Lights flash from the shadows as a shriek splits the air.

In that moment, it all comes rushing back. Terror shoots down my spine as I flinch away. A chorus of rattling and clinking rises from the floor, adding to my fear. My breath is frozen in my throat. My muscles tense against my volition. My skin goes as cold as ice. Then the sound of laughter pulls me up for air, and I realize that I'm safe, surrounded by other high schoolers. It's nothing abnormal - nothing to be afraid of - but I don't feel normal at all. My pulse thumps in my ears as voices ring out around me:

"Oh, my god! That was awesome!"

"Did you see his face?"

"He almost fell!"

I let go of the breath I was holding, trying to collect myself. Something must have fallen off the stack of books I'm clutching, but I'm too unnerved to process the clutter on the floor. As the laughter subsides, a hand clasps my shoulder. This time, I manage not to jump, because I knew it was coming. By now, I can recognize that cheap cologne from ten feet away.

"You didn't shit yourself, did you?"

I direct my unsmiling eyes at my tormentor: a burly senior by the name of Seth Miller. As his friends giggle in the background, the towering jock gives me a shoulder squeeze that feels more threatening than friendly. I resist the urge to squirm away. "Relax, Byers. It's just a joke. No hard feelings, right?" His tone is almost believable, but his smug grin ruins the innocent façade.

My gaze drifts to the offending object: a white baseball-sized thing tucked away in the depths of my locker. It's one of those motion-sensing Halloween decorations that lights up and screams when you set it off. I hate those things - and I used to love anything to do with Halloween. But that was before the past few years of my life turned into an actual horror movie.

Thankfully, I'm pretty sure all of that is over now. I haven't seen or sensed anything out of the ordinary in months. But I think there's something inside me that's perpetually on edge, like it hasn't gotten the message yet. It feels like a centipede made a home in the back of my head. Sometimes it's asleep, and I forget it's there, but other times it crawls around like wild, and it's all I can think about. Mom calls it anxiety. Jonathan calls it trauma. Whatever it is, at least it's not him - not anymore.

With both hands on my shoulders, Seth cranes his neck to look at my face. I lean away as he lets out a low whistle. "That really freaked you out, huh?"

The giddiness in his tone makes anger tighten my throat, but I swallow the emotion. After years of dealing with bullies, I've learned that telling them to stop usually only makes things worse, and I'd rather not cause an even bigger scene. So I put on a bitter smile and say, "Yeah. Good one."

Looking satisfied, he slams my locker door shut, and I wince at the scream that echoes from inside. The jock laughs again and strolls away, offering a final taunt:

"Happy Halloween, Zombie Boy!"

I'd hoped that nickname would lose traction over the years, but it stuck. I guess I left an impression by showing up to school a week after an assembly was held for my death.

I push through my discomfort and open my locker again, ignoring the bloodcurdling screech that follows. Sighing, I reach in and grab the plastic skull. Its red eyes flash angrily at me as I examine it. I find the tab to open the battery pack, and I tear them out. Then I bury the skull (and the batteries) in a side pocket of my backpack, where its plastic forehead bulges out - somewhere I won't forget about it. I consider returning it to its owner's locker, but I'd rather not start a prank war; I've had enough jump scares for a lifetime. I doubt my friends or family would appreciate it either, for the same reason.

At this point, the other students are back to ignoring me and discussing their weekend plans. As the crowd thins out, I stoop to collect the colored pencils that I dropped. I guess the box turned upside-down in midair, because all forty-eight of them are scattered around my feet in a colorful crop circle. Usually I would sort them, but I'm too upset to care about organization right now. I just want to leave this cruel prank behind me. Maybe I'll rant to Jonathan about it later. I know he'd understand.

I scoop up the last few pencils and slip the box into my bag. Then I throw my backpack over my shoulder and set off down the mostly deserted hall. Before I make it to the doors, a voice calls out from behind me: "Hey! Zombie Boy!"

I tell myself to ignore it and keep walking, but the squeak of sneakers on the tile is unsettling. It sounds like someone's running after me.

"Wait up!"

At the thought of the bullies coming back for more, something hot sparks deep in my chest, and I stop in my tracks. I didn't survive the end of the world to be pushed around like this. I've faced a nine-foot-tall monster with a mouth full of daggers. I've stood my ground against a giant shadow creature that tried to use me as a puppet. I've even fought off a superpowered psychopath who could control things with his mind - and for what? To back down from a bunch of self-absorbed teenagers?

No. No way. Screw that!

Mustering my best glare, I spin around and snap, "What do you want?"

The boy who was chasing me jolts to a stop. His hair is an untidy shock of honey blond, and his big brown eyes are watching me with alarm. I have no clue who this boy is, but I think I've seen him before. I reflect his bewildered gaze as he explains, "I was just, um...you missed one." He holds out a single colored pencil: Aquamarine, one of my favorites.

"Oh." All the fight leaves me, and the shame in my gut doubles over. Grimacing, I accept the pencil from him. "Sorry. I thought you were-"

"It's okay," he assures, looking relieved by the change in my expression. "You should do that more often," he suggests like an afterthought. "To that prick, I mean."

I'm not sure how to respond to that, so I force a small smile. For a second or two, we both just look at each other. The blond boy is about my height and build, but his outfit is bolder than anything I would choose for myself. He paired blue jeans and white sneakers with a bright blue-green patterned shirt that matches the pencil he gave me. If El were here, I bet she would've asked him where he found it so she could get one herself. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other as I observe him.

"My name's Jesse. My locker is like ten away from yours. I'm a grade below you, but we're in the same pre-calc class. I've always been good at math."

I nod again, at a loss for words. Jesse continues watching me, and I realize he's waiting for me to introduce myself - which shocks me so much that I wonder if he's acting. My family is essentially the Hawkins' resident freak show. I may not be the strangest of the bunch - El wins that one by a wide margin - but I'm the most well-known, thanks to all the newspaper headlines from '83.

"I'm, uh, Will."

The strange boy seems to think my hesitation is funny. "Nice to meet you, 'Uh-Will'."

"Just 'Will' is fine," I amend awkwardly.

With that toothy grin on his face, Jesse is almost unrecognizable as the person I startled a few seconds ago. There's a sort of glowing confidence to him now. "'Just-Will' is still better than 'Zombie Boy'," he remarks, and I can tell by his cheery tone that he means nothing by it. "How did you get a nickname like that anyway? Is it a Halloween joke?"

My eyebrows jump up, but I don't detect any dishonesty in his expression. "You really don't know?"

"No," he says slowly, narrowing his eyes. "Am I supposed to?"

I'm about to say yes, but I stop myself. Jesse seems to be telling the truth, and I'd rather not recite the whole lost-in-the-woods story, so I try for nonchalance: "No. It's just...rumors travel fast in this town."

"Not fast enough, apparently," he replies, raising an eyebrow at me. When I don't elaborate, he smiles and puts his thumbs in his pockets. "Alright. Keep your secret, if you want to be mysterious."

For some reason, that response consumes my attention. I stare at him for a beat, trying to figure out why I recognize those words. It feels like someone's struggling to strike a match in my mind. Then the fire springs to life: "Was that a Lord of the Rings quote?"

I didn't think the blond boy's smile could grow much wider, but he proves me wrong. He punches my shoulder, which only surprises me a little. "Ha! I knew you'd get that reference!" I frown as I dissect that statement too. He seems to sense the question in my eyes, because he tacks on hastily, "I mean, you just seem like the type of person who would like that kind of thing. Sometimes I overhear you talking with your friends about D&D - because of our lockers being close and all. Oh, and you have that Millennium Falcon pin on your backpack." When he notices my raised eyebrows, his eyes fill with horror. "Shit. I sound like a total stalker. I didn't mean it like that, I swear..."

I try to tell him that I didn't take it that way, but he rambles over me:

"I just notice things about people. I've been told it's weird, but it's not like I can turn it off, you know? I have a really good memory for details like that. I could tell you all kinds of random facts about people whose names I don't even know - and that's most of the kids in this school. I just transferred here at the beginning of the week."

That explains why you're talking to me, I realize. And he's still going:

"And I know what you're thinking: who moves to a town that's supposedly cursed? Well, my mom grew up here. She and my dad aren't together anymore. I used to live with him in the city, but I got kicked out of my other school - for something completely unfair, by the way - and he and my mom got into a huge fight over it. In the end, they decided to send me out here. It's not much of a punishment, though. I mean, I miss my friends from back home, but my dad's kind of an asshole, and I like living with my mom a lot better."

When Jesse finally pauses, he looks like he's swallowing something unpleasant. "So...uh...I guess now you know some things about me too." He runs a hand through his messy hair and doesn't meet my eyes. When he turns to me again, his face is a picture of embarrassment. "Sorry. That was a lot."

"No, it's okay," I tell him, fighting a smile. It's comedic, the way his expressions pivot so suddenly. In a matter of seconds, he went from confident and friendly to absolutely mortified. I've never met someone who wears their emotions so plainly.

"You're just saying that to be nice," he mutters, looking away again. "I bet you think I'm a freak now."

I frown as I think of something wise my brother said to me years ago. "So what? I'm a freak too, in case you haven't noticed. And actually, I think you're kind of cool."

Jesse gapes at me in disbelief. "We met two minutes ago, and I majorly overshared with you - and you think I'm 'cool'?"

"Yeah. It's like you're saying exactly what you're thinking. Not a lot of people are brave enough to do that," I reason. I wish I was more like that, I want to add, but I keep that to myself.

"Most people would say that having no filter is a bad thing," he points out skeptically.

"Who needs a filter if you aren't hiding anything?"

The blond boy seems fascinated by my reasoning. After a moment, his grin returns, and my own grows to match it. There's something about that bright, unreserved smile that makes me forget about everything bad in the world. Then he states, "I like you, Will. You're really smart."

His honesty makes warmth rush to my face. "Thanks." As his smile twists into a grimace, I use his embarrassment to detract from my own: "You just did it again."

"Yep," he agrees in a defeated way. I laugh, and his dark eyes seem to shine. Then he gives me a mischievous smirk that makes my heart jump out of rhythm. "What about you?"

"What do you mean?"

"It seems like you have a filter. Does that mean you're hiding something?"

The question makes me feel tense, but there's nothing hostile in his curious gaze. So I put on a casual tone and answer honestly, "Oh, yeah. Loads of stuff."

Now it's Jesse's turn to chuckle. He grins at me for a half-second longer before asking suddenly, "Do you want to be friends?"

The childish phrase brings me back to a simpler time in my life:

It's the first day of kindergarten. The other kids are playing tag or hopscotch or house - and I'm perfectly content having the swing set all to myself. I decide to find out if I can see overtop of the pines in the corner of the schoolyard. I'm making good progress when, from the peak of my arc, I notice a boy meandering toward me. Something about the way he's watching me makes me abandon my mission. I shimmy forward in my seat so I can dig my shoes into the mulch.

"Hi," he says as I'm slowing down.

"Hi," I say back, dismounting so I land in front of him.

"My name's Mike," he informs me. He has floppy black hair and wide dark eyes that won't stop lingering on mine. He's a few inches taller than me - which is saying something, since we're only five - but he looks very out of his depth. The way he's tapping his fingers against his leg reminds me of my mom.

"I'm Will," I tell him.

"Will. Okay," Mike echoes with a nod, like he's committing my name to memory. Then his mouth seems to race ahead of his mind, and he blurts: "Do you want to be friends?"

When Jesse recites those same six words, that memory hits me like a slap. Butterflies erupt in my stomach, and my heart skips a beat. I definitely didn't feel that when I was five - and it makes me hesitate. But when I look into Jesse's soft brown eyes, my indecision evaporates. His expression holds the same childlike hope that I saw in Mike all those years ago, and I recognize it as the silent plea of someone who doesn't want to be alone. I guess I understand that concept pretty well.

So I put on my friendliest smile, and I quote myself: "Yeah! Of course!"

Moments later, I'm getting into the passenger seat of my brother's car. "Hey," Jonathan greets me, sounding pleasantly surprised. "You seem happy. Did something good happen today?"

His question reminds me of the incident at the lockers - until the thought of Jesse's grin chases it away again. "I made a new friend," I tell him, allowing myself a smile.

That peaks my brother's interest. "Oh, yeah? What's his name?"

"Jesse," I answer without thinking. As Jonathan starts to drive, I furrow my eyebrows at him. "What made you think it was a boy?"

Jonathan shrugs, keeping his eyes on the road. "Lucky guess?" He suggests innocently.

I pout at the way his lips are pursed. I know that look. When he glances at me, he holds my gaze for a second too long. It's like those golden brown eyes are staring right through me. I can't help but notice that Jesse's are a similar shade. My face heats up at the thought, and I look away. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Jonathan's smirk growing.

"Shut up," I mutter, even though he didn't say a word.

My brother just chuckles and turns his attention back to the road. He doesn't ask for an explanation, because he doesn't need one.

Still blushing, I lean my head against the cool window and pretend to watch the world passing by, but I hardly see a thing. I'm too busy trying not to smile.