The next few weeks were sort of a blur. Eddie and I had decided to keep things low-key about our relationship, both of us aware of how our friends and non-friends would react to the news.

"Most won't care," Eddie pointed out, "but I'm not giving Jason and his goons any reason to hassle you."

"OR you," I agreed. We were at his trailer in his room. I was trying to get through a take home quiz in history but not getting very far since Eddie was playing with my toes through my sandals. I gave him a patient look. "Grade check—what's it look like?"

"One D, three Cs, a B and an A," Eddie reported. "Our presentation helped there, so it's a two point two average, which is better than the last two years."

"Good," I told him. "You're smart, Eddie. I don't get why it doesn't . . . show up."

"Lots of reasons," Eddie sighed. "Seventh grade I was bouncing between my uncle and my cousin's house in Silver Hills, so I was never sure where I'd be sleeping. Eighth, I broke my arm falling off the trailer roof, so that set me back writing anything—"

"You fell off the roof? What were you—never mind, I don't want to know," I huffed, torn between laughing and shaking my head.

He continued, tossing his hair back. "Ninth, I got my first electric guitar, so I was pretty much welded to it, and didn't go to class for a couple of weeks."

"That would do it. Gotta BE there if you want an education," I pointed out. "So what are you interested in? Like, for the future?"

"The big dream? Ah, that would be to have a world-class, world-famous band," Eddie smirked, looking at the ceiling.

"Money for nothing, and your chicks for free?" I snickered.

"Yep," he agreed. "Although that's bullshit, of course. Bands take work," he sighed. "Rehearsals, writing new songs, keeping up with other bands, and all the loading and unloading gear. Then there are the insane hours, and traveling . . . not as glamorous as it sounds, but I'd do it. Hell, I'd rather be the lowest most underpaid roadie out there than any job here in Hawkins, and that includes lifeguard."

"Not a lot of bands passing through this way," I pointed out ruefully.

"Nope," Eddie agreed. "Hardly any coming through Indianapolis for that matter. Be better off trying to get studio gigs."

"Huh," I nodded, and moved my feet out of his reach. He pouted, crawling over to rest his head on my knee.

"What's your big dream, Fi? House, kids, white picket fence?" he teased.

"Travel," I admitted. "Getting out of Hawkins for sure. Maybe not forever, but long enough to see something of the world. After that . . ." I shrugged.

"Nurse, like your mom?"

"I don't have the biology grades for it," I admitted, "and I'm not cut out for dealing with blood and guts. Give me a desk and an agenda any day."

"Cool. I'll be the rock star, and you can be my business manager," he told me. "You book the gigs, I'll play the gigs, we'll rake in the money and build the biggest house in Hawkins. A regular mansion, with an entire basement set up for D&D."

"Why stop there?" I grinned. "With our fabulous wealth, we can build the Hawkins Areodome, and rent the venue out for bands."

"There you go," Eddie laughed. "Bet all that land where Starcourt Mall was is pretty cheap at the moment!"

"Yeah," I nodded, feeling warm in the pit of my stomach at how Eddie had talked so easily of a house. "So how many songs have you like, actually written?"

Eddie pointed with his chin to a careless stack of spiral notebooks next to his bed. "As of the green notebook, about sixty-three. Out of that, I've got about twelve that are complete, and the rest are bits and pieces."

I noted that there was another stack of notebooks, equally battered. "And those?"

"D&D ideas," Eddie yawned. "I . . . go through a lot of pencils."

I blinked. "Damn yeah—these things are filled!" I marveled, noting the small print. "At least let's get your finished songs copyrighted."

"Pffft, can't afford that," Eddie sighed. "It's like, a hundred dollars just to register one."

"That can't be right," I protested. "Are you sure?"

"No," he replied, rising up from the floor. "But whatever it actually is, I can't afford it. Hell, it took me three years to save up enough for the Demon there—" he waved at his electric guitar, which was up on his dresser like an idol on an altar. "—and that was hard enough."

I dropped the subject but kept thinking about it long after Eddie and I said goodnight.

-oo00oo—

Mom was doing better, and I was so glad to see that she was looking more like she used to. She extended a standing dinner invitation to Eddie for Saturday nights, pending any gigs he had, and she fed both of us, which I know she liked. I told her about his songs, and Mom promised to look into it for me, which was great. Mom is not only a good nurse, but she's also the kind of person who knows a lot of folks in Hawkins, so she knows who to talk to when she needs answers or research.

Me, I was looking at the end of the school year with some frustration, though. I had never intended to go to the prom, just the sports banquet in May, but Cassie was constantly chattering about the prom in that clueless way of hers. Both Robin and I were a little tired of it after a week or so.

"I'm not going, you're not going, but is that registering with her? Doubt it," Robin sighed. "Why are we forever trapped into these meaningless rituals?" We were at Family Video and I was helping her re-shelve a few titles during a lull between customers.

"Because we're here," I told her. "In the USA, doing traditional things. I'm not any happier about it myself. I've got the banquet coming up."

Robin looked at me. "Are you going to ask Eddie to escort you?"

I considered it. "I don't think he'd feel comfortable going, but I'm gonna at least ask," I told her. "That way he can let me down easy."

She laughed. "You guys ARE a thing. I can totally tell from the way you said that!"

"Maaaaaybe," I rolled my eyes. Steve cruised by, shooting me a smile.

"Did you know Humphrey Bogart was a wiz at chess?" he asked, without waiting for my answer. "Dude was like, nearly at the master level!"

"Someone decided to break out the encyclopedia, B volume,' Robin chirped. "I've been getting Bogart facts all day. Feel like I'm prepping for a Jeopardy category."

"Hey, he was a deeply cool guy," Steve protested, running a hand through his hair. "Got all the best chicks, too."

"Lauren Bacall," Robin sighed. "Ida Lupino."

"Walter Huston," I snickered, and even Robin joined in. Steve rolled his eyes and sauntered away, towards the two girls looking over the cover of 'Return to Oz.'

"Fi . . . what if he says 'yes?'" she murmured to me, and this time her expression was serious. "I mean—he can't wear that Hellfire Club shirt to your banquet, and I don't think he's got slacks or anything . . ."

I tried to picture Eddie in a varsity jacket. Not possible. Hell, it wasn't even possible to picture him in a sports coat. Seeing my face, Robin nodded.

"If he says yes, we'll take him to Denslow's," She told me. "We'll find something for him."

I nodded, wondering how I got myself into these things.