"You guys do walk-ins?"
"Does this look like a Supercuts?"
The girl sat behind the reception desk can't be much older than twenty-years-old and, by the way she pops her gum with a bubble and a bang, El thinks she'd rather be anywhere else.
"I don't wanna know what you're here for, but if you're here for what I think you're here for then you need to sign this."
She pushes thick, matted black locks over her shoulder, reveals a patch of buzzed hair just above her ear. She reaches beneath the desk, pulling up a piece of paper that she attaches to the empty clipboard lay out in front of her.
Picking it back up, the older girl extends the board out to El with the fakest of smiles, "Your parents must be so proud."
El whips the clipboard right out of her hand, plucking a pen from the pot beside the computer screen, a game of Solitaire pretty visible on screen.
"Can I, like… book an appointment?"
"I mean, yeah." The girl - whose name is Kali (it's sloppily written on her name-tag) – says, and she looks up at El with disdain, "What are you, like a week late or something?"
"Like two months."
"Oh. You only get so long, you know."
"Obviously."
"Obviously." Kali copies, mocking, "Pretty soon that thing's gonna have fingernails and a heartbeat."
"What?"
Kali only nods, eyeing her as though she's some kind of wise savant herself, "True story." She presses a few keys on the pad, moving her game along, "Didn't you take sex ed?"
"A heartbeat?"
"And fingernails."
El has half a mind to drop the damn clipboard right there, to run for the hills and book a train to Chicago or something.
(Fingernails, seriously? Jesus!)
Instead, she glances down at the blank sheet of paper, blindly running her eyes over each and every word. Then she places it back down on the desk and slides her hands into the pockets of her dark windbreaker.
El bounces up and down on her Converse, watching as the laces jingle with every move.
(Abort. Abort. Abort.)
(No. Don't abort.)
"Fair enough." Kali pulls the board away, not even glancing up at El before she's sliding a bowl toward her, "Hey, take some free condoms. They're raspberry and apple."
"Isn't it a little late for condoms?"
"Yeah, but like, what if you need one in nine months? Then what? I make my boyfriend wear them every time we screw so his junk smells like a fruit salad."
"Fresh."
(Crap.)
She can't get out of there quick enough.
"I'm gonna give it up." She uncaps her bottle of water, takes one long swig before continuing, "Like, to a family."
"You mean like a raffle?"
She rolls her eyes at Max's question, flicking a couple droplets of water in the other girl's direction with a soft giggle, "No, for adoption. People are always after free babies, right?"
"Yeah," the redhead nods, but her face contorts into some kind of disgust at the same time, "You know, they're usually the same people who have like ten restraining orders filed against them. And they're not allowed anywhere near a school or a playground."
"You know what I mean."
Max smiles, crumbling up a piece of her dry bread roll, "You should check the paper. Don't they have ads for that kind of thing? Like a 'desperately seeking spawn' section or something?"
"Or I'll just advertise on Craigslist." El says, stuffing a forkful of lettuce into her mouth, wincing as she bites into a juicy piece of tomato. "Maybe a stork will come and pick it up and we can, like, pimp up that old story adults try to sell to kids."
"What, like there's a tech-savvy stork that's gonna see your Craigslist posting?" She slides one leg over the bench, moving to stand up. "Hang on." Max hurries off then, without warning, out of the cafeteria and into the school hallway.
Great.
Waiting for her friend to come back, El starts messing with her food. She plucks at the soggy salad with her fork, repeatedly stabbing the lettuce like she's worked up about something. The squeaking of the plastic fork against the greens start grinding on her nerves after a moment though, so instead she opts to people watch - a favorite pastime.
The lunch ladies are bickering about something in the back, still ladling out soup and mashed potatoes. The popular kids are hanging out by the windows; that star quarterback flexing what El can only assume are supposed to be his totally rockin' biceps.
Disinterested, she turns towards the former AV Club's table with a scoff, her eyes narrowing in on Dustin. He's messing with his hat, spinning it around in circles on his cushiony head of hair. Either he's bored or he's trying to make it seem like it's floating or- Whatever.
Dustin himself is focused on something Mike is saying, and El decides that maybe he's the reason she'd turned to them in the first place; not for Dustin's lame hat trick.
He's pretty deep in conversation - with himself mostly, because Dustin is otherwise preoccupied with his hat. The curly-haired boy nods and smiles every so often, replies when Mike gives him a pause to, and El kind of misses spending her lunch break with them.
Mike keeps throwing his hands up, his elbows sliding back and forth along the greasy lunch table. He pushes his hair back every once in a while, and there's a grin on his face whenever Dustin laughs at something he said.
(It's been a solid day now and she's pretty certain he's yet to tell anyone.)
(But, damn, his hoodie looks soft today.)
"Okay." Max slides back into her seat then, having reappeared with a newspaper in hand. She kicks her legs up on the bench. "Debate nerds always have a paper on hand."
"And you know the debate team how?"
(The basketball team is more up Max's alley.)
"Dustin. Which means, by proxy, I know some of those other losers." She shrugs, "That dude comes with perks, lemme tell you."
(A perk: he's always with Mike.)
She scans through the newspaper in her hands, eyeing every page so fast that El isn't sure how she doesn't go cross-eyed.
"Ah, gotcha." And Max snorts back a laugh, "'Christian couple wish to welcome unwanted bastard into their circle of love'."
"Pass."
"Circle jerk of spunk, more like." The other girl laughs, stretching an arm out, "'Lesbian fiancées seek healthy surrogate'? Who knew Hawkins was so pro-gay? Yay."
"Not a surrogate."
"OK, here's one. 'Religiously indifferent wealthy couple seek infant to fill sinkhole-sized void in their lives'." Her eyes widen, her face bright, "Nice! El, all that's missing is your little bastard!" Max exclaims as she flips the newspaper around to show El the ad.
The brunette toys with her yogurt, watching as the pink substance plops off her spoon and back into the cup, "Neat. Do they want a takeaway?"
"You should call them." Max holds down one side of the page then, tearing around the ad until it rips off in a a messy shape. She slides it over the table to El, eyes still scanning the paper, "Maybe they'll buy it then you won't have to work next summer."
"Jesus, it's not like it's an old desk I'm selling out of my garage. I don't want them to buy it. I just want them to adopt it. As long as it's someone who needs it and wants it and doesn't wanna skin it to make a lamp, that's good."
"Okay," Max raises a brow, folding the paper closed. She curls her legs up beneath her, soles of her sneakers digging into the backs of her thighs. "Have you spoken to Wheeler the Formidable Wiener yet?"
El shrugs, holding his gaze to the cutout in front of her. She drops her spoon to pick up the ad, considering it for a second, "Not since bio yesterday. I had to stop myself from making like, twenty jokes. The irony was too much." She pockets the piece of paper, keeps her hands in the pockets of her blue jacket.
"Not irony, but-"
"You spend too much time with Lucas."
"And you don't spend enough time with Mike." Max challenges, "Maybe if you spent a little less time daydreaming about his lanky ass then you'd have had more time to actually buy rubbers."
"Speaking of which..." El holds up a finger, reaching for her backpack on the floor. She plops it down on the bench next to her, rummaging through it until she finds what she's looking for. El grabs a fistful of the foils, zipping up her bag, before she drops them on the table.
"Enjoy."
"Jesus, what, did you rob the clinic?"
"No." The brunette crosses her arms over her chest, leaning across the table as Max picks up a condom, "That weird punk girl at reception wouldn't let me leave without one."
"So you took 'em all?" She grins, "Ew. Apple and raspberry?"
"Raspberry and apple," she corrects, "Apparently, it makes wiener smell like fruit salad."
"Yum." Max closes her eyes and tosses her head back, mouth open wide. She sighs with a slight moan, dramatic and false, and brings her head back down to face El, "Yuck."
The redhead surrounds the dozen packets with her hands then, and she scoops them up in her arms with a sheepish smile, "Not like you're gonna need them." She drops them into her open book-bag, kicking it aside.
"Seems so, Maximo. Who needs condoms anyway when you can just gawk at the cautionary whale of Hawkins High?" She glances down at her belly, half-expecting to see it expanded or swollen.
"Best contraceptive you can get," Max reaches over for El's yogurt, "You're gonna be a nine-month reminder around here that sex kills, you know."
"What exactly did it kill?" El eyes her friend skeptically, licking her lips with a tilt of her head, "Other than my bladder and undeniable allure?"
"I don't know, it just sounded good. Whatever, anyway," Max lets the plastic spoon hang from her lips, tapping her fingers on the end, "You need to tell Hops your Pops. And Joyce."
"I know."
"And you should let Wheeler know his sausage spawn is gonna be handed over to a couple of childless suckers."
"I know."
"Wheeler!"
(Fuck.)
Daring to look over at him, El finds that Mike is already staring at her, confusion pretty clear on his face. (Damn, he acts quick.) His brows knit, and his smile drops, and Max is calling him over again, hands cupped around her mouth so his name echoes through the whole cafeteria.
He stands, Dustin following, and the two boys are at their table in next to no time.
"Yeah?" Mike fidgets, hands slipping into the pockets of his hoodie, his shoulders haunching forward. He's staring down at the floor, or his shoes, or wherever the hell they land – his eyes anywhere but on El's face now.
Max twirls her spoon around, "Who you taking to prom?"
"What?" He scowls, attention suddenly raised. "Not you."
"Wasn't suggesting it, dick-hole." She teases, "I was just asking."
"Well, I don't…" he starts, pauses to shrug like that's his answer.
Dustin rests his arm on the taller boy's shoulder then, and he pushes his head up against Mike's arm, "You ladies need invites?"
"No. El can't go anyway. She's got other plans that night."
"Oh. Uh, cool?" Dustin offers.
(Have they all forgotten that prom is months away?)
(Oh. Right.)
"Hey, you know, Steve said you were hanging around the store the other day. Like, a lot." Dustin says, looking down at El with a smirk, " You trying to hit on my big brother?"
"He's not your brother," she reasons, "and, no. No, I was just… thirsty."
"Yeah, he said you kept coming in to use the restroom."
"Okay."
"Dude." Mike nudges him, waiting until his friend lifts his arm from his shoulder before he moves to sit beside El. He seems to contemplate his next words slowly, "Do you… Can we talk?"
"Talk here, Wheeler." Max cuts in.
"What? No." Mike scowls, tussles dark hair, "Not in front of you."
"Why, what's wrong with me?"
"You're, like, mean." He tries, turning to face El again, "Please?"
"I would but… I don't want to." She tells him, scratching at the cap of her bottle of water, watching as the blue plastic slightly chips, "Maybe tomorrow. You know, if I'm not spewing my guts up and shitting my guts out."
Max snickers, and the bell rings just as Mike goes to reply, leaning forward on his elbows. As the redhead stands, El makes to follow her, clearing her tray.
She waits until Max has walked off, just a few steps ahead of her, before lowers herself back down to Mike's level, whispers a simple, "Burger phone," in his ear.
"You still have that thing?"
"It's like the coolest phone in the universe, why wouldn't I still have it?"
"Dad. Joyce."
"What is it, kid?" Hopper groans across the room, watching as she settles her bag down on the floor beside the front door. "I gotta be back at the station in thirty."
"Dude, just rip off the bandaid." Max crinkles her nose, nodding over to the sofa where El's dad now has an arm around his wife's shoulders, trying to snatch the cigarette from her hand.
"Yeah, kid. Rip off the bandaid." He repeats with the slightest of chuckles, not even sparing El a glance. He successfully pries the smoking fag from Joyce, lifting it to his lips casually. "What gives, Jane bug?"
Without blinking, El just stares straight ahead, focusing on the space between her elders, "I'm pregnant."
She tries for a smile, finds herself unable to do anything other than snarl.
(Crap.)
"Oh, no." Before anyone can stop her, Joyce is stealing the butt back from her husband, putting it out with urgency. "Crappy hell."
The girl gnaws at her lip for a moment, watching as her words sink into her parents' faces – Hopper's face flushed white, Joyce's flushed red.
"But, don't worry... I'm going to give it up for adoption." She says, "We already found the perfect couple and they're gonna pay for everything. And they're not gonna make me join a cult or anything, I don't think, so..."
"Yeah," Max throws in, leaning her elbows back against the windowsill, crossing her legs in front of her, "The guy's only good for shooting blanks but he sounded nice on the phone."
El kicks her then, right in the shin, and the redhead pulls a face as she moves to stroke her leg.
"You're pregnant?" He asks after he's pulled another cigarette out of his packet, the box almost scrunched up in his fist.
If he's pissed, Hopper's tone doesn't do anything to let it be known. His eyes are wide, but he's leaning back with a cigarette hanging from his lips in such a relaxed, cool way that El's almost certain he's ready to fall asleep. He blows smoke out from the corner of his mouth, doesn't lift his gaze off of her abdomen.
She nods after a beat, a stare-down, slipping her hands into the front pockets of her windbreaker with a slight shrug, eyes focused straight ahead on her dad's face, trying to gauge his reaction, "Yeah, for now. But in thirty weeks or so, I'm just gonna shoot the thing out and we can pretend it never happened."
"Honey," The girl turns her attention to the woman on the other side of the sofa, Joyce's hand pressed up against Hopper's thigh - to hold him down or to calm herself. "You didn't tell us you were sexually active."
"Should I have?" El's brows furrow, "I wasn't exactly planning on being that, so… And what does that even mean? 'Active' like I can deactivate my, what, my libido if I want to? Because I want to."
Hopper sighs, and he raises his free hand to his head, thumb and forefinger rubbing his temples, "Who's the damn kid?"
"The baby?" She shifts from one foot to the other, shoots Max a look. The redhead shrugs, unapologetically no help at all. "I don't know, it's like… too tiny to tell right now." El tells them, watching as Joyce leans forward in her seat, elbows digging into her knees. Her feet bounce up and down rhythmically, and El continues, "Doesn't look like much but apparently it's got fingernails already so that's pretty neat."
"Fingernails?" Joyce pulls a face, snatches the cigarette from Hopper's fingers. She takes a drag, smacks her lips together, "Wow."
"No." Hopper shits up now, and he stares back and forth between the two teens, squinting in Max's direction as though she had something to do with it. "Who's the father, kid?" At least now he sounds aggravated.
"Oh." She purses her lips, "It's, umm, Mike Wheeler."
"Wheeler?" Hopper snickers, shaking his head as his eyes close, his head ducking.
El frowns, "What?"
"I just didn't think he had it in him." He says, barely even attempting to conceal his amusement, a grin pretty clearly making its way onto his face. His cheeks puff out, and his brows raise, but he grimaces when Joyce smacks him in the arm, her rings hitting him square on his funny bone. "Geez."
"I know, right?" Max cuts in, shoulders heaving as she grips the banister behind her, standing up straight, "I'm kinda proud of him." She folds her arms over her chest, nudging El in the arm.
"Not the word I would've used." Hopper tilts his head, shooting his wife a look, "More like 'impressed'."
"Oh, you're impressed?" Joyce whacks his arm again, face gaping in disbelief. "Jane, can you give us a minute?"
El nods, hands slapping against her overalls, "Sure." She looks to Max, "We'll just go grab a snack or something."
The redhead quickly picks up her book-bag from off of the floor by the window, and she swings it over her shoulder with a smile, "Isn't that like the cardinal rule of housing a Gremlin? Don't fucking feed it?"
With a roll of her eyes, El just grabs the other girl's elbow, pulling her around the wall separating the living room from the hallway, "I'm not housing a Gremlin. I'm just growing one."
When they're down the corridor and banging away in the kitchen cupboards, Joyce turns to her husband with wide eyes and an open mouth. She doesn't talk; staring Hopper down until he does.
"Did you see this coming?"
"No. I mean, I knew she was edgy but-" Joyce pauses to take a deep breath along with a drag of her cigarette, "I was hoping it was just vandalism or maybe she was giving heroine a go."
Hopper grumbles audibly then, his hands sliding up and down in thighs – either in irritation or something akin, "I would've preferred drugs. At least we could've locked her in a room until the itching stopped." He sighs, "Now we've gotta parent her and make sure she doesn't start drinking toilet cleaner or something."
Beside him, Joyce stabs her fag out, the right corner of her mouth curling up into a hopeful smile, "She's a tough cookie."
"I'm gonna punch that Wheeler kid in the pecker the next time I see him, I tell you." He shakes his head, eyes darkening, "Damn parents of his probably never told him what a condom was."
"He's seventeen, Hop. I think he knew what he was doing. They both did." She points out, "He's a sweet kid. I've known him since Will was a boy."
"Yeah, well, Will ain't exactly gonna go knocking someone's daughter up anytime soon, is he?" He quips, "Goddamn kids."
