"What if I'm wrong, what if I've lied

And what if I know, what if I see
There is a crack run right down the front of me"

The bell rings and Will sighs heavily, now realizing he's somehow managed to be late even though he had been in the parking lot fifteen minutes early. Fifteen unbearable minutes of nerves and rereading the same two pages of the novel he was halfway through, daydreaming as usual. Distracted.

Picking up his pace he rushes down the hall toward the Language Arts wing.

"Will. Byers! What the hell are you doing?!"

A familiar voice calls teasingly after him from down the hall and he turns to see who it is. Lucas .

"Late?" he asks, gently elbowing him in his ribs as he catches up.

"Seems like that's the kind of day I'm having already." Will responds, fighting the urge to sigh again. "Where are you headed?"

"P.E."

He must make a face because Lucas laughs. Will observes him closely. He only saw him two weeks ago, but Will swears he's grown taller, that he's filled out even more.

"It's not so bad," he reasons. "Besides, at least it's first period."

Will grimaces again. "If you say so."

"What do you have?"

"English."

Lucas's deep brown eyes light up playfully. "Oh, you better get a move on! I hear Mrs. Sinclair is a real hardass."

Will rolls his eyes and shoves him. His arm is tightly muscled under his windbreaker. "I think she'll be more interested in the fact that her son is still wandering the halls… why are you late anyway?"

Lucas shrugs, the smile swiped away from his face as fast as windshield wipers clear rain.

"Eh, I was visiting Max. Figured she'd want to know she was missing the first day of school. I read to her for a little bit."

Will flinches at Lucas's expression. He looks so much younger when he's sad.

"Ah shit, I'm sorry Lucas." He inwardly cringes at his stupidity. Will makes a mental note to visit Max this weekend. He realizes then that he's been avoiding her same as Mike's been avoiding him. The hospital and the wires and the stale smell of the sheets still make him more uncomfortable than he'd like to admit. If he spends too much time alone in the room with her, with the sound of the monitor, her soft breathing, he can't think of anything but his own blurred memories of lying in Hawkins Lab, and the pain. So much heat and so much pain. He rubs his fingers absently over the raised scar above his hip.

"Hey man, it's totally cool." Will blinks at Lucas, who gives Will's shoulder an understanding squeeze.

His eyes widen dramatically as he does so, his face changing from heavy to light in a flash. "Damn Byers, since when did you grow shoulders?"

Heat creeps up his neck and he feels his cheeks burn. Before Lucas can notice Will's shyness, he's gone, jogging down the hall and turning the corner, and leaving Will standing alone. Will is aware he'd grown even more since he returned from California; so much so that he can't't even wear Jonathan's hand-me-downs anymore. It seems where his brother took after his mother in her dark eyes and slight stature, Will's realizing when he looks in the mirror that he's more similar to Lonnie than anyone would ever tell him. It's rather strange to get used to the shift. He'd always been the smallest out of the Party, in his grade actually, and now Mike didn't even tower over him anymore. Dustin and Lucas were noticeably behind him, and his mother had to buy him some second hand shirts from the thrift store, cursing all the while that she shouldn't have thrown away Lonnie's lingering things when they moved out to California.

He was relieved she did, even though he would never tell her that. Wearing the old shirts of a father who ignored him didn't interest him in the least. Talk about rubbing it in. Instead, he was happy to pick out a few shirts and a pair of pants from the thrift store in town. He was even able to buy one new shirt with some money he'd saved from the mall in the next town over. It felt good. They actually fit right, and were colors he liked, a little worn around the edges, but better. More him. More grownup. Now, if only he could save up enough money to get a new pair of shoes.

He glares down at them. The front of one of his gray sneakers is so worn he's sure his toe might poke through at any moment. He huffs. Maybe he could ask Mike for his old pair? He always got a new pair for the school year. In tenth grade they shared the same shoe size, so maybe it would still work. Although, the more he thinks about it the more mortifying the thought of asking him for his shoes seemed. The weirdo who asks his friends for their shoes? Things are already weird enough between them.

Will arrives at his English class, luckily only a few minutes late. Unluckily, it's already settled down enough where everyone glances up and stares at him. Mrs. Sinclair stops her opening speech. "Will. Nice of you to join us," she says, her lips pursed in a tight line to denote she's being serious, though Will knows by her tone that she's not.

He forces a smile and ignores the burning sensation of everyone's eyes on him.

"Sorry, Mrs. Sinclair," he offers half-heartedly, already eyeing the only open desk. It's in the back and near the window which he's thankful for, but unfortunately that means that he has to walk across the front of the room to get to it. Slinking down the side of the room isn't an option. He notices Mike in the second row, eyeing him curiously. He shifts in his chair and straightens as if he's uncomfortable. Will wonders if he forgot they shared English this year. If this had been a different year, they would have walked in together. He doesn't bother waving or smiling. Focusing on not tripping is more than enough for now. He beelines it for the open desk as fast as he can.

A boy with blonde hair is snickering to one of his friends, "Zombie Boy returns!" he taunts sarcastically. It earns a few laughs from the rest of the class. Mike turns around to face the blonde kid, staring him down with a face that's a mixture of impatience and murder. Will's thankful for that at least.

"Mr. Cohen! That is quite enough," Mrs. Sinclair scolds him, her tone maybe a little too harsh.

Will ignores him, returning his gaze on the goal, the desk. He thankfully slides into the seat without incident. Unzipping his backpack, he pulls out his notebook and a pen. Mrs. Sinclair quietly sets the new novel they'd be reading on his desk. He sighs, slumping further into the seat. His hands are clammy and it feels like the room is sweltering. That kid was right. It truly is hell, and it's finally dawning on him how far away June actually is.

"You'll have to explain that whole Zombie Boy thing to me one of these days," someone whispers beside him.

Will glances up, surprised to find the very boy glancing at him playfully, long dark hair now tucked behind his ears. They stick out just a bit. He hadn't noticed that before. His face is… interesting. Angles and hollows that shouldn't work, but somehow they do. It's a nice face. Unique. He wonders how he didn't notice him sitting there.

"You've got me intrigued now," he continues, leaning towards him.

His eyes are playful, but kind. There's no sneer like the kid before, and Will realizes then that he's not making fun of him. He can't help but return his smile.

"Mmm," Will whispers back, "That's an, uhm, long story."

The boy grins and opens his mouth like he's going to say something more, but they are interrupted by Mrs. Sinclair clearing her throat at them. He can tell by the look on her face that she's losing her patience. It's the same one she gives Lucas. Will blushes. Whether it's at being caught out or the way the boy next to him is looking at him he can't tell. There is something… strange about the way the new boy's glances, and it sends an odd shiver of excitement up his back. Will turns his legs toward the chalkboard and taps his pen against his fingers nervously, settling in for Mrs. Sinclair's lesson.

The bell rings and Will takes his time gathering his things before heading out the door. When he stands up he realizes the boy is standing there waiting for him.

"Will? Right?" He asks cheerily, eyebrows raised in question. Will notices there's a small, white scar above one of them.

Will smiles. "Yeah. Will Byers."

"Huh, I'm Jamie." He falls in step with Will easily as they make their way to the door, skateboard still in hand, ratty backpack filled with patches slung over his thin shoulder. Will notices some of them are bands he likes. The Smiths, The Cure, Pixies.

"Nice patches," he tells Jamie as he studies them.

"Oh yeah? Thanks. You listen to any of them?"

Will smiles and nods. "Yeah. For sure."

"Hmm, nice!" he replies happily as they enter the busy hall. He drops his skateboard to the ground, resting his foot on it. His smile is bright. Teasing. He has this enthusiastic energy that's so palpable it's almost as if Will could see it bounce off the walls. He feels like a lit firecracker about to go off. "Well, I've gotta continue this woeful journey through the excellent education offered by this fine institution. You know! Top tier shit we have going on here," He jokes, nudging Will's arm with his elbow. "But don't think I forgot about that story, Zombie Boy."

Will gazes at him seriously for a moment, surprised by what he finds. Where normally there'd be some underlying meaning or insult in the nickname, with Jamie, there's nothing but friendliness. It's in his smile and the way his eyes crinkle at their edges.

"See you around?" He asks.

Will nods, a soft smile of understanding blooming on his lips.

"For sure. See you 'round."

Jamie does the same mocking salute from before, bowing his head slightly, and then is off, speeding on his skateboard down the hallway. He disappears behind a crowd of students, and Will can hear a stern, "MR. CALLAHAN!" being yelled from somewhere around the corner.

Will's cautious smile grows and he realizes he's probably beaming like an idiot. Jamie Callahan.Was it possible that Will had actually made a new friend on his first day of school?