Author's Note: Sara and Eddie finally interact. :)
Two weeks later, Sara bursts through the double doors into the flurry and din of the Hawkins High School cafeteria, the bounce in her step knocking her messenger bag against her hip as she joins the cafeteria line. She's in high spirits as she waits, craning her neck to look for Sam's signature two-tone hair and Jennifer's bubblegum pink dress; after a moment, she gives up, flipping open the cover on her messenger bag, glancing down instead at the black folder nestled in-between her notebooks and Walkman as she smirks to herself. Yes, things have been going well for Sara Campbell: tips have been good at the Hideaway, though Chris still hasn't upgraded her to weekends; her mother hasn't been complaining as much about her father's extended absence lately, leading to a more-than-usually pleasant atmosphere at home; and after two weeks, a steady— but, thankfully, not overwhelming— stream of student customers has been padding her pockets nicely. She wasn't quite cramming the bills into her shoebox yet, but if things continued this way, she'd need to add another box to the vent space sooner rather than later.
Sara shuffles forward, shooting the woman in a hair net a smile as she spoons corn onto Sara's tray before she moves down the line. Sara's nose wrinkles slightly at the sight of the next food item being dropped onto her plate— a nondescript lump of dark brown meatloaf— but she quickly schools her expression, not wanting to unduly offend the next cafeteria person in front of her. It's not their fault the food sucks. She eyes the empty silver tray at the end of the line, her gaze catching on the golden brown crumbs at the bottom. "What's in there?" she asks, looking up into the man's face.
He grunts, gesturing behind him with a sharp jerk of his head. "Mozzarella sticks. Just ran out. Got more in the oven now."
Sara opens her mouth to respond, but from the left, she hears a loud voice crow, "Keep the line moving! You, girl— slide down to the register." Her feet jolt forward as she realizes she's the subject of this address, digging in her jeans pocket for a few dollars as she walks, her fingers skipping over the loose change. She sidles up to the cashier woman, who levels her with a stare before her eyes dart down to the plate, revealing her green eyeshadow as she punches numbers sharply into the manual till.
"$4.03," she drawls, and Sara opens her fist, plucking out a five with her other hand and dropping it onto the counter in front of her. The woman prompts, "You don't got any change?" Sara cuts off a sigh, looking to the ceiling as she digs again in her pocket, coming back with a nickel.
"Will that do?" Sara widens her eyes innocently, but the woman scowls, seeing through her façade as she drags the coin closer to her, her long fingernails dragging against the counter. She pops the tray on the till, pulling out a single and two pennies, and dropping them into Sara's hand.
"Next!" She shouts into Sara's face. Her expression now deadpan, Sara grabs the tray and turns away, facing the teeming tables crammed with classmates, their bodies weaving in-between the seats and in the aisles, some settling into their spots and others leaving, like a community of bugs in a desktop ant farm.
Sara walks down the center aisle, her eyes brushing over the tables as she does. At the far end on the left, her eyes catch on a smattering of matching shirts: the sleeves are black, the torsos a contrasting white, and in the center of the chests are angry-red demon faces, the words "Hellfire Club" printed above the heads. As she passes by, a loud, barking laugh cuts through the general cafeteria noise.
At the head of the table, Eddie Munson recklessly throws back his head as he cackles, and the rest of the table laughs along with him. As he leans forward, his glittering eyes open, catching on Sara's as she watches him. She raises an eyebrow at him without slowing, a corner of her mouth tugging up as she turns forward again. As she moves down the aisle, she finally spots Jennifer's bright outfit near the back of the room, closest to the curtained stage.
Sara adjusts her path, cutting diagonally across the aisle, dodging around other students before smoothly sliding onto the end of the bench and settling her tray across from Jenn's. On Jenn's other side, Sam looks up, smiling briefly before bringing another forkful of corn to her lips. Jenn, meanwhile, is mournfully staring at her food, her eyebrows crinkled morosely as she rests her chin heavily in her hands. Sara notes that her food has barely been touched, and the meatloaf lump is entirely intact.
"Jenn, you gotta eat something," Sara says, her tone both gentle and slightly chiding as she spears her own fork into the meatloaf. Or, at least, she tries to— because, upon her attempt, the loaf resists valiantly, and Sara frowns dubiously as a tine on her fork breaks off at the pressure, falling into an unoccupied compartment of the foam plate.
Sara looks up to see Jenn watching, her eyes half-lidded as she says dully, "I see you've found out why I haven't eaten anything yet."
"Oh, come on," Sam interjects, shoveling another bite of corn into her mouth. "The corn isn't half-bad." She swallows, wagging her fork at Jenn as she goads, "No excuse for not eating that."
Jenn pouts further, muttering, "I hate corn" to herself as a shadow falls across the group. Sara looks to her left to see a brunette girl in a white skirt and oversized sweater, her hair clipped back with yellow barrettes behind her ears. She smiles as Sara makes eye contact with her.
"Hey, Tracy!" Sara beams before digging into the messenger back at her right side, her fingers prying open the black folder without removing it, pulling out a loose piece of notebook paper and laying it on the table. "Two bucks," she prompts, and Tracy slides the bills onto the table towards Sara, ready with them in her hand. I like a girl who's prepared. Sara covers the bills quickly with the palm of her left hand while handing the paper over with her right. Tracy removes her bag from her back, resting it against the end of the cafeteria table as she takes the paper, putting it quickly inside.
"Rules?" Sara asks promptingly, and Tracy responds promptly.
"Rewrite, trash. Don't share it."
Sara grins widely. "You got it, Trace." She stuffs the new bills into her jean pocket with the others, nodding up as the girl pulls her bag back over her shoulders, turning away. "See you next time!" Sara calls after her, turning back to her food and spooning some corn into her mouth. The texture isn't great, but the taste isn't too bad. She looks sympathetically at Jenn, who is now cradling her head in her arms as she groans in hunger.
"Hey, you know, Jenn…" Jenn cracks an eye to look at her, barely lifting her head. "When I was in line, the guy said they were waiting on mozzarella sticks—"
Jenn bolts upright, blinking a few times as she levels Sara with an indignant stare. "And you're only telling me this now?!"
Sara shrugs helplessly, exchanging a glance with Sam as Jenn spins on the bench, facing backward and standing up quickly. She turns, looking back at Sara and Sam over her shoulder as she smirks. "I'm about to charm him into giving me the biggest pile of mozzarella sticks you've ever seen."
"Can we have some?" Sam asks quickly, her tone hopeful as she clasps her hands in front of her chin.
Jenn eyes her flatly for a moment before rolling her eyes. "Sure, corn girl. But only because I love you." And with that, she sashays off, her pink dress swaying as she heads for the cafeteria line.
Almost as soon as Jenn vacates her spot, the seat is suddenly filled with a tall, lanky body. Eddie Munson's long curls sway as he slides onto the bench, stopping a little too far into Sam's space, who tugs her leg back slightly as he settles next to her. Sara watches Sam stare at him, blinking as he smiles charmingly at both of them before settling his elbows comfortably on the table.
"Hello, Campbell." He tosses the greeting casually, then looks expectantly to Sam beside him, his mouth half-open as he pauses.
Sam fumbles to answer after a brief pause. "Uh, S-Sam—"
"Hello, Sam," he says immediately, grinning at her before he turns away, facing forward toward Sara. "Let's cut the preamble," he says, his tone all business, and Sara leans back, dropping her spoon onto the tray. "I need you to tutor me in English."
Of all the things she'd thought Eddie Munson might say, that certainly wasn't it. Sara squints, immediately retorting, "I don't tutor people. I do their homework and essays. For a fee, mind you—"
"Yes, I know," Eddie interrupts, cutting her off. "Let's just say I have a special case here." Sara just watches him, her expression unchanging, waiting for him to elaborate. He leans back, dragging his fingertips to the edge of the table; her eyes catch on the chunky silver rings beneath his ruddy knuckles as he turns his head to glance furtively to each side as if checking for listeners-in. "Look, uh, between you and me, Campbell—" He darts his eyes back to hers, sounding uncharacteristically serious. "I've just recently acquired some important information regarding the fact that, apparently, you can't attend high school past age twenty. And considering I'm turning twenty this May, this is my last chance at actually, you know," he pauses, his lips twisting as if in affront, "graduating. And this damn English class is the only thing standing between me and the sweet, supple freedom of a high school diploma. I, ah..." He huffs a breathy chuckle. "I really fuckin' need to pass this class this year. And frankly, as I'm sure you must have noticed these last couple of weeks, O'Donnell's got a bug up her ass about me. So I need to bring in the heavy artillery," he pauses dramatically for a moment before gesturing theatrically toward her with both hands. "And that's you."
Sara nods slowly, and his grin starts to widen, but it halts in its tracks at her flat reply. "And why can I not just write your essays like I do everyone else's?"
Eddie sighs long-sufferingly, his eyelids half-lowering as he intones, "Because O'Donnell fucking hates me. We're talking complete and utter contempt." His eyes go wide with sudden serious drama. "Like, if I started choking in front of her, I think she would just let me die." He pauses to see if Sara will react, but she merely blinks at him. He sighs through his nose. "So, if I started just handing in completed essays, let alone good ones, she'd never believe it. I have to actually prove to her that I know shit. And you're clearly the smartest person in the class, so I wouldn't want to ask anyone else."
Sara suppresses a small smile at the praise, then considers what he's said. Do I really have the time… or, frankly, the energy… to tutor someone? Especially someone who's so… Sara crosses her arms over her tight striped shirt, her lips twisting, and Eddie can see that she isn't convinced. His face falls; he leans forward quickly, his chest covering his fingers as his eyebrows tug up plaintively. His once-cool voice is now tinged with desperation. "You gotta help me, man. I can't get stuck in this goddamn hellhole of a town trying to earn my GED. I need to get out of Hawkins, and it needs to be this year." He pauses, a corner of his lips tugging up as he cocks his head, his dark eyes twinkling as his voice becomes coaxing. "C'mon Campbell… I can make it worth your while." He reaches down underneath the table with one hand, pulling up the aluminum lunch box and setting it significantly onto the tabletop.
Sara blinks at it for a moment before leaning her elbow on the smooth surface of the table, asking wryly, "What, you gonna give me half your peanut butter sandwich?"
Eddie's smile widens until he's grinning toothily; he leans in even further, his voice a stage whisper. "Not that kind of sustenance in here." He stares at her meaningfully for a moment before pulling the box back, settling it between his feet again.
Sara's gaze darts immediately to Sam; her friend tugs up an eyebrow, cocking her head as if to say, Hey, why not?
The silence drags on for a moment as Sara stares at her friend before turning back to Eddie. When she looks at him again, into his wide dark eyes, she feels a tiny, unexpected tug in her chest as she remembers his words: 'I need to get out of Hawkins.'
You and me both, buddy. This place is a fucking soul-sucker.
She sucks in a breath through her nose, letting it out in a quick sigh as she looks up, saying resignedly, "I can only meet on Thursdays right after school; I work most weekdays, and you're not getting my weekends." She holds up a finger sharply, shaking it. "You get one hour a week. One. For a dime bag."
Before she can react, her finger— really, her whole hand— is closed in a large, warm palm as Eddie reaches across the table, grabbing her fist and shaking it in enthusiasm as his face splits into a gigantic, manic grin. Quickly, she pulls against his grip, her brow wrinkling.
"Thanks, Campbell." His voice is tight with suppressed satisfaction as he releases her hand, pulling his lanky legs over the bench as he turns to leave. "You won't regret it." He shoots her a last wolfish grin before loping off, slinging his lunch pail over his shoulder as he does.
As soon as he's gone, Sam slides over on the bench so that she's directly across from Sara. "Dude," she says, shooting a furtive glance back in the direction Eddie walked off in. "That was… so freaking weird." As she's speaking, Jennifer walks back up with a tray, dropping it down on the table as she lifts her legs over the bench, sitting on Sam's other side now. Her plate is loaded with mozzarella sticks, and Sara grabs one immediately, the heat stinging as she pulls it back, dropping it onto her own plate to let it cool.
Jennifer registers Sam's wide eyes and somewhat pink face, her brow crinkling in confusion. "What?" She asks baldly, and Sam leans in, explaining what had occurred in her absence while Sara probes her mozzarella stick with a fingertip. Finding that it's cooled enough, she takes a bite, the stringy cheese stretching from the other end in her fingers until it breaks, flopping down slightly.
"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Sara looks up into Jenn's dubious face. "You barely have time as it is, and you want to add an hour of tutoring some guy who couldn't pass a class, not just once, but twice?"
Sara shrugs casually, surveying the mozzarella stick before replying glibly, "I give it a month before he gets bored and gives up. And plus," she catches Sam's eye as she pops the rest of the mozzarella stick in her mouth, reaching for another one. "I'd gladly exchange just an hour a week of my time for free weed."
Jenn rolls her eyes, but Sam smiles, grabbing a mozzarella stick of her own. Sara holds out her stick, and Sam slaps their sticks together like a cheers as Sara grins, her eyes twinkling. "Let's enjoy this while it lasts."
Author's Note: Next time, we get to see what will become of their first tutoring session. How do you think it'll go? :) Thanks for reading! I welcome your thoughts and feedback.