It was Friday before I realized it, and I still hadn't figured out what to do for the presentation. When I mentioned it to Eddie during class, he just shook his head.

"Look, I'm going to be in Mr. Kostik's room after school," he muttered. "I won't have long but we can talk then."

"You're taking art?"

"No, but it's the only room with big enough tables. For Hellfire," he added. "Game starts at four."

"That gives us a whole half hour," I griped.

"Take it or leave it, Myers," he shot back, but he grinned. "When you're in demand, like I am, your time is valuable, right?"

I blew a raspberry at him and he cracked up; Mrs. Leydecker shot us a warning look before putting up the homework on the overhead.

I got through the rest of the day and made my way to Mr. Kostik's Art room down at the end of the building. I didn't take Art, but I could see why the gaming group liked the place. It had skylights and a lot of student work decorated the walls. Mr. Kostik was round and dynamic, with a ponytail and a goatee. He and Eddie were there, talking.

"Alright, Eddie. Make sure to pull the door shut when you leave; it's already locked. And no more YooHoo bottles left on the desks?"

"I promise we'll clean up," Eddie told him before seeing me in the doorway. "Fi."

Mr. Kostik gave me a nod and slipped out past me. I looked at the books piled on one of the desks. The topmost one had a huge furry red monster holding a sword and it looked lurid.

"Elmo looks pretty badass here."

Eddie snickered. "Great, now I'm never going to unsee it. Thanks. Okay, talk to me, Myers. What are we doing for Lydecker's class? Some dumb dialog about buying baguettes, or making wine? Because you know she's going to want something like that."

"Yeah, she's kind of big on the cultural stuff," I agreed. We both moved to one of the tables and I dropped into a chair, flexing my hands a little. "Um, I guess we could make it like a phone call?"

Eddie pretended to lift a receiver to his ear. "Bonjour? Myers? Omelet du fromage, baby!"

I tried not to laugh but I couldn't help it. "Avec jambon et . . . shit, what's the word for toast?"

"Pain avec a tan," he replied and that was such a stupid answer we both cracked up.

"Bread with a TAN?" I snickered. "Your French sucks as much as mine does!"

After a minute we both managed to stop giggling and I just shook my head, sighing. "Damn this is harder than I thought. You know, my mom had a suggestion."

Eddie gave me an encouraging look.

"She said we ought to sing the Marseille."

For a second, he just stared at me, and then he exploded out of his chair, scaring the shit out of me as he stalked around the classroom.

"Ohh Myers, that is a PRIMO suggestion! You ever catch Hendrick's Star Spangled Banner? That kickass sweeeeeeet opening lick?" Eddie dropped into a guitar stance, airing it like a rockstar.

"Wait, wait, you mean . . . rocking it out?" I tried to wrap my head around that and couldn't quite do it. "The Marseille?"

"Why not? It's just a song!" Eddie pointed out. "And it's easier to memorize to music. Lydecker will LOVE it, probably give us As just for choosing it."

It was true, and given Eddie's enthusiasm, I figured in for a penny, in for a pound. It was going to be a lot more fun than doing some stupid skit about cooking.

"I can get the lyrics," I nodded. "And a few recordings, I guess. But I'm not singing this by myself, Munson. No way."

He frowned. "Yeah," he admitted reluctantly. "But tellin' you now, man, that I'm not the greatest singer. A rare failing, but true, alas."

"We'll figure it out," I sighed. "Still . . ."

Someone was coming down the hall. We both looked up as a kid came in, curly-haired and smiling.

"Eddie, I . . . sorry. Didn't mean to interrupt," he said.

"Hey Henderson! It's cool," Eddie told him, and then looked at me. "Dustin's part of Hellfire."

As if I couldn't see the matching tee shirt. But I nodded. "Hey."

"Hey." Dustin looked between us and I could tell he was trying to figure out the connection since I clearly wasn't part of Hellfire.

"Okay then. I'll get going on the lyrics, and talk to you later," I picked up my backpack and swung it over my shoulder. "See you later, all along the watchtower."

I heard Eddie crack up behind me, and Henderson saying, "what?" as I left, grinning.

-oo00oo—

Mom thought it was hilarious. I spent the better part of Saturday at the Hawkins library, pulling up what I could about the Marseille and making friends with the reference librarian there. She kept finding more recordings, first on vinyl, then cassette and finally she brought me a VCR tape.

"Casablanca," Ms. Longstreet told me. "The scene in the café. There's a girl with a guitar who starts it, and eventually the whole café sings it. And that girl," she sighed, "Actually lived it. The actress had been in France during the Occupation, so she's putting her heart into it. I think you will find it deeply moving."

"Uh, thank you! Thank you so much, Ms. Longstreet. I'll get these back as soon as I can!" I told her, loading up my backpack. I stopped in to pick up mom's meds, and then hit the market for groceries, making sure to fill in mom's presigned check and note the amount for her to reconcile when I got back.

Lacrosse practice was from two to four, and when I got home, I was thinking of spaghetti for dinner, and maybe watching the movie with mom afterwards. I suggested it to her, and she nodded.

"You should invite Eddie."

"What?"

"To dinner, and to watch," Mom clarified. "He'll need to see that scene too, right? And I've never seen a teenager turn down spaghetti."

"Are you serious? Eddie's . . . kind of out there," I told her.

"I don't blame him," She replied. "Hawkins hasn't been particularly good to the Munsons. And anyway, he might say no. Just ask. Won't hurt anything, right?"

She had a point, so I picked up the kitchen phone, dug for Eddie's number from my purse, and called him.

"Lo?"

"Hi, uh, Mr. Munson. This is a friend of Eddie's. Is he there?"

I heard a grunt, and the sound of the phone being passed, and then—

"Hello?"

"Eddie. It's Fi."

"Hey!"

"Yeah, so I got a ton of stuff from the library, and um, my mom wants to know if you want to come over for dinner."

"Wait, what? Your mom?"

"My mom," I confirmed. "We have a video with the Marseille on it, and she said since we both need to see it that maybe you'd like to come over and watch it after dinner."

There was a pause and I tried to picture his expression. Something funny I'm sure, so I added, "It's spaghetti. With meatballs."

I heard a happy sigh. Mom was right. "Ah, yeah! When? And where do you live?"

I gave him the address, and added, "Around five to five-thirty."

"Okay then. And ah, thanks."

"See you," I told him and hung up. Mom looked over at me and I nodded.

"He's coming."

"Better make a double batch," Mom smiled.