The Party
"I just... I don't understand why they'd post them everywhere."
"Out of boredom, probably," Will rests a hand on his sister's back, drawing circles across the wool of her sweater, "because they're idiots."
Mike nods, moving to stand beside his friend. His shoves one hand inside his pocket and runs the other through his hair, "I say we try and figure out who did this."
"I'll tell you who did it," Lucas clears his throat, ringing out his hands, "It was you, you sly dog!"
With a grumble, Max's shoulders drop dramatically, and she leans back against the brick wall with a shake of her head, "I think it's pretty obvious, Wheeler." she quips, "Not everyone has beef with your girlfriend."
"Lower your voice!" El scolds her, reaching up to plaster a hand over the other girl's mouth. "And nobody has beef with me — for some reason, they're just envious of my relationship."
Lucas raises a hand then, cutting in, "So you're telling me Mike could pull a cheerleader if he wanted to?" The boy smirks, turning to his friend to smack him on the shoulder. "Man!" He grabs Mike by the bicep afterwards, ignoring the taller teen's eye roll.
The black haired-boy simply wiggles free from his friend's grasp, hands moving to mess with the zipper of his hoodie, "Not that I would want to anyway," he mumbles, "but why exactly are they jealous of El?" He looks over at Max, watching as the redhead stops mindlessly scanning her nails.
"Oh," she stands up straighter then, a glint in her eye letting Mike she's glad he asked, "They think you're some kind of God-dicked Romeo, I guess."
"Max!"
"He asked!" she retorts, "It's not my fault Wheeler's got everyone all hot and bothered with his sexting."
"I didn't even send anything remotely... that!" The boy denies, and his arms fly up dramatically, "Not a lot, at least."
Max gasps, head rolling back in disbelief. Then she swallows a breath, points a finger right at him, "You texted, and I quote, "That thing you did last night? I'm doing it right now. Would be so much easier if you were here."
With a faint blush on his cheeks, Mike's eyes widen to the size of saucers, "That's not what that meant!"
The redhead scoffs, ignoring his comment completely, "Yeah, well, the green-eyed monster called and she wants your dick, Wheeler!"
"You know, maybe we should all just spread out," Dustin suggests then, interrupting to avoid drawing any unwanted attention from bystanders.
Granted, it's noon and it's lunch and they're like, the only group of people hanging outside at this time but... still — he figures it's best if no one overhears or sees them arguing because that might be a dead giveaway that there's tension in the party. And if there's obvious tension in the party, then it must be for a reason. And the only reason could be if one or more party members were hiding something huge-
He runs a finger along his chin as though he's planning something brilliant. "Think of it as, like, a mission."
"A mission?" Mike scowls, and his hands slide into his front pockets.
(Dustin's ideas usually suck. Naturally, Mike is skeptical.)
"Think about it, Mike." The curly-haired boy stands up, and he steps into line next to his best friend. He rests a hand on Mike's shoulder, wiggling his eyebrows in the others' direction. "If you wanna keep this thing," and he wags a finger between Mike and El then, "a secret, then you're gonna need eyes on the inside."
"Like spies," Will finally voices.
Lucas snaps his fingers, free hand coming to rest on his girlfriend's bicep. "Should we each take care of a clique?"
Dustin nods, "Obviously, you take the jocks." And Lucas offers a shrug in reply, clearly comfortable with that decision. "Max, you're in charge of the cheerleaders."
"What?" Max squeaks, "No! No way in hell am I doing that."
On the bench, El just stares into space, eyes glazing over as she numbly watches the people on the track run another lap. Tuning out his friends' bickering and taking a second to look down at the girl who started it all, Mike's face softens and he crouches down to her level to rest his hands on her knees. "Ignore them." He raises his brows, palms spreading across the denim thighs of her overalls, thumbs along the inside seams, "They're idiots."
"I know," El says, and her gaze shifts from the runners onto her boyfriend's face. "But maybe Dustin's right."
"This is gonna blow up in our faces, you know," Mike says, and it really isn't much of a question. He gives his lips a once-over, running his tongue along the skin and eyeing the ground below them. "I should just tell people," Mike says, muddy brown eyes raising to meet El's, "because you shouldn't have to endure this, you know."
"You can't," El tells him, and she reaches forward to pull at the elastic band around his wrist, pulling and resettling it around his skin without letting it sting. It's pink and new and oh-so-very her. She smiles.
"Why not?"
"Because then people would know," El reasons, and her explanation doesn't make much sense to him. "And if people know, then they feel like they get to have a say in how we live our lives. And I don't want other people in our relationship. I want you." And then it makes more sense.
Mike grins, and he squints as his voice lowers into a whisper, "other people are already in our relationship." He tilts his head in direction of their friends, still bantering and trying to hammer out the details of their totally necessary 'sting operation', as Dustin has just now called it.
El shrugs, bottom lip pulled between her teeth, "They don't count. They're-"
"You're asking me to infiltrate a terrorist organisation, and you expect me to not hit someone in the face?" Max suddenly exclaims, a single brow raising in bewilderment. After a beat, she shakes her head with a "hard pass, Dustbin," as monotone as ever.
The brunette simply leans into the boy then, lips beside his ear as she whispers sweet and low, "They're our friends," she breathes, sighs, "and if they want to help even half as much as I want you then I say we let them."
"They're at it again with the flirting," Will says behind a forced cough, fist pressed up against his lips. He dodges their gaze, focusing instead on Dustin.
"El, would you please tell these imbociles that I can't deal with the airheads?"
"I mean-"
"You have to." Dustin interjects, practically shoving his finger in her face. "None of us can do it."
"And you think I can pull it off?" Max squeaks, and her eyebrows are so far up her face they're almost past her hairline. She shakes her head, shoulders raising in refusal, "I wouldn't even know where to start."
"Talk about boys or something." Will suggests, "That's what cheerleaders do, right?"
"Yeah." Lucas shrugs, and suddenly five pairs of eyes are on him. "Not that I know, I just… I'm guessing. The guys on the team are always talking about them so maybe they do it, too."
"Great." El drops her hands into her lap then. She turns to face her best friend, pleading eyes and all. "Ask them if they think anybody's cute."
"What, like an agony aunt?" The girl grimaces, "I can't do girl talk. I mean, we barely do girl talk and we're actually friends."
"Nobody else can do this." Mike reminds her, and he's suddenly the centre of attention, "El can't exactly walk up to them and just ask if they know about me."
"Why can't Will do it?"
"Will's in charge of the art fre- art friends. Of his art friends." Lucas explains, correcting himself in the process. He shoots the boy an apologetic look, shrugging, "And I've got the basketball team."
"Dustin?"
"The burnouts."
"And Mike can't do it," El adds.
"And you can't." Max rolls her eyes, pursing her lips. "You do know that it was them that did this, don't you?"
El sighs, and she looks up at Mike with a muted expression. "I know." She blinks, shoulders dropping as her brows dip in the space between her eyes, "No one else would care enough."
"I don't think it's them caring as much as it is them playing with you," Will tells his step-sister.
"Thankfully," Dustin starts, and he sticks a hand out with a look between his friends, "we're a pretty kick-ass team."
Max
"What do you want?"
"Your hostility, definitely." The redhead grumbles, and she moves to straddle the bench in front of the girls. She drags her teeth across her bottom lip, eyeing the small group of cheerleaders suspiciously.
This definitely wasn't on her list of things to do today. Hell, this wouldn't even make the first draft of her bucket list.
Max had wanted things to go as they usually did; she and El would chit-chat, she and Dustin would argue over something stupid, she and Mike would bicker before resorting to arm-punches, she and Will would speak in code until somebody told them to knock it off.
And then she'd spend her afternoon with Lucas, either making out in the back of his car or sharing a pint of ice-cream in his backyard, trying to ignore his sister's constant pestering.
But shit hit the fan, her hectic schedule took a turn, and now she's gotta do damage control.
Instead of eating lunch together, the group had all taken a straw, taken their queue and spread out across the many cliques of the Hawkins High social hierarchy. But no one, she thinks, is more out of their comfort zone than her right now.
Lucas got lucky, Dustin would be fine, Will would be in his element, Mike just had to keep to himself, and El well… El was sitting this one out, for pretty obvious reasons.
But Max? Max drew the short straw. Max had to infiltrate the polyester-soaked lollipop heads and assess the situation from inside. But these girls were responsible for her friend's current humiliation and she wasn't gonna let that go easily.
She's crossed the no man's land, she's built a bridge made out of rose-scented pink-colored paper, and it's total bullshit.
(She even kind of misses Erica Sinclair right now.)
Glancing down at her canvas pumps, Max shuffles them under the bench she's sitting on. She twists her ankles from side to side, pressing upon the palms of her hands as she takes in the cheerleaders before her.
She's so far removed from these girls. They're all preppy, and squeaky, and pretty. They wear short, short skirts that leave practically nothing to the imagination. They contour their faces with expensive makeup to accentuate their best features. They wear ironed, buttoned-up yellow and coral and pink cardigans over the tops of their uniforms. Their cheer sneakers are white and spotless, no signs of scuffing or stretching or mudding.
(Max might even envy them if she wasn't so confident in herself.)
One of them is eating a piece of dry bread — the kind with the nuts and no flavor whatsoever. She has a sour expression on her face, which means she's probably not enjoying it in the slightest. Max doesn't remember her name but she's pretty sure the girl is a new student this year. She has black hair and perhaps the thickest eyebrows Max has ever seen.
As she munches down on the wheaty loaf, there's a hand curling around her shoulder, as though encouraging her to finish the food. Max pulls a face, gaze trailing up to the girl stood behind the newbie. She's taller than her, blonde with an innocent-enough looking face.
Biting her tongue and forcing down a comment, Max skips right to the point, "You guys know who hacked my friend's phone?"
(Okay, so that wasn't what El asked her to do… but whatever.)
"Who says anybody hacked her?"
"Are you saying you didn't?"
"I'm saying maybe she shouldn't have left her phone unlocked." It's not Strawberry Blonde who pipes up, but rather the tallest one of the bunch, the self-professed ringleader — Stacey. The brunette on the bench two rows above Max glares down at her fellow senior, "That's all."
"That didn't mean it was up for grabs," Max reasons, but she soon finds three pairs of eyes zooming in on her face, scowls and all. "I mean-" a breath, then, "I really just wanna know who you guys think it is."
"How are we supposed to know?"
"A total babe."
"I'd do him."
"Stace!" Strawberry Blonde's eyes almost bulge out of her head, "Oh my gosh."
"What?" The girl flips the bottom of her ponytail over her shoulder with a roll of the eyes, "He sounds romantic so he probably knows how to bone down."
The newbie swallows a final bite of her bread before whispering, dreamily, "One can only imagine." She gazes off then.
Stifling a laugh, Max presses her elbows into her knees, one-hundred percent immersed now. Are they really fawning over Wheeler? Like, sure, they don't know it's him and they'd probably regret it if they did but-
"Let's be honest," Stacey clicks her tongue, hands folding in her lap so primly as her ankles cross, "He's probably a jock." She looks from left to right, eyeing her friends almost knowingly, "I'm betting on James or that new midfielder."
"Really?" Girl-whose-name-Max-really-needs-to-learn-soon says, green eyes twinkling with someone akin to sadness, "The cute one with the red hair and the cheekbones?"
(Cheekbones? Check.)
"Yeah, I mean, he's total nobody. But, like, I think even he would be quiet about doing the chief's daughter on the sly."
"I doubt it. Didn't you see last Sunday's texts?" The blonde girl practically blushes — and Max has to hold herself back from full-on cackling in the girl's face, "The wording? Our guys just don't talk like that."
Stacey just nods, nonchalantly brushing her fringe out of her face, "I know." She shakes her head, licking her lips.
(Max might as well not even be there anymore.)
"I had a bad today but knowing I'll see you tomorrow was worth every damn second." The newbie says, quoting what was obviously a Mike-sent text.
Max watches in amusement (and somehow total fucking despair) as these girls — these popular cheerleaders with their perfect smiles and perfect lives and perfect reputations — quite literally (and unknowingly) fangirl over her nerdy maybe-friend.
(They're gonna wanna die when they find out who's been sexy-texting El. Max can't wait.)
Stacey purses her lips, peering over at the other girls and completely ignoring the smirk on Max's face. "I wanted to hold you last night but I don't think I could have done just that and nothing else. The very idea of you drives me crazy."
"What else would you have done?"
"Love you. Ardently and keenly and hopefully without interruption this time." Stacey finishes, and Max is just glad she'd bypassed that part of their text chain because eek! cringe! Wheeler's such a sucker!
"He sounds hot."
"They sound in love." Newbie throws in, "Like, true love." In fairness, she looks like she's about sixteen so… Max will forgive her for thinking teenage romances are everlasting.
Max scoffs, "I don't know about true love." She raises a brow, feels her face burning under their gazes, "They just sound horny to me."
Newbie mumbles something beneath her breath, head shaking in denial as though the very idea is ridiculous.
"Didn't you read the messages?" The other girl — Jennifer Hayes with the strawberry highlights and the turned-up nose — squeaks, arms folding over her chest as chipped-polish fingers circle her biceps. She's stopped force-feeding the new girl now. "He's obviously a total romantic."
"Or a pussy." Max jabs behind gritted teeth, lips pursing in irritation.
"Just because no one has ever treated you like WB treats Hopper…"
Quirking a brow and ignoring her comment, Max asks, "WB?"
"Waffle Boy." Stacey's eyes widen, and she raises both eyebrows matter-of-factly as though it's something Max should have known. Her lips part after a second, and she huffs out, "The guy in the texts."
(Don't punch her. Don't punch her. Don't punch her yet.)
Max smirks, challenging her with a look, "Yeah, I got that." She deadpans, tugging on the loose sleeves of her jacket. She runs her fingers along the denim, scratching at the yellow stitching holding the patches of fabric together. Licking her lips with a tilt of the head, she says, "I'm just surprised you guys are so invested that you've come up with an acronym for a nickname."
Stacey crosses her legs then, all ladylike and proper, and she drops her hands into her lap in a way that's so practised that Max is half convinced she's also a debutante... which is probably true. "Why wouldn't we be invested? Two of our fellow seniors fell in love. Why wouldn't we-"
"You've never even talked to either of them."
(And suddenly her foot is in her mouth and so far down her throat, she's actually choking on rubber.)
"Either of them?" Jennifer asks. The corner of her lips turns up, some kind of glee on her face, "You know who he is." She states, accusingly, and she nudges her friend in the elbow. Stacey perches forward on the bench, forearms resting across her knees, a sneaker-clad foot wagging almost excitedly in the air.
"What?" The redhead furrows her brows, forcing confusion across her face. She gulps, running the ball of her hand across her collarbones just as Stacey runs her tongue across her upper teeth, clearly intrigued. She's meat to the slaughter now. "No, I don't."
"Then what did you mean?" Stacey asks, and suddenly she's standing up and taking a step toward the redhead, crossing the threshold of the bench that separated them. The brunette flutters her lashes, snarling, "Did you just step in it, Mayfield?"
"Not that it matters," and Max stands up then, hands sliding down to her front pockets to comfort herself, calm herself. This bitch- She sighs, "but I have no idea who he is. El doesn't really like to share that kinda thing. We don't talk about boys."
The brunette frowns, "El?"
"Jane," Jennifer whispers, nudging her friend again, this time in the ribs. "It's her nickname." She says matter-of-factly, and Max now has twenty questions for the girl. It's not like Jennifer Hayes is a part of their friend group, so how does she know about the name reserved for El's friends and family? Granted, she's not the worst member of the squad, and she's actually kind of friendly sometimes, but-
"Whatever." Stacey brushes off her friend, waving a hand about, "We have to go practice now." She says, diverting her attention back to the outcasted girl, "See you around, Mayfair."
Jennifer clears her throat, "It's Mayfield."
With that, the captain of the Tigers' cheer squad is walking away. She swings her hips more than necessary, raising her arms up above her head to tighten the painful-looking ponytail she's sporting as she goes. Jennifer falls into step with her a moment later, after bidding Max the quickest goodbye in human history.
Max only stares after the girls as they walk away, a single brow quirked in astonishment. She sits down on the bleachers then, pushing up on her forearms as her legs kick out in front of her, "Can't wait." Max speaks, voice perkier and cheerier than usual — totally mocking.
Thirty seconds later, when they're down the steps with their synchronised ponytails in full swing, someone calls out to her.
Squinting to get a clearer view of just who it is, she smiles, a hand shading her face from the sun as they run up to meet her.
"What's up-"
Will swallows, "We have a problem." He pulls on her elbow, urging her to stand up, "Find Lucas."
Dustin
In retrospect, Dustin really should've just kept his mouth shut. If he would have just nodded along, agreed with whatever the hell Mike had been rambling on about, then he wouldn't be in this situation. He wouldn't have been dealt the short straw: The potheads.
It makes sense, really. Everybody else — well, aside from Max — had their own little side cliques that they go hang out with and probe for information, all without raising suspicion. But him, Dustin Henderson who likes to people-please and entertain… Dustin Henderson was the odd one out. He doesn't fit in anywhere.
He likes to think that everyone is his friend, or at least that he's on speaking terms with a good ninety percent of the student body and staff. He gets good grades, he makes 'em laugh; he's the perfect student. But while Lucas has his buddies on the basketball team, and Will is in with the craftier kids, Dustin doesn't know where he belongs.
He's involved with the AV Club, the Chess Club, and he tutors on weekends. He plays teacher's assistant when someone is struggling in a class he excels at. He volunteered for the food drive last year (because he thought it'd bring him closer to a certain blonde cheerleader) and he once spent a whole Saturday wagging a bucket, collecting donations for some freshman's knee surgery.
He's a good guy, and he likes to think he's cool. But he doesn't really belong with any subgroup of high schoolers, and it's never really been a problem until now.
(The potheads. Shit.)
Rounding the corner that will take him beneath the outside bleachers, Dustin rolls up the sleeves of his sweatshirt. The orange material gathers around his elbows, and he cracks his knuckles as he works up the courage to open his mouth, address the handful of hipster-looking beanie-sporting guys before him.
Maybe if he acts like he's trying to score some weed then-
"Is that you, Henderson?"
It's a blond guy that asks the question, a half-eaten sandwich hanging from his lips. Dustin's pretty sure his name is Matt but he doesn't wanna look like an idiot so he just settles for a nod.
"Gentlemen," the curly-haired boy runs his tongue over his upper teeth, plastering a grin on his face, "What is happening?"
"Not much," Could-be-Matt replies, and he rolls down the foil of his homemade 'wich before taking another bite. He chomps down on the food, shoots his friends a glance. He's Dustin's way in. "What can we do for you, Hendy?"
(He's never known if that was an affectionate nickname or not. He's pretty sure it's wordplay. Hendy. Handy. A handy.)
(Dicks.)
Taking confident steps forward, Dustin plops himself down onto the unfolded empty stool across from Could-be-Matt.
"Just wondering what you guys are up to." Okay, so that wasn't a great start.
"The usual." Another of the guys pipes up. He has his back turned, and he's hunched over an overturned garbage can. Dustin can smell what he's doing. He's pretty sure the guy's at least, like, twenty years old. "Rolling."
"Rolling, huh?" The boy clears his throat, and he crosses his ankles together with a deep breath. He forces a grin, "You do that a lot?"
(You're making it worse, dummy.)
The roller just chuckles, some deep-seeded laugh Dustin's a little thrown off by. He nods, glancing over his shoulder, "You wanna join?"
(Shit. Abort. Abort.)
"I mean," he shrugs, "Maybe later." He needs info first. He leans back then, pressing into the curve of a bench behind him. "God, it's crazy today."
"Like, how?" Could-be-Matt frowns, and he finally crumbles up the aluminium foil in his hand, tossing it at one of his friends' heads. "You talking about that weird sext thing?"
"I don't think they're sexts." He blinks, "Well, not all of them. Maybe. I don't know."
"Yeah, you read them?" The roller is fully turned around now, and he flicks long brown hair over his shoulder. "Shit was hot."
"Girl sounds like she puts out."
Dustin nods, face expressionless. This is not how he'd expected it to go. Talking about his friends' sex life is-
(Nope. No. Not happening.)
"Hey, man, don't you know her?" The blond boy taps Dustin's knee then, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. "What's the deal?"
"The deal?"
"Yeah, you know," his eyes widen, tongue wagging out of the corner of his mouth like a dog out of a car window, "the deal."
"I mean, I think she's fairly happy in her relationship, so-"
"So you know who the player is?"
"The player?"
(Are they… turning the interrogation back on him?)
(Well, shit.)
"Yeah, man. Geez, didn't you read- Hey, here." The brunet holds up a finger then, and he moves his joint from one hand to the other. Reaching down, he picks up a crumbled-up piece of paper from behind the trash can.
It's bright blue, frayed as though it's been read and re-read over and over again before finally having been tossed aside. Dustin gulps.
Remind me to pull out next time, El.
(Yikes.)
No, because then it would have gone everywhere.
(Double yikes.)
There's a reason he avoided reading any of those texts.
Firstly, he has (some) integrity and they were private messages sent to and from some of his best friends and he didn't wanna add to the flurry of teens who were invading their privacy. Second… well, because he has to deal with them being all lovey-dovey outside of school and that is already enough.
"It's not one of you guys?"
"As if!" Roller waves a hand about, tutting. "I don't think any of us would dare mess with the Chief's kid." He shrugs, and then he's holding out to joint and Dustin is just cornered.
Slowly taking the hit from the other teen, Dustin eyes it considerably. Would it really matter if he-
"Yeah, I don't care how hot she is," Could-be-Matt shakes his head, pulling on the end of his beanie so it covers his fringe, "I'm not getting arrested for no hookup."
Dustin can't help but pull a face then, and he can Roller sparking up his lighter out of the corner of his eyes. Crap, well- "I don't think they're hooking up. I think they're actually the real deal."
"Eh," one of the guys in the back speaks up then, and Dustin is no longer under the illusion that the guy was asleep, "I definitely think it's a married guy. He just sounds older, you know?" He rasps, rubbing his hands up and down his arms. "Chicks love older guys."
"Oh, you read them too, huh?" The curly-haired boy mumbles, and he chews at the inside of his teeth for all of a second before Could-be-Matt is filling the silence again.
"It's totally a teach', you know it," he high-fives his drippy friend then, nodding in agreement, "Probably did it for the grade, too."
"I don't think-"
"They're right, my man." Roller lays a hand on Dustin's shoulder, "Now." He drops the lighter into Dustin's lap, and when the boy glances up at the older teen he's just smirking, "Your turn."
(Ah, shit.)
"Dustin!"
Suddenly Lucas is the savior he never knew he needed.
Standing up and brushing down his jeans, Dustin drops the lighter and joint back down onto his stool. "Boys," he waves a hand, "it's been fun. Let's not do this again."
Scurrying away, Dustin quickly makes it over to his friend within a matter of seconds. He smirks, shoots a look over his shoulder, "Man, they're-"
"I really don't care." Lucas shakes his head, and he rests his hand on his hips with a look, "You need to find El. Like, right now."
"Huh?"
Will
"Literally, like, I don't know anyone who is bored enough to care," Brett tells him, and he lays a hand on Will's shoulder before the boy can feel offended. "No shade to your sister. She's lovely, I know she's lovely, but..." he tilts his head, a brow wiggling in thought, "you know."
Will nods, a small smile lighting up his face, "I get it." His gaze lands on the hand delicately placed on his arm now, watching as Brett moves it down to his elbow. Lips drawing thin in modesty, Will looks up at the blond boy's face, "You haven't told anybody, have you?"
(Because, yes, he'd told Brett. And, yes, he actually kind of regretted it.)
His hand drops then, and Will's smile does, too.
"No!" Brett's eyes widen, almost in disbelief at the thought, "I would never. It's not my place."
"Well, thanks." The shorter boy says, and he clenches the strap of his bookbag tighter in his hand, "El would kill me if she found out."
"Mike wouldn't?"
"Mike's a little more... relaxed when it comes to this kind of thing, I think." Will explains, and he turns to face his own secret boyfriend then. "I guess I'm more like her than I thought."
"Because you wanna keep this quiet?" Brett's nose crinkles then, and he flashes his pearly whites, "Whatever you want to do until you're ready."
A faint blush rises to his cheeks suddenly, and he leans up on the toes of his pumps to press his lips against Brett's. The taller boy momentarily stills before reacting, threading Sharpie-covered fingers through Will's messy hair. He tugs on the strands at the base of the boy's neck, mumbling something incoherent just before pulling away.
"Did you," Will starts, and he thumbs his bottom lip with a shy smile, "Did you read them? The texts?" He dares a look up at the blond, brows raising in curiosity.
(Please say no.)
"I mean," Brett clears his throat, "I had of had to. They were all over the school this morning." He sighs, "Does it bother you that I did? Because I can pretend I didn't and we can go back to not knowing the details of your sister's sex life." He offers with a smile, nudging Will affectionately.
"Oh, God, she has a sex life?" Will cringes, "I thought they were still on second base."
"Yeah, you know, stuff like "You were so wet last night, it's insane" can only be taken one way, Will." Brett teases him.
Will throws a hand up against his mouth then, eyes closing as he fake gags, "No, no, no. You didn't just say that!"
"Is that," Brett mumbles behind Will's hand, and when the boy only blinks, he wags a finger out in front of him.
Will turns around to see what he's pointing to, and he gasps in surprise.
(Ah.)
"Hop?" Will makes a noise from past his teeth, wiping his hand across his t-shirt after lifting it off of Brett's mouth.
The taller boy just smiles back and forth between the pair before he resorts to glancing around the empty hallway, mindlessly bouncing on his heels and minding his own business.
Five seconds later, Hopper is walking toward the pair. There's a pink flyer in one hand, and a yellow one in the other. He staring down at the papers as he walks, lips moving as he approaches.
"You seen your sister anywhere?" Hopper asks, and he moves his right hand to rest it on his hip. He slips a finger past a belt hoop, eyes his step-son accusatorily, "Huh?"
(Well, technically...)
Will just shrugs, making use of his many afternoons spent rehearsing with Dustin for the 'Winter Spectacle!'. He keeps his face straight, blank, and says "Not since this morning."
"Chief," Brett greets him, and he holds a hand up as though to salute the man. Then he's smiling down at Will and getting the hell out of dodge, speedily making his way down the corridor.
The chief simply throws his head back slightly, but he never lifts his eyes off of Will, "You wouldn't lie to me, would you?" he asks, "Because, if you do, you're gonna be on greens all week."
"You wouldn't dare." Will accuses.
Hopper raises a brow in challenge, and he squashes the papers in his hand then, "I would." He nods, confirming, "Now, I've gotta have a word with my daughter. Do you know where she is or not?"
Will gestures down to the screenshot texts in the chief's hands, "She's kinda been having a rough morning, you know, so-"
"Oh, I know. I got a call from your lousy ass principal who felt the need to tell me my daughter was the victim of a school prank."
"It's not really a prank, but-"
"So she really sent these?"
(Should he sell his sister out for the sake of a more delicious meal tonight? No. Is he going to? Eh...)
"I mean," Will gulps, throat suddenly running dry, "Sort of."
"Where is she?"
"I don't know."
"Then find her for me." Hopper raises his brows, chewing his bottom lip, "And if you know who this Waffle kid is, then-"
Will rises up on his heels then, straightening his back as he throws two thumbs up, "Yep. Gonna go find El now."
(Max will know where she is, surely.)
Lucas
Is he really gonna spend his entire lunch period doing this? Yes.
Is he going to live to regret it? Probably.
Does he care? Not really.
"Man, this has been a wild morning."
It's exactly five minutes past one, Lucas is tossing a basketball up and down in the air, and there are two other teammates sat in front of him. One of them has red hair and a five o'clock shadow. The other is the team captain's right-hand man; James.
Lucas keeps his eyes focused on the ceiling of the locker room, waiting for the ball to drop. He catches it, aims it directly at James' chest. "Right?"
(They're not the greatest of friends. Not when Lucas' girlfriend punched James' best friend square in the jaw and refused to apologize.)
Lucas nods, mostly to himself, and he hums under his breath as the other two create a space between them on the bench to settle the ball down.
"One of you know who did it?" Lucas wipes his chin with the back of his hand, sniffling to cover his stress.
"Stole her phone or screwed her?" James quips, and Lucas really wants to knock that smug expression right off of his pasty face, "Wasn't me," he says, left eye narrowing, "wouldn't turn her down though."
"Like she'd be interested." The red-haired kid jabs, chuckling to himself. He stretches his legs out in front of him while shooting Lucas a look, "He's probably in college. Those pervs love high school girls."
"You think the Chief would let her mess around with college guys?" James snorts, shoulders rolling back, "No way in hell. Nah, he's probably just some loser."
"Makes sense." Lucas agrees, lowering his gaze to the floor.
(Don't slip up now, Sinclair.)
"Maybe that' why they're keeping quiet."
James pulls a face then, "I mean, who really cares anyway, right?" He asks, and then he's picking the ball back up. He tosses it to Lucas, watching with squinty eyes as the boy clutches it to his chest, "Hey, you're her friend,"
(Oh, no.)
"You think it's one of your friends?"
"I think I'd know."
"Maybe you just wouldn't tell us."
Lucas' brows furrow, "No, I'd definitely tell you," he pauses, "You know, if one of my boys was... doing her."
(Gulp. Upchuck. Bile. Eww.)
"You think she's putting out?"
"Dude, don't talk about her like that," Lucas warns the older boy, a hand flying out in protest. He shakes his head, "It's not, you know, fair."
"You just did!"
"No, I didn't!"
"Hey, it's not his fault she sends stuff like," and the red-bearded teen holds up a finger then. He reaches into his back pocket, and it's as though he's conjuring one of the printed pages out of thin air. Lucas can only sigh, wait as he reads, You can put it anywhere, you know.
James throws his hands up, grinning wildly now, "See? She's a nympho."
"What?!" Lucas squeaks, and he reaches back to tighten his bandana. The sweat is just pooling-
"I still think he's a loser."
"Nah, it's totally a college dude." The new kid argues, "No high schooler uses shit like 'winsome' in a text, am I right? That's next level. She's definitely putting out for that."
"Babe?"
Lucas turns around then, and the ball in his hands drops to the floor.
Max is stood in the doorway, a hand wrapped around the frame as she pops her hip. She grits her teeth, forcing a smile onto her face, "Can we talk?"
Jennifer
"Can you believe it though?" Stacey pulls a tube of lipstick and a pack of gum from the loose pocket of her skirt. She places them down beside the sink and flicks on the tap, shaking her head, "Plain little Jane scored herself a Romeo."
Jennifer smiles, and she whips around so her back is pressing against the counter. Her hands reach out to push against the unit, elbows bending sharply. "You almost sound jealous."
Midway-through washing her hands, Stacey shoots her a look, and Jennifer instantly regrets her choice of words, "I'm not jealous." The brunette says, unflinching, "I'm just curious."
"We're all curious." Jennifer tells her, "It's cute," she shrugs, "and kinda fun."
"This isn't fun." The head cheerleader corrects her, and suddenly she's turning the tap off and spinning on her heel to face the blonde. "I just wanna know who the guy is so we can go back to forgetting they even exist."
"If you didn't want people to care then maybe you shouldn't have stolen her phone," Jennifer starts, mumbling, "and posted everything online."
"It's been, like, a day. I thought someone would have figured-" Stacey cuts herself off then, distracted by a noise coming from the fourth stall — it almost sounded like someone was being strangled.
The fourth stall is the one just behind her, and it's only one where the door's been locked shut. She raises a brow in question, dry lips parting. Suddenly, there's a bang from inside the stall, and the door rattles accordingly.
"What is that?" The space between Stacey's brows creases and she turns to her friend with a slight frown. The brunette nudges her shoulder then, shoving her forward, "Go see."
"Why do I have to do it?" Jennifer cries, hands flying up to adjust her ponytail. She pulls a face when Stacey just tilts her head, eyes wide and commanding. "Fine." She huffs, and takes a few steps over to the third stall, where the door is wide open and inviting, almost like it's encouraging her to come and spy on whoever has locked themselves inside the fourth cubicle.
Closing the lid and raising a foot onto the surface, she pushes up on the back of the tank to hoist herself up, her sneakers squeaking against the chipped seat. With a deep breath, she pushes up on her tiptoes and grabs the wall to her right.
Peering over into the other stall, Jennifer's brows rise up almost to her hairline. Her lips part in surprise at the sight before her, a small gasp escaping as her fingers curl over the divide, chipped coral nail polish a stark contrast to the off-white of the restroom walls.
(Not what was I was expecting.)
Wide-eyed, she stares down at Jane Hopper with pause, confused and stunned into silence all at once.
It's not like there's anything R-rated going on — it's all actually rather PG-13 — but the fact that the girl who's been keeping everyone on their toes — falling head over ass as they try to unravel her personal life and figure her out — is just casually, openly making out with some guy in the girls' bathroom is pretty amazing. Okay, so it's not really open because it's the girls' toilets and they at least had the decency to shut the door to give themselves a little privacy.
Jennifer has to wonder if it wouldn't have been easier to just to do it in under the bleachers, like all the other couples who can't seem to keep their hands off of each other for longer than five seconds. None of those teens has the entire senior class on their backs though.
And, to her credit, Jane at least looks like she's trying to conceal his identity.
Her hands are cupping his face, thumbs pressing into the flesh covering his cheekbones, sharp and practically bruised from the force of the girl's touch, and she's kissing him so hard that Jennifer has a difficult time believing either of them can even breathe right now. Jane keeps humming, practically moaning, and — good for him! — the guy totally has a hand on her ass.
Eyebrows knitting in curiosity, Jennifer tilts her head to catch a clearer look at the boys' face. He's all long arms and dark hair and a boring rugby shirt and-
(Well, shit.)
As though sensing her presence, the boy's eyes flicker open just then, and his gaze momentarily lands on Jane's face before it's travelling up. And just as she makes to duck out of sight, Mike Wheeler's eyes are staring right up at her — Jennifer Hayes, all brown-eyed confusion and the actual embodiment of oops!
How could she not have seen this coming? Jane and Wheeler are as thick as thieves, like two peas in a pod.
(Of course, it was him!)
How nobody could have guessed this already, she doesn't know. They're always together. They're always close. They're always whispering. They're always smiling at one another.
And, okay, Jennifer's not a stalker but she notices things. She likes to people-watch, to see how people who don't run in her circle go about their lives. Stacey might like to pretend that anyone who isn't an athlete or a teacher doesn't matter, but Jennifer isn't like that.
She likes imagining what the nerdier kids talk about, if they have the same kinds of conversations that she and her friends do, or if they just bicker over which movie they're going to see that night. She likes to think about what the art freaks do on the weekends, whether they spend all their free time scrapbooking magazine cutouts or graffitiing the backs of department store buildings. She's always watching, always surveying everyone. So how could she have missed this?
(Maybe it was too obvious.)
But what she doesn't understand, what she really doesn't get, is why they wouldn't just come out with it and tell everyone? Or at least make it known that they were dating. It's not like they'd have to make some big announcement in the school paper or anything, declaring their love for one another to make sure everyone knew they were an item. Surely just being open with your relationship would be a lot easier than stealing kisses in dirty bathroom stalls and pretending you weren't secretly, like, totally head over heels for one another. And Jennifer's read those text messages — she just knows they're in love.
Are we still on for Saturday? Back row? Popcorn and Milk Duds? One straw, two mouths, and a fondness for raspberry chapstick? If so, can't wait. Love you, El.
Then again, why would they have done that, told everyone? They aren't friends with the majority. Jane tends to hang around with the artsier kids if she's not keeping to herself, and Wheeler runs with the few remaining AV Club nerds, but their closest friends are those four other 'weirdos'.
Lucas Sinclair is on the basketball team — so, okay, not a total weirdo — but back in middle school, he used to be one of those tech-savvy geeks just like Wheeler and his friends. Jennifer thinks he came into his own once he entered high school, joining a sports' team and befriending the more athletic types. He wasn't a total jock though, and he still spent most of his free periods with his old friends. He was probably the least outcasted of them all; splitting his time between late afternoon practices and hangouts with his 'real' friends down at the mall — she wasn't spying, she swears.
Runners-up to him was Max Mayfield and Dustin Henderson.
Dustin was the closest thing they had to a class clown. That's not to say he was laughed at and made fun of — anymore, at least — but he was usually the one sat at the back of the classroom cracking jokes and bantering with the teacher. And he definitely wasn't stupid either. He had some of the highest grades in any of their (shared) classes, so Jennifer knows he's smart. She's pretty sure he uses humor as a defence mechanism, but that doesn't stop most of everyone from enjoying his presence. He really does liven a room. And, okay, he's definitely gotten cuter with puberty.
Max, however, was like the black sheep of the bunch — she didn't join any teams or volunteer for any fundraisers, but everyone in school seemed to like her well enough. She had a bit of a temper sometimes — Troy totally deserved that broken nose! But for the most part she was nice, polite, and even kind of funny. And, from what Jen can tell, she's probably a pretty great friend because, as she's just now realising, Max had totally infiltrated them for information.
(She's just gone up like fifteen power points in Jennifer's estimation of her.)
Below her on the food chain was Mike Wheeler. A total nerd, without a doubt a smart-ass, and the de-facto leader of his friend group. He runs the AV Club with Dustin, but he's pretty clearly the President. He's not unpopular but he's also not, like, man candy that girls fantasize about. Okay, he's cute in an emo-in-an-indie-movie kind of way, and even Jennifer will admit that she'd let those cheekbones slice her in half, but he's a complete and utter dork. He wears those kooky, awful Christmas knits deep into February, and he always seems to be carrying around a book and a screwdriver. And, for some weird reason, he wears a different color hair-tie on his wrist every single day which is just odd because his hair's longer and fuller than most boys, but definitely not enough to need tying up.
Next came Jane Hopper and Will Byers. Step-siblings who spent more time reading and painting than they did socialising. Jane — who goes by El to her friends and family for reasons Jennifer doesn't understand and knowingly has no business in knowing — was actually kind of… well...
Thinking back, Jennifer remembers a time when Stacey had once told her while chewing gum and curling her fringe around her fingers, that Jane was a 'quiet pretty', the kind of girl who wasn't aware of just how easy on the eye they were. She'd said Jane had a perfectly-shaped face, naturally highlighted hair that framed said face, and she didn't need makeup because her feminine features — meaning, long eyelashes and cute button nose — were prominent enough. Jennifer had just rolled her eyes, brushing off her comments. But now maybe she thinks she sees it.
Jane is pretty, but not in the way Stacey thought. She's quiet, sure. But she also smiles a lot, and she has these tiny little isms that make Jennifer think that maybe she knows how charming she is. This doesn't mean Jane plays on it, but rather she's aware of her beauty without needing people to remind her. And she could easily pass as a cheerleader if it weren't for the torn knees on her grey overalls, or the oversized sweaters she tends to stuff into the waistband of her jeans.
The only one in their friend group lower than her on the food chain is Will Byers. He likes to keep to himself for the most part, which is mainly why his interactions with anyone outside of his close-knit circle, or the other art freaks, are next to none — well aside from his maybe-boyfriend (who might actually bump him up a few points). He's not a total freak, per se. Will just usually comes to school, hangs with the same people, does his work and is on his way. He's on the yearbook committee though, and Jen almost thinks that counts for something until she remembers that he's, like, the only student in the entire school who can take a decent picture without using a selfie stick or a filter app.
This isn't to say that their places in the high school hierarchy are set in stone. If those text messages, and people's interest in them, are anything go by, then Jane — and, by (secret) proxy, Mike — are gonna be hot shit by the time this whole mystery's up. And if they're hot shit, then even their most unpopular friends will be, too.
Snapping back to reality, and realising that she's been making uncomfortable eye contact with Wheeler for a good while now, Jennifer clears her throat.
The girl in his arms seems to catch on then, and she's shifting back out of his grasp to follow his gaze. Her hand slides up his arm, wrapping around his shoulder almost protectively, and Jennifer watches as realisation dawns on the pair.
(Gotcha!)
Jane quickly removes her hand from Mike's arm as though he's aflame, a shift in the atmosphere causing alarm to flash over her face, and she presses her index finger up against her lips, fingertip against her cupid's bow. It's a silent plea to silence the cheerleader. But when Jennifer does nothing to show that she's got the message — and isn't going to give them up — Jane lowers her finger and she opts instead for mouthing 'please don't tell' to really get her message across.
At that, Jennifer slowly peels her hands off of the wall separating the stalls and she runs her tongue over her bottom lip thoughtfully, as though she's thinking over what to do.
She could easily tell Stacey who was in the stall; say something along the lines of 'Hopper was totally making out with Wheeler in there' and have Stacey connect the dots herself, update the Facebook page and let everyone they've sussed them out. But that would mean giving up the game, the mystery... and Jennifer's not quite sure she's ready to do that.
And, besides, it might be kind of fun to be in on the secret, to give her friends false leads and keep them off of Wheeler's scent. Maybe she can help.
"What is it?" Stacey's voice rings out, and the blonde can make out the faint sound of a lipstick tube being closed. Her friend smacks her lips together, and Jennifer's pulled from her daze. "Is someone screwing in there or what? Why are you taking so long?"
Jennifer blinks, lashes fluttering as her gaze drifts from the couple in the next stall to the head cheerleader stood in the doorway of her own cubicle.
The other girl has a hand on her hip, a brow raised in amusement, "Holy crap. People are screwing." Stacey moves to step up on the lid of the seat then, a hand gripping the wall. "Move! I wanna see." But before she can, Jennifer shoves her back.
"No!" Jennifer brushes her hair behind her ears then, hopping down off of the closed toilet with the lightest of thumps. Her sneakers squeak as she emerges from the stall, hands swinging behind her back innocently as Stacey follows. "Let's just say, I'm glad I didn't have that questionable chicken yesterday." She quirks a brow, forcing a straight face as she spins around to face Stacey.
The brunette simply pulls a face, and her lips draw thin, "Ew." Stacey says, a hand slipping into the pocket of her skirt to deposit her lipstick now. "Gross."
Jennifer nods, and she bounces on her heels almost animatedly, "Shall we go?"
Stacey doesn't reply. Instead, she just rolls her eyes and brushes around the other girl with a sigh, heading for the door. With a hand curled around the handle, she whispers, "Why were you watching them for so long anyway, you weirdo..."
The blonde just grins, rounding the corner of the restrooms. She's a good foot behind Stacey when she spots him — uniform and badge and the luxe.
"Don't say anything." Stacey mumbles, tugging on her arm when the blonde has stumbled into her back.
Chief Hopper is stood down the end of the hallway, talking to the principal. He's got a stack of flyers in his right hand, and his left is perched on his hip as though he's out for blood.
Jennifer watches as he crumbles the papers in his fist then, pointing a finger directly into the other man's chest.
He is not happy.
As though reading her mind, the Chief suddenly turns toward her. His eyes narrow in on the two girls, frown lines visible even from afar.
"You!"
Mike
Having spent the past half hour dodging classmates and nosy teachers who wanted the 'inside scoop' by keeping himself busy in the AV room, Mike is just about ready to sit down in a classroom and pretend the better half of three hundred teenagers aren't curious about his love life.
(One kid had literally tapped him on the shoulder just to flash one of those bright yellow pages in his face as though it would get a rise out of him. He's done.)
"Mike!"
Peeking out from behind his locker, Mike eyes his friend down the hallway. He has about two minutes before his afternoon English class.
"Hide!" Lucas shouts from down the corridor, hands cupped around his mouth. He jogs up to the dark-haired kid, nudging his arm with his elbow, "Dude, you need to go, like, hide under a rock or something." Lucas shakes his head, out of breath, and he pulls on the flaps of the bandana wrapped around his head to tighten them.
Mike frowns, sliding a thick textbook in between two others, "Why?" He asks, closing his locker shut. He keeps a hand pressed against the door, watching as Lucas stretches his arms out above his head as though he's exhausted.
Pulling his right knee up to his chest, Lucas waits for a soft 'click' before he answers, "Just do it, man." His eyes widen as though he's warning Mike of something without actually telling him what the threat is.
In a flash, he's speeding back down the hallway; passing by Mike and his own locker.
(Doesn't he have class? Don't they all?)
"Michael!" It's Dustin now, and he's coming from whence Lucas just went.
Blinking, Mike inhales a breath, "Yeah?"
"We need to hide!"
Suddenly, El appears behind him, and she has a hand clutching the boy's sweater to keep up.
"What, why?" Mike folds his arms over his chest, a scowl on his face as his gaze flickers back and forth between the pair when they arrive in front of him. El looks rattled, unsettled, almost kind of impatient. "What happened? Are you okay?" He reaches a hand out to touch her arm in a comforting gesture, but before he can there's a palm pressed flat against his spine and he's stumbling forward, right into El.
"Just shut up and haul ass!" Dustin pushes a hand against Mike's back then, shoving the taller boy forward and into the girl's body, "Run for your life, player!" The boy practically yells, bouncing up and down on his feet before taking off running himself, Nike sneakers sliding along the tiled floors with the faintest of screeches.
"What the f-"
Suddenly, Mike's hand is being tugged at, and he looks down to see El wrapping her other hand around his forearm. "Quickly." Her head lowers but her eyes remain on his. "My dad's here."
Mike sighs, and it takes him all of (maybe) three seconds to link his fingers through hers and just follow her lead.
"This is ridiculous." He grumbles as she's pulling him down the hallway, and he can faintly make out her reply of 'shh'.
To say he nearly trips over his own feet at least twice would be an understatement, and by the time she's shoving him through a door, Mike has given up caring who sees them.
He never signed up for this, for dodging their classmates (and parents, apparently) and sneaking around like a couple of spies with targets on their backs.
"Okay." El breathes out, and she uncurls her hand from his arm to rest it on her hip as she bends over to catch her breath.
Glancing around, Mike frowns, and his teeth bare, "Why are we in the girls' room?"
El shrugs, nonchalant and cool now, but Mike can tell even she's not sure of her own answer, "Because it's safe in here."
He snorts, but manages the faintest of smiles, "How is this safe?" His shoulders raise then, and his brows curve in amusement. He's not gonna complain about getting a moment alone with her — even if it means her dad finds him and hangs him up by his boxers out front. "If anything, this will just land me in detention. The AV room is safer," he reasons, stepping closer.
"You're not gonna end up in detention," El says, and she's so confident this time that Mike doesn't know what to reply. She takes a couple of steps closer to him, pushing him backwards and further into the room.
By some miracle, all of the stalls are unoccupied, and Mike wonders if she scouted the room out beforehand. She couldn't have because she'd been- Actually, what had she been doing?
"What are you doing?" He grins, lets her shove him against the back wall. He turns his head to the side to read a small scribble of 'Fellatio by Felicia. Call me.' on the wall beside him, and Mike snorts, "The wrong bathroom, for starters."
El raises the side of his face pressed to the wall with her fingertips then, and she leans up on her toes to press her lips against the corner of his mouth, "Shut up."
"Are you just not gonna tell me why your dad's here?" Mike asks, and he pushes up on his feet so his back is straight. His knees click, and he lowers a hand to her waist as she nuzzles herself closer, nose against his throat.
"You're smarter than most, Mike. You know why." She explains, fingers tugging on the ends of the drawstrings keeping his hoodie loose. "I don't want him to find out it's you." El closes her eyes and she drops her forehead to rest against his collarbones. "I don't want anyone to find out."
He would be offended if he didn't understand, sympathise.
"Why not?"
"Because then they'd realise how amazing you are and I'd lose you," El speaks into the skin of his neck, tugging on the collar of the rugby shirt that's tucked away beneath his hoodie. She pulls on the white strings again, anxiously twisting them around her fingers.
"I don't think anyone's gonna find me amazing when you refer to me as Waffle Boy as a term of endearment." He tells her, "Like, you could have at least put 'Waffle Wheeler' or something."
"Waffle Boy's cute." The brunette says, and she ducks her heads, raises her eyes in such a way that Mike just knows her opinion isn't going to change. "It's mine."
"Does that make me yours?"
Grinning, El pushes up again, and she presses her mouth against his jaw, "What do you think?" Just as she quirks in brow in suggestion, there's loud movement coming from behind the door to the restrooms.
Before she can react, Mike grabs her by the waist and he kicks open the door to the final stall, the old bolts of the door shrieking as he pulls it closed. He presses her up against the door, her fuzzy pink sweater glowing against the old paint of the wood.
Outside, the main door has flung open, and the distinct sound of sneakers squelching against the floor tiles has El placing her hand over Mike's mouth. She stares up at him with blinking eyes, and she can practically feel it when he swallows a deep breath, Adam's apple bobbing in worry.
On the one end, he doesn't see the point in any of this. They were never exactly hiding their relationship, it just wasn't like it needed to be public knowledge to begin with. So, theoretically, he could just walk out right now and let whoever is out there know that it's him, that's he's the secret boyfriend — or, as he heard someone in the chem lab refer to him as earlier, lover boy — that everyone's been trying to identify for the better part of six hours.
It's stupid really. They're seventeen and eighteen, and they should be allowed to just be. But since someone took it upon themselves to invade his girlfriend's personal life, to post their private messages online for the entire school to see and turn everything into some kind of puzzle... Mike can't just come clean without everyone either A) congratulating him or B) mocking him.
If he comes clean, reveals himself to be the soon-to-be-infamous 'Waffle Boy' that everyone is so curious about, then suddenly he's on everyone's radar and every single person who thought they understood El's relationship is gonna be watching him like a hawk.
But if he stays silent and he keeps his head down, then their relationship can remain private — or, well, at least as much as it still can given they've had private conversations published for all of maybe three hundred curious teens (and counting) to see.
(It's such bullshit.)
And, truth be told, he's not big on the idea of just emerging from the girls' toilets and exposing his identity to a couple of cheerleaders. He'll settle for pretending he doesn't know who his girlfriend's boyfriend is.
And he knows they're cheerleaders because their sneakers make a nightmarish squeak that's distinctly familiar — and also because Stacey's voice has been grating his last nerve since middle school... and she's the last person he wants finding out about this.
"Can you believe it though?" The sound of something plastic being placed on the counter fills the silence and then water runs, and Stacey is talking again, "Plain little Jane scored herself a Romeo."
(Mike would laugh if he could. He settles for a grin.)
"You almost sound jealous."
"I'm not jealous." A pause. "I'm just curious."
"We're all curious. It's cute... and kinda fun."
"This isn't fun," Stacey says, and suddenly the tap is turned off, "I just wanna know who the guy is so we can go back to forgetting they even exist."
"If you didn't want people to care then maybe you shouldn't have stolen her phone," Jennifer starts, mumbling, "and posted everything online."
At that, Mike pulls El's hand off of his mouth.
Her!
His eyes darken, and he glances down at his girlfriend for approximately two seconds before he's moving her aside and aiming for the lock. But before he can even reach it, El is pressing up on her tiptoes, lips roughly pushing against his to silence him. He makes a noise then, some kind of groan-slash-mumble escaping at the shock.
He's no longer interested in the girls' conversation; they could be calling him all sorts of names and he wouldn't even care because El is kissing him again — for the first time today — and her lips taste of raspberry.
El's hand pushes against his chest, fingertips splayed out across his sternum and Mike takes his queue to back up against the wall again. He's pretty sure his collision with the graffiti-covered wall made some sort of noise but, truth be told, he couldn't care less. El is running her tongue along his lower lip, seducing him into silence and (well, damn it!) it's working.
Sure, making out in the girls' restrooms wasn't on his list of things to do today, but he's not gonna deny her this.
When El runs her hands up his neck to clasp them behind him, Mike takes the opportunity to bring her closer. He wraps his arms around her frame, pulling her into his chest and earning a small moan of appreciation in return. He pulls away momentarily to breathe her in and savor the dazed look on her face, the taste of her chapstick on his lips.
But then she licks her lips, and he drags his teeth across his bottom one, and El is attacking his mouth again. Not wasting another second, he slides a hand down her side, palm meeting the curve of her backside to urge her forward. Her hands move to cup his face, thumbs warm against his cheekbones. The ball of her hands press into his jawline, and Mike is pretty sure his face is gonna turn purple from the sheer force of her kiss.
(God, she's intoxicating!)
It doesn't occur to him that girls are, by nature, curious... Not until his eyes flicker open in a moment of weakness and he's making direct eye contact with Jennifer Hayes of all people.
(Shit.)
El
Hands still pressed against Mike's shoulders, El lets her head drop. She leans into the boy, pressing up on her toes again so she can easily nuzzle in against his neck.
"Do you think she-"
"I don't know," El mumbles, quickly, and she snuggles deeper into his chest, hands clutching at the material of his hoodie to bring it closer.
(The earth could swallow her up whole right now and she wouldn't pose a complaint.)
(She'd be quite happy if the world ended and she died in Mike's embrace.)
"I think we can leave now, you know." Mike breathes, and she squeezes her eyes shut tighter at the warmth of his breath against the top of his head. "It's probably safe."
"You're right," she starts, but she doesn't let go of him or even loosen her grip, "but I don't want to."
"You want to stay in here all day?"
El smiles, voice muffled by the cotton of his top, "For the rest of my life."
"That might be a little unsanitary." Mike jokes, and he wraps a hand around her right forearm, skin hot to the touch. El almost gasps. "Come on."
Forcing herself to stand upright, El takes a step away. She smoothes her hands down her front, then up in her hair. It's noticeably messier so she brushes through the curls with a sigh, "Why do we have to leave?"
"Because we're still in high school and we can't move into the girls' restrooms just because you want to," he tells her, readjusting the hood of his sweatshirt. Mike grins, cheeks rose and lips stained red from her chapstick, "Maybe after we've graduated."
"You wanna live with me?" El asks, and she moves to pull the hairband from Mike's wrist. He lets her pull it off with a smile, watching as she pulls short hair up.
"Well, I don't wanna live without you."
"Romantic." She presses a hand to his chest, rolls her eyes when he grabs it, brings it up to his lips, and kisses it.
"And everyone knows it," Mike whispers, almost below his breath. He reaches past her to unlock the stall door then, letting her walk out first. The rest of the room is still empty, but El glances around hurriedly anyway.
"I'll go and then you," she trails off, and Mike nods.
"Oh. Umm, yeah," he lets go of her hand and then shoves both of his own into the pockets of his hoodie, "that's probably better." There's a moment of silence then, and just as she turns to leave, she finds him tugging on her hand, spinning her around one last time. He presses a fleeting kiss to her lips, hands keeping to himself. El sighs in satisfaction, and in displeasure at having to end it.
She presses him away with a soft push against his chest, and she whips back around to leave before he can stop her again.
Fortunately, there's nobody waiting for her outside the restrooms. Half-convinced Jennifer and Stacey would have been waiting for her with shit-eating grins and their perfectly coifed updos, El is relieved to find the hallway deserted. It looks clear, and she has half a mind to just usher Mike out right behind her.
But then someone calls her name, and she literally freezes.
"El?"
(No.)
"Dad?"