Chapter 7: Everybody Wants to Rule the World
"Welcome to your life
There's no turning back
Even while we sleep
We will find you
Acting on your best behavior
Turn your back on Mother Nature
Everybody wants to rule the world"
Flashback, meeting with Ms. Kelley before Christmas Break
POV: Winter Reid
I stand in front of the door to the main office. My hands slide down the straps of my backpack, tugging them tightly to my shoulders. I hate these meetings, but I also hate when Ms. Kelley appears in front of me, before school, wearing a look of deep concern and asking me why I skipped our last session.
I reach my hand out and slowly turn the gold knob. I walk quietly towards the chairs outside of Ms. Kelley's office door. I sit down, perched at the edge of the seat, anxiety coming off of me in waves. I watch the second hand on the clock tick by. It makes 2 full turns before the office door creaks open.
A young redheaded girl stomps out of the office. She tugs a pair of earphones up from around her neck and clicks a button on the walkman clipped to her jeans. As she passes we make eye contact and I recognize the vulnerable look in her eyes. She furries her eyebrows, trying to disguise that flash of insecurity with anger, and I offer her a small, understanding smile. She walks quickly past me and leaves the office. She looks like a freshman, and I can tell by the familiar expression she wore that Ms. Kelley just tried to therapize her.
Ms. Kelley stands in the doorway and regards me with a kind smile. She has a soft face and dark eyes that can convey an expression that says you can talk to me and I know you aren't being honest at the same time.
"Winter, I'm glad you could make it," Ms. Kelley says warmly.
She steps back to pull the door open wider and gestures for me to come in. I walk slowly, slipping into the seat in front of her desk and pulling my backpack onto my lap. My hand automatically clutches my gold necklace and I slide the pendant along its chain.
Ms. Kelley sits down across from me. Her hands settle on top of her desk, she joins her fingers together and clasps her hands tight.
"So, how have you been since I last saw you?" She asks.
So it begins.
I look around and find the clock in this room. Fifteen full turns of the second hand is all I need to be in here for. 15 minutes.
I hold my breath and watch the second hand take half of its first turn. Ms. Kelley leans over, trying to catch my eye.
"Winter..." she says, her tone is beginning to sound like a disappointed mother talking to her child.
My eyes snap toward hers. "I've been great," I mumble. "How have you been?"
"I'm doing well." She smiles appreciatively, then grabs a file to her left. She opens it in front of her, and I know my name is typed neatly across the top line.
"So, Winter," she continues. "I noticed just the other day that I don't have a photo of you in this folder. I checked with the secretary, and she informed me that there aren't any school pictures of you... at all."
Her eyes drift up from the folder in her hands to meet mine.
"That's a little peculiar," she observes. "Having your yearbook photo taken is a great marker for this time in your life. It's nice to look back on when you're older."
My knee begins to bounce, causing my backpack to rise and fall against my lap.
"Um... I read once that the camera traps your soul?" I offer the explanation weakly.
She nods her head slowly, allowing a small silence to grow just in case I would like to add anything. She's waiting for me to ramble. I bite down on my tongue. She tilts her head; more silence grows and the air feels like it's being sucked out of the room. Her eyes stare at me, unblinking, and I feel honesty begin to creep up my throat.
Jesus, was this woman trained by MI6?
Eddie made a crack earlier about how much of a teachers pet I am… and I hate to admit that he isn't totally wrong. There's an ancestral wound in my soul that can only seem to be salved by receiving praise from authority figures. It could be a police officer, a priest, or even just the principal.
I want to please people. I want to tell them what they want to hear. I always take the path of least resistance. I remain kind and considerate, hoping that at the end of the trail I might find love and acceptance.
What's the old adage… don't set yourself on fire to keep others warm? Unfortunately, I would douse myself in lighter fluid and walk over the broken glass of my own self-esteem barefoot, just to avoid conflict.
My words begin to spill out.
"I guess I just overthink it," I blurt. "Every year, I practice my smile in my mirror and experiment with different hairdos and different angles. Then the day rolls around and I think about sitting there, on that uncomfortable stool, and the light is really bright and there's a line of kids waiting behind the photographer watching me. And I - I just can't do it."
I spit those words out without taking a breath. My lungs fill deeply now, and I exhale through my nostrils. I glance up at my counselor, apprehensively, expecting a judging look.
Ms. Kelley looks intrigued. "Do you often look at pictures of yourself?"
"Wh- What?"
"Family photo albums, portraits... do you see yourself in pictures?" She asks.
"I mean, I guess there's a picture of my mom and I in my bedroom. Most of the other photos were lost when we moved houses." Lost? More like abandoned. I scratch at the back of my neck.
"What is the picture of?" She leans forward, looking interested.
"It's - um, it's a picture of my mom and I at the beach," I hesitate. "I was 12, it was the last time I saw the ocean. My mom's friend came with us that day. We had a picnic and she had this cool film camera. She took lots of pictures that day of seagulls and the sandcastle I built. And the picture of my mom and I."
The photo lives in a seashell frame on my bedside table. My younger self leans back against my mom's chest and her arm wraps protectively across my shoulders. Her face is squished against mine. My row of crooked teeth laugh at the lens and my mom's rosy lips are pushed out in a soft smile. Our hair, so similar in texture and color, weave together like one continuous mane and curls across our sunburnt shoulders.
Ms. Kelley tilts her head, "What do you think when you look at that picture?"
I'm caught off guard by her line of questioning, but I continue responding anyway, in spite of myself. "I don't know... we look happy in it."
"Was it the place that made you happy? The weather? That day in particular?" Ms. Kelley still sits behind her desk with an encouraging smile and clasped hands.
"I mean... I loved the beach. I liked running along the shore. I liked to dive under the waves and pretend I was a mermaid." My knees have stopped bouncing and my voice floats out like a steady current. "We lived in a bigger house there... in California. My mom and I had our own routine and my dad was gone almost all day at work. It felt like -" My hand flies against my throat. I massage one hand across my jugular. "It just felt... easier there. Easier to breathe, maybe. We were safer there, there was space to... get away, if we needed to."
"You haven't taken a school picture at all since you've been in Hawkins. Not in middle school or in high school, right?" Ms. Kelley speaks slowly, as if she's connected some array of dots in her head and is about to reveal the picture to me.
I nod my head slowly.
"Do you think that some part of you detached when you left California? Something that stayed behind there?" Ms. Kelley asks suddenly.
I feel tears prick my eyes. "Maybe..." I respond in a low whisper.
"A lot of teens experience a rough transition to high school," Ms. Kelley says. I half expect her to slide a brochure entitled '20 Ways to Boost Your Self-Confidence' across the desk, but she doesn't move. "And, in my experience, it's much harder for young women."
I shift in the seat and wait for her to continue.
Ms. Kelley opens her hands and starts moving them slowly.
"As kids, it's much easier to wear our emotions on our sleeves. Children seem to have no sense of danger, physical or mental. They run down steep hills and tumble off of their bikes, and they aren't afraid to cry or scream when they get hurt. But something changes, once the world decides you aren't a kid anymore. It becomes harder to express your pain." She narrows her eyes at me, as if expecting me to jump in agreement.
I tug at my sleeves and suddenly feel uncomfortable. I look up at the clock, we've been sitting here for almost 10 minutes. Just 5 more full turns of the second hand.
Ms. Kelley keeps talking as I stare at the clock, "The world decides when childhood ends for us in a lot of ways. Adults start treating girls and boys differently. They put up a wall between former friends and usher them into ballet or baseball, makeup or playing in the mud. Us girls... we lose what it feels like to be so close to our feelings."
My eyes meet hers.
She tilts her chin down and her voice softens, "Suddenly, we start analyzing our every movement. Insecurities creep in, we begin to feel embarrassed when we're being too loud or too wild. You might withdraw, or you might turn around and start belittling others, just to try and keep people from doing that to you."
"I don't understand," I finally say, even though I did. But my life hasn't been easy. I didn't just start feeling this way because I grew boobs and my guy friends wouldn't hang out with me anymore. I began to retreat within myself a lot earlier than that.
She sighs, "What I'm saying is, it's perfectly natural to feel insecure. To not want to look at yourself. "
"Okay," I respond flatly, staring at the clock.
"I don't think it's just that, though," Ms. Kelley's stare bores into my profile but I don't look over. "I think you turn away from the child inside you, the girl that was fearless... the girl who dove under tall waves... because her fearlessness still couldn't save her."
I begin to pick at my cuticles.
Ms. Kelley doesn't let up. "You had to turn inwards to keep the bad stuff away. Maybe you didn't feel there was space for you to be anything other than perfect. You didn't want to cause anymore issues."
I scoff, in spite of myself, sounding rude. I don't like what she is saying.
"That girl in the picture is you before the world told her to grow up," her voice calls out to me. "When traumatic things happen... it cuts our innocence short, much sooner than it should."
My fingers scratch at my nail beds. I refuse to meet Ms. Kelley's eyes.
"Do you still feel like you're in survival mode?" She asks me suddenly.
"I- I- I don't know." I stutter, tears threaten to fall from my eyes.
Survival has always been a convoluted concept in my brain. It is tangled and knotted, like a Joshua Tree that holds firm roots in the desert soil, but has been warped by the wind and the rain. I don't fall over, I don't snap… I just bend. I bow to larger forces and tuck my head away from the sunlight.
Ms. Kelly studies me carefully. "When we get pushed into that place of survival... the place where we're so afraid to make a noise, afraid to be a burden, we shove down our feelings and our needs. I understand your childhood was… chaotic."
Well, that's one way of putting it.
"You experienced a significant loss. In January, it'll be a year since your father's death," she says softly.
At the mention of my dad, I involuntarily hunch my shoulders and tighten my arms across my chest.
The funny thing is… I can't actually remember the exact date my dad died. I can't remember the time, whether it was early morning or late evening. I can't remember what I was wearing or what I had for breakfast that morning. It wasn't a good day, and what I can recall exists in broken fragments. The chorus of a Johnny Cash song, the sound of breaking glass, the soft fabric of Eddie's flannel.
Ms. Kelly clears her throat and I meet her eyes.
She offers me a gentle smile, "I had hoped things might've been more calm for you lately. Perhaps, you're finally ready to open up and release anything that you've been holding onto."
I nod, slowly, but I can't respond. If I speak I know my voice will crack and I don't want to cry.
She sighs and closes the folder in front of her.
I swallow hard. The clock seems to be moving slower, it ticks by at a glacial pace.
"Winter." She says my name suddenly, causing my eyes to snap to hers. "I don't want to preach to you. You can be honest and open with me." She is finally starting to sound more like a high school counselor instead of a shrink.
"I want you to try something for me, okay?" Ms. Kelley points her chin down and raises her eyebrows.
I clear my throat, "What? Go to the mall and do a photoshoot? Can't do that because the place burnt down." It is a joke in poor taste, but I just want to get out of here as soon as possible.
She smiles weakly. "No… do something that forces people to look at you."
"What?" I reply.
"They're looking at you anyways," she shrugs, nonchalantly.
I feel my face scrunch up and I try not to release an insecure hiss.
"It's true." She lifts one hand and gestures toward me. "You're a beautiful, smart girl. You have to make a choice, Winter. The girl in that photograph on the beach? She's a part of you. But you're older now. Make the demons stay in the past, but do not make your home there with them." Her voice is earnest and calm. I feel my shoulders relax to their natural position and my hands thud against my lap.
Ms. Kelly smiles. "You've changed. For better or for worse, you're not a child anymore. But you can still be a fighter. You can still be carefree. You just have to give yourself permission."
The clock ticks and her fifteen minutes are up, but I'm frozen in my chair. Ms. Kelley's words echo in my head.
"Okay, Winter. That's all the time we have, I'm sorry if it got a bit heavy. I just want to push you to make progress, okay?" She's smiling softly, and I know she is only trying to help.
I nod. "I'll try to follow your advice."
Her eyebrows raise, unconvinced. I feel a small burn in my chest, I'm not sure if it's anger or shock, but I feel challenged.
"I will. I promise," I say to her more intensely.
She nods her head at me. We exchange goodbyes as I pull my backpack on and walk out of her office.
Eddie is in the hallway leaning against the lockers. He smiles at me and I hesitate to meet his eyes, still feeling exposed from my meeting with Ms. Kelley.
"How did it go?" He asks.
"I think Ms. Kelley is trained in interrogation tactics by the CIA," I say, trying to make light of the situation. Eddie chuckles. "Either that or she has serious Jedi mind powers."
The door to the office opens. My head snaps up, and the cheer captain, Marissa Randall, strides out. Her feathered brown hair falls in ripples down her back. I absentmindedly move the ends of my own hair between my fingertips, but it feels rough and coarse. I watch as she uses a push pin to attach a slip of paper to the bulletin board.
I can hear Eddie behind me, he's going on about some Shakespeare play he read cover to cover last night.
Marissa fishes a small sheet of stickers from the pocket of her messenger bag. She put gold stars around the words on the paper, gives her work a satisfied smile, and turns away down the hall.
Moving without realizing it, I stand in front of the corkboard. My eyes catch the gold stars in the center of the paper and I read the text there:
Do you have spirit? Sign up for cheer! Go Tigers!
My eyes never leave the words but my hand moves to find a pink pen from the zip pocket of my backpack. I quickly scrawl my name on the first line, worried if I think about it too much I will lose all confidence.
Eddie is still speaking about King Lear and turns his head to watch me. I step back and stare at my name on the list. A small heart dots the 'i' in my first name. I hear him snort and push off of the lockers. He plucks my pen out of my hand, leans his arm on the corkboard, and writes something on the second line.
"Ha! Putting a fake name on the sign up sheet," he turns to smile at me. "Classic hijinks."
He pushes the pen back in my direction and I take it from him slowly. I can see the spiky peaks of his handwriting; it always reminds me of a mountain range or the lines on a heart monitor. He wrote: Iron Maiden Rulez.
I cock my head. "I didn't leave a fake name. Also that's not even funny. It's just a fact."
His back presses against the bulletin board and he gives me an inquisitive look. Slowly, he turns to read what I had written.
"Winter... Reid. But... that's your government name." He faces me and his mouth slowly forms a small o in realization.
I shove the pen into my bag and turn to walk away.
"Oh. Oh! Wait." Before I can run away, Eddie's hand lands lightly on my shoulder, "Are you.. Are you trying out for cheer?"
His eyebrows knit and his mouth closes in a confused pout. I suddenly feel incredibly stupid.
"I.. I don't know! Maybe!" I say, much louder than I mean to. "You're always telling me to do things and I just... ugh... you're right, it's stupid."
I turn away from him and begin walking down the hallway, my shoulders hunch and my arms draw tightly across my chest.
I can hear Eddie's sideways gallop following behind me. He manages to get in front of me and sticks out one arm straight in front of my body so I can't pass. He has a small smirk on his face now. I look away from it, feeling my cheeks flush. I wait for the teasing to begin.
"Okay," he says simply, my eyes snaps upwards. He still looks confused, but he begins to nod his head. "Okay. Yeah. Hell yeah."
My head pulls backwards in surprise. His hands slap his knees, causing me to let out a nervous giggle. He looks at me again and crouches down so we are on eye level.
"I get it! You're going to try out for the team, then you'll climb the ranks, become their queen-"
This makes me laugh loudly, but his face holds no trace of sarcasm; he is being sincere.
"Then we'll burn the system down from the inside. It'll be total anarchy! Freaks will rule the school." His smile pushes a row of dimples across his face, and I find it impossible not to smile back.
"Well... I'll have to make it on the team first," I say sheepishly.
He straightens up and grins at me proudly. He then makes small, jerking movements, which is Eddie's version of a celebratory dance. I roll my eyes, but feel instantly comforted and relieved by his reaction. I walk down the hallway and he stays in front of me, walking backwards, musing on what he thinks my first order of business should be when I become the queen of Hawkins High.
"Can we change the pledge of allegiance to the chorus from We're Not Gonna Take It?" He asks. I laugh loudly as we walk outside.
On the day of tryouts, I walked into the gym and my second hand sneakers squeaked across the shiny gym floors. My head was fixed on my feet and I was trying desperately not to trip.
I took my place on the end of a line of girls. All of them were tall and beautiful with cobalt blue nail polish and neon pink earrings. They stood in clouds of department store perfumes and hairspray. I took one long sweeping glance at the group. The other cheerleaders who were already on the team sat high up in the bleachers, looking unimpressed. My eyes landed on a folded table that sat in front of the bottom row.
Three cheerleaders watched us carefully. Marissa Randall, Bertie Greene, and Georgia Miller.
I knew who they were. I had watched them from the corner during games. I envied the way they shined; not a care in the world who was watching. It was all a performance, but they were so comfortable in their skin they didn't even seem to notice the stands full of people. They would spin and twist, in balletic and graceful passes. I would lean forward, trying to memorize every movement. I figured if I could learn the steps and recreate them, maybe some divine ritual would occur and I could be as golden as they were.
The rest of the tryouts passed in a blur.
I repeated the steps again and again, somehow managing to stay upright. At the end of the first day, only four of us were invited to the final tryouts, and afterwards just myself and a sophomore alternate named Sadie were given Varsity uniforms.
I went home that night and held the uniform in my lap, afraid to take it out of the plastic. I had never owned something so new. I loved the way it was folded there, in its bag, neat and straight. I was beginning to feel a sense of control I had never quite felt before in my life.
Maybe this was something that could be just my own. It was something that no one could take from me. I would work hard enough and look perfect enough. I fell back onto my bed, covered my face with my pillow, and screamed with happiness.
Author's Note:
you know what I really want from the final season of st? a group sing along to Everybody Wants to Rule the World by Tears for Fears. maybe it's after the final battle? maybe it's just a chorus started by Dustin as they all gather in Hopper's cabin? If I'm being greedy... I'd like to request a full musical episode where the characters sing about their inner traumas & feelings in original song à la Once More, With Feeling from Buffy the Vampire Slayer (aka the greatest episode of television ever).
the joshua tree line is in reference to a quote from The Glass Castle. the author had observed a sapling that was so beaten down by the elements that it grew crooked and looked as if it was going to topple over. her mom told her "the tree's struggle gives it its beauty" & I've always found that to be an interesting comparison to how people can grow up under trauma, but still remain rooted & resilient.