"That's what you're wearing?"
El stops midway down the stairs at that, and she frowns, peering down at her outfit. She's wearing a stripy red t-shirt - stolen from Mike a short while back - and a pair of plain jeans that are rolled up around her ankles. And there's an polka-dot skirt tossed over her jeans, of course. "Looks like it." The girl shrugs, offering her dad a sideways glance when he remains stood with his arms folded, "Why?"
"Nothing."
"What am I supposed to a wear, a freakin' ball gown or something? It's like a meet-and-greet or whatever." El says. Hopper just rolls his eyes, and he pulls his keys from his back pocket. "Are you wearing a shirt?"
"I always wear shirts." Her dad says, and he casually shifts from one leg to the other, tugging on one of his sleeves.
"Yeah," El starts, and she finally steps down from the stairs then, "but they're usually part of your uniform." She wiggles her brows, pokes him in the bicep with her index finger, "You trying to make a good impression, chief?"
The man only sighs, and he ruminates with his tongue in his cheek for a second, letting her repeatedly prod at his arm with a giggle. "I don't think it matters if I make a good impression, sprout. You've already proven I'm not a great parent."
"This isn't on you." She gestures down to her stomach, bright honey eyes leaving his, "This is just the work of two horny teenagers and a defective condom."
"So there was a condom?" Hopper asks, half in a mumble. He juggles his keys, heading for the front door.
"Obviously," El pulls a face, "I'm not a total tramp."
"Nah, you're just your father's daughter." Hopper chuckles, deep, and he reaches over to ruffle her hair, curly strands falling from her messy ponytail. She swipes his hand away, nudging his side as they leave the house. Hopper reaches behind him to close the door as El heads down the front steps, taking long strides. "Hey, kid?"
The brunette whips around on her Converse then, gravel crunching below her feet as she twists, brows raising in curiosity, "Yeah, pop?"
"I'm proud of you, you know."
"For getting knocked up?" She squints, "I don't think any parent has ever said that to their underage high-schooler."
He rolls his eyes (again), and slips one hand into his jeans' pocket, "No." He stops at her level, a few steps away from the passenger side of the truck, "For deciding to do this. It's a good thing, what you're doing."
"I just figured if people wanted a baby so bad then they could just have mine. I mean, it's not like I'm gonna need it or anything."
Hopper closes his eyes, and his lips draw tight, "When did you get so dark?"
"I am my father's daughter."
"Shit, shit, shit." Dustin slides into the seat beside Mike, and he slams his hand down on the library table, "Shit!"
"What?" Mike scowls at him, turning in his chair as his shoulders raise, eyeing the curlier-haired boy carefully, "Please don't tell me you walked on a snail again." He says, "We're not having another funeral for a dead bug."
Dustin's eye widen then, and his lips part as though in a silent gasp, "You haven't heard?" He takes a deep breath, one that's maybe a tad too dramatic, Mike thinks. "Your girlfriend's pregnant."
Mike stills, arms lowering to lie his hands flat on the desk, "I don't have a girlfriend." He slumps in his seat, staring down at the scratched, Sharpie-riddled wood. "I don't think."
"Fine, whatever, your childhood sweetheart is pregnant." Dustin rolls his eyes, and he leans back in own chair then, across from Mike, "Your 'girl next door'. The yin to your yang. The companion to your Doctor."
"If anything she'd be the Doctor and I'd be the companion," Mike mumbles, gaze settled on his textbook, "But, you know, she's not my girlfriend."
"Well, now she definitely isn't. Somebody else called dibs." The shorter boy says, and he's so confident in his words that Mike almost wants to laugh, right in his face, finger wagging and all. "I bet it was Troy. Older guys always like the weird, younger chicks. You know, the ones that look like they could cut you in half with just a look? And El's a total weirdo."
"She's not weird."
Dustin shrugs, and he holds his hands up defensively, "I'm just relaying that the cheer squad was saying at lunch earlier."
"You shouldn't listen to them, you know. They're all airheads." Mike reasons, and he dares a look over at Dustin. He swallows then, blinks, "It's not true, anyway."
"She's not gestating?"
(Ew.)
"I mean," he starts, brows raising as he stammers out a, "Maybe, I don't know." Mike offers, lame, "And don't call it that. That's weird."
Ignoring him, Dustin just casually rests his elbows on the library desk, fingers tapping against his chin thoughtfully. "It has to be Troy. That guy has a reputation for forgetting rubbers."
"It wasn't."
"I thought you said you didn't know if she was pregnant."
"I don't, but like, I don't know, if she was then it definitely wouldn't be his." Mike argues, and he flips over the cover of his math textbook then, slamming it shut, "Trust me."
His friend only eyes him carefully, thumb smoothing along his jaw. He considers Mike for a moment watching as the taller boy fidgets in his seat, legs jittery beneath the table. "It was you." Dustin grins, pointing his finger in Mike's face accusingly, and he shouts, "You fertilized her!"
"Jesus!" Mike scoots back in his chair, and he swipes his book up from the desk with a groan, "Can you not shout that?" He pulls a face, whacks Dustin's hand away when his finger nears Mike's face, "Stop!"
"Dude!"
"Dustin." Mike grits his teeth and he sends his friend a warning look, "You can't tell anyone."
Hands flying back up once again, Dustin blinks, innocent and childlike. He nods head, offering a simple, "I swear on Chewbacca's life."
Mike scowls, and he makes to sit back down then, cautiously placing his textbook back on the desk, "Seriously."
"Serious." The shorter boy reassures, and then his face erupts into a smile and he's baring his teeth. He scrunches his nose, waits until Mike is once again seated before he whispers, "Did you stop wearing underpants?"
"What?" The black haired boy asks.
"I heard it raises your sperm count." Dustin informs him, all knowing, "I'm totally gonna start doing that."
"I didn't do that, no. And, you know, no, don't do that." Mike shakes his head, and he takes a deep breath, "Don't do anything."
Dustin smirks, "Or anyone?"
(Shit.)
"So are you gonna get married?"
"Huh?"
"You know, because you're having a kid together. You're probably gonna wanna settle down." Dustin reasons, and his gasps, "Oh, man, you should totally grow a mustache. Or some scruff at least. I reckon you could pull it off. Chicks love it."
"Yeah, I'll keep that in mind." Mike mutters, rolling his eyes.
"You must be Jane."
There's a pair of hands wrapping her own then, tugging and inviting, and El steps over the threshold to the Brenner's house. The girl offers the smallest of smiles, brushing fallen curls from her eyes, "People actually call me El."
The woman - tall with dirty blonde hair and an overpriced manicure - frowns, but the million dollar smile never fades, "They do?" She finally drops her hands, now that they're in what El can only presume is the living room, and El immediately shoves them into the pockets of her jeans, ruffling up her skirt, "Why is that?"
"It's an old pre-school thing." She starts, following the woman into the seating area, "I totally face-planted on the playground, and I could never say the word 'fell' for some reason. I could just say 'ell' so it kinda stuck, I guess." El shrugs, and she sits down on the sofa opposite Terry Ives-Brenner.
Hopper comes into the fold then, after exchanging a tepid welcome with the man of the house - the sterile one of the two, El reckons. He's some handsome years older than Terry, all white-haired and six feet tall. El thinks he looks like Steve Martin, if Steve Martin went to work in fancy suits and shiny leather shoes.
"So," Terry clasps her hands together, and she drops them to her lap once her legs cross. She smiles in El's direction, tilting her head to her side and it's only then that El notices the other woman in the room. She's sat in a nearby chair, a hefty looking file in her hands. "This is Connie." Terry explains, "She's our attorney."
El frowns, and she leans into Hopper then, mumbling, "Did we need one of those?"
"I sure hope not." Hopper says, and he forces a smile, nudging her back into her seat.
"It's nice to meet you, Jane." Connie says, and she simply lifts in finger in greeting, "There's no need to worry. I'm simply here as a formality."
Nodding, Hopper breathes out a loaded breath, "Thank goodness for that." He chuckles.
"Why don't you tell us about yourself, Jane?" The man asks, and El's hereby gonna refer to him as Brenner because she's not a fan of his first name - it reminds her too much of Steve Martin.
Mouth widening at the invitation, El leans forward in her seat, one hand clutching the arm of the cream, cloth sofa, "There's not really much to tell." She begins, a shoulder raising as eyes flicker back and forth between the couple, "I mean, I'm fresh out of juvie so I'm a little behind on what's happening in the world."
Terry's right hand reaches out to smack her husband's chest then, and she gasps - a tad too dramatically. El smirks, and Hopper has to roll his eyes.
"You'll have to forgive her. My daughter has a terrific sense of humor." He explains, "One of her many gifts."
"Ah," Brenner nods, "I see." He smiles then, baring sharp white teeth that match the crisp cleanliness of his shirt. "Should we be expecting any more of these gifts to be greeting us?"
El grimaces, "I mean, I have a pretty wicked sense of style so there's that. Your kid'll probably come out decked head to toe in stripes and knitwear." She tells them, watching as Terry's small smile reappears. "It's kind of a thing of ours."
"Yours being you and the baby's father?"
El nods, wide-eyed, "Yeah." She plucks at her t-shirt then, stretching it out despite its already large fit on her small frame, "This is his." She pauses, considering, "Come to think of it, this was the one." She swallows, looks up at the pair with a flush to her cheeks, "You know, the ceremonial t-shirt."
"You stole it?"
"Yeah, but it's cool." She shrugs, "I mean, he still has my underwear so..."
Hopper's face falls to his hands then, and he audibly groans, "Jane."
"I mean, he was ready to go. I'm surprised I even go it off of him in the first place." She snorts, "Not that I'm complaining or anything, you know. I was kind of the mastermind of the whole tryst."
Her dad can only sigh, shoulders heavy as he takes a deep breath. "El."
After a beat, Brenner speaks up again, this time with his hands clapping together, "Jane," he starts, and he rests a comforting hand on his wife's knee, "How far along are you?"
"You mean like in life?" El blinks, "I'm seventeen."
"No, no." Terry shakes her head, smiling once again as though her husband's wrinkly old hand has brought her back to life, "How far along in the pregnancy are you?"
"Oh. I'm like ten weeks, nearly eleven." El says, nodding as she pouts, lips plump.
"That's perfect. You're nearing your second trimester." The blonde says, and El's pretty sure she's been studying or something, "My friends tell me the first trimester is always the hardest to get through."
The girl shifts in her seat, "I've been fine. I mean, I've puked in a couple vases here and there, but other than that," she says.
"So," Hopper cuts in, stopping her before she can say anything else to shove her foot even deeper in her mouth, "How does this work? Does she just sign the papers or, what?"
"Well," Terry starts, and she shares a look with her husband. Out of the corner of her eye, El can see Connie 'the attorney' shuffling some papers, "We're willing to have an open adoption." She swallows a breath, "If that's something you want."
"Open adoption?" Hopper asks, and he reaches past El to retrieve the paperwork that the Brenner's lawyer hands over. He inspects the papers thoroughly, chewing at his bottom lip, "You want her to stay in contact?"
"Only if she wants to." Terry explains, holding up a finger, and she shoots the brunette a look, "Jane?"
El pulls a face, and she tempts a glance down at the papers in her dad's lap, catching some words."I mean," she starts, placing a hand over her stomach as her the space between her brows creases, "Don't I just have the thing? I thought I was supposed to just squeeze it out and leave it on a church doorstep for you to come and collect or something biblical like that."
"I see."
"Is that not how this works?"
"How was it?"
"The sex?" El blinks, and she flips over another page of her magazine, "I mean, you were fine. It's not like I had much to compare you to anyway."
"No, I didn't," Mike licks his lips, and he settles down in front of her then, cross-legged on the grass with his hands between his thighs. "The meeting yesterday? With the couple."
"Oh! That." She sits up, back sliding against the damp ground, "It was great. They were cool, I guess." El tells him, and she spends a good moment just staring at his face, watching as his smile dips, fades. "The kid's in good hands."
"People know."
"That our lapse in judgement is gonna be in good hands? How?"
Mike sighs, and he leans closer to her to whisper, "That you're pregnant."
"I figured. That explains why Troy the the Human Boner was giving me looks earlier."
"People think it's his." Mike informs her, and he picks at a blade of grass then.
The girl's face contorts, and she kicks her legs out in front of her, crossing her ankles by Mike's backside, "Ew, why?" She feigns a shudder, blinking as she looks up at the sky, "That fucker better not be claiming it is."
"He's not. I don't think." Mike says, and he dares a look over at her, admiring the way her face beams in the afternoon sunlight, "Should I tell people?"
"If you want," she taps her fingers against the grass, and her eyes catch on Max approaching them in the distance, "Does it really matter?"
"Well, yeah."
"Why?"
"Because," Mike starts, and he can't help but pause, "You're, you know," and he gulps.
(Coward.)
"Bitch, people know you're pregnant." Max drops down beside the girl, and she kicks Mike in the knee teasingly, grinning when he grabs her foot and stops her from doing it again, "Spermy." She waggles her brows, flicking hair over her shoulder. "Stacy's telling everyone you got knocked up at her party last month."
"Please, if anybody used a dud rubber at her party, it was her." El mocks, "Who still has sex at a high school party? That's so last generation."
"I'm pretty sure more people have sex at parties than they do in their deadbeat dad's recliner." Max kicks the tall boy again, and he frowns.
"You told her?"
"She wormed her way into my head." El explains, "Did you hear apparently I screwed Troy?"
"Yeah, I heard that." Max grins, and she curls her legs beneath her, "Lucas punched him in the face. It was awesome." She looks over at Mike, "You're welcome."
"That's dude's always wanted me. You know jocks totally have a thing for freaky girls."
"Are you calling yourself a freaky girl?" Max stifles a laugh, raising a brow, "How freaky is she, Wheeler? Are we talking handcuffs or feather boas?"
"So Lucas knows?" El asks, interrupting. The redhead nods, and she points a finger and nods again. "Damn it, Maximo."
"And Dustin."
"Damn it, Wheels."
Mike shrugs, lying back on the patchy plot of grass beneath him, "He won't tell anyone." He reaches out, wraps his palm around El's ankle. "I don't think. If he does, I'll kill him."
"You'd rather kill him than just admit you got your girlfriend pregnant?" Max pries, and she shoves his shoulder with the ball of her hand.
"Not my girlfriend," Mike reminds her, and El nods, confirms.
"That's depressing, man. That's so bleak." El closes her eyes, "You're making me depressed."
"Yeah, you're such a bleaker, Wheeler." She jokes, barely letting a second fly by before she asks,"Hey, you guys wanna hang out later?" She pulls her hair up into a ponytail, stretching out her arms, "Lucas got tickets to that new sappy romance movie. We're gonna throw popcorn at the people making out."
"Wouldn't you just be throwing popcorn at yourself then?" Mike jests. He smirks, moving back, when the girl goes to kick him again.
"I would but I don't want to." El says, and she flicks an eye open, "I don't think I have a strong enough gag reflex these days to watch people play tonsil hockey for two hours."
"She says as she daydreams about boning Wheeler's skeletal bod." Max mumbles.
(Mike kicks her now.)
"She's not wrong."
"What?"
