Author's Note: Welcome back! Sara tutors Eddie for the first time. Does it go well? Eh... Read on to see ;)

Thursday, September 12th, 1985.

The words stare back at Sara from the upper corner of the green chalkboard as Mr. Richards continues to lecture about the Battle of Gettysburg, her eyes tracing the chalk circle around them again and again as his voice recedes to the background. Having American History as the final period of the day wasn't Sara's favorite, as she found the constant lecturing to be largely dull and mind-numbing. But today, she's thankful for Mr. Richards and his droning voice, if only for one reason: that he'd made her bored enough to glance vaguely around his classroom. This has, frankly, saved her ass, as she'd otherwise forgotten that today is September 12th— Thursday— the first scheduled tutoring session she has with Eddie Munson.

Truthfully, the meeting she'd planned had slipped almost immediately from her mind once she'd left O'Donnell's class yesterday after she'd confirmed the details with her soon-to-be pupil.

It had gone like this:

As the bell had rung, signaling the end of English class, Sara said to Eddie as he passed by her desk, "Meet me at the picnic bench after school at four tomorrow afternoon. Don't be late."

Without even slowing his steps, he'd saluted her with two fingers, replying, "Yes, ma'am." And then she'd watched his back pass through the classroom doorway into the hallway beyond, his jean jacket disappearing into the crowd.

In retrospect, she hoped he'd understood what picnic bench she was referring to. Though, she supposed that it was fairly obvious since it sat almost equidistant from both of their houses, acting as a natural meeting place.

And that was all they'd said about it. Earlier this morning, they'd neither talked to each other nor even exchanged a glance as O'Donnell had led the class through an introductory discussion meant to provide some context for Jane Eyre, the first novel they'd be reading. To be fair, that's probably because he'd actually fallen asleep, prompting O'Donnell to yell at him three times before he finally woke up.

As the bell chimes to signal the merciful end of her final class, Sara lets out a quiet breath that is simultaneously a chuckle and a huff, caught between amusement and exasperation at what she'd seen of Eddie's performance in English class these past two weeks. Amusement, because it was funny to see O'Donnell get so worked up over him, but also exasperation, because what normally would be not-her-problem was, on account of her bleeding heart, now very-much-her-problem.

The wall of heat that hits Sara as she strides through the doors of Hawkins High is almost worse than being cooped up in History class; immediately, she feels her skin grow sticky under her open gray button-up, so she pulls her messenger bag over her head, shedding the outer layer of clothing and cramming it into an unoccupied corner of the bag. The short, raw-edge tank top she's wearing would have certainly gotten her dress coded by O'Donnell if she'd seen it, Sara muses. Well, I'm not actually in school anymore, just… in the school parking lot. She smirks at the knowledge that there's nothing O'Donnell can do about it now.

She walks to her bike where it's nestled between others in the rack, unhooking it and nudging the kickstand with her white Reebok, straddling it as she pulls her hair up into a ponytail. Despite these measures to keep herself cool, she can still feel her thighs sticking to the bike seat underneath her loose jean shorts as she pedals in the direction of home. But she soon forgets the oppressive haze of heat as she rides along the sidewalk, watching the dappled sunlight play through the shifting leaves of the trees, leaves that are still a bright verdant green. The unseasonable heat and shining sun feel like one of the last sighs of summer before the autumn chill would inevitably roll in. Sara smiles to herself, choosing to enjoy this last gift instead of focusing on the sweat rolling down her temple.

But the beauty of the route home can't hold Sara's attention for long as her thoughts eventually drift back to her imminent tutoring session. Despite his confirmation that he'd be there, Sara can't help but picture Eddie's sleeping form from earlier this morning, his mess of dark curls cradled in his arms, his back slowly rising and falling with even breaths. She rolls her eyes at the memory. If I were a betting girl… I'd take the over on waiting for at least ten minutes before Eddie Munson shows up for his first tutoring session in probably... ever.

As she coasts down the final stretch of paved road, turning right onto the loose gravel of the main drag within Forest Hills Trailer Park, her bike almost unbalances as her chest swoops in surprise— for there he is, under the simple wooden pergola, seated at the far side of the picnic table as he faces toward the street. She catches herself with a foot, hopping a bit to prevent herself from falling; she pulls her other leg over the bike, walking it down the path as her surprise turns to a small prickle of regret. I hate to say it, but… Munson is actually making me eat my words. His form grows more distinct as she approaches, and her eyes catch on his bright white shirt, the way it contrasts with his hair and dark-clad legs. Even in sweltering weather, he's apparently committed to his ripped-jeans-rocker look. Her mouth tugs up into a small, rueful smile as the prickle of regret turns into resolve. I should actually give him a real chance.

Once she's gotten close enough to look him in the eye, Sara nods in greeting, calling over, "Hey— I'll be there in a second." She wheels her bike to its spot against the porch stairs, returning to the table to pull her legs over the bench across from him, dropping her messenger bag next to her left thigh. Quickly, she retrieves a notebook from her bag, her tone well-mannered as she says without looking up, "Alright, let's focus on the assigned novel first. I figure about halfway through the book, our first real essay will be assigned. We just started reading it on Tuesday, so judging by her pace, we probably need to be halfway through it in about two weeks from now to be ready to start writing that." She sets the notebook on the table as she speaks, finally looking up at Eddie as she finishes her spiel.

Eddie merely stares back at her blankly for a moment like she'd been speaking Cantonese. Sara waits, her gaze flicking between each of his wide brown eyes, the tense silence building until, finally, she can't stand it anymore. She can feel her well-mannered tone dissolve quickly. "What?" She asks guardedly, her eyebrow tugging up in a challenge.

Eddie tilts his head, sounding skeptical. "I kind of thought you were just gonna tell me everything I need to know."

Immediately, Sara's irritation flares into a small flame in her gut; she leans back, lolling her head to the side, her voice conveying a false, exaggerated realization. "Oh!" She draws the word out, faux-apologetic. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize— here, let me just hop in your brain, riffle around a bit, and deposit everything you need to know about Jane Eyre in there for you." Her gaze flattens as she crosses her arms. "I'm sure there's plenty of room."

Almost immediately, he mirrors her energy: he mimes getting shot in the forehead with a gun, flexing his fingers to represent an explosion as he jerks back before straightening again, one corner of his mouth tugged up as he exclaims, "Killshot, Campbell! Went right for the temple with that one." His smirk falls as he leans in, resting his elbows on the wooden surface of the picnic table, his expression now more serious. "Alright, so how are we doing this, then?"

"Well, let's start with…" She looks at him leadingly, raising her eyebrows, trying to prompt him to finish the sentence. But he doesn't, so she finishes it herself, her voice turning deadpan at the obvious answer. "The book." She reaches down into her bag, her fingers digging around aggressively for a moment. But as she ducks partially behind the table where he can't see her, she subtly takes a deep breath. Sara, she chides herself, don't be such a bitch. Remember… he's here because he needs your help. With some effort, she tries smothering the flame of her irritation: she takes another deep breath, letting it ground her, feeling the tension in her shoulders release a bit. Now calmer, she glances back up at him, her hand stilling in its search as she notices that he hasn't moved.

She frowns, her voice sounding hesitant as though she can't believe she needs to ask this question. "…Where's your book?"

Eddie's eyebrows tug up as his dark eyes go wider than normal, like the thought hadn't occurred to him. "Oh. I guess I should have brought that."

Sara sighs but recovers quickly. "Well, quick fix for that, Munson: there's your trailer, right over there—"

But he's already unfolding his long legs from under the table, moving over to her side and plopping down next to her on the bench.

"Quicker fix," Eddie says, looking quite pleased with himself. He wiggles his hips slightly in his seat as he thinks aloud, "You know, it's really comfortable on this side of the table, actually. I might just lay down." He pulls one leg back over the bench to straddle it and stretches down flat, but he's lanky enough that he doesn't quite fit on the bench with her also sitting on it, so his long hair hangs off the edge. He seems not to notice that his shirt has pulled up to reveal his belt buckle, the waistline of his pants, and the lower part of his stomach above it.

Sara eyes him dubiously, consciously steering clear of that strip of pale skin, certainly not noticing that trail of dark hair— she cuts the train of thought off abruptly, instead muttering aloud to herself, loud enough for him to hear, "I don't know if a dime bag of weed is enough to compensate me for an hour of this."

Eddie sighs long-sufferingly, getting the hint. He sits up quickly, facing her as he remains straddling the bench, leaning his right elbow on the rough wood tabletop and settling his chin in his hand, his eyes fixed on her as if he's waiting for her instruction. She can feel the heat from his knee against her bare outer thigh even though they aren't touching; she tries to ignore it as she leans over to her other side, digging again in her bag for Jane Eyre as she huffs to herself. He clearly doesn't care much for personal space.

She pulls out the green book, resting it on the table. As he takes in the thickness of the tome, Eddie's eyes go wide again, and he groans dramatically, his chin slipping from his palm into the crook of his arm. His voice whines from where it's muffled against his skin, "Why does O'Donnell always assign the longest and boring-est books?"

At the rhetorical question, Sara feels that lick of irritation light inside her again; passion colors her voice, heating it as she gazes down at the front cover of the green book. "Actually, that's not true. This book is really good— it has mystery, it has tragedy, it has the supernatural, it has a heroine who begins at the lowest of the low, rejected by her peers and by society… But at the end, she gains all the power—" She cuts herself off, running her finger across the embossing on the cover. "Well, I don't want to spoil it. But I'd say it's one of the best Brontë books." She smiles to herself as she finishes, her voice warm but no longer heated, "It's actually my favorite."

As she turns back to him, Sara sees that Eddie's head is no longer buried in the crook of his arm; she doesn't know how long he'd been staring at her as she ranted, but she feels her face flush a bit at the realization, feeling keenly like she'd gotten carried away.

Yet as they make eye contact, he simply raises a brow, drawling, "Well, I don't know what a Brontë book is—"

"It's the last name of the author," Sara mutters tightly as he speaks, but he continues over her—

"—but if it's Sara Campbell approved, I guess I'll give it a try."

And with that, he grins widely and toothily at her, leaning his chin casually back on his hand again. She appraises him for a second, narrowing her eyes to try to determine if he's being sarcastic. But his expression doesn't change, not even under her scrutiny, so finally, she shoots him a small smile before opening the front cover to the first page and sliding the book over to him.

"Here," she prompts, looking at him expectantly. But he doesn't pick it up; instead, he slides it back over to her.

"You are the tutor here. The least you could do is read it to me, Campbell."

Sara narrows her eyes, shooting back, "Aren't you a singer or something? Maybe you should read it to me." She smirks as a thought occurs to her, adding, "Plus, there's an added bonus: I'll actually know that you're paying attention."

But Eddie doesn't seem to have been listening past the first thing she'd said. His full lips quirk with a mischievous grin as he leans in closer, and her gaze flicks to the freckle on his left cheek before darting back to his twinkling eyes. "I am a singer, Campbell, and a guitar player. How'd you know that? Are you secretly a Corroded Coffin fan?"

She rolls her eyes, choosing to ignore his question. Instead, she offers, "We can take turns."

Eddie's grin turns wolfish as he stares at her for another moment like he's seeing if she'll react. But she doesn't, so he drops the expression and shrugs, pulling the book so that it's between them both, Sara holding the left side, Eddie holding the right. "I'll start," she says decisively, beginning to read from the page without waiting for his answer:

"'There was no possibility of taking a walk that day. We had been wandering, indeed, in the leafless shrubbery an hour in the morning; but since dinner (Mrs. Reed, when there was no company, dined early) the cold winter wind had brought with it clouds so sombre, and a rain so penetrating, that further outdoor exercise was completely out of the question…'"

Sara reads unwaveringly, her eyes glued to the page as the soft cadence of her voice cuts the hot, stagnant September air like a clear bell. She reads as far as she can, tilting her head to see the page that's closest to Eddie's hand. When she gets to the final line, Eddie's long, ringed fingers flip the page, and she glances at his face as he does: his gaze is down, focused on the book, his long eyelashes concealing his dark eyes. She looks quickly back at the book, continuing to read after only a small pause.

Once they reach the next chapter, Sara pauses and glances at Eddie again, his eyes catching hers when he notices that she's stopped. As he looks back down at the page, he takes over. His voice is pleasant, though not as smooth as Sara's at first; over time, though, his tone evens out, and Sara finds herself absorbed in the story, the sonorous cadence of his voice drawing her in.

They continue alternating until Eddie glances at his wrist, holding it up to Sara and angling it so she can see the time on his black watch: 4:58 pm. She pulls the book toward her, turning it over so that the spine is up in order to save their page. She reaches across the table to drag her notebook closer and flip it open to a new page, pulling a pen from the side pocket of her messenger bag. Without explaining herself, she begins to write, intent on jotting down some thoughts about what they'd just read. After a few moments, Eddie's confused voice draws her from her focus.

"What are you doing?"

Sara doesn't look up; she keeps the pen moving as she replies, rather dryly, "Writing, Munson."

All is quiet for a moment until she hears his voice again, somewhat uncertain. "Should I be doing that?"

"...I don't know," She responds slowly, her eyes flicking to him before darting back to the paper. "Do you have any ideas?"

He falls silent, and she continues to write, not looking up, wanting to get her thoughts out on paper before they slip from her head like water. After a few long moments, she finishes, sitting back a bit before she notices Eddie is peering over her shoulder, the ends of his hair skimming her bare skin. Wordlessly, Sara slides the notebook towards him so he can see better. While he reads what she's written, she picks Jane Eyre up again, earmarking their page in the novel, then closing it and slipping the book into her bag. As she turns forward again, she sees Eddie flip back a couple of pages in her notebook, snickering as he sees her somewhat unflattering doodles of O'Donnell.

At the sound of his laugh, she smiles, too, the pictures reminding her of O'Donnell's lilting voice, the way it always flattens as she says 'Edward Munson' — never 'Eddie,' always 'Edward'. She remembers how O'Donnell's voice sounded when she was attempting to wake Eddie up just this morning, how her normally even tone had gotten increasingly shriller with each attempt. Before she can suppress it, Sara snorts at the memory; hearing her, Eddie eyes her suspiciously. "What?"

Sara hesitates briefly before shrugging, saying in a loud, crude caricature of O'Donnell's voice, "Edward Munson, stand to answer your question. Edward Munson, there will be no napping in English class. Edward Munson—" she breaks off, unable to continue as she throws her head back, laughing loudly at her own imitation.

"Alright, Sunshine. I see how it is."

The moniker gives her pause, and her eyebrows furrow in a confused frown as she questions, "Sunshine?"

Eddie smirks, replying casually, "Yeah, that's my nickname for you now. Because this last hour with you has been just an absolute ray of sweet sunshine in my otherwise sad, cold, cloudy life." He bats his eyelashes, fixing his face into a sincere expression, but his nostrils flare with the effort. Sara shoots him a flat look, holding out her hand. "We've already met, Sunshine. I think we're past handshakes—"

"Dime bag, Munson."

He smiles toothily, reaching into his front pocket as he says, "I know— just fucking with you." He slaps the bag into her palm, and she holds it up, appraising it before looking at him again, softening the edge in her voice as she asks,

"Can I get a couple rolling papers, too?"

He rolls his eyes, sighing dramatically even as he's already pulling out the tiny cardboard packet, slapping that into her palm too. Sara tries to hand it back, protesting, "I only need a few sheets—"

"Don't sweat it," Eddie interrupts, laying his arm against the wooden tabletop. "I've got plenty."

Sara shoots him a quick, genuine smile, her voice warm. "Thanks."

They continue to stare at each other for a moment before she blinks, turning to drop the small baggie and the packet into her messenger bag. Her tone is all-business again as she says, "I'm gonna need you to read the first eight chapters on your own before we meet back up next week to discuss it."

His groan is loud and quick. "That sounds like fucking torture—"

She shoots him a look, and he grins, his voice turning sweet as he finishes, "—but I'll do it; anything for you, Sunshine." She rolls her eyes and doesn't respond, pulling her legs over the bench and slipping on her messenger bag as he sits motionlessly on the bench.

Before she leaves, Sara pauses for a moment, looking back at Eddie. "Bye. Thanks for the weed."

Without waiting for a response, she turns away, walking quickly towards her trailer; she strides up the porch stairs, and as she enters the empty trailer, her face splits into a mischievous grin. She kicks the front door closed behind her and beelines straight for the yellow wall phone to call Sam.

"Get your butt over here and pick me up," Sara demands as soon as she hears Sam's greeting on the other end of the line. "We have a date with the back of your mom's garden shed."

––

Sara watches with a wide, relaxed smile as Sam emerges from behind the garish shed in her backyard, her bare feet loose as she weaves a path back to the hammock where Sara lays, swinging the leg that sticks over the edge of the hammock gently to keep it rocking. Sara is sure that Mrs. Stone, Sam's mother, would be absolutely appalled if she knew that her precious garden shed— which, frankly, looked like something straight out of a suburban nightmare with its bright pastel trim, its baskets of cloying pink and purple flowers, and its absurd statues of bunnies, flamingos, frogs, and lawn gnomes— had been co-opted by her daughter and her daughter's friend as their covert base for getting high. Conveniently, due to the uneven landscape, the shed was propped up in the back with a small, smooth cinder block in the left corner; as it was nestled close to, but not up against, the wooden fence surrounding the perimeter of the Stone family's yard, the girls had discovered that the lower square of the cinder block was a perfect place for laying a smoldering blunt without the risk of it blowing out or catching something on fire. Of course, it would be too obvious for both Sara and Sam to disappear behind the garden shed together, so they'd worked out a system: one of them would lay in the hammock, keeping watch while the other snuck behind the shed, took a couple of drags, then returned to the hammock to switch places. As a result, over time, Sara and Sam had both become very skilled at keeping the hammock balanced. It was almost second nature as Sara shifted her weight slightly while Sam slid into the space next to her. Their arms and hips press together as each dangles one leg out, their bare feet swaying gently.

Sara hears Sam sigh deeply as she settles into the hammock, which is stretched securely between the two thick oak trees near the center of the backyard. "You good?" Sara asks, tilting her head slightly against Sam's, her eyes running over the tree's gnarled branches and the swaying leaves, which have turned golden— almost deep orange— in the waning evening light.

"Yeah," Sam sighs, grinning at her friend as she stretches her hand out, running it repetitively against the edge of the hammock. "Tell Eddie I said thanks next time you see him."

"Mmm," Sara hums contentedly. "I will."

"How was that, by the way? Your first time tutoring him?"

Sara turns her head then, pinning Sam with a dramatic glance. "For a minute there, I was sure that I was either gonna kill him or kill myself— either way, one of us would not be walking away from that picnic bench." She closes her eyes as Sam snickers, the rocking of the hammock enhancing the warm sluggishness in her limbs and the fuzzy feeling in the nerve endings of her toes where the breeze tickles them pleasantly, the sensation made sweeter by her buzz. She wraps her arm around her friend, running her fingers through the silken strands of her hair, the texture on her fingertips utterly compelling. Sam snuggles closer, used to Sara's cuddliness when she's high; but she stiffens, saying suddenly, as if the thought has just occurred to her,

"Hey, hey—" Sara's fingers pause at the urgency in Sam's voice. "Did you know that… Jason Carver and Chrissy Cunningham are dating now?"

The girls exchange a look, pausing for a moment before they both snort and break into mad giggles, finding this fact overwhelmingly funny. "Jason Carver is a tool," Sara shouts through leftover chuckles, and Sam buries her head in Sara's hair, her body contracting with a silent laughing fit, reigniting Sara's giggles again too. Eventually, they both subside, their bodies relaxing again; at the mention of Jason, Sara's thoughts turn to Jennifer's proclamation on the bleachers two weeks before.

Both girls begin to open their mouths at the same time, but Sara beats Sam to it, turning her head again to ask, "So, have you met a cuddly boyfriend yet?" She expects Sam to say no, but at the extended silence, Sara lifts up a bit in the hammock, staring down at her friend's averted eyes, her deep brown and bleached hair mussed against her forehead as she turns her face further at the question, burying it against Sara's shoulder.

"Ooh!" Sara squeals, but Sam hedges, shaking her head quickly, heading off her friend's questions before they can begin.

"No, it's not like that, just…" She pauses, turning her face back towards Sara, her expression schooled into evenness again. "There is a guy that I might be interested in, but I don't wanna talk about it until things are more… certain."

Sara stamps down on her excitement, nodding and smiling reassuringly as she accepts Sam's boundary. Sam smiles back, her eyes relieved as Sara doesn't press her. Sara settles back in against her side as Sam asks in return, "Well, what about you? Have you fulfilled Jenn's prophecy and met any decent guys for a change?"

Sara shrugs, her shoulder rubbing against Sam's as she makes a noncommittal sound. Sam sighs sympathetically. "Even a hot guy at this point would do."

Immediately, Eddie Munson's pale, bare stomach and dark trail of hair burst inexplicably into Sara's mind. Aghast with herself, she wrinkles her nose, dispelling the image with a thorough shake of her head. "Nah. None of those, either."

Author's Note: Hm, Sara, interesting intrusive thoughts you're having there...

I hope you enjoyed! I welcome any comments or feedback :)