FEBRUARY 8th, 1989 (Sunday)
Steve Harrington once told him that a can of Red-Bull was the ultimate cure to a killer hangover. At the time, he had said it with such conviction, such sincerity, that anyone would've been a fool to doubt King Steve's hefty advice. Mike could even remember that fucker going above and beyond, weaving an immaculate tale of how a Red-Bull had saved his relationship with Nancy, just to prove his point. Fifteen-year old Mike Wheeler had been nothing short of amazed. But eighteen-year old Mike Wheeler finally knew what a load of crap Steve Harrington had been feeding him with a silver fucking spoon.
"Fuck." Mike groaned, slamming down an empty Red-Bull onto the wooden, coffee table. That had been his third can of Red-Bull, yet his migraine prevailed, strong as it had been when he'd first arrived at Billy Hargrove's house about an hour ago. He wouldn't have been surprised if it had worsened.
"Still feel like shit, Wheeler?" Billy asked from across the table, where he was sprawled across a beat-up arm chair, a dying cigarette dangling off his mouth. Without waiting for a response, Billy motioned one of the boys to pass the bong they've been circling around back to Mike.
"Little Mikey can't hold his alcohol these days, huh? You goin' soft on us, froggie?" Troy snickered in glee at Mike's misery. It was a well-known thing around Hawkins that Mike Wheeler could hold his own against any liquor. More oftentimes than not (his friends could attest to this) he woke up the next morning after a hard night of partying completely fine, not a trace of a headache. But today was different – apparently, Macy Johnson's "Pre-Valentine Weekend Rager" had been a little too much for Wheeler.
"Eat shit." Was all Mike said as he graciously accepted the bong again. He didn't have the energy to take Troy's bait – his head was killing him and he seriously needed to take a piss. But first, a few more hits of Billy's leaves might help.
Grabbing the spare lighter off the table, his deft fingers quickly flicked it on and, with an ease that was almost envious, Mike took a big hit, letting the smoke seep deep into his lungs before breathing out contentedly. He did this a few more times until he felt the familiar haze of calmness wash over him, relaxing his senses once more. Passing the bong to his right, with James grabbing it greedily, Mike shrugged off his Sherpa-lined jacket and dragged himself off the shitty excuse of a couch.
"Fuck you going?" Troy demanded, his eyes pinned on Mike approaching the basement door. Absentmindedly, Troy snatched the bong right from James' lap just as he had finished packing a new bowl.
"Taking a leak," Mike grunted, disappearing up the staircase before anyone could respond.
His eyes winced slightly as he came up to the main floors of the Hargrove-Mayfield's house, the sunlight peering through the opened curtains reminding him that it was still very-much daytime, despite what the dark hues of the basement might suggest. One hand reaching up to rub his red-rimmed eyes while the other ran through his thick, curly locks, Mike started towards the bathroom, the familiar tiles and wallpaper easily guiding him to his destination. With years hanging around Billy, Mike knew this house like the back of his hand.
It was a small bathroom, tucked annoyingly in the far-back corners of the house. It barely fit a toilet but evidently the construction workers gave no fucks since they squeezed in a shower stall, a counter, and two sinks on top of that. Nevertheless, Mike felt terribly relieved – with drugs clouding his mind, the usual short walk felt like a fucking trek in the woods – as he approached the bathroom door, a relief that died immediately once he realized the door was locked.
"Oh my fucking—" He bit back a groan of frustration. There could only be one person in there. "Max! Can you get out? I gotta piss."
He waited two seconds before pounding his fist on the door. "Seriously open up, I really need to fucking pee. I'm like three seconds from pissing on your carpets right now, man."
Maxine Mayfield had been the talk of the town when she and her family moved from Sunny-side California to the buck-ass middle of nowhere Hawkins, Indiana. Although he'd quickly gotten along with Billy, whom Mike had met through Steve (fuck you Steve, Mike couldn't help but think, and your fucking Red-Bulls), he had never interacted with Max, despite them being in the same grade. To him, Max was some tom-boy who sassed people for no reason and got off on parading her too-cool, poetic, loner status to the rest of Hawkins High.
With every second passing and the door remaining locked, Mike felt his annoyance spike up a notch, his high wearing out as a result. When she didn't respond to his fourth knock, he briefly contemplated booking it to the backyard. He scratched that plan, however, knowing Billy would skin his ass if he accidentally pissed on Mrs. Hargrove's flowers. It was too much of a risk. And not worth losing his balls over.
Groaning, he resumed his previous antics, not caring that the wooden door wobbled dramatically each time he pounded his fists. "Max! I swear to God—" He yelled, resorting to threats. Not for the first time, he cursed the house for having only one goddamn bathroom. "If you don't open up right now, I will fucking—"
And just like that, the door creaked open, his words dying on his lips when he realized that the occupant stepping out warily in front of him was definitely notMax.
Where there should've been long, tangled, glaring red-hair, there were chestnut brown locks that curled above her shoulders. Where there should've been blue eyes, a pair of brown eyes bore back at him, wide and cautious. A mix of shock, alarm, and confusion caused his mouth to dry out as he took her in— she looked something like a fairy, her thin frame engulfed by the pale-pink dress she had on as she stood almost a head-shorter than his own six-feet stature. Licking his chapped lips, he decided she was the physical embodiment of the term 'fragile doll' – it was both strange and, for some reason, extremely fucking cute.
"Um…" She started before he could say anything, the sound of her voice making him tense. She chewed on the bottom of her lip anxiously, clearly contemplating her words, before biting out a soft, "Hi Mike."
The familiar way she said his name threw him off. Sure, he was a popular guy and a lot of strangers (correction: a lot of chicks) liked greeting him throughout the small town – a 'Hey, Mike' down the halls and a 'What are you up to, Mike' when they caught him at the bleachers – but never had any randoms greeted him like she just did, as if she knew him personally or some shit. Mike was positive he'd never seen her before in his life.
His confusion must've been apparent on his face because the girl started stumbling over herself, trying to rectify the awkwardness of her knowing him and him being completely ignorant to her existence. "Uh- I mean—
"You're not Max," he interrupted, stopping her words all together. She raised her eyebrows in surprise and bit her lip again, giving a tiny shake of her head.
He shifted his feet, the surprise of the situation wearing off, and began putting the pieces together. Hawkins was a small town – a very, very small town – so he more-or-less recognized everyone's faces, at least those in his grade, considering they've all been in school together since elementary. And if she was at the Hargrove's, she must've been visiting Max (what a fucking shock, the loner finding a friend, and a girl at that) – she sure as hell wasn't visiting Billy – so Mike deduced she must be his age and in his grade. With all these pieces lining up, he decided that this must be the new girl the whole school's been whispering about.
At the end of winter break, Chief Jim Hopper of Hawkins Police had apparently adopted a child, a teenager who would be enrolled in Hawkins High's starting spring semester of 1989. When news broke out that it was indeed a girl who would be entering the school, Hawkins High buzzed with anticipation. Everyone wanted a new toy to fawn over.
New students were rare to come by since their sleepy town was by no means a thriving tourist attraction or a hot-spot on the map, so her impending appearance created a stir within the student body. Despite all the gossip, however, Mike never caught where Hopper had adopted her from – was she from this town, or the next? Did Hawkins even have an orphanage? His questions, unfortunately, remained unanswered as his ears were hounded instead by mindless gossip of who this girl would be – what would she look like? Would she be new meat for the rowdy boys of Hawkins or another stereotypical girl that blended into the crowd?
It felt like all of January had been dedicated to gossiping about the new girl – Jessica or Anne, whatever the fuck her name was, Hopper. Even fucking Troy added onto the gossip mill by running his mouth in Mike's ear, claiming she'd be a new notch on his belt. It was all so fucking annoying. Despite all this chatter and excitement about her, he had never actually caught a glimpse of her face, not at lunch, in the halls, at a party or even at a football game when one of his boys managed to drag him to one. It was as if she was a ghost.
Turns out, she was as flimsy as a piece of paper, a pretty girl who dressed like she took clothes out of Nancy's old closet. His own curiosity sated, Mike decided there wasn't anything special about her. And that the hype around her had been just that: hype. How weirdly disappointing.
Taking her silence as a cue to leave, Mike squeezed through the doorway, his chest brushing past hers as he moved to the toilet. Before he went any further, a tight snag on his white t-shirt pulled his attention and halted his movements.
"Wait," she pleaded, the odd urgency in her voice making him turn around complacently.
There was a weird shift in the air. He felt it as he caught sight of her face. The awkwardness and anxiousness present a few seconds ago had washed away, replaced by a weird look of determination. Her eyebrows were scrunched, mouth tightly-lipped, and then she did the strangest thing – with a confidence he didn't think she could possess, she slipped closer to him, pressing their bodies together and completely invading his space. A whiff of something akin to fresh trees and earthly smells clouded his senses as she craned her neck to look at him.
"Woah," Mike instinctively stepped back, stopping only when his back hit the bathroom counter. "Personal space, much?"
His efforts to put space in between them were futile, however, as she ignored his words and shuffled closer, this time reaching out to clasp her hands on his arms, locking him in place. The shock of her cold hands erupted goosebumps on his skin and he might've shivered had he not been distracted by her eyes. Her brown eyes bore into his own, intense and never wavering. It made his mouth dry and fingers twitch in strange anticipation. The way she stared at him felt like she was taking him in for the first time. As if she was truly looking at him. He felt strangely naked.
Feeling pinned like a prey to its predator, Mike was unable to look away even if he wanted to as he waited for her next words.
"I'm…" She broke the silence, licking her lips in contemplation. For a split second, hesitation bled onto her face, disappearing as quickly as it came as her previous determination came back in ten-folds.
"I'm Jane," She introduced herself.
There was a long pause as Mike mulled over her words. "Jane." He repeated, testing the name on his lips. It didn't flow right. "That's your name?"
She—Jane flushed, looking entirely too unsure of herself, and tentatively nodded her head. She was so fucking weird, Mike assessed, watching her anxiously bite her lip and look away from him, the determination from earlier fizzling out as she reverted back to her awkwardness. He wanted to snort at how bizarre this was – some random-ass girl cornered him in a bathroom just to fucking introduce herself. He couldn't tell if the weed from before had affected his perception of this situation or if she truly was a weirdo.
Seemingly satisfied with herself – was that really all she wanted to say? – Jane released her grip on him and stepped back, shifting awkwardly on the balls of her feet as she stared at him expectantly. With space in between them, the weird tension from before easily faded away and Mike felt like he could finally breathe again. And think again. "Alright good to know." He said. "I'm Mike, you're Jane. Now that we know each other's names, can you get out now?"
Jane looked oddly hurt from his words and he immediately felt like an asshole. He wanted to groan because seriously, what did she expect from him?
Just as he opened mouth to rectify his mistake (apologize) – why was he apologizing? – another voice spoke up, the interruption breaking the trance between the two as Jane immediately jumped a few feet away from him. "Jane?" Max stood at the bathroom entry, looking thoroughly confused as she took in the scene before her: a very guilty-looking Jane Hopper standing in a tiny bathroom with one Mike Wheeler. "What's going on here?"
Ticked off by the implications Max made, Mike answered before Jane could. "What does it look like Mayfield? I'm using your bathroom."
"With my friend in it?" Max fired back accusingly, crossing her arms.
"Yeah, she was showing me how the toilet flushed." He cheekily lied, mocking her stance. Sure, they didn't do anything wrong (Mike was determined to ignore how Jane planted herself on him) and it was probably easier to just tell the truth, but the red-head was seriously pissing him off, fucking jumping to conclusions and subtly accusing them of shit. It was way more fun to fuck with her. "What of it?"
Max rolled her eyes at his bullshit, the nerve of this kid lying to her face in her own goddamn home. Lucas was right – he was fucking annoying. "Whatever Wheeler," She relented, moving to clasp Jane's hand. "Billy's been looking for ya."
With that, Max turned on her feet and quickly made her way down the hallway to her room, dragging a reluctant Jane with her. It was only when he heard the slam of Max's bedroom door close did he move to shut the bathroom door.
Still thoroughly confused at what just happened, Mike ran his fingers through his hair, deciding then and there that he really needed to smoke that bong again.