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I knew Fi Myers because she sat across from me in Lydecker's French class.

Mrs. Lydecker had us sitting in pairs for 'conversational ease' but all I knew was that being paired up with a pretty girl for one period a day was pretty much a gift. It was my second time attempting second year French, and unlike a lot of other classes, it was all about memorization over skill. While there are a lot of strategies that don't work for me in school, memorization did. Does. Whatever. I could handle the class because most of it was just knowing the right vocab and verb form.

She was cute, and unlike a lot of other students at Hawkins, she didn't seem to have a preconceived notion about me, which was kind of a blessing because lots of other people did. I have been called a nerd, a loser, scum, low-life, freak . . . all because I refuse to jump through hoops and conform to the white bread world here in the armpit of the great state of Indiana.

Where was I? Oh yeah, Fi Myers. She was usually somewhere near me because our last names were shoulder to shoulder in the alphabet. We didn't share any classes besides French, but in any line or assembly, she was either next to me, or one student over, long legs and serious expression. I myself have a weakness for nice legs and hers were damned nice, especially when she wore skirts, rawr!

Sexist, but I am who I am. Anyway, the last half of this year I noticed she was a little more serious than usual, but I chalked it up to senior-itis. Wasn't until Mrs. Lydecker called me to stay after class that I found out Ms. Myers wasn't doing well and wanted extra credit. Then she pointed out that I wasn't doing well either and could use extra credit. In fact, she'd give BOTH of us a hand up if we did some performance IN FRENCH for five minutes.

Honestly, Frenching with Fi for five minutes flashed in my brain as OHYEAHLETSDOIT! Before I realized that wasn't what Mrs. Lydecker meant, damn.

"She is shy, so having someone else up there will help, and she is your class partner," Mrs. Lydecker pointed out. "It would make a difference on your grades."

I nodded, wondering what we were going to do that would fit the bill.

-oo00oo—

My mom died when I was six, so I barely remember her. She was on a Greyhound bus that slid off the embankment for the Eno River on the way out of Hawkins one freezing January night. She'd left my dad and me, hoping to reach my Aunt Daisy's house in Illinois. Like I said, I barely remember her, but I do have her Hawkins class ring, and I wear it on my right hand. It's the only thing of hers I have.

She left because Dad had spent his entire paycheck on booze, and because he'd threatened to kidnap me if she tried to take me with her. Sometimes, I wish she had. Tried, that is, because whatever else my old man is, quick with a backhand is one of them. He was then and he probably still is, but since he's currently in a cell in Pendleton, fat chance of him ever hitting ME again. Sometimes my uncle, Wayne, goes to visit him, but I never do. He's a car thief and a murderer, so not exactly prime father material.

For a while I got bounced around among relatives, with nobody really wanting me, but finally Uncle Wayne said he'd keep an eye on me. We moved into the trailer park when I was ten, and we've been there ever since. My uncle is a good guy, and the only one of my relatives I actually give a shit about. Sure, he's not a talker, and smokes like a furnace, but he also lets me call him by his first name and taught me a lot: how to install a muffler; how to play poker; how to work power tools, and fish.

He's gay. Nobody knows that, but one night after we'd both had a lot of beers he told me that he lost the one guy he loved back in Korea, and I think he just closed up shop, emotionally after that. Too hard to open up to anybody new, especially in this white picket fence town. He's a quiet dude who loves HeeHaw, KFC, and Marlboros, so that's about as mainstream as you can get around here.

So it's just the two of us at home. I have other groups though—Corroded Coffin for one. Me, Gareth, Jeff, and Dwayne have been playing since middle school, and we're . . . not bad. That's not me being humble, just honest. We don't rehearse enough together to get better than where we are right now, even though I try to put in some time practicing every day I can.

And Hellfire Club.

I joined as an itty bitty dweeb just out of middle school when Martin Logan ran the club back in my freshman year. It was the only club Hawkins High offered that even remotely looked cool. I was still wearing a buzzcut back then gah! Anyway, Martin helped me build my first character sheet—a half-orc bandit—and showed me the ropes. I learned about perception rolls, dungeon crawls and ill-fated last stands. There were campaigns that cost me the better part of my ninth-grade year for God's sake.

Started with the basics—Village of Hommlet I'm looking at you—and by the time I made it to the current day, I'd not only inherited Martin's DM position, but I also was ready to lead my players through Tomb of Horrors and give them a taste of a lich. Just a lick of lich if you like.

I had big plans for a very obscure monster I'd found in the Advanced Guide, juuuuust for my little precious band of adventurers. Right now, he was just a Hand, but I had big plans for Vecna, yes indeed.

-oo00o—

Fi came to see me before the game, stopping in the Art Room as I was starting to set up. I missed using the Drama Room, but the table space there was limited, and I wanted to make sure everyone could see the map I'd created. She didn't seem too surprised and made a joke about the cover of my Dungeon Master's Guide, which won her a few points with me.

Calling the Efreet on the cover, 'Elmo' was pretty funny.

We agreed on performing La Marseillaise, and then Dustin showed up. Great kid, but I wished that for once, he wasn't early. Yet, there he was, so after another joke or two, I had to watch Fi walk out instead of staying.

"Who was that?" Dustin wanted to know, but I wasn't in the mood to be serious.

"I know your life experiences have been limited, Oh Henderson of Hawkins, but that was a lifeform known as 'a GIRL," I intoned, eyes wide. "A dangerous creature with the power to baffle men and seduce them to their deaths!"

"Well, if that's the case, what's she doing talking to YOU?" came the smartass question.

"Eyeing me as her lifetime challenge," I assured him, and handed him a bottle of Yoohoo. "As she should."

Dustin snorted, and I had to grin at that.