Eddie lay behind you with his elbow resting on your pillow, leaning against it as he said, “I’m learning a lot of new things about you tonight. I’m learning some things about myself, too.” 

A curious smile dragged up the side of your face. “Really? Like what?”

“Like… for instance…” He leaned down and whispered throatily against your ear, “I really like the sound of you begging.” 

All the blood rushed to your face. You buried it into the pillow and said, “Okay, now you’re just being mean…”    

Eddie laughed at that. The sound rumbled deep in his chest and sent butterflies fluttering through your stomach. 

“I’m not, I’m not,” he said. “Listen, just hear me out, okay? I have a point, I promise. Now, this is kinda embarrassing to admit, but… honestly, I always kinda thought you would dominate me.” 

“What?” you blurted out, beside yourself with shock. “You thought I would dominate you?”

“Well, kinda, yeah.” Eddie smiled in abashment. “Shit, how could I not? I mean… I mean… Look, it’s like this, okay: for as long as I’ve known you, you’ve always had this really strong, intimidating presence. Naturally, I assumed that would carry over into the bedroom.” 

His words made you blush furiously, but they also filled you with a strange sense of confidence. Encouraged by them, you sat up on your elbow, looked over your shoulder, and raised your eyebrows playfully. “So, what, Munson? You want me to climb on top of you, pin you down, and have my way with you?”  

Eddie’s brown eyes bulged in the darkness, bigger than you had ever seen. “Do you wanna do that?” 

You stared at him for a second, speechless. “Honestly…? I don’t know.” 

It was hard to imagine yourself doing something like that. 

And yet… 

Your confidence fizzled again. Frowning, you sank down and laid your head back on the pillow.

Eddie smiled down at you, impressed by your unexpected boldness, short-lived as it was. “Well, that’s what I thought you’d be like, anyway.” He nuzzled his face into the side of your neck, his warm breath tickling you as he spoke. “But… not gonna lie… seeing you reduced to a quivering, whimpering mess, well… yeah, I kinda like that, too. I like it a lot, actually.”

He swept your hair out of the way and began planting light kisses along your skin. The feeling of his lips made you sigh. 

“We should stop talking about this.” 

“You’re right, we should,” Eddie said, but his kisses only got hotter and hungrier. Meanwhile, his right hand had slid down from your waist and started caressing your inner thigh, nails dragging, fingers curling, uncurling, occasionally stopping to tease the bottom hem of his boxers. “… except now you’ve got me a little curious.” 

“Oh yeah?” Your voice was high-pitched and breathy, delirious with pleasure. “About what?”

“About this little hand fetish of yours…” But honestly, you were hardly listening to him. You were more focused on the warmth of his hand and the deliciously rough texture of his skin. You closed your eyes and breathed deeply. As you did, you felt Eddie’s lips graze the outer edge of your ear. His voice sent a delightful tingle down your spine. “… so, tell me, in all these little fantasies of yours… what exactly am I doing with my hands?” 

His question coaxed a moan out of you. You placed your hand on top of his, intending to push it away, but as soon as you felt his hard knuckles underneath your fingers, you became possessed by savage, carnal desire. Your hand started moving on its own, rubbing across Eddie’s skin, scratching it lightly, sliding down and trapping itself in the soft webbing of his fingers. Pleasure rippled through you. All at once, images exploded through your mind like flashes of a camera. Turning around and smashing your lips against Eddie’s. Grabbing his face. Pulling his hair. Pushing him down on the bed and straddling his hips. Dragging your nails down his bare chest. 

That knocked some sense back into you. “Eddie,” you said weakly, “may I remind you of the situation we’re in?”

Eddie chuckled against you, unbothered. “Yeah, see, I’ve thought about that and…” He pressed a kiss to your ear, drew back, and whispered, “We don’t need condoms for this.”  

You bit down hard on your lip, holding in a moan as temptation tore through you. “Yeah, but do you really trust yourself to stop?”

Silence for a minute. 

Eddie knocked his head against yours and grunted in defeat. “No,” he said. “No, I don’t.”

You frowned, equally disappointed. “Yeah, I don’t either, so…” 

His hand went limp, fell, and died on your thigh. 

“Aw shit,” Eddie hissed through his teeth. Guilt-stricken, he pulled away from you, rolled onto his back, and ran his hands over his face. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I swear, I normally have way more self-control than this, it’s just… shit, it’s just you, y’know? You’re here, you’re in my bed, and you look really good in my Megadeth shirt. Plus I’ve got like, y’know, four years of pent-up sexual frustration that’s just dying to burst outta me, so…”  

You turned over, sat up on your elbow, and smiled at him. “Yeah, I know the feeling.” 

Staring at each other, you both shared a deep, content sigh. 

“C’mere,” Eddie said, beckoning you with his hand. You moved closer and laid your head on his chest. He wrapped his arm around your shoulders and pulled you tighter against him, placing a soft, sweet kiss on your forehead. 

You lay quiet for a few minutes, feeling his chest rise and fall, listening to the steady thump of his heartbeat.

“What are you thinking about right now?” you asked dozily. 

“Honestly…?” Eddie asked, his voice a low mumble. “I’m wondering how long it’ll take me to drive to the gas station and back.” 

Laughter bubbled up from your throat. You buried your face against his chest and snickered.

“Well, shit,” you said afterward, “I’d probably go with you… and then we’d end up having sex in the parking lot.” 

Eddie’s face broke into a grin. “Really?” he said humorously. “Well, in that case…” 

He moved like he was trying to sit up. Giggling, you put your hand on his chest and pushed him back down.

“Easy there, buddy.” 

“I’m just kidding,” he said, smiling. “I’d never dream of taking your virginity in a parking lot… well, I would dream of it, have dreamt of it, but I’d never actually do it.”

You laughed quietly and laid your head on his chest again. Humming softly, Eddie started tracing his thumb across your back slowly, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. With each stroke, your eyes got heavier and heavier, until…  

“Hey,” Eddie began suddenly, with dull, drowsy panic in his voice “you’re not going anywhere, right? You’re gonna still be here when I wake up?”

You sat up and looked at him, confused. 

“Sorry, I know this sounds really weird, but…” He frowned deeply, struggling to make sense of his tired, jumbled thoughts. “It’s just, I finally got you back in my life. If you left now, I don’t think I’d be able to handle it.”

Your heart dropped at those words. You picked it back up, leaned down, and gently pressed your lips to his. 

“I’ll be here,” you said. “I promise.”  

DWM MASTERPOST

Chrissy Cunningham paced the floor of her bedroom with an authoritative stride, her arms folded neatly behind her back, chin held proudly in the air. Standing at only five-foot-one, she looked like an adorable little drill sergeant… until she looked over at you, sitting on her bed with your chest puffed out and hand raised in mock salute; then her composure shattered and she reverted back to her goofy, giggling, eleven-year-old self. 

“Don’t make me laugh,” she said. 

“What? I’m showing you respect.” 

Chrissy raised her eyebrows in friendly disapproval. “Stop,” she said. “We need to be serious.” So she donned an expression of stern command and resumed her stride. “Okay, repeat after me: I will not be mean to Eddie.”  

“I will not be mean to Eddie.”  

“I will not mock him.”  

“I will not mock him.”  

“I will not tease him.”  

“I will not tease him.”  

“I will not call him names.”  

“I will not call him names.”  

“I will laugh only when it’s appropriate, and in a good-hearted manner.”  

“Wait, how are we defining appropriate?”  

“Just repeat it, please.”  

You sighed in surrender and echoed your best friend’s words dutifully: “I will laugh only when it’s appropriate, and in a good-hearted manner… even though I don’t really know what that means.” 

Chrissy shot you a strict glare and continued: “I will not let my anxiety make me forget rules one through five.”  

“I will not let my anxiety make me forget rules one through five.”  

Chrissy stopped in front of you, put her hands on your knees, and smiled warmly. “I’m gonna have fun this summer.”

“I’m gonna have fun this summer.” 

“I’m gonna show Eddie what a smart, creative, and wonderful person I am.” 

“Well…” You looked away, embarrassed. 

“Come on, say it.” Chrissy started shaking your knees gently. “C’mom, c’mon, you gotta say it.” 

Her words made you squirm a little. Timidly, you looked at her and said in a bashful voice, “I’m gonna show Eddie what a smart, creative, and wonderful person I am.” 

“Because you are.” 

“… Because I am.” 

Her smile grew. “Good!” She drummed her hands on your knees and stepped away from you. While rifling through her desk drawers, she said, “So what game are you playing exactly? Is it like a board game or something?”

“Uh, no… it’s like this fantasy roleplaying game. I don’t really know how to describe it.” 

“But you know how to play it, right?” 

“Yeah, for the most part.” 

“For the most part?” Now Chrissy sounded worried. “I thought you had been practicing. Isn’t that what you spent the last two weeks doing?”

“Well, yeah… but it’s a surprisingly complicated game.” 

“You weren’t paying attention, were you?”

“No, I totally was, I promise.” You had put in the time and the effort. Every day after school, you rushed home, hopped on your bike, and peddled down the street to the Wheeler house. You sat in that stuffy, smelly basement for two hours while a group of third-grade boys explained all the rules and then bickered over said rules. “There was just a lot of information being thrown at me in a short period of time. And I guess not everyone plays the game the same way, either, so even if I learned how they play the game, I still might not know how they will play the game, so… I’m just gonna wing it and hope my creativity saves me. Dustin said I made a pretty cool character for my first try, so…”

“Who?”

“Dustin Henderson. Third-grader. Doesn’t matter. The point is…” 

Mrs. Cunningham poked her head into the room and said brightly, “Chrissy, dear, don’t forget we have to leave in twenty minutes.” Then she saw you and her whole demeanor frosted over. “Oh… I didn’t realize you had company.” 

You had been Chrissy’s best friend for five years and Mrs. Cunningham still referred to you as “company.” It was like she didn’t even see you as a person. You were just this disgusting blob that took up space in her daughter’s life. 

“I just stopped by for a minute,” you told her. “I’ll be leaving soon.” 

“Oh, don’t be silly,” she said. “You know you’re always welcome here.”

(But were you, really?)

Mrs. Cunningham lingered in the doorway for a moment longer, smiling at you and restlessly wringing her hands. Before leaving, she tipped her head toward her daughter and said, “Chrissy, stop slouching, dear.”

Chrissy heaved a frustrated sigh. Then she padded across the room and closed her bedroom door. When she turned around, you both said in perfect unison, “Chrissy, stop slouching, dear,” and broke up into giggles. She was still laughing as she hopped onto the bed and sat down cross-legged beside you.

You turned around to face her. “So where are you going in twenty minutes?” 

“Just the salon,” she answered uncaringly. 

“Oh, please tell me you’re not getting a perm like your mother. I’ll hold you down and shave your head if you do.” 

“If she makes me get a perm, I’ll shave my own head. It’s just a trim. She makes me get one every three weeks; otherwise, I’ll get split ends.” 

“Oh, split ends… the scourge of society.” 

“Shut up,” Chrissy said, giving you a playful swat. “Be nice or I won’t give you your present.” 

You perked up. “A present, you say?”

“Mhm.” Chrissy flashed an excited smile, then reached behind her back and pulled out a colorful woven bracelet. “I made this for you.” 

You raised your eyebrow curiously. “Another friendship bracelet?” 

“No, this one’s not a friendship bracelet.” Leaning forward, she carefully tied the bracelet onto your left wrist. Its vibrant color perfectly complemented the other bracelet she had made for you. “This one’s for good luck.” 

You admired the bracelet for a moment, thanked her for making it, then felt your stomach bubble and churn. “Okay, now I’m getting anxious.”

“Don’t be anxious,” Chrissy said. “You’re gonna be fine.” 

But you still weren’t convinced.

“What time is it?” you asked. 

Chrissy looked over her shoulder and glanced at the alarm clock on her nightstand. “Nine thirty-five.”

“Oh crap,” you said, and got up. “I better get going.” 

You grabbed your backpack off the floor, slung it over your right shoulder, and exited her bedroom. Chrissy followed you downstairs and opened the front door for you.

Before heading out, you turned back with sudden panic and said, “Should we go over the rules one more time?”

Chrissy shook her head. “No, you know the rules. Just be your normal charming, delightful self and you’ll be fine, okay? I promise.” 

She sent you off with a gentle shove, and you went uneasily: down the porch steps, down the cobblestone walkway, and found your bike sitting beside the garage. You put up the kickstand and swung your leg over the seat, but just as you were about to push off, a dreadful thought came to your mind. You replanted your foot and looked up at Chrissy with a worried frown. 

“Hey, what if it doesn’t work?” you asked. 

“What do you mean?”

“Like… what if I do all this and Eddie still hates me?” You shrugged, demoralized. “What then?”

Now Chrissy was frowning, too. “Well, at least you’ll know you gave it your best shot.” 

Four blocks away, Scott Sloman was dressed in his Sunday best and restlessly pacing his basement, which was now pristine thanks to his diligent efforts the day before. 

On that morning, Scottie had woken up early, consumed a hearty breakfast of eggs, bacon, sausage, and French toast (all prepared by his lovely mother, of course; Mrs. Sloman was an excellent cook), pulled on his rubber gloves, went downstairs, and got to work. It took him hours, but it was worth it. Every crumb, every cobweb, every splatter, every stain had been expertly tracked down and eliminated with the toughest chemicals money could buy. Now every surface sparkled radiantly, and the air carried a whimsical, woodsy scent that transported you to the crisp forests of New England—not that Scottie had ever been to New England, but he imagined that’s what its forests smelled like. 

He grabbed the can of EVERGREEN Air Freshener and gave it a vigorous shake.

“Do not spray that again,” Jeff told him. “You’re gonna give us all cancer.” 

“I’ll stop spraying when you guys stop smelling.” 

He pressed down hard on the nozzle and sprayed a thick cloud of EVERGREEN mist into the air. It showered over the table like a light drizzle of rain, getting on everyone’s hair, everyone’s clothes, and speckling the open page of Eddie Munson’s notebook. 

Eddie, who had been tuning everyone out and listening to music on his Walkman, now looked up with bewildered annoyance. “Dude, come on…” He fanned the remaining mist away with his hand and immediately went back to his notes. 

Observing him, Grant said to Jeff, “Damn, Eddie’s really in the zone today.”

It wasn’t exactly unusual for him to be this withdrawn. Eddie Munson took his D&D very seriously—perhaps a bit too seriously, although no one would ever dare tell him that. Before every session, while everyone else joked around and snacked on donuts and muffins (also prepared by Mrs. Sloman), Eddie sat quietly in his chair, the same chair he occupied for every session, and gradually slipped further… and further away. The Walkman, a gift from his uncle for his fourteenth birthday, only accelerated his emotional departure.

But he would return eventually. He always did. 

“You think he’s anxious about her coming?” Grant asked.

Jeff frowned guiltily. “Probably.” 

Beside Grant, Gareth was sharpening his pencil with a small metal pocket sharpener. From the look on his face, you would have thought he was honing a warblade. 

“He’s preparing his mind for battle,” Gareth said, his blue eyes burning with a ferocious and frightening intensity. “The enemy draws near. She will soon be at our gates.” He withdrew his pencil and blew fiercely on the pointed tip. “We must be ready to meet her.”

Jeff and Grant rolled their eyes. It was way too early in the morning for this. 

“She’s not the enemy,” Jeff said.

“Well, you’re a traitor,” Gareth replied. “Yeah, Eddie told me you’re the one who invited her, you Judas.”

“What? Oh c’mon, man, don’t start that now.” 

“How’d she do it?” Gareth asked. “Did she blackmail you? Bribe you? I didn’t realize your loyalty could be so easily bought, Jeff.”

“Dude, what are you talking about?” 

Grant, ever the rational one, said, “Ignore him. Gareth’s just mad she beat him in the spelling bee last year.”

And that’s when Gareth fired back with unseemly anger: “She did not beat me in the spelling bee! That whole competition was rigged right from the start. Every round, she got the easiest words while I got stuck with all the hard ones. It was ridiculous, absolutely ridiculous. I’m telling you, the whole thing was a sham!”

Jeff and Grant exchanged an amused glance. “My mistake,” Grant said while Jeff snickered. “Clearly you’ve moved on from this.” 

Gareth waved him off. “Oh shut up, Grant. Look, this is about way more than a spelling bee, okay? That girl is a heartless, horrible devil-woman. I will not break bread with her. I will not fight alongside her on the battlefield. I won’t, I won’t, and neither will Eddie.” Gareth clapped Eddie on the shoulder and said, “Right, Eddie?”

The older boy flinched, looked up, and pulled the left speaker box away from his ear. “What?”

“We’re standing together, right? Against our common enemy?”

Eddie’s eyebrows knitted together. “I dunno what you’re talking about.” 

And now Scott Sloman had heard enough. “Are you guys even listening to me? Come on, this is a huge moment for us… for me, especially. I need you all to be on your best behavior today. No burping. No farting. Sit up straight and keep your elbows off the table, gentlemen. Today, we have a young lady gracing our party.” 

Gareth sneered. “She’s no lady. She’s a hellbeast.”  

Scottie slammed his fist on the table. “See, this is the kinda shit I’m talking about! You psychos are gonna scare her off before she even—” He saw that Eddie had already put his headphones back on, an act of subtle but profound defiance. Scottie’s jaw dropped. “Eddie… Eddie… Hey, Eddie, I’m talking here.” 

“Leave him alone,” Jeff said. “He’s getting into character.” 

Scottie scoffed at that. “Oh please… Eddie uses the same character for every campaign. If he doesn’t know his character by now, he never will.” 

He snatched the Walkman off the table and yanked it away, viciously ripping the headphone jack from the plug. 

Eddie’s head jerked up in startled surprise. “Dude, what the fuck—” 

“I’m doing this for your own good, Eddie. It’s about time you learn how to socialize with the fairer sex.”

Eddie glared at him, exasperated. “I know how to talk to girls.” 

“Really?” Scottie shot him a dubious look. “Okay, Eddie… how many words have you said to that cheerleader you think’s so cute?” 

“Zero,” Grant answered for him. “He’s said zero words to her.”  

Eddie just sighed miserably. “Can I have my Walkman back, please?”  

“No, Eddie, you can’t,” and Scottie set the cassette player on the shelf behind him. “See, this is exactly my point, you guys. We have a huge opportunity here. A girl is coming to play D&D with us. And not just any girl. One of the popular girls! Do you guys understand what this means? If we play our cards right, maybe she’ll start bringing her friends. Her popular friends. Her pretty friends.” 

“Is that what you think’s gonna happen?” Jeff asked. “You think a bunch of cheerleaders are gonna wanna play D&D with you?” 

Scottie shrugged and said in a waning voice, “Well, you never know…”  

Eddie put his head in his hands. “I knew this was gonna happen. I knew this was gonna happen. She’s not even here yet and she’s already ruining the game.” 

“Hey, where is she, anyway?” Grant said. “It’s already after ten. Are we sure she’s even gonna show?” 

“She probably won’t,” said Gareth. He leaned back in his chair, satisfied and smug. “Yeah, I bet she chickened out like the coward she is. Screw her, I say we start without her.”  

“We’re not starting without her,” Jeff said. “Look, she’ll be here, okay?”

“Spoken like a true traitor.” 

“Dude, stop calling me a—” 

Suddenly, the doorbell chimed. The sound echoed over their heads like a distant warhorn on a cold, fog-covered battlefield. Gareth reached for his newly sharpened pencil and held it like a knife. 

“She’s here.”

You stood on the front porch with your backpack hooked on your shoulder and your arms crossed tightly in front of you, shivering uncontrollably in the sunny, seventy-nine-degree weather. 

Almost a minute had passed and nobody was answering the door. This made your stomach flutter nervously. You looked around and wondered if perhaps you were at the wrong house, (and wouldn’t that be lucky? Oh well, looks like I better give up and go home…) but you weren’t. The number displayed beside the door matched the address Scottie had given you. This was Scott Sloman’s house. You were at the right place. And now you had no excuse to leave. 

You stepped forward and—oh, how your hand trembled!—rang the doorbell again. The sound made your heart jump in panic. It started bucking wildly in your chest, desperate to break out of your ribcage and escape. Excuse or no excuse, you wanted to get the hell outta there!

“Calm down,” you kept telling yourself. “Calm down. Calm down. You’re gonna be fine, you’re gonna be fine, you’re gonna be…”

(But what if it doesn’t work?)

“… fine,” you whispered, except now you only half believed it, and that half wasn’t strong enough to keep your feet on the porch.  

You shuffled back a step, then another, looked over your shoulder, and stared longingly down the street.

From here, the road seemed so endless, so… tempting. You could see yourself on that road, on your bike, peddling fast and far away. Back to your house. Back to your bedroom. Lying on your bed, opening your favorite book, and escaping into a safe, snug little world. You could spend hours hiding in there. It would be perfect. Then, eventually, you would have to face Chrissy. She would be a little frustrated and disappointed with you, but she would probably forgive you in a day or two. Chrissy was compassionate like that.

Yeah, Chrissy would forgive you. She would forgive you, and hug you, and tell you that everything would be okay. 

Okay… 

Okay… 

Okay, I’ll just go home then. It’s probably for the best, anyway. 

You fled down the stairs and ran to your bike. It was sitting on the front lawn with everyone else’s, Jeff’s standing upright on its kickstand, the others lying on their sides in the grass, their painted steel frames glimmering in the sunlight… all but one, anyway; one was too dull to properly catch the light. You had recognized Eddie’s bike as soon as you arrived at the house. His stood out because the frame was oddly bent and most of the paint had been scratched off. It was an old bike, purchased secondhand from secondhand at a yard sale two years ago. To you, it might as well have been brand new.

“He’s here,” you whispered, and felt your face get delightfully warm. 

Eddie was here, he was here, finally within reach. All you had to do was walk through that door. 

Excitement swept through you, girlish and unaffected, and now you were smiling ridiculously to yourself, all your fears forgotten… for now, anyway. You pressed your palms to your overheated cheeks and thought, This is my chance. This is my only chance. 

Nervous as you were, terrified as you were, you had to see this through. 

Determination burned inside you. You stepped away from your bike and—  

“Hey, you made it!” Scott Sloman was standing on his front porch with his hand raised high in a friendly wave. He frowned when he saw that you were beside your bike. “Where are you going?” 

You looked at your bike, then back at Scottie. “Oh, well… I was just, uh…” You forced a laugh and feigned embarrassment. “I'm so stupid, I thought I was at the wrong house for a second.”    

“Oh…” Scottie’s face brightened instantly. He laughed along with you. “Nope, you found us just fine. C’mon inside, everyone’s waiting for you.”  

Everyone? you thought for a second, hopeful, but then you realized that probably wasn’t true. Eddie wasn’t waiting for you. He wasn’t eager to see you. He didn’t want you there at all. But that was okay. 

You took a deep breath and started walking toward the house, Chrissy’s good luck bracelet dangling from your wrist. 

All right, I’ve got a huge uphill battle ahead of me. Now I’m probably gonna fail miserably, but… at least I’ll know I gave it my best shot. 

“Sorry I’m late,” you said to Scottie. He was leading you through the house to the basement, where everyone else was waiting… where Eddie was waiting. You could hardly believe this was happening. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Scottie replied sheepishly. He was feeling a little awkward after his earlier faux pas at the front door. When you walked in, Scottie greeted you with this dramatic, over-the-top gentleman’s bow. Unable to hide your discomfort, you grimaced and drew away from him. Scottie’s face turned beet red. He said, That was really weird, wasn’t it? And you replied, Yeah, it was. Please don’t ever do that again. Now Scottie felt a little self-conscious around you. He could barely look you in the eye without blushing.      

“Of course,” he went on, “if it happens again, I’ll have no choice but to imprison you.”

That caught you off guard. You almost tripped over your own foot. “Wait, what?”  

Scottie’s eyes widened. His face flushed a deep pink. “Oh, your character, not you. Sorry, that sounded a lot creepier than I intended. Yeah, usually when someone’s late I punish them by having their character ambushed early in the game and thrown into some sorta prison. Then they have to find a way to escape on their own. It sounds really cruel, but it’s actually a lotta fun. Like last year, Gareth was late and I threw his character into the fighting pits and he had to fight for his freedom. He didn’t make it out, though.” Scottie laughed to himself, remembering. “Yeah, Gareth dies a lot in the game. You’ll see. His deaths are pretty legendary… Oh, hey, that reminds me, have you made a character yet? It’s no big deal if you haven’t. We can help you make one today.”  

“Thanks,” you said, “but I already made one.”  

“Oh, sweet, awesome. Wait, you didn’t make a magic-user, did you?” 

You shook your head. All those spells seemed too complicated to you. 

“Okay, good. I only ask ‘cause we try to keep the party as balanced as possible; otherwise, the story really suffers. Plus Eddie’s kind of our resident spellcaster, and he really hates it when people use the same class as him. He’s pretty weird about it, actually. But then again, Eddie’s pretty weird about everything. I don’t think I need to tell you that, though.”  

You smirked, understanding. “Yeah, sounds like Eddie’s a big baby.”  

(Shit, was that mean?)

Scottie looked at you in surprise. His face broke into a huge grin. “I am so glad you’re here,” he said, chuckling. Then he walked through the kitchen and opened the basement door for you. “Ladies first,” he said, and you moved past him and slowly began your descent. 

For as long as you lived, you would never forget that walk downstairs. You could recall every detail perfectly. The way the wooden railing felt under your fingers—smooth yet rough in certain places. The way the steps creaked as you put your weight on them. The hushed voices that emerged from below: Gareth’s, Jeff’s, Grant’s… Eddie’s. The scent of pine, pungent and overwhelming. It smacked you in the face as soon as you took your first step, and it only got stronger the further you went. It was such a strange smell. Initially, it made you think of those little tree air fresheners that everyone hung in their cars. Now it only made you think of that basement, that weirdly clean basement, and the first time you saw Eddie sitting at the table.

His dark brown eyes found you instantly, but they didn’t look at you—they didn’t see you—not really. Like always, his eyes just sort of hovered on you for a second and then darted away. Eddie was always running away from you. It was hard not to feel a little disheartened after that. 

So this is how it begins, huh? Wonderful. 

You found your seat next to Jeff and sat down. He turned to you with a smile. 

“Cutting it pretty close there, huh?” He was laughing, but you could hear the concern in his voice. “For a second, I seriously thought you were gonna bail.” 

“Honestly, I almost did,” you confessed quietly, keeping your head low and your hand cupped over your mouth. “I’m kinda freaking out here, Jeff.” 

Being seated directly across from Eddie certainly didn’t help. How were you supposed to keep your composure with him so close? The second he made eye contact with you—if he ever made eye contact with you—you were gonna blow like a geyser, like Old Faithful, and there was no telling what kind of scorching hot insults were gonna come spewing out of your mouth. You could already feel them bubbling inside you, dangerous and unpredictable. You were a powder keg of emotions right now. One good spark and, boom, you were gonna explode. Oh, this is gonna be bad. 

Jeff nudged your arm gently with his elbow. It disarmed you a little. “Relax,” he said. “You’ve got this, okay? Just, you know…” 

“Be nice,” you said. “Yeah, I know.”  

Jeff’s eyes softened. “I was gonna say be yourself,” he said. 

But what if “yourself” wasn’t all that great? 

Taking his words to heart, you leaned over and smiled at Grant, ignoring the image of Eddie that haunted the outermost edge of your vision. He wasn’t looking at you, anyway. 

“Hey, Grant.”  

“Hello,” Grant replied neutrally.

“I heard you got a perfect score on your English final. Very impressive, sir.”  

Grant shrugged modestly. Perfect scores didn’t excite him as much as they used to. “How’d you do?” he asked. “You usually test pretty well, don’t you?” 

“Eh, well enough,” you said, still very aware of Eddie’s presence. You were dying to have him look at you. Actually, you would have died if he looked at you. “I got all the multiple-choice questions right, but by the time I got to the final essay, I just really wanted to go home, you know? It was my last test of the day. My grade was pretty much set. I wasn’t in the mood to write this long, boring essay, so… yeah, I kinda half-assed it. Oh well. Still got an A.”

“God, you are so full of yourself,” Gareth said. His voice was acidic and dripping with disdain. 

Unbothered, you faced him with a smile. “What’s up, Gareth? Long time no see. How are you doing?”

“Stupendous,” he blurted out with a fierceness that was borderline comical. Boy, if you weren’t trying so hard to be on your best behavior right now, you would have had some colorful words for him… words he probably couldn’t spell.  

Smirking, you said, “So did your mommy pack you a juice box?”

Gareth scoffed. “Did your mommy pack you a…?” He closed his mouth, grabbed his sharpened pencil, and started violently hammering the tip into his notebook: WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!

Your eyes widened with surprised glee. Then you turned to Eddie and all your confidence splintered like Gareth’s poor pencil. 

Just say something to him. 

Say something.

Anything! 

Hey, Eddie, how’d your finals go? Are you excited for high school next year? I’m not. It’s gonna be the worst day of my life. I dunno how I’m gonna survive two years without you. In fact, I’ll probably cry every day. Please look at me. I’d give anything to have you look at me. You’re the weirdest, most fascinating person I’ve ever met in my life. I’m obsessed with you. I think I might even be in love with you. 

Shit. 

All of a sudden, your face felt unbearably hot. You hid it before anyone else could see and started digging through your backpack, pulling out all of your supplies and stacking them on the table in front of you: a leftover notebook from school, a purple folder containing your character sheet, a few pencils, an eraser, a slightly worn, dog-eared copy of The Players Handbook, and a small drawstring bag of dice. You grabbed that last and tossed it on top of your pile. When you sat up again, you found five pairs of eyes staring at you… including Eddie’s, which were suspicious but also curious. You didn’t know whether to be delighted or offended. 

You went with offended. 

“What?” you snapped, causing everyone to immediately look away. It was an instinctive reaction on your part. You didn’t like people staring at you. 

A voice spoke from your left. “The lady comes prepared,” Scottie said, smiling at you from behind his screen. 

“Huh?” 

“Eddie said you weren’t gonna be prepared.” 

Eddie jumped as if struck from the side. “What? I didn’t say that.” 

“Yes, you did,” Scottie told him. “You said exactly that. You said she wasn’t gonna be prepared and we were gonna have to let her borrow our stuff. Isn’t that what he said, Grant?”

“Yes, it is. That’s exactly what he said.” 

Eddie looked around, dumbstruck. Then he slumped back into his chair like a sullen child. “Hey, where’d you get all that stuff, anyway?” he asked, mumbling the words into the table.  

It took a second for you to realize Eddie was speaking to you. As soon as it clicked, your whole body froze with panic. “Umm, I borrowed it…?” 

“From who?”

“From whom,” Grant corrected, and Eddie just rolled his eyes. 

You crossed your arms protectively over your chest. You should have been happy that Eddie was talking to you. No, you should have been thrilled that Eddie was talking to you. Yeah, you should have been doing cartwheels and somersaults and sobbing with pure joy, but for some reason you weren’t—you couldn’t—because there was something in his tone that really rubbed you the wrong way. Already, you feel your claws coming out and digging into your bicep. 

“Are you seriously interrogating me right now?”

Eddie’s eyes widened. “What?” he said, almost swallowing the word. “I’m not interrogating you, I’m just… I’m just curious who loaned you all that stuff, that’s all.”

“What difference does it make to you?” 

“It doesn’t make any difference. I’m just asking you a question.”  

“Well, you’re coming off pretty aggressive right now.” 

“She’s right,” Scottie said. “You are acting a little aggressive, Eddie.”

That, of course, was when Gareth decided to tag in. “What?” he cried. “He’s not being aggressive. She’s the one being aggressive!”

Grant said, “Honestly, you’re all being a little aggressive right now.” 

“Hey, Eddie’s the only one yelling here.” 

“I’m not yelling. I’m defending myself!” 

“You sure?” you said. “‘Cause it kinda sounds like you’re yelling.” 

To your right, Jeff was rubbing his forehead in frustration. “Stop it,” he muttered under his breath. 

“Wait, why are you telling me to stop? He’s the one acting like an asshole!” 

Eddie’s face turned bright red. He threw up his hands and shouted, “How am I being an asshole? I’m asking a perfectly valid question and you’re biting my head off for no reason. Seriously, am I the only one hearing this? Oh my god, I feel like I’m going crazy right now!” His mouth opened and closed wordlessly. “I… I just… I… I… I give up. I give up.” He fell back into his seat, closed his eyes, and took a deep, deep breath, nostrils flaring as he released all of his tension. “Can we just start the game, please?”

“Yes,” Scottie took over. “Yeah, let’s get started.” 

Your heart was pounding as you settled back into your chair. What the hell just happened? you thought, mortified. You felt like you had woken up to the aftermath of a violent massacre and discovered blood all over your hands. 

Across from you, Eddie was sitting with his forehead propped on his fist, still steaming from your brief but catastrophic interaction. Next to him, Gareth was glaring at you while he savagely sharpened his other pencil.  

“You proud of yourself?” Jeff asked. 

“Nope,” you said. “No, I’m not.” 

Scottie stood up and clapped his hands together. “Okay,” he said excitedly, “now that we’ve all had a chance to collect ourselves, I’d like to officially welcome everyone to The Shrieking Queen’s Catacombs, my third annual summer campaign. Welcome, everyone.” 

Grant started rubbing his chin skeptically. “The Shrieking Queen’s Catacombs… so that’s the name you went with, huh?” 

“You don’t like it?”  

“It’s not your best.”  

“Goddammit,” Scottie said under his breath, but he shook it off and carried on. “All right, whatever. We have a new player with us today! Welcome, Y/N, we’re all very excited to have you here.”  

“Speak for yourself,” Gareth muttered, and Scottie shot him a venomous glare that said, I will destroy you!

Then he turned back to you with a smile. “Since you’re still new to the game, I don’t want you to feel nervous or anything, okay? There’s no pressure here, seriously. We’re all a bunch of idiots, especially Gareth. So feel free to stop and ask questions whenever you need to. Take your time. Make mistakes. Make twenty mistakes. We don’t care. All that matters is that you have fun. All right?” 

Gareth leaned over and whispered to Grant, “Dude, why is he being so nice?” 

“Cheerleaders,” Grant replied. “Because of cheerleaders.”  

Gareth groaned and sat back. “Man, this summer’s gonna suck.” 

Scottie went on talking: “All right, before we officially begin, how about we go around the room and introduce our characters a little bit? Normally we would incorporate this into the beginning of the story, but I don’t wanna overwhelm you on your first day, so let’s just keep it casual and have a fun little meet and greet.”  

“What?” Eddie said. “Why are we doing a meet and greet? Just start the damn game.” 

“Eddie, I’m trying to ease her into it. I want her to feel comfortable.”  

Honestly, none of this was making you feel very comfortable, but after what happened earlier, you decided it was better to keep your mouth shut.

“Well, what about the rest of us?” Eddie said. “I don’t feel comfortable with this.”  

“Well, Eddie, you never feel comfortable. You’re uncomfortable in your own damn skin. Now shut up and stop undermining me!” Exhausted, Scottie turned away from him and said, “Jeff, how ‘bout you start? You’re the least problematic person here.”

“What am I doing?” Jeff asked. 

“Just introduce your character.” 

“Yeah, but you guys already know my character. What am I supposed to say?”

“Just say anything! My god, you guys make everything so damn difficult.” 

Jeff’s hands flew up defensively. “Okay, okay, jeez… I feel like I’m giving a book report. Umm, what should I say? I’m playing as Jaheem Evenstar. He’s a level six cleric, born into the church of Selûne—that’s the goddess of the moon, for the uneducated.” Jeff playfully elbowed you in the side as he said this. “He wears purple robes, silver-plated armor, and has a circle of seven silver stars tattooed on his forehead. The nature of his birth is surrounded by scandal, secrecy, and shame. His mother died on the birthing bed and her dying wish was that her son be raised in the temple. Being one of few males in a female-dominated religion, Jaheem spent most of his life feeling ostracized and is determined to prove his worth. At night, you’ll often him sitting under the moon and the stars. He hasn’t spent much time outside of the temple, so he’s a little naive in the ways of the world. Cities pose a special challenge for him because he’s easily tempted by vices.”

“Oh…” you said, grinning. “Looks like Jaheem needs to stay away from the brothels.” 

Everybody (except Eddie) laughed. Jeff’s ears flushed with embarrassment. “That’s not what I meant,” he said.  

“Oh, I think it is,” you replied, giggling. “Your character is a man born into a religion full of beautiful women? I see what you’re doing, Jeff.” 

By now, everyone except Eddie (Why wasn’t he laughing?) was in stitches. Jeff had both hands over his face as he wheezed. “Okay, I’m creating a new character now.” He pretended to crumple up his character sheet and throw it over his shoulder.  

Then Grant took his turn. “All right, I’m playing as General Gudrun Havenbrooke, former commander of The Last Legion. He’s a fighter, obviously, also level six. He’s an expert in two-weapon fighting and possesses a vast knowledge of swordsmanship and battle tactics. During his service in the military, he led countless victorious battles but remains haunted by his one crushing defeat. This is reflected in his wardrobe, as he still wears the same dented armor from that ill-fated battle, and his cloak is stained with the blood of his lost comrades. He keeps fighting because it’s the only way to appease his ghosts, and he drinks heavily after every battle because it’s the only way he can sleep.” 

A shiver ran down your spine. “Damn,” you said, awestruck, “you guys are hardcore.” 

That's when Eddie decided to interject like a referee on a basketball court. “Hey, you can’t do that,” he said. “You can’t make fun of other players’ characters.” 

Stunned (and a little irritated), you said, “I’m not making fun. I’m impressed,” but Eddie didn’t seem to believe you. His eyes remained guarded and untrusting. 

Was there no winning with this guy? 

Next, Scottie turned to Gareth. “All right, buddy, you’re up.” 

“Me?” Gareth blushed deeply, an uncharacteristically boyish gesture. “Umm, okay! My character is Brumnur Wildrock. He’s a dwarf and a master bladesmith. In fact, many of you are using his blades right now. As a bladesmith, he has a fondness for all weapons, but axes and hammers are his preferred tools. He fights to test the strength of his weapons, and he has yet to meet a worthy opponent. Brumnur is headstrong, battle-hungry, and easily provoked to violence.”  

“So basically you made yourself,” you said, snickering. 

Eddie shot you an annoyed look. 

What? you thought, secretly loving all the attention he was giving you. Come on, that was perfectly harmless…

Behind his screen, Scottie raised his eyebrows tauntingly. “So what level are you, Gareth?”   

“Level one,” Gareth answered, a little ashamed.  

“Why are you only level one, man?” 

Gareth sighed. “Because I had to make a new character.”  

“And why did you have to make a new character?” Scottie put his fist over his mouth in an attempt to control his laughter. Jeff and Grant weren’t so successful.   

“Because I died,” Gareth said, seeming oddly proud of this morbid feat. Then he started to laugh himself.   

“How’d you die?” you asked, enthralled. 

Gareth sliced his hand across his neck.

“Oh my god, you got decapitated?” 

“Yeah,” Gareth said, positively beaming with self-satisfaction. “It was so awesome. My body moved on its own for another turn and killed two more monsters.” 

(“He didn’t, really,” Scottie would later tell you. “We just said he did to make him feel better.”)

You sat back and smiled, amazed by everyone’s creativity. “Wow, what a motley crew. We have a bloodthirsty dwarf, a disgraced war general, and a lecherous priest. Yeah, this campaign’s gonna be fun.” 

Eddie lashed out angrily: “Oh, would you stop already?”  

“What?” you said, startled. You were glad for his attention, sure, but all this needless aggression was really starting to grate on you. Could he not recognize your effort? Was that too much to ask? I’m trying to be nice here, Munson, but you're making it really fricken difficult! 

And now he was doubling down. “You’re being facetious,” he said. 

“Facetious,” Gareth began suddenly, completely unprompted. “F-E-C-E-T-I-U-S, facetious.” 

“Not even close,” said Grant, and Gareth smashed down his fist in defeat.

Ignoring them, you glared directly at Eddie. “I’m not being facetious. I’m just having a little fun. You know what fun is, right? That’s what normal people do when they’re playing a game. They laugh. They joke around. They have fun. Maybe you should take that giant stick out of your ass and you'll have fun too, you self-righteous prick.”   

(Now that was mean. Yeah, you definitely took a few steps back with that comment)

(right off a cliff)  

God dammit, you thought, feeling utterly defeated. If you weren’t surrounded by so many people, you would have been crying right now. You didn’t know what you were doing wrong. You didn’t know why Eddie was attacking you so viciously every time you opened your mouth. 

Shit, maybe he just hated you. 

(Could you blame him?)

Scottie’s voice cut through the silence: “All right, Eddie, you’re up, man.” 

By now, Eddie had completely withdrawn into himself. He sat hunched over in his chair with his palm pressed against his mouth, looking more and more like he wanted to leave. “I don’t wanna go,” he said. 

Scottie breathed an aggravated sigh. “C’mon, dude, everyone has to go.”  

“Well, I don’t want to,” Eddie said, and you knew it was all your fault.    

Guilt turned in your stomach. Timidly, you raised your hand. “I’ll go,” you said. 

Anxious as you were, you figured it was the least you could do. 

You pulled out your character sheet. “Umm… okay, I’m playing as Elaria Quint. That’s not her real name, it’s just her most recent identity. Nobody knows Elaria’s real name. Honestly, I don’t even think she knows anymore.” You laughed a little as you said this. That wasn’t something you had originally written on your sheet, but it seemed to fit in a strange way. Clearing your throat, you continued: “Um, Elaria’s a thief and a con artist. She moves from city to city, from scheme to scheme, never really settling anywhere. Having spent her entire childhood in poverty, Elaria dreams of living a life of luxury, and she came really close once. Unfortunately, she was betrayed by her old partner and mentor, and he took every penny she ever stole, so now she knows better than to trust anyone. To be clear, Elaria’s in this solely for the money. She doesn’t care about anything else. She’ll use you until she doesn’t need you anymore, and if the moment should ever come, she’ll have no problem betraying each and every one of you. You’re all disposable to her.” 

“So basically you made yourself,” Eddie muttered spitefully. 

He thought you hadn’t heard him, but you did. 

Okay, you thought, wounded, I guess I deserved that. 

Beside you, Scottie was eagerly rubbing his hands together. “Holy shit, I love it! This campaign’s gonna be pure chaos, and I can’t wait to get started.” He made a motion toward Eddie. “Hurry up, Munson, introduce your character so we can start.” 

“I don’t want to,” Eddie said again, and that was Scottie’s last straw. 

He squeezed his hands into tight fists and yelled, “Oh my god, would you just go already! You know, the more you put this off the more time you waste, and you’re the one who was dying to get to the game, so… god, just fucking go.”

Scottie’s outburst made everyone flinch and go quiet. Eddie looked like he wanted to disappear. 

“Fine,” he said bitterly. He opened his binder, flipped to his character sheet, and started reading directly from the page, his voice flat and listless. He might as well have been reading from a textbook. “Uhh… my character is a level fourteen spellcaster named Castinus. He was born into a disgraced noble house that has since fallen into ruin. His father was once a well-respected wizard, but his quest for knowledge and power drove him to madness. One day, he mercilessly slaughtered everyone in the castle as well as the neighboring village. Only Castinus survived the attack. As he lay dying, he made a pact with a powerful demon. As a result, he was granted great power but lost his humanity.” Eddie shrugged and pushed his binder away.

You looked around the room, beside yourself with disappointment. “Wait, that’s it? That’s all you could come up with, Munson?”

Your comment was punctuated with a moment of surprised silence, as if an ancient taboo had just been broken. Everybody’s jaws dropped. Eddie’s eyes widened in baffled hurt.

Oh my god, stop talking, you thought. Stop talking right now. 

And yet you kept going. Like an idiot, you kept going.  

“So let me get this straight, Munson: your character is a spellcaster named Castinus. Castinus, the spellcaster.” You cringed out of sheer frustration. “God, you didn’t reach very far for that one, did you?”

Gareth dropped his pencil. 

“Oh shit,” said Grant. 

Meanwhile, Jeff was giving you a pleading look. “What are you doing?” he whispered. 

“I don’t know,” you said, sickened and ashamed of yourself. 

You put your head in your hands and tried to squeeze some sense into yourself, but it just wasn’t working. 

“I’m sorry, this isn’t coming out right. I swear, I’m not trying to be mean or anything; I’m just so… so confused. I refuse to believe this is your character, Eddie. I’m sorry, but I refuse to accept it. Come on, a spellcaster named Castinus? A son getting vengeance on his evil dad? It’s just so unrealized and uninspired. I mean, my god, no wonder you sound so bored when you’re talking about him! Do you even like your character, Eddie? Because it doesn’t sound like you do. In fact, you know what it sounds like to me? It sounds like you started creating a really cool character, but then you hit a wall, gave up, and decided it was good enough. Except it’s not good enough, Eddie. For anyone else, it would be good enough. For me, it would be good enough. But you… I just know you can do so much better than that!”

Finally, you fell silent, panting. Eddie’s eyes narrowed into a hateful glare. 

“You know I can do better than that? You don't even know me!"

You winced at those words. They pierced right through your heart. 

Well, I’m trying to, you wanted to say, but maybe it wasn’t worth it. 

This wasn’t why you came here. You didn’t want to make Eddie hate his favorite game.

Now he was ripping out his character sheet, crumpling it into a ball, and whipping it at the floor. “This is exactly why I didn’t want you here,” he said, and that’s when you realized this was all a huge mistake. 

“Okay,” you whispered. 

Quietly, you gathered your things, dumped them into your backpack, and went upstairs.

Scottie sighed heavily. “That wasn’t very gentlemanlike, Eddie.” 

“I know,” Eddie mumbled back, staring at your empty chair. 

How did you know he was struggling with his character?

You only made it as far as the front porch. 

Now you were sitting on top of the stairs, weighed down by guilt, drowning in grief, and fiddling with the rainbow bracelet Chrissy had made for you—the one she had probably spent days working on. What a lovely waste of time that was. 

Sorry, Chris, you thought ruefully, looks like all the luck in the world can’t save me from myself. 

A sad, surrendering sigh escaped your lips. You tried to take the bracelet off, but the strings were tied way too tight. It was as if Chrissy herself was struggling against you. You could practically see her beside you, wrestling against you, glaring at you with those bright blue eyes and urging in that sweet, sweet voice: You said you wouldn’t give up, remember? You pinky promised! Oh, curse Chrissy Cunningham and her annoying, unyielding optimism. Couldn’t she see the game was already over?

Desperate now, you put the bracelet between your teeth and started gnawing at the strands. You were prepared to chew off your own hand if you had to.  

Still, the bracelet wouldn’t budge. It was incredibly stubborn, just like its maker. 

You promised, Chrissy said. 

I lied! you yelled back. I can’t do this, okay? I tried and I failed and

That’s when you heard

“Uhhh…” 

a voice beside you. You turned toward it and saw Eddie standing in the open doorway with a look of bemused horror. You couldn’t imagine what he must have been thinking right now, seeing you sitting with your left arm locked in a tight vise grip, savagely chewing at the inside of your wrist like a coyote trying to escape a hunter’s snare. Why, he probably thought you were an absolute lunatic. 

(Was that better or worse than the Antichrist?)

Shame engulfed you. You spat the bracelet out of your mouth and lowered your wrist to your side. 

“You left your dice,” Eddie said, still a little wary of you. 

“Oh,” you said quietly. You hadn’t realized you’d forgotten it. 

Cautiously, Eddie stepped toward you and dropped the bag into your open palm.

“Thanks,” you said, and put it away.

You figured Eddie would head back inside after that, but he didn’t. Instead, he lingered pensively on the porch for a minute, his body hunched forward slightly, hands stuffed in the front pockets of his jeans. 

“Hey, I’m really sorry,” he began in a low voice, “for the way I’ve been acting today. I haven’t been very fair to you.” 

Eddie’s apology caught you entirely by surprise. You sat there speechless for a second, blinking at him. 

“I’m sorry for calling your character uninspired,” you said. “That was really mean, and I only kinda meant it… I mean, Castinus is a terrible name, I stand by that completely, but the rest of the character isn’t that bad.” 

“Right…” Eddie raised his eyebrow dubiously, unsure of what to make of your apology.

(if you could even call that an apology)

He sighed and shook his head. “Look, how ‘bout we just start over, okay? Clean slate.”

He leaned forward and extended his hand toward you. Blushing, you drew away from it, your hand instinctively rising to cover your face. 

He wants me to shake his hand? you thought, terrified and astonished. Eddie Munson, the boy who hated you, the boy who was always running away from you, was now standing in front of you and offering you his hand. The sight alone sent your mind into a frenzy. You could feel your heart hammering against your ribcage. What was going to happen when you…?

“Okay,” you said, and slipped your hand into his. As soon you did, your heart skipped a beat… but then it slowed unexpectedly, falling into this strong, steady rhythm that made you feel strangely, beautifully, at peace.  

Could he feel this too, you wondered? 

No, probably not. 

But when you lifted your eyes, you thought you saw a glimmer of something in Eddie’s stare. Maybe it was the same calm quiet you had experienced. Maybe it was just the sun catching briefly in his eyes. Whatever it was, it was gone before you could really see it. Then his hand disappeared and returned to the pocket of his jeans. 

“C’mon,” Eddie said. He went to the front door and held it open for you. “Let’s head back inside and start the game.” 

Nodding, you grabbed your bag and went with him, but before walking through the door, you stopped and said, “Dustin Henderson.” 

“Huh?”

“You wanted to know who loaned me all that stuff, right? It was Dustin Henderson. He loaned it to me.” You went inside.  

“Oh,” Eddie said as he followed you in. “I have no idea who that is.” 

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STORY MASTERPOST

“I will not mock him.”  

“I will not mock him.”  

“I will not tease him.”  

“I will not tease him.”  

“I will not call him names.”  

“I will not call him names.”  

“I will laugh only when it’s appropriate and in a good-hearted manner.”  

“Wait, how are we defining appropriate?”  

“Just repeat it, please.”  

You sighed in surrender and echoed your best friend’s words dutifully: “I will laugh only when it’s appropriate and in a good-hearted manner… even though I don’t really know what that means.” 

Chrissy shot you a strict glare and continued: “I will not let my anxiety make me forget rules one through five.”  

“I will not let my anxiety make me forget rules one through five.”  

Chrissy stopped in front of you, put her hands on your knees, and smiled warmly. “I’m gonna have fun this summer.”

“I’m gonna have fun this summer.” 

“I’m gonna show Eddie what a smart, creative, and wonderful person I am.” 

“Well…” You looked away, embarrassed. 

“Say it,” Chrissy said, shaking your knees gently. “C’mom, c’mon, you gotta say it.” 

Her words made you squirm a little. Timidly, you looked at her and said in a bashful voice, “I’m gonna show Eddie what a smart, creative, and wonderful person I am.” 

“Because you are.” 

“… Because I am.” 

Chrissy’s smile grew. “Good!” She drummed her hands on your knees and stepped away from you. While riffling through her desk drawers, she said, “So what game are you playing exactly? Is it like a board game or something?”

“Uh, no… it’s like this fantasy roleplaying game. I don’t really know how to describe it.” 

“But you know how to play it, right?” 

“Yeah, for the most part.” 

“For the most part?” Now Chrissy sounded worried. “I thought you had been practicing. Isn’t that what you spent the last two weeks doing?”

“Well, yeah… but it’s a surprisingly complicated game.” 

“You weren’t paying attention, were you?”

“No, I totally was, I promise.” You had put in the time and the effort. Every day after school, you rushed home, hopped on your bike, and peddled down the street to the Wheeler house. You sat in that stuffy, smelly basement for two hours while a group of third-grade boys explained all the rules and then bickered over said rules. “There was just a lot of information being thrown at me in a short period of time. And I guess not everyone plays the game the same way, either, so even if I learned how they play the game, I still might not know how they will play the game, so… I’m just gonna wing it and hope my creativity saves me. Dustin said I made a pretty cool character for my first try, so…”

“Who?”

“Dustin Henderson. Third-grader. Doesn’t matter. The point is…” 

Mrs. Cunningham ducked her head into the room and said brightly, “Chrissy, dear, don’t forget we have to leave in twenty minutes.” Then she saw you and her whole demeanor frosted over. “Oh… I didn’t realize you had company.” 

You had been Chrissy’s best friend for five years and Mrs. Cunningham still referred to you as “company.” It was like she didn’t even see you as a person. You were just this disgusting blob that took up space in her daughter’s life. 

“I just stopped by for a minute,” you told her. “I’ll be leaving soon.” 

“Oh, don’t be silly," she said. "You know you’re always welcome here.”

Mrs. Cunningham lingered in the doorway for a moment, smiling and restlessly wringing her hands. Before leaving, she tipped her head toward her daughter and said, “Chrissy, stop slouching, dear.”

Chrissy heaved a frustrated huff, padded across the room, and closed her bedroom door. When she turned around, you both said in perfect unison, “Chrissy, stop slouching, dear,” and broke up into giggles. She was still laughing as she hopped onto the bed and sat down cross-legged behind you.

You turned around to face her. “So where are you going in twenty minutes?” 

“Just the salon,” she answered uncaringly. 

“Oh, please tell me you’re not getting a perm like your mother. I’ll hold you down and shave your head if you do.” 

“If she makes me get a perm, I’ll shave my own head,” Chrissy joked. “It’s just a trim. She makes me get one every three weeks; otherwise, I’ll get split ends.” 

“Oh, split ends… the scourge of society.” 

“Shut up,” Chrissy said, giving you a playful swat. “Be nice or I won’t give you your present.” 

You perked up. “A present, you say?”

“Mhm.” Chrissy flashed an excited smile, then reached behind her back and pulled out a colorful woven bracelet. “I made this for you.” 

You raised your eyebrow curiously. “Another friendship bracelet?” 

“No, this one’s not a friendship bracelet.” Leaning forward, she carefully tied the bracelet onto your left wrist. Its vibrant color perfectly complemented the other bracelet she had made for you. “This one’s for good luck.” 

You admired the bracelet for a moment, thanked her for making it, then felt your stomach bubble and churn. “Okay, now I’m getting anxious.”

“Don’t be anxious,” Chrissy said. “You’re gonna be fine.” 

But still you sighed. “What time is it?”

Chrissy turned and glanced at the alarm clock on her nightstand. “Nine thirty-five.” 

“Oh crap,” you said, and got up. “I better get going.” 

You grabbed your backpack off the floor, slung it over your right shoulder, and exited her bedroom. Chrissy followed you downstairs and opened the front door for you.

Before heading out, you turned back and said to her with sudden panic, “Should we go over the rules one more time?”

Chrissy shook her head. “No, you know the rules. Just be your normal charming, delightful self and you’ll be just fine, okay? I promise.” 

She sent you off with a gentle shove, and you went uneasily: down the porch steps, down the cobblestone path, and found your bike sitting beside the garage. After putting up the kickstand and swinging your leg over the seat, you looked up at Chrissy with a worried frown.

“What if it doesn’t work?” you asked. 

“What do you mean?”

“Like… what if I do all this and Eddie still hates me?” You shrugged helplessly. “What then?”

Now Chrissy was frowning, too. “Well, at least you’ll know you gave it your best shot.” 

SERIES MASTERPOST

You watched Eddie from the bar the whole night, sneaking glances between tables, getting a little too distracted after he got on stage. The bartender, a southern girl named Heather who you were pretty sure had magic potion recipes under all her tattoos, noticed your distraught state and offered you one of her concoctions. 

That night was the first night you'd ever drank on the job, and it didn’t occur to you to care too much. Not when the boy you thought you’d left behind was working that stage like he owned the place. The crowd loved him, flocking to the front of the stage like hearing a siren call, but it was just Eddie and his larger than life persona, too big for this small bar, but yet undiscovered by the rest of the world.

You felt lucky to be able to witness that, and being honest to yourself, you missed being in his presence. Once upon a time, being close to Eddie made you feel like you could do anything, like anything could happen as long as he was beside you. You were starting to believe that again.

In another moment of your seemingly constant distraction, as you waited for Heather to fill up your tray with your most recent drink orders, Linda leaned up to the counter, catching you by surprise. “What is it between you and Van Halen?”

Caught between a sigh and an eye roll, you knew she was going to give you a hard time after seeing your too emotional reunion earlier. “His name is Eddie, and not that Eddie.” You tried to busy yourself pretending you’re checking what the bartenders were doing. “There’s nothing between us, we just haven’t seen each other in a long time.”

“You haven’t seen any of those boys in a long time and you weren’t holding them like they’re your husband who just came back from war.”

You snort, unable to keep your scowl for too long when she’s here. “The closest to war that boy’s ever seen is a mosh pit at a Slayer concert.”

“Honey, don’t deflect.”

The thing about Linda was that she knew every single one of you like the palm of her hand. It was one of her many gifts, really. She was the one who kept you afloat, who didn't let you keep running, gave you a reason to stay. 

You admired her for a lot of reasons, but maybe the biggest reason was because you saw yourself in her. Linda didn't talk about her past much — used to say lingering in it was not worth it — but what you knew, from what little she would tell, was that her soulmate was taken from her too soon, before she made her way here and took control over her life. 

Maybe, deep down, she knew you knew her pain, and that's why she took you in without hesitation when you came in asking for a job. But, then again, Linda has a thing for strays. You, Heather, Mitch — the practically non-verbal bouncer who liked making bracelets in his down time, the other waitresses, Corroded Coffin. The woman collected strays wherever she went, maybe because she knew what being strayed felt like first hand.

You almost felt bad for omitting the truth from her, but hiding had become second nature at that point. 

"Eddie is… a childhood friend. Our moms were close, his mom died when we were little, we got closer after that, but, um…" You tried to choose your words wisely under the scrutiny of her gaze. "After high school our paths just diverged, I guess. We graduated, had different plans. I left Hawkins, he stayed. That's all."

That was not all. What "all" meant really meant was that you were tired of pining over someone who was never going to accept he was the love of your life and who, during your senior year, went out of his way to deny any chance he had of being tied to his potential soulmate, which he claimed to not believe in, anyway.

"All" was too many years of blows to the bond you shared.

Once again, you busied yourself with the tray in your hands, making sure all the drinks were counted for and stable before lifting It up and starting to make your way to the table you were waiting. Linda reached out, a hand to your arm, making you halt.

"Whatever it is that you're not telling me, because I know you're not telling me everything, he feels it too. He hasn't taken his eyes out of you all night." Before you could open your mouth to argue, she brushed you off with a wave of her hand. "Now go think about it while you serve those hooligans."

More to think about? You thought. Great.

Closing shifts on Saturday nights were not something to be taken lightly.

The floor was a mess — spilled drinks, broken glass, blood and other bodily fluids, lost objects (most likely the patrons' soulmates', not theirs) — and the tables were not looking better. The stage needed to be unset and cleaned, everything needed to be put up for the next day. By the time you were finished, you were craving a shower and your bed, but you knew you owed Eddie a conversation. 

Those drinks you were not so discreetly slipped by your bartender friend were going to come in hand at that moment.

You went outside, going up the stairs to the back door, expecting to find all of Corroded Coffin still setting up the van with their equipment, but instead you found only Eddie, in the middle of finishing a cigarette and lighting a new one.

"Still chain smoking, I see."

He smiled at you with his cigarette between his lips, the cherry making his dark eyes shine, but you could still notice the smirk didn't quite reach them. You were sure you had a similar expression on your face.

"You came." He said, simply.

"I promised."

An uncomfortable silence fell upon you, nothing but the sounds of the night, almost early morning, around you. The weakening yellow light of the lamp post your only witness. Silences never used to be uncomfortable with Eddie, but now they're a testament of the distance that has grown between you.

A single thread of red stretched beyond miles and miles until it grew loose, but never once broke.

"So… how have things been going for you? Apart from the band, of course." It took a lot of effort not to cringe at your own awkwardness. You shuffled on your feet, grazing the concrete with your boots.

"Good. Things have been good." Eddie drew out his words, as he would whenever he was trying to find something to say, but couldn't quite say it. "I think they just got better."

"Who knew, huh?"

You got closer to him, almost unconsciously. He did the same.

"I knew. Didn't know how but I guess I knew we'd see each other again."

There's no doubt Eddie was speaking his mind when he said that. He was nothing if not earnest. The original plan was for you to leave town together, and maybe that plan was never entirely lost to him. You were never entirely lost to him.

What left your lips was almost a whisper. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." He nods, curls bouncing with his head.

Silence befell you again. Eddie kept on smoking, you stayed beside him, thinking about what to say next, but never coming up with something good enough. He breaks first.

"Except that it's different now. In my mind, we'd take it from where we left off, but it's weird, isn't it?"

You swallowed hard. "Weird how?"

"I was gonna say, it's like I don't know you anymore," he took a long exhale before continuing, "but I really don't."

"Don't say that." You don't hide the frown that's taken over your face. "You'll always know me."

"I know the old you, the new you is a stranger to me."

You're a stranger to me. He said with such ease, like it was practiced — and it might have been, maybe he'd thought of this reunion as much as you had. It never occurred to you that, yes, you are strangers now. People change in a year, in two years, they change a lot in five years.

Eddie had become a stranger to you, and the concept was so foreign that you had to take a moment to breathe, lest the reality of it came crashing down too hard on you.

"If we're strangers now, then, we can always meet again."

It was the most sincera you could be at that moment. If you could start over with Eddie, if you had that opportunity, then you would grab it, and you wouldn't let it go a second time.

"I'd really like that."

The following weeks required some adjustment on your part.

You began to understand what Eddie meant with you being a stranger to him now. He was also different, the same person but ultimately changed by life experience, and you were beginning to catch up with each other. Every Friday and Saturday, the days Corroded Coffin were performing their residence at The Deuce, you helped the boys set up and take down their equipment, calling it a bonding experience, but the truth was you felt bad that they couldn’t pay for their own roadies. After closing time, you and Eddie went out to have something to eat at a nearby diner. It nearly felt like old times, except instead of late nights at Benny’s, you were having early mornings at a much less homey diner in L.A.

Eddie still liked his coffee with too much sugar, you still preferred tea. Some things never changed.

He had lost one of his rings, one of those nights. You saw it from away, a big skull ring fell to the floor of the stage as he thrashed around. Jeff accidentally kicked it completely out of view, and as expected, it didn’t take longer than a day for it to appear right beside your feet. Hours later, way into Sunday morning, it was sitting in your pocket as you watched Eddie down a mixture of pancakes, hashbrowns and overly sweet coffee as he filled you in on their latest attempts to record a demo tape.

As you sipped on your tea and pulled apart your blueberry pancakes with your fingers, an old childhood habit you found hard to break — Eddie always made fun of you for eating pancakes with your hands, but you fought back saying that it just made it taste better. He couldn’t argue with you on that since he tried doing the same and thoroughly approved — you listening, making questions from time to time. He was a storyteller, and even a tale of boring recording sessions at a cheap studio they fought hard to pay for was an epic one coming from him.

“Hey,” you interrupted him mid-story, the silver ring weighing in your pocket like it was about to burn a hole through it, “sorry, but I just remembered I found something of yours. Or at least, I think it’s yours?”

Years of lying didn’t make you a good actress, you just didn’t have the talent. However, Eddie never seemed to catch on, and it wasn’t any different at that moment. He watched with naturally wide eyes as you pulled the ring out, and the smile that appeared on his full lips was already enough to make you smile too.

“Where did you find that?” He stage-whispered, reaching for it.

“On the floor at the bar, when we were cleaning. I thought I saw you wear one similar to this, so I thought I would keep it and see if it was yours.” Only a half lie now, but it still made you fidget with your rings in order to keep it together.

“It is! Wayne got me this one. Thank you, sweetheart.”

“Of course.” Those words almost don’t come out, the air stopping midway to your lungs at the sound of that nickname you hadn’t heard in years, heart racing despite your efforts to not let it affect you too much. Eddie didn’t seem to register, and simply went on with his tales and woes of a struggling musician in the search of the perfect demo tracklist.

You lost your wallet on a Thursday night, and it went against every rule you set yourself in order to preserve your peace.

It started early, soon after you realized Eddie wasn’t going to buy the whole soulmate thing, even if it was undeniable. You kept close track of everything you owned, you stopped putting your name on your personal belongings, just in case you’d lose them. You practically glued your documents to yourself, your wallet was always secure in your bag, all of your signature jewelry was carefully counted for. You didn’t mind losing things of little value, like small household items or tubes of lip gloss. Nothing that could be traced back to you.

Your wallet was very much off limits, and it was one of those things.

The lost wallet — you were pretty sure you’d lost in the street, exiting the supermarket in a hurry — ignited a domino effect. You were distressed because of it, losing sleep, overthinking what would happen once Eddie found it. Did it appear to him at the place he was sharing with the boys? Was he going to freak out once he realized the circumstances? Was he going to run from you, or was he going to act like nothing happened? For the second time since his unexpected arrival, you felt like the world was falling under your feet, and you were free falling into the deep and dark unknown.

Friday night, because of your lost wallet induced spiral, you arrived late at work. Hair in disarray, short breath, heart pounding as you made your way down the stairs, the posters on the walls around you, all a blur. 

Heather was the first one that greeted you, waving at you from the bar as she wiped the counter in front of her. “Joanie! Van Halen said he needs to talk to you. They’re about to start the soundcheck.”

You gave her the awkwardest thumbs up, nodding. Taking your time, as if you were walking to your literal death, you put your things in your locker at the staff room, and slowly made your way to the stage, being greeted by the boys’ excited hand waves. Your smile was tight, but managed to wave back. Eddie jumped off the small platform, “Hey!”

“Hey, Eddie. Heather said you wanted to talk.”

“Yeah, wait a sec.” He reached inside one of the hidden pockets of his jean vest, and pulled out your wallet. You couldn’t feel a thing anymore, the only thing you felt was a blackhole threatening to swallow you from right under your feet, and the sweat that was starting to gather on your palms. “Found this at the back, when I parked the van. Were you looking for it?”

You could have fainted right then and there. From anxiety or from relief, you didn’t know. 

“Oh, thank you! I was looking everywhere for it. I must have dropped it when I took the trash out last night.” Again, not a good actress. You let out a strangled laugh as you picked the wallet from his hand, visibly cringing at yourself. The next thing you did was more of a distraction than a genuine display of affection. You wrapped your arms around Eddie, clinging to his shoulders, hiding yourself from his gaze.

He chuckled, but wrapped his own arms around you all the same. “What was that for?”

Oh, Eddie. Sweet, oblivious, Eddie. Either because he genuinely didn’t see it, or because he didn’t want to see, it didn’t matter. You shook with relief, and disguised it as a different kind of worry.

“Just, uh… Thank you. I was really worried about it.”

“Oh, it’s okay. You’re welcome, sweetheart.”

Your mom had a friend called Jane. You remember Jane because you thought she was beautiful, with her kind brown eyes and long flowing skirts. Jane seemed to you like a fairy from your storybooks, shrouded in ethereal mystery. She was always in your mother's kitchen, both of them sitting on your dinner table, and talking for what felt like hours, and she always brought along her son. A boy your age called Edward, or just Eddie, how he always liked to be called.

You barely remember a time where Eddie wasn't in your life. His mother would bring him along and you'd spend your afternoons together, playing and building worlds of your own on the carpet of your childhood bedroom. You were knights and princesses, pirates and mermaids, aliens and astronauts, but most of all you were free to be whoever you wanted to be in those golden-tinted days of your childhoods.

One day, when you were eleven, a book appeared on the floor of your bedroom. You recalled it just like that, because it wasn't there in one moment, and all you had to do was turn your head the other way, and when you looked back to that same spot, there it was.

A 1965 edition of The Fellowship of the Rings, by Ballantine Books. It had a blue cover with red details, and you knew right away it wasn't yours. You didn't own any of the Lord of the Rings trilogy books because you had never read them, and Eddie, already your best friend by then, never let you forget it.

Upon further inspection, you found two notes written on the first page. One was a note written in red ink, addressed to Jane by someone named Al — Eddie's das, that much you knew, and you also knew he wasn't around much — and below that, a more recent note written in blue ink that said:

"To my precious son,

Happy Birthday!

May you always find your way home.

From your mother.

06/11/1976"

At first, you'd thought Eddie had forgotten it on your last playdate, though you didn't remember him carrying a book with him that day. Your answer came a few days later when Jane was visiting, and you overheard her saying to your mother that Eddie was distraught upon finding that he'd lost his favorite book. He had brought it to school with him, and when he went home, it wasn't in his backpack.

It didn't take too long for you to put two and two together.

Scared of everyone's reactions — your mom's, Jane's, Eddie's — you hid it. The book and the truth, hidden in a box under your bed. You didn't know how to react, much less how to disclose this in a way that wouldn't change everything around you. You were a child, after all. Years later, you wondered how different your lives would have been if, instead of eavesdropping on their conversation, you had just told them what had happened. 

Jane Munson died not long after that, and you couldn't stop everything from changing, then. You didn't understand much, just that it was sudden, and fatal, and in the span of less than a year, she was gone. Eddie was distraught, and for weeks after the funeral, he was not the boy you knew and loved. He was a shell of himself, after losing his mother and moving to the trailer park with his uncle, since his father was in jail — something you'd just found out too. It was too much to assimilate, and even at twelve years old, you understood.

He started losing more things in that meantime.

You stared at a blank point that was vaguely at the height of the bottom of your bed as if it hid a ticking time bomb, ready to explode at any minute.

Eddie was sitting on the chair of your vanity, going on and on about the new friends he had made at Hawkins Middle School, friends that didn't include you, since you were still at that phase where hanging out with boys, boys that weren't Eddie, gave you nausea. He was starting to feel a little more like himself again, his buzzed hair growing into small curls, his dimples giving a sign of life again as he started to smile more.

Still, though you were relieved, you were nervous. More of Eddie's things were finding their way to you. An action figure, a set of dice, a plastic mug. You did not know how to approach the subject, and it got more and more difficult as time went on. You felt like you were losing your timing, like the opportunity was slipping through your fingers each time you chose to stay quiet.

"You ever thought about what you'll do when you find your soulmate's things?"

Eddie groaned at your sudden interruption. "Really? That's what you're thinking about?"

"It's just that… See, this girl in my class…" Sighing, you give up making sense. "Whatever. Just answer the question."

"I don't know. That shit isn't real." 

You were still getting used to Eddie's slight change in demeanor. He was still the sweet boy you've known, but a little rougher around the edges. Angry at the world for taking away his mother, full of resentment towards his father, confused and scared. Though that anger was never directed at you, you felt some ripples of it, like right now.

“Of course it’s real, we see it all the time.”

Unable to meet his eyes, you hear a scoff coming from his direction. “I don’t know. My parents weren’t soulmates, your parents weren’t either. What are the chances?”

“Don’t say that. There’s always a chance…” Your voice got smaller and smaller, trying to take back what you’d said. It wasn’t the right time, and it wasn’t right for you to force this conversation with the grieving boy in front of you. He didn’t need one more thing to worry about, you told yourself.

“I don’t care. I think I’d just leave them alone.”

Nodding, you moved on to a different subject. It wasn’t the right time.

It would never be.

You thought you had forgotten what he looked like.

Which was impossible, because you saw him everywhere. You saw him in the long haired, rowdy boys you saw up and down Sunset Strip. You saw him in crowds of headbangers with their fists in the air. You saw him in guitar shops, in fantasy novels, in cans of spray paint and black pencils. In tight hugs and loud laughs. In the little kids playing at the park, holding hands and exchanging vows of eternal friendship. In yourself, whenever you look in the mirror.

You wondered if he saw you too. If he looked around at every corner he turned and there you were. A missing limb he could still feel even though it had been gone a long time. Twin ghosts haunting each other.

You couldn't forget even if you wanted to, and you never did, because he was a part of you — and now he was here, in the flesh, as if no time had passed between those five years you were gone. That’s what it felt like to you, at least, although both of you had changed a lot since then. From a distance, you could see Eddie stood taller, had a more confident stance to him. His shoulders were broader, his arms filled his jacket’s sleeves a little bit more. You fought the urge to let out a dreamy sigh, almost forgetting you were on the verge of tears not two minutes before this.

The urgent phone call you were having with Robin had to be cut short when you heard a series of impatient knocks on the door of the staff room. It was Linda, asking you what you were doing there. You mumbled something about needing to make a quick call, but that went through one ear and fell out the other, as Linda was locking your arm with hers and leading you to the front of the small stage where Corroded Coffin dealt with their equipment.

Trying to disguise your trembling, a sinking feeling that took over your whole body, you held tightly onto Linda’s arm, and planted yourself firmly to the ground where you stopped. 

“Boys, boys! I want you to meet someone. This is Joan, everyone’s favorite waitress.”

He was the first one who reacted, while his friends, your old friends, only gawked. Gareth dropped his drumsticks, Jeff had opened his mouth three times before deciding not to say anything — which made you realize he didn’t have his braces anymore — and Grant, ever the expressive one, had both eyebrows raised, giving away all his surprise.

“Joan?”

“Because I’m a runaway, like Joan… Jett.” That wasn’t the first, the second or the hundredth time you had to explain that dumb nickname. Joan was not your real name, it wasn’t even close to it, but Linda was insistent on calling you that. She thought it was funny, a runaway girl from the midwest trying to make her way through Los Angeles, and she’d been calling you that since your first week working there. “Not her most creative moment.”

“It’s so fucking good to see you!” Jeff was the first to break the silence, and then the other boys followed suit, engulfing you in tight hugs, releasing all, or at least most of, the tension inside of you. Giggling softly, you hugged them back.

“It’s good to see you too, guys. It’s been a long time.”

The only people who didn’t join were Linda, who stood confused to the side, and Eddie, who stayed in place, looking paler than he already was, like he would pass out at any moment. You felt the same, but Eddie was the one who always wore his feelings on his sleeve, not you.

“What exactly is this?” Your boss asked, pointing her red stiletto nails at the scene unfolding in front of her. “Where do you know her from?”

“From our hometown.” You explained, tucking your hands into the back pockets of your jeans, trying to make yourself smaller. “We went to the same school.”

“More like the only school in town.” Gareth laughed. “It’s a small town but an even smaller world, I guess.”

“Just wait until you get settled here. Everyone knows everyone, it’s worse than Hawkins.” You scoffed, trying to lighten up the mood. “How long have you been here?”

“Almost a month.” Eddie was the one who answered, finally finding his voice. “We’ve been bouncing from bar to bar until Linda was kind enough to take us in now.”

“You’re welcome, dear. It will be a pleasure to have you here. Now…”

As Linda started to explain some of the basic rules of operations of The Deuce — opening and closing times, where to find everything, introducing them to the other staff members — you and Eddie stayed behind, a thin veil of tension still standing between you, but then, Eddie reached out, an outstretched arm forward, beckoning you with a soft voice, “C’mere.”

And you went, with no hesitation. For a moment, you even felt silly for all that fuss you made moments before, that anxiety that threatened you to burn a hole on the ground and swallow you whole. It was just Eddie, the boy who used to hold your hand whenever you felt this exact same way, all those years ago. Ironic how he was the cause and the cure to all of your problems.

You let him wrap his arms around you, closing the gap that the red thread connecting you was pulling and pulling until you were pressed together again, bodies joined like two pieces of a puzzle. You stayed like that for a full minute, your arms around his narrow waist, his squeezing you to his chest until it hurt, but you didn’t dare let go, and for the first time in a long time, you felt right. You were home again.

“I missed you so much.” You found courage to say something in your hiding place, your head pressed to his chest. His smell of cigarettes and cheap cologne was oddly calming, making you breath in deeply. 

“I missed you too.” Eddie took a small step back, raising one hand to the back of your head, holding you in place. You were pretty sure you had the dumbest lovestruck look in your eyes while you looked at him, but you couldn’t really care at that moment. You could be embarrassed later. “How have you been?”

“I, uh…” 

“Hey, Van Halen!” Linda called out from the other side of the bar, snapping her fingers at you, “you can catch up later. Get your pretty boy ass over here.”

Untangling from each other, you’re both clearly flustered, Eddie’s face a blooming shade of pink. You’re quick to remedy it. “We can talk later, after your show. After I clock out. Is that okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah. Sure.” 

He walked away, then, still looking back at you. Both smiling, both feeling the relief of that red string, now much less strained, but no less beaten. Far from healing, but one step closer. At least, that’s how you felt, but you knew that was only the beginning of a long and winding road to the recovery of your friendship. You didn’t dare to think of something more, crushing the seeds of hope that threatened to take root in your heart.

"Oh… He's there?" Realization colors her voice. You heard steps on her end, the telephone cord being stretched, and waited with baited breath for her to return. For a moment, you can almost picture her clumsily moving around her small kitchen, trying not to break something in her haste. "He's there?"

The shock you hear in her voice can't be compared to the one you felt when you saw Eddie Munson — freak extraordinaire, professional small town delinquent, guitar wizard and your long lost best friend — walk into the bar you work at, equipment in hand, ready to settle in the stage for a busy Friday night at one of the more inconspicuous bars in Sunset Boulevard.

In all your naivety, you thought you'd never have to see him again. Once you left Hawkins, fresh out of High School and with a determination you only have when you're born in a town that is, in turn, equally determined to spit you out, you thought that was it. Destiny and fate and red strings didn't rule your life, you did.

Destiny was now laughing at your face, pointing at you with an accusing finger like a mother that says "I told you so" to a misbehaving child that has to face the consequences after tempting them for too long.

It looked like he didn't change a thing since you last saw him, from the shaggy brown hair down to the tattered black bandana in his pocket, at least from the quick look you took at him before bolting, which only hurt even more.

"When were you going to tell me he moved here? Didn't you know anything? Didn't Steve know? Dustin must have told him something, it's impossible…"

"Bold of you to assume I listen to every single thing that dingus tells me when he calls me, babe." Robin interrupts your increasingly rapid speech, filled with indignant rage. Her words seem harsh towards your mutual friend, but you know it's said with affection. "And also, I don't know, doesn't fate work in mysterious ways or whatever they used to tell us when we were kids?"

Your communication with your childhood friends was done primarily by phone, ever since you left for Los Angeles and Robin for Indianapolis with her girlfriend-slash-roommate (as far as both of their parents are concerned), Vickie. Steve had stayed behind, begrudgingly managing his dad's business, but you knew it was only a matter of time until he left too.

All of you do, eventually. Even Eddie did, much to your chagrin. It was bittersweet, actually. He'd achieved his lifelong dream of getting out, a dream you both shared, but now you hoped he had chosen somewhere else to run to instead of right into you.

If you weren’t too busy being desperate about your current situation, one you’d been trying to avoid for longer than you thought it was possible, you’d be happy for him. Truly. Once upon a time, it was all you ever wanted. All you could ever talk about. Sitting on his bedroom floor, lying together on your roof, staring at Lover’s Lake — about how you’d get out of there and conquer the world.

You didn’t get to do it together like you planned, like you were meant to, but, then again, life found a way.

"There's nothing mysterious about this, though. Every idiot with a band in this country moves to California sooner or later, it was just a matter of time until they did too."

"May I remind you that he's not just an idiot with a band but actually your soulmate?"

The word soulmate pierces your heart like an arrow anytime you hear it, especially when it's related to yours. It reminds you of a painful conversation, one that was hard to forget.

"Don't say that. You're making it difficult for me." You murmur, closing your eyes for a moment too long. Still staring at the door, scared of someone walking in catching you hanging on to the receiver for dear life, unshed tears glistening in your eyes.

"I'm just saying, and I know I've said this a million times before, but I don't know how you haven't caved to those doe eyes of his. Soulmate or not, I would have, and I don't even like men. Not even a little bit."

Glimpses of warm brown filled your mind, deep and all-knowing. It was getting harder to breathe in the stuffy backroom, the walls seeming to close in on you.

A rational part of your brain, deep inside, knew that you were likely exaggerating. It wasn't like Eddie meant to hurt you — he couldn't even if he tried, that boy didn't have a mean bone in his body. In your worst moments, you tried to convince yourself that you had hurt yourself. You broke your own heart before he could break it first.

That same rational part of your brain knew it was inevitable. The heartbreak. It was only a matter of time until it all shattered — so, you left. You stopped writing at some point near the six month mark after you moved, he stopped calling a little after that. Life went on.

"You're not being very helpful, you realize that? I nearly had a heart attack when I saw him. They're all here, all of the boys. They're here, at the bar, rehearsing." You told her. "When Linda said they had hired a new band I expected something like them but not them, literally." Recounting what happened a few minutes before, you left out the part where you may or may not have crouched behind the bar counter to avoid being seen by your former classmates.

The Deuce was your safe place, and that was a lot to say about a bar that housed a little under a hundred rowdy rock fans almost every night and had seen its fair share of fights and public indecency charges in the time you worked there, but you liked it. Maybe it had to do with the fact that it was one of those places where everything felt possible and every night was different, or with the woman who took you under her wing and made you feel at home in the most chaotic moment of your life.

You trusted Linda, but not enough to tell her about your “one who got away”. Even if you did tell her about what led you here, the real reason you were miles away from home, you don’t think it would have made a difference in this particular moment. You had a feeling no one could put a stop to the red string that was, little by little, shortening the distance between you and the one who’s always held the other side of it.

It frightened you to no end.

"You should just talk to him. Rip that band-aid off. What are you going to do? Leave your job?"

After a beat of silence on your end, Robin continued, and the soft kindness in her voice was enough to finish breaking you. You wish you could hold her through the line. "You can't keep running forever."

Was it stupid that you thought you could?

Your heart beat fast under the tight black shirt you used to work that day, and unconsciously, your hand reached for the necklace under it. An old red guitar pick sat there, right under your collarbone, held between your fingers.

prologue

part one