AN: FINALLY. I've been waiting to get to sad little awkward Louise.

Chapter Four: Learning through others

If Louise has learned about the world, it's that the people are strange. No, really. They are. Wherever she turns. Whatever town she ends up. Whoever pities her enough to give her a ride. It's pretty much established that they must think she's strange too. But, she'd learned to get over it once. After Billy, she can learn to get over it again. She'll never see him again for her sake and for his, a fact which brings her some solace.

As she walks along the strip, Louise feels the eyes of a passing group of girls rove down her clothes. One whispers to the others, and together their laughter is ridicule. She wants to duck her head, but Louise keeps looking forward because she can't look down at her feet and afford to miss something important.

As she approaches a store, sees the people inside, she tugs off the leather material clinging to her fingertips. And one glove after the other, Louise's hands are bare and there is a light taste of dread on her tongue as she swallows nervously.

. — . — . — .

At this hour, the store stands empty. Customers aren't scouring the aisles, no one waits at the register. No one asks where to locate Preparation H. So, Joyce sits in the back and eats the sack lunch she prepared for herself even though it isn't even nine o'clock, and she thinks back on when Will— and then thinking further back on when Jonathan — depended on her to fill their Evel Knieval lunch boxes.

After she lifts her cold sandwich to her mouth, a sound at the storefront prevents her from a bite and though this is her break, Jeffrey had called in sick and Mr. Melvald wouldn't return until this afternoon— she puts down her meal and investigates the commotion, in part hoping it might be Bob.

When she scuttles out, Joyce sees a girl crouched down to pick up the toiletries she had dropped with the curtain of her hair sweeping down to the floor.

"Are you alright there?" Joyce asks.

"...I'm s-s-sorry," she says.

Joyce watches her scramble and then notices a dropped book, sitting several feet away from her. The title reads, 'Treatise on Electricity and Magnetism. Vol II." Her fingers curl around the edge and picks it up.

"M-may I have it b-b-back?" The girl eyes the book nervously. A bottle of shampoo slips from her arms and clatters to the ground.

Joyce smiles.

"Let me get you a basket."

. — . — . — .

As she tills up the cash register, punches in the price of the backpack, she comments, "I don't think I've seen you around here. Are you new?"

But, Joyce doesn't just think. There isn't a face she didn't place in Hawkins which hasn't entered through Melvald's before, and it'd come easy to her over the years to single out the newcomers.

Yet, the girl merely shrugs.

"Big travel pack." Joyce gestures to the choice items scattered on the counter. "Want all of this in here?"

"Yes, p-please."

Her stutter reminds Joyce of when Jonathan finally grew out of his in middle school. Oh how cruel the children were to him before.

When Joyce announces the price, she is handed a fifty, and wonders if she had ever given her sons so much money to spend at once. As she hands back the change, she sees the girl's gaze flicker to her name tag.

"Th-thank you... Joyce."

"Of course."

She considers the girl once more. "What is your name?"

When she stows the cash in the deep pockets of her jacket and slips on the backpack, the corners of her mouth lift into a smile. She becomes the happiest customer Joyce has seen this week, and it makes her question back on her words, if there was something else she asked besides for her name.

"Louise," she says in an eager rush.

Joyce admires her energy.

"Well then, Louise, I hope you enjoy your stay in Hawkins." Joyce says with a firm nod and extends her hand, "It's nice meeting you."

But, Louise never reaches for Joyce's hand because the bell of the front door clinks noisily, distracting them both.

"Joyce!"

It's the sight of Jim Hopper which forces the sigh through her nose.

"Pepto…"

When she looks at him, he spreads his palms with impatience.

"C'mon on! Pepto!"

"Back of aisle three, top shelf," Joyce says.

Hopper runs in the direction instructed.

When she turns back, the girl is leaving through the front. One of her shoe laces drag on the ground. She thinks to warn her, but Hopper curses and Joyce turns her face with a roll of her eyes.

"Jesus..." he grumbles, "I didn't ask for Preparation H."

. — . — . — .

A man looked at his watch and muttered that the bus was late and it makes her look down at her bare wrist. Maybe, if Louise had one in the beginning she wouldn't have missed all those trains and buses.

As she sits on a street bench with her heels bouncing, Louise feels ever self conscious of how she acts. From her visit through the city, it was so easy to blend into the crowd away from prying eyes. Yet, here in this town, where the population and the residents are closely knit and their private lives are embedded in social circles, where everyone knows everyone, the danger of standing out becomes more clear and present to her.

"Excuse me?"

Louise looks at the man sitting beside her.

"Do you have the time? My watch has died."

"No," she answers.

"Great."

She recognizes the sarcasm, but instantly thinks Billy's use of it is worse.

"S-sorry."

The man looks at her as she notes his style: the sweater vest, the pin striped collar shirt, top button closed, the hair on his face, his haircut.

"Oh no. I'm the fool who didn't pay attention. Should've known better with this old thing. Ought to get it replaced." the man chuckles warmly and his gaze slips.

"Say, that's a bit of heavy reading."

Louise looks at her lap and the unassuming book.

"Electricity is still so new to us," he adds, "And yet, we've been pushed forward at least ten technological generations with it. Interesting stuff, really. How far along are you? Have you reached the part about conduction in the third dimension?"

Louise smiles uneasily.

No, I haven't. You're asking the wrong person.

This is the answer she wishes she could say without reducing to a stuttering, stumbling mess.

But, instead what comes out is:

"Y-yes."

It's simple, it's clean. And it's a lie.

"Are you a student of Hawkins High?"

She shakes her head.

"J-just moved." It's another lie, but wouldn't it be better that way? "Pretty...uh...new here."

"Was about to say, I've never seen those kids carry something like that. Wish my class would. Everyone knows who Einstein is and E-equals-M-C-squared, and Newton and the apple. But the average person has no idea who Maxwell is or how prolific his contributions are to physics and modern society."

Louise sees a window. The opportunity.

"Y-you sound like...a t-teacher?"

The man is aglow with pride. "Most certainly!"

"What d-do you teach?"

"The middle school sciences. History and english aren't as fascinating to me. Really, couldn't have it any other way, don't you think?"

"Yes."

A pleased smile is sent her way and she can't help her own from forming on her face. No one has ever spoken to her for this long before in one sitting.

Then, he perks up at the sound of the bus shaking on its axle, rolling to a stop in front of them.

"Well, this is my ride."

"Cool."

"Hopefully, I'll be able to have my car up. Beats having to take this to and from school everyday. Don't know how you kids do it," the man says.

"Me neither," she replies.

Looking over his shoulder, he sees the bus driver tap the steering wheel, watching him expectantly with a grimace.

The next he speaks, his hand also moves and her heart thuds because she's been waiting for this and her hand responds too, lifting from her lap.

"Mr. Clarke, by the way. And you are?"

"I...I'm Louise."

"Nice meeting you, Louise. I hope you find Maxwell worth it. See you around, maybe." Mr. Clarke says.

When their palms meet, the world falls away around her, blowing in a welter of sensations that aren't her own. Images scroll past and she's swimming upstream through the current of his memories.

. — . — . — .

Fall science experiment. Space exhibit poster.

Burnt carpet scent permeates the air inside the car— did he wear out the brakes?

Amateur radio station in his house unfinished, sits with dust collecting—

Extra equipment for the AV club.

Four boys. Children laugh, at least those who are paying attention.

He meets her eyes and says "Definitely, Jen, I'll see you after work."

AV Club.

"Alright, class, today's lesson we'll focus on…"

Four children.

Will Byers is missing?

Does he mark him as absent or remove him from the list?

Four children.

The air conditioning unit is broken in his house.

Mike's swedish?

Girl in pink dress, and blonde locks.

Poor kids must miss Will.

The news channel blares with a picture of a boy, announces Will Byers is found— happiest day for Hawkins— especially for Joyce and Jonathan; his brother used to be in his class— to see him all grown up now...

Girl in pink dress.

"Look, I hate doing this to you, but it's detention for all of this week until—"

Girl in pink dress.

But her face, her face is—

. — . — . — .

Within the second of the touch, she's sucked back out when she hears:

"Take care."

Before she knows it, Mr. Clarke had released her hand and hopped onto the bus.

As it leaves, Louise groans because her brain feels as though it's sloshing around in her skull. Something drips onto the back of her hand, wet and lukewarm and she looks down at the drop of blood, stark red against her skin. Another drop falls from her nose. Another. Falling splat onto the cover of the book. But, she ignores it. Instead flips it to page eleven and focuses on the photograph taken from the file Mother had given her.

Louise feels light as she swipes the back of her hand across her nose runny with blood and thinks:

She's here.

. — . — . — .

The motel she finds is located next to an arcade and the children flock through the front doors as she sits at the window and waits for her hair to dry. Water stains the back of her slip, the one she always wears underneath the smock dress that is drying on the bathroom curtain rod. Louise had thought of washing her sneakers too, but imagined they would get dirty anyway.

"Ta. Ta. Ta. Ta."

Each syllable fogs up the glass in front of her mouth.

"Fa. F-Fa. F—"

Then, her stomach growls.

Whatever emptiness she feels in her chest is further exacerbated by the emptiness in her stomach. A sort of loneliness hits her over her heart. She yearns for Mother.

She hikes her feet up to the seat of the chair, resting her forehead against her knees while the laughter of children leaks through the window and swallows the sound of her cries.

. — . — . — .

She spends the majority of her late morning and afternoon watching a program featuring dancing men and women on the TV. By the time evening arrives, she dons her dried dress and takes everything with her. Louise can't risk someone stealing from her again— that would really just suck and she's had enough bad days.

Though she'd told herself she could forgo buying food, she's walking down the mainstrip of town to eventually find a moderately empty diner further down along on the same street as the motel. It's good that no one notices her enter except for the waitress who guides her to a booth and hands her a menu. She stares at it for ten minutes, deciding what might be good for her, what might not, and what might kill if she's allergic. But, Louise doesn't know if she's allergic to anything. Mother only warned her of the possibility that she could be.

And within those ten minutes, she doesn't notice another customer walking in with a young girl behind him, or how the waitress discreetly eyes his fitted jeans, or how the two settle into a booth five down from hers, because Louise is deciding on a bowl of fruit or eggs, because those were things Mother had fed her. She was safe with those.

When the waitress clears her throat, Louise lowers her menu.

If her breath catches, it's only because someone stares at her from ten yards away with rage so frightening in his crystal blue eyes, she inherently shivers. A red head turns and the face is young and fills with recognition upon spotting Louise.

Whatever the waitress had said, Louise had already bolted out of her seat through the entrance. She manages to get to the middle of the parking lot and that's as far as she makes, before his cologne hits her full force and her heels leave the ground.

Billy wrings her by the front of her jacket and his snarl is vicious.

"What the hell did you do to my car?"

Louise can only think: So much for avoiding him.

UP NEXT:

"N-no."

Billy makes a rude noise as he steps closer to Max. "Don't stutter. You're starting to sound like her."

"Like your girlfriend?"

A flash of anger crosses his face, but thankfully, he doesn't say anything else, doesn't berate her.

He only barks— he's best at it. "Get in the fucking car."