"I don't know why they didn't just adopt before now, you know." El says, and she slurps at her soda. "It's not like there isn't already an endless sea of orphans in China or whatever."
As it turned out, she went to go see the movie. And it sucked.
Max spent most of the entire time swapping spit with Lucas and letting good (and extremely overpriced!) popcorn go to waste. And, because her best friend was a bit of a slut and apparently refused to detach herself from her boyfriend for even one second, El had been relegated to the middle row of the movie theater - with Mike, because apparently he hadn't had much else to do that day either. Well, either that or he'd tagged along for her benefit, in which case...
(Why the room was packed and so many people came out to watch some sappy, almost grotesque sob fest of a film, El will never know. People are such suckers for romance.)
So, naturally, once they'd left The Hawk and Lucas had slung his arm around Max, slipped his hand inside her back pocket and asked everyone what the plan was, El could only roll her eyes and drag everyone in direction of the diner. And it wasn't like they'd complained. They'd just found a corner booth in the diner, a couple blocks away from the movie theater, and the rest was history.
Looking back, El realizes just how long it's been since everyone was in one place. Granted, Dustin and Will still aren't here, but at least two thirds of the party are back together. For how long, she has no idea. And if she's being truthful, she kind of misses just hanging out in Mike's basement with everyone, talking shit and playing video games; you know, back before Will transferred schools and Max really matured and Lucas joined the baseball team. Back when they were still sophomores and Mike hadn't admitted he was, like, totally in love with her yet.
(Okay, so he hasn't admitted it yet, but...)
And she's barely seen her step-brother in days, but if she had to bet on it, she'd guess he was around hanging around somewhere, probably graffitiing the back of an old department store with the other 'art freaks' or whatever. If she didn't hear him sneak in past curfew every night, explaining himself to Joy with some lame ass excuses and proceeding to raid the fridge of all leftovers and juice cartons, she'd be almost certain he'd moved out. Ever since he dropped out of high school and their parents let him sign up for art school, Will had been... different.
(Meaning, he totally came into his own, and out of the closet.)
"Well, maybe they wanted a kid from close to home." Lucas tries, because apparently he's been brought up to speed on everything regarding her and Wheeler and the defunct condom. (El doesn't know if she should thank or throttle her best friend.) "So they could really connect with it and stuff?"
"I can't tell if that's xenophobic or just very American of you." El says, and her softy pouts with a glance down at her belly, "Maybe they're racist."
Mike pulls his face, and his hands slide into the front pockets of his cords as he leans back in the booth, "Why would they be racist? They should be grateful."
"I don't know, I'm just theorizing." The girl shrugs, and she glances down at her belly then, a hang flying to her chest, fingers splayed across her sternum. "Oh."
"Oh, my God, is it kicking?" Lucas reaches a hand out, as though he's going to past his girlfriend to have a feel of her stomach, but Max stops him before he can, her palm wrapping around his wrist. She glares at the boy, and he retracts his arm with an understanding nod and a smile.
El shakes her head, light brown curls swaying with the movement, "No, it's way too early for that. I think it's just heartburn." She swallows a breath, "Like I ate the beef too quickly or something." The brunette says, and she knows Max is just dying to say something witty. Her hand lingers over her stomach, not daring to even touch the cotton t-shirt covering the barely-there bump. "I don't know, I should probably buy a book or something. See what happens and when it happens"
"You could borrow one from the library." Mike offers, and his brows raise in suggestion, "You know, 'cause it's... less longterm."
"Smart thinking, beansprout." El smiles, teeth baring, and she rests back against the cramped booth with a sigh. She folds her legs up beneath her on the seat, soles of her shoes stretching out an already growing tear in the leather, "You wanna come with me?"
Max snorts, "He already did."
"El!"
The shout comes from the other end of the diner, way back by the entrance, and El whips her head around then, peering over the back of the booth to see her stepbrother sashaying in through the door, the bell danging above his head. His feet trail, and his satchel is swung carelessly over his right shoulder, dangling by his left side. His hair's a mess, almost like he hasn't brushed it in days, but anything is better than those oh-so-very-nineties curtains he'd been sporting for years, she thinks.
The brunette grips the back of the leather seating, unintentionally causing Mike to shift to the side with a sharp jab of her shoulder, "William." Her fingers curl, tighten around the booth, and she beams up at him (childishly) as he approaches their table.
"When were you gonna tell me?" Will pulls his bag from over his side then, the patchwork satchel falling to the floor with a thud. He kicks it beneath the greasy table with the toe of his left tennis pump, and before anyone knows it, he's squeezing himself in next to Lucas, snatching a leftover French fry from the basket in the middle of the table.
(Speak of the prideful devil and he shall rise.)
El gulps, but she only half means to. She shifts in her seat, carefully distancing herself from Mike, "If you were home more often-"
"Are you being serious right now?" Will squints, snarling, but his voice never raises. "You're serious? You're gonna blame this on me?"
"Blame what on you?"
"You're gonna blame you not telling me on me." He clears up, eyeing her from across the booth, "You definitely can't blame me for your little lapse in judgement."
"It wasn't a lapse in judgement, it was a faulty rubber." Mike points out, brows knitting as his Adam's apple bobs in irritation.
"One that didn't smell or taste of raspberry and apple." El adds.
Lucas snaps his fingers, eyes blown wide as he smiles over at the pregnant girl, "Hey, thanks for those, by the way."
Max elbows her boyfriend in the rib, lips drawn thin, "Shh."
"I had to hear it from Weird Wally, by the way."
El rolls her eyes, "Look, I'm sorry if you little art friends found out before you. It's not like I've been parading around town with a plaque around my neck."
"You might as well have. You're the town harlot."
"Harlot, really?"
Will nods, grins, "Cystic Sally said one of the girls on the cheer-squad called you that."
"Have they nothing better to do than talk about my love life?"
"Love life?" Mike squeaks.
Max perks up, whispering in El's direction, "Looks like everyone in town heard about the party in your panties."
"They're probably just surprised it wasn't you that got-"
"What yourself, Kneeler Wheeler."
"Kneeler?" Mike pulls a face, visibly at a loss, "What the hell does that have to do-"
The redhead gets in face, "Girls talk, Wheeler!"
"Max!"
Will rolls his eyes, Mike sinks into his seat, and Lucas just beams, eyes darting back and forth between the two girls, "God, I've missed this."
(All that's missing is Dustin.)
"You're home early."
It's quarter past eleven, and Hopper is the only one sat at the dining room table when El comes home that night. Will runs straight up the stairs, shouting goodnight in the background like some kind of hermit who's always to be heard but never seen.
"Am I?" She pulls out the seat in front of her dad, the wood scratching on the tiled floor beneath the table. El plops herself down into the chair, arms stretching out and hanging by the rounded stool, "I thought you'd want me home and, like, tucked-in or whatever by seven." She wiggles her eyebrows, nibbles at her bottom lip thoughtfully. "Thought I was being rebellious for a change."
"I'm gonna assume you're joking." Hopper stares her down, an eyebrow raising in consideration. "Where were you anyway?"
"Out." She shrugs.
He sighs, "with?"
"People."
"The redhead or the sperm donor?"
"That's not nice." El tells him, and she shakes her head with just the slightest of smiles. "You know it's not."
"Right, sorry." Her dad says, waving a hand in apology, but she knows he isn't finished. The corners of his mouth curl, and he's unable to stop himself, "I forgot she prefers the term 'carrot top'."
"Dad."
"Fine." Hopper grumbles, and his arms fold over his chest then, chest puffing out in mock exasperation, "So, what are we calling the cul-de-sac kid this week? Boyfriend? Beau? He ask you out on a date yet or do I have to kick his ass?"
With a quirked brow, El looks him over in concern, "Are you having a stroke? Should I call someone?"
"Humor me, kid. I just wanna know. I'm not asking for the juicy details or whatever it is you miscreants call them, but I'm curious." He starts, casual and relaxed. But she doesn't buy it, not for one second. "You know, he did knock my daughter up. Least he can do is ask her out on a real date."
(His tone of voice is somehow bitter and cool at once. El doesn't know how he does it.)
"Even if he did, you don't know for sure that I'd say yes." The girl explains, and her lips draw thin in jest, "Maybe I'm not the kind of girl that dates."
"Then who are you?" There's a half-empty beer bottle next to her father, one she's sure he'd been nursing before she waltzed in ten minutes ago. "What does a girl like you want, if not rose petals on bedspreads on prom night?" He teases.
"I don't really know what kind of girl I am. Or, well, person. I've never really known what I wanted out of life, you know, I just," she brushes hair from her face, fallen curls sweeping behind her ears as her lips purse in thought, "I guess I just know what I can have and I go for it. Gets me by."
"You sound just like your father."
She smiles, "Yeah, I guess I do." El nods, and he grins in return, hand reaching over to grasp her own. Her hand's small in his, childlike and petite. "Hey, do you happen to know if my dad also got pregnant when he was a seventeen year old girl? I could really do with some advice right about now."
"Not sure on the whole pregnancy thing, but I think he can probably muster up some wisdom from somewhere. Just lemme him down this first," his right hand unwinds from hers then, and he's downing the rest of his beer before she can even count to five. "All right, kiddo. Hit me." The green bottle slams down with a slight 'thunk', and he's all ears for her now.
After a moment, one she spends staring at the lapel of this beer and ruminating her words in her mouth before speaking them into existence, El finally breaks her silence. Plump lips part, eyes scrunch, and she tightens her hold on her dad's hand, seeking comfort. "How do you know if you love someone?" Her free hand flies up to her face then, forefinger running along her Cupid's bow in faraway, absent-minded curiosity, "Like, actual love? Not infatuation."
"You know the difference?" Hopper asks her, and he leans closer to get a better look at her face, "El?"
"I mean, yeah. I figure infatuation is kind of like a crush. Right? Like, you can't stop thinking about someone and you just kinda wish that they were always around." El tries, and her shoulder rise and her confidence dips, only slightly. "I think if you're infatuated with someone, you just obsesses over them, and force yourself to get to know them way too quickly. Like, you wanna know what they like and what they hate. And you wanna share the same interests, even if you don't actually like the same things they do."
"And?"
"And if you love someone, then you love them despite the differences between you both. Like, if they like beer but you're more of a wine girl yourself, you're not gonna force yourself to like beer and stop drinking wine, you know? And if they love fresh mint Tic-Tacs but you prefer orange Tic-Tacs, it's not going to matter because you're you and they're them and there's an understanding. You'll get used to the fresh mint and they'll get used to the orange. And maybe you start to like mint Tic-Tacs too, one day, or maybe you don't. It doesn't matter because you know who they are, and you've accepted them despite all the things that set you apart. My point is, is that love is mutual, and it's equal, and fair. Infatuation is just... uneven. And it doesn't really mean anything."
"Kid, I think you just cleared it up for yourself."
"I did?"
"Yeah," Hopper nods, eyes wide and a smile on his lips, "I mean, I'm no expert but I'm pretty sure cul-de-sac kid's the one harboring all the breath mints."
"He does."
"And you were talking about him?"
(Obviously.)
"I mean," El starts, and she retracts her hand from her father's, "maybe."
"Then, yeah, kid," he breathes out, though it's really more of a sigh of relief, "I think you know the difference. Maybe you should tell him."
"I see." El gulps, despite herself, and her brows dip in realization because shit! shit! shit! "And is it absolutely imperative that I do?"
"No." Her dad shrugs, and he makes to stand with a hand on the back of his chair then, "But you'd be an idiot if you didn't."
"Thanks."
He hums in response, a slight shake of the head in tow, "You couldn't have figured this out before you let him get you screw you over, huh."
"He didn't screw me over. And, besides, the condom still would've broke, probably." The girl says, nonchalant, calming herself by thinking of events past, "It might've actually broken faster if I had. You know, because if you're more enthusiastic about something, then the speed-"
"Jane!"
