For the next few hours, Mary tried to disassociate herself from the plan.
There was a Chemistry test covering the periodic table with a focus on the noble gases coming up on Monday for which she had copious detailed notes and was otherwise entirely unprepared. She had just started reading Return of the King for her yearly read and was eager – or at least had been, before the nightmare that had been cheer tryouts – to get started on what was, without a doubt, at once the most thrilling and heartrending volume in the trilogy. On Friday nights, if her dad went to bed early enough, her mom would order pizza and they'd watch old Audrey Hepburn movies until their eyes drooped and they disappeared into the couch cushions, becoming one with the living room furniture.
She had so many distractions. Alone and armed with Sting and the Ring of Power, Samwise was about to infiltrate the tower of Cirith Ungol to save Frodo from a fate worse than death itself. There were millionaire playboys and their much more serious, levelheaded brothers for Sabrina to fall in love with. Chemistry was not her best subject and there was plenty of studying to do if she wanted to pass her first test in Hawkins with an A.
But nothing could hold her attention.
It began to rain when she arrived home, throwing her knapsack on her freshly made bed and kicking off her sneakers – perfect reading weather. She tried concentrating on Samwise's plight as he climbed the winding staircase of Cirith Ungol in search of his beloved master, but her mind wandered into dark corners where it did not belong. Get a grip, Mary…she snapped Return of the King shut with a sigh of frustration.
She attempted to watch Roman Holiday around six thirty, after she heard the familiar tempo of her father's heavy footsteps dragging him wearily up the stairs. Her mother even ordered her favorite – mushroom, jalapeno, and sausage – but the warm doughy crust melted like ashes on her tongue and stuck to the roof of her mouth. You alright hon? You seem kinda restless tonight...wanna talk about your first day of school?
No...she grumbled, her uncharacteristic brooding alerting her mother to the existence of a problem. Mary felt the foreboding weight of her mother's stare on her as she retreated to her room, hoping to find solace in a stack of unsorted Chemistry notes. How was she going to keep this from her mom? She told her absolutely everything, from hangnails to new crushes. There was nothing she couldn't share with her (except this).
Her father had set up an unsteady and hideously disfigured writing desk for her in the corner of her new room. It was a barren, unwelcoming place, as she had not yet had a chance to unpack her posters, old drawings, and family photos that were her greatest treasures and put them up on the walls where they belonged. The reading nook by the window was her favorite part of the room, needing nothing more than the old green and yellow gingham curtains framing the rain-streaked windowpanes and a warm blanket to make it the most inviting spot in the house. It was still coming down hard outside and she could hear thunder rumbling in the distance.
Just don't think about it, Mary.
Focus on something else.
Focus. Chemistry test, Monday. You need to pass.
"Hon?"
Mary whipped around, swallowing a hiccup of surprise as she saw her mother's form blotting out the warm glow of the hallway light which filtered through her half open door. The deeply etched lines in her brow were knit with worry. Her posture relaxed and she returned to her task of highlighting definitions with a faded yellow marker she was worried wouldn't last through the next rigorous few hours of study. "Hey mom…"
"Is everything...okay? You're not yourself." She felt the atmosphere of the room shift as her mother walked in, carefully as to not spook her, and a sense of safety, of comfort pervaded the very core of Mary's being. "You know you can talk to me...it's been rough on you, on all of us, this move. Can you tell me how your first day went?"
Her mind now split between the all-consuming terror of an upcoming test and her mother's unspoken plea to open up to her, Mary's insistent and determined scribbling at important terms and definitions slowed to a distracted, half-hearted pace. Perhaps, she could just tell her the things to which she wasn't sworn to secrecy. Tell her where it hurt, what scared her...like old times. Like she once did, not very long ago.
She steeled her emotions against the onslaught of tears threatening to give her away, that there was more going on than she was able to tell. Everything is going to turn out fine, this is just the first day of school, she coaxed herself back into a state of collected calmness, a technique she saved for the occasional pre-performance jitters that struck before a big game back home. She met her mom's searching eyes for a brief second and gave a little shrug. "You know...first day expectations. It never goes the way you want it to."
"Did you...make any friends? Try out for the cheer squad?" Her mom asked as she untangled her legs and folded them neatly under her, draping her long, spidery arms around her knees which jutted out in sharp acute angles over her too gaunt hips. She hid the prominent bones of her ribcage from the world under layers of clothes, but she could not soften the ridges of her collarbone which sliced through the hem of her shirt like arrowheads. No amount of concealer, mascara, and rouge could mask the pallor which gripped her countenance.
Even with one quick glance, Mary could see the darkness under her eyes was spreading. Like a virus, a shadow of foreboding. Mary tried not to see it, to look too closely in her mother's soft gaze that used to bring so much comfort, so much relief from all the fears and emotional upheavals of living caught in the doldrums between girlhood and womanhood. Now they looked more and more, everyday...vacant. Colder, more like steel, like a plastic copy of the real thing. She told herself each morning that it was all going to be fine in the end, it was just a temporary thing, another mantra she had practiced in front of the mirror as she felt her entire world threatening to give way under her feet. Everything was fine. It was all going to be fine.
"Mary…" Her mother sighed wearily. "Please talk to me. You and I used to talk a lot about what happened at school. Ever since we got here, you've been so quiet."
"Yeah, well," Mary shrugged again and the repetition of it was starting to make the bones in her neck ache. "School used to be different. Life itself was...different."
Her mom nodded slowly, watching her daughters start to work manically again on the mess of scribbled-on paper spread out in front of her. "Can't disagree with you there. But you know...life is never going to be easy. Maybe for a while it can be. It has its...blessings, its good times. But part of growing up is accepting the twists and turns that come your way and making the best of them."
"I think I'll get the hang of this place," Mary reassured her, still trying to keep her composure, but slowly losing control. "It's just….I gotta admit. The kids here are just not the same as the ones in California."
"Not the same? How do you mean?" Her mother handed her a fresh marker as she watched her daughter struggle to get ink from a clearly dead highlighting pen.
Mary blew a strand of piecey blonde hair out her face, swiping it to the side quickly when it refused to behave without intervention. "You know...just…" she searched for the right word, but only one seemed fitting, correct, even though it did not fit with the whole "think the best of people" routine she was determined to maintain. "Meaner."
"Mary Elizabeth Thatcher," her mom grinned. "You're telling me that you had a hard time making friends today? My sweet, friendly, talented baby girl?"
"I'm not your baby anymore, mom," Mary scoffed, rolling her eyes playfully. "And I'm not sweet."
"You'll always be my baby. And you are...you are the sweetest, most wonderful girl I know."
"You have to say that. You're my mom."
She didn't disagree, but also did not recant her statement, believing in it fully. "Look, it's a new place. Give it time. These kids, they probably grew up together. They probably played as toddlers in the same community park sandbox and peed in the same neighborhood pool. You're new, a stranger, in a very tight knit community that thrives on knowing each other, being neighbors, you know...the whole small town everyone knows everybody's business trope. You're going to have to break into some very strong, established friend groups and that takes time, patience, and courage. But I know you, Mary. You can do anything, so this is going to be no problem for you."
Seeing that her daughter was only half paying attention, she put her hand on the one that was furiously scratching out notes on a fresh sheet of paper.
"Mary, don't be scared."
Mary stopped, dread taking root and blooming throughout the rushing blood and rhythmic pounding of her heart. She could feel it flooding her ears, the deafening roar of it, and it reminded her of what drowning must feel like. Unable to breathe, unable to move, staring with a yearning so deep, so profound, that it morphed into a desperate need, clawing for the surface just above her head – but still, unable to breech the surface. Unable to reach up for even one life-giving breath.
"I will always be there for you."
Tears pushed violently in protest and the lump returned to the back of her throat. All she could do was manage a weak nod at the lie and accept it, swallowing it whole and calling it truth.
Everything will be fine.
.
.
.
Monday morning came and this time, Mary was the one staring.
Eddie Munson sat in his desk with his legs reaching out under the girl's in front of him like black denim vines with holes in the knees. His head was tipped back, shaggy brown hair hanging like a heavy curtain in tousled waves behind him. The sunlight danced across his eyes, chasing out the darkness of them and inviting a warmth and openness into their depths that made her realize they weren't the flat, terrifying black that reminded her of Hell, damnation, and demons the first time she saw them.
Mary.
Light dragged truth and clarity kicking and screaming in from the shadows of terror and despair, and the truth of the matter was Eddie's eyes were not the stuff of nightmares at all. She saw molten amber delicately tracing an epicenter of honey and chocolate, which melted in the heat of the day and pooled like deep coffee watercolor around the yawning black pupils. He blinked slowly, lashes tickling the pale swollen flesh underneath (some preparation H would do wonders for those bags), and Mary was reminded of a doe, so vulnerable, so endearing, so sweet.
Mary…
She had been tricked….this wasn't Satan's minion at all.
"Mary Thatcher!"
She jumped forward in her seat, the pads of her shoes squeaking grating against the floor. Everyone was staring again,..including Eddie Munson, who chewed on the end of his pencil thoughtfully as he watched, with renewed wide-awake interest, the mortifying scene unfold.
"S-sorry Mr. Moore," she replied, realizing the teacher had caught her. A unanimous giggle spread throughout the class.
"Anything you'd like to share with the class? We're all ears."
"No, sir, I just-"
She met Eddie Munson's unrepentant gaze, blushed, and broke herself away from the powerful spell of those melting doe eyes.
"I spaced out for a minute. I'm sorry, it...it won't happen again."
Mr. Moore's voice was an ominous warning as he spoke. "You're one second away from sharing detention with Mr. Munson. I catch you "spacing out" again and you'll have to cancel this Saturday's plans at Starcourt with your friends."
An optimistically helpful but nonetheless sneering voice rang out from the front of the class. "She doesn't have any friends, sir…"
"Quiet." He snapped, and returned, without missing a beat, to the lesson.
Mary felt the knife-point of those words sink into the center of her chest.
She doesn't have any friends….
Her head swam with the threat of tears again and she felt the rising tide of fury swell up from the pit of her stomach like a hot balloon. With it came determination, zeal, a renewed wave of optimism and it all broke at once over her...I will soon.
She took a chance and looked again at Eddie Munson, dauntless and entrenched in her mission with the finality of resolve. His full lips were quirked at their plump, rosy edges with a mildly amused leer as he watched her out of the corner of his eyes. Mary sat up straighter in her seat and followed Mr. Moore's monotonous voice as he read from the textbook, but her mind was entirely elsewhere.
.
.
.
After a brief stint in second period where little to nothing happened to embarrass or marginalize her further as the new school freak, Mary made a stop at her locker on her way to Chemistry, where she found someone had stuffed a slightly crumpled paper through the vents. It lay slightly shredded but not too much worse for wear, still legible, on the top shelf….waiting for her.
Nervously, she took the paper and replaced her History and Calculus textbooks into their places, slowly closing the locker shut behind her as she turned and leaned up against it for support. The bell clamored overhead as it signaled the start of third period – Chemistry – but Mary hardly heard it, her focus on the contents of the note as she wordlessly mouthed it to herself.
Your new life starts today, little Miss Thatcher. You might have made it on the squad, but your position is not without conditions - you haven't earned your place with us yet. If I don't see you start making some strides with the Munson freak today then you're off the team and I'll wanna see you tomorrow afternoon after school to collect your poms and uniform. I'll be keeping an eye on you. If I don't see progress, you're toast. And I don't just mean your career as a cheerleader.
I would take this seriously if I were you.
Seriously. You have until tomorrow after school or say sionara to all hope of fitting in.
Jenny.
Mary let her head fall back against the locker. The rest of the high school corridor was absolutely full to the brim with students making their way to their classes, unaware of the horrible battle of good versus evil that was waging within the invisible blonde girl who began to take one, two, three tremulous baby steps toward Chemistry 102 with Mrs. Link down the hall. She saw a trash can in her line of sights and felt her strength return as she balled up the disgusting piece of blackmail in her hands and threw it, a little too hard, into the receptacle with a flourish of rage and an audible, unmistakable growl to match.
"Whoa there, Thatcher…" Came a reedy, always laughing voice from behind her. "Look, I love the heart, but I don't think basketball's your game. That ball's bigger than you...those brainless losers might mistake you for one and bounce you down the court instead…"
Mary turned to find Eddie Munson in all his tall, lanky glory standing behind her, gracing her with that stupid impish smile of his. She didn't realize how long and slender he was, now looking almost like a bare winter tree without the puffy layers of his leather jacket and patchwork denim vest, all its safety pins and bold, red, screaming letters of metal bands and nonconformity strangled in a ball under his arm. In fact, she could see now, he was just your average teenage boy under all of that unchecked angst and raging against the system. His arms were visible now and peeked out under the three quarter length of his sleeve, where she could see tattoos – a colony of bats swarming half in, half out of the sleeve which eclipsed them on his forearm, and another poking out from the top of his shirt, inspecting her curiously as she glared back, trying to figure out what it was.
"Ah yes, more of the staring," he intoned knowingly. "We like the staring. Not the words."
"Sorry…"
"Okay, maybe some of the words we like." He replied, and it was not lost on her that he was referring to the fact that she had been saying sorry a lot lately. More than she'd ever had in the entirety of her short life. She was beginning to feel like she was apologizing for existing, for breathing the same air as these people who seemed to hate her without cause.
"No, I mean...I don't mean to….it's just you're-"
"Scary, I know," he said, nodding a little as if to say he agreed with her, he was terrifying. "So I've heard. I've collected a nice little menagerie of labels in my long years here as prisoner of Hawkins High."
She couldn't disagree. He was scary. More because she didn't know what to make of him, how to fit him into a box that she could carry, recognize, that she could give familiar names. He was so many names at once, a commotion of personality, larger than life character, and things that frightened her more still….things she could never be, never understand.
"Hey, so...you've been kinda doing that space cadet thing a lot lately, might not wanna do that with Mrs. Link cause uh….she will draw and quarter you in front of everyone. Moore's more of a bark than bite kind of guy. But Link is like...Xanathar."
He must've seen the visible confusion on her face, responding to it with a self-deprecating smack on the forehead as he realized his mistake. "Oh man, forgot I was talking to a cheerleader for a second. You don't speak pathetic fantasy-game loving outcast," he rocked back on his heels, laughing out loud to himself. "Silly me. I'm just saying...maybe take it easy on the trips to galaxies far far away for a day or two. Let the geriatrics warm up to you first."
She couldn't help the words that flashed across the forefront of her mind with the same intensity and blinding glare of New York City lights. What a complete weirdo…
Something told her he wouldn't disagree with her assessment of him either.
"Come on, little sheep, your shepherd is here to lead you to the promised land," he reassured her in the most singsong, over the top voice she'd ever heard. He leaned against the doorframe for a second, rolling his eyes a little at his own melodrama. "Or, at least...you know...third period Chemistry."
He disappeared into the classroom for a second before popping back into her line of vision as she stood there, still as confused as ever, more than a little unsure of how to digest and absorb everything she had heard. It made her jump.
"Oh," he said, his face suddenly very serious, very grave. "And please don't try to blow me up again. I've got a very important engagement tonight. Death by cheerleader is not a good enough excuse to miss it."
She followed him inside, still very much grasping at straws when it came to nailing down a definition.
Who exactly is this guy?
Everyone filed inside, two by two, until the class was full. Mrs Link stood at the front with a stack of paper in her hands, glasses perched on her aquiline nose and her stern face as round as a moon, outlined by the harsh slickness of her perfectly coiled bun. Not a hair or item of clothing was out of place. Everything about the woman was hard, austere, and proud. "Quiet down and take your seats, class has started, all of you...I mean it, Mr. Kirk." Mrs. Link targeted a rowdy football player toward the front of the room and glowered at him until he shrank away from her, down into his seat.
Mary sat down as well and Eddie leaned in, his arms crossed like a warrior's shield in front of him. "What did I tell you," he whispered ominously. "Medusa herself...in the flesh."
Mrs. Link gestured to the stack of papers in her grasp. "For this week's schedule we're going to be covering Colligative Properties of Ionic Solutes. As you know and have been well prepared for during lecture last week – and whether or not you took advantage of my thorough exposition and took notes for the exam was up to you – you have a test today on the Periodic Table of Elements with a focus on the Noble Gases. Stop whining. I don't want to hear it. I'm not taking any questions, Mr. Pierce. Now, if you'd all be so kind as to take out your pencils and prepare for the exam, I'll start passing them out now. Everything off your desks."
The class grew quiet as they fiddled with their belongings for as long as they could manage without getting in trouble. The girl in front of Mary checked her reflection in the mirror quickly, one last time, and applied frosted pink lipstick all before Mrs. Link handed her a copy of the test. She thanked the teacher audibly, received a small smile in return, and put her compact away.
"Everything off your desk, Miss Thatcher. Put that away now or I confiscate it…"
While her attention had been elsewhere, a small, neatly folded square had appeared before her in the center of her desk.
"What are you smirking at Mr. Munson?"
"Oh, nothing Mrs. Link, just admiring your bun and might I add how lovely you look today? Is that a new shade of lipstick I see?"
"Insufferable…" The crotchety middle aged woman muttered under her breath as she slapped an exam on Eddie's desk and walked away.
Mary picked up the little fold of paper, inspecting it carefully, as if it might explode. Poised to open it, she checked to make sure Mrs. Link wasn't looking before unfolding it quietly in the midst of the din of fluttering paper, chair legs scraping against the floor as a couple of students stood to sharpen their pencils, and textbooks dropping like a ton of bricks next to crumpled knapsacks. The coast was clear. She quickly unfolded each corner, doing her best not to tear anything, and smoothed it out in her lap as she read the contents of what looked to be a letter penned in an untidy, if not bombastic and confident scrawl.
I saw you hide in the bathroom during lunch on Friday. Seems to me you don't know about the best spot in the house – sure it's the pathetic nerd table, but we won't bite. Not unless you ask. Come sit with us and we'll give you what your heart longs for. Protection. And pretzels.
At your service,
Eddie
Mary gaped at the note, turning her attention back to the blank exam in front of her before Mrs. Link caught her in the act. She managed to close her mouth, but her mind was still a flurry of questions. At least, she thought to herself, a confident fact rising above the rest of her doubt, one thing was certain…
He was making this all too easy.
i might not be able to keep up with these long updates, i do have a young baby to take care of. but you got a nice long one this time. thanks for reading! and thanks for the kudos! :) long live munson. 3
disclaimer - i don't own eddie or chrissy, they belong to the duffer brothers.