Chapter 43: I'm On Fire

"At night I wake up with the sheets soaking wet

And a freight train running through the middle of my head

Only you can cool my desire

Oh, oh, oh, I'm on fire"

Friday. March 21st, 1986.

POV: Winter Reid

At lunch, Marissa and I sit across the table, her pushing peas around her styrofoam tray with a combo spoon and fork, a spork, and me stabbing baby carrots with similar disinterest.

"Are you all ready for tonight?" Theo asks, his arm slung over my shoulders.

Marissa's nose twitches like a nervous rabbit, but she's trying hard not to eavesdrop.

"Yeah," I shrug. "I'm decked out in Hawkins High spirit."

"I didn't mean the game," he says softly, fingers brushing against my upper arm.

Oh... after.

"I bought bear spray," I reply.

Theo chuckles in response, and his free hand raises to land on my wrist, freezing my repetitive movement of stab carrot, release carrot.

He pulls on my arm gently, asking me without words to look into his eyes.

I do, finding the same sweet brown pupils I've become so familiar with.

"I'm excited to spend time with you," he grins. "I feel like today might be the best day of my life."

"Really?" I ask, fidgeting in my seat but smiling gently.

"Really," he says firmly.

Marissa's chair screeches backward, the plastic tray trembling in her hands as she hurries away.

Theo watches her leave, his mouth pouted in confusion.

I feel my skin prickle with heat, something between a flush of embarrassment and remorse.

After deciding that Marissa Randall is just a girl with big, complicated feelings, I can't help but feel like I'm the villain in her love story.

I heave out a sigh, watching her dump the tray with her head hung down.

"Hey..." Theo says, eyes following her frame. "You two ran off during the pep rally."

"Uh-huh," I murmur.

The cafeteria doors swing shut, delivering Marissa into the hall far away from Theo and me.

"Why?"

"We followed Emma," I reply quietly. "She seemed... upset."

"Well," he sighs, lounging back in his seat and stretching his spine. "Jason was upset."

"Jason can shove it," I reply quickly, grasping my fork and sinking it into the orange vegetable.

Theo shakes his head in amusement, but he's come to coexist with my natural hatred for his friend.

I may be a hybrid outcast, trailer park resident, cheerleader, girlfriend to the popular boy monster, but some things will always stay the same.

Even if I manage to show up to our high school reunion decades in the future, even if Jason saves a thousand kittens from a burning building, even if I have children and they ask about my glory days... one truth will remain polished and verifiable.

That Jason Carver is a privileged asshole.

I smile to myself, delivering the carrot to my lips and crunching it between my teeth.

A sudden commotion across the cafeteria catches my ear, and Theo cranes his head back.

I glance over slowly, my heart thumping madly before my eyes even trail across the room.

My body heats up with a low hum, sensing what's happening before I see it.

See him.

Eddie Munson is standing atop the table, limbs loose and tongue looser, and his loyal subjects staring upwards with awe.

Oh... here we go.

"As long as you're into band-" he shouts, making sure everyone can hear his rebel yell. "Or... science. Or parties -"

What is he on about this time?

I prop my elbow beside my tray and sink forward, watching the free entertainment Eddie provides and smiling because it's already a thousand times more interesting than Jason's speech at the pep rally.

Eddie cups his hands around his mouth, wandering to the edge of the table, the toes of his sneakers hanging over the edge.

"Or a game where you toss balls into laundry baskets-"

Jason shoots up, his face a bright shade of red, and rage rolling from him in waves.

Shit.

Marissa and I leaving the pep rally must've really set him off because he usually stays composed longer than this, but his anger is immediate.

If Eddie were a few feet closer, I think Jason would tackle him to the ground with no hesitation.

"You want something, freak?!" Jason booms, fists tightening so hard his knuckles turn white.

My elbow slips off the table, thudding onto my lap. Theo squeezes his hand over my shoulder in comfort, but all my senses flood with panic.

He said freak like he meant it for more than Eddie.

He meant it for me, too.

He meant it for everyone not in his loyal circle.

It's a reminder, not just a word: an identifier, a brand, a permanent mark you can't ever wash away.

Eddie doesn't seem intimidated and smirks widely, sticking out his tongue and sputtering some devilish noise with fingers like horns poking through his curls.

He's taunting him, but Jason twitches like a hair trigger, only a few sparks short of combusting.

Fight or flight, Winter.

I'll choose flight.

I stand up like Marissa but leave my tray on the table, stumbling away and out through the double doors.

I feel the brand on my skin, singing below my cheer top, hot and irreversible.

I never stopped being a freak.

I was allowed into the inner sanctum, but I'm not one of them. And I never will be.

This is the part where I would usually clamor into the girl's restroom, grasping onto the porcelain sink to steady myself, lip trembling, tears leaking, mantra repeating in my head:

My name is Winter Reid, I'll be 17 in five days, and I'm losing my mind.

But... I'm not.

I freeze in the center of the hallway, eyes clear, cheeks dry, hands steady.

I'm inside my body, nowhere else but here.

It's my body.

I move in a different direction, pushing to enter the front office more urgently than ever before, and plop into one of the hard, plastic chairs.

My head collides with the wall behind me, and I stare at the ceiling, releasing a heavy breath.

The secretary at the counter lowers her glasses, and I glance over to offer her a small smile.

"Shouldn't you be at lunch?" She asks, her voice all disinterest and reproach.

"I'm waiting," I reply politely. "Is that alright?"

"It's your free time to waste," she shrugs, taking a bite of her sandwich and looking down at the open book in front of her.

I wish I had a book to read.

I don't have anything. My pink corduroy backpack is still hanging on the chair beside Theo in the cafeteria, and my pom-poms are stuffed in my locker.

All I have is the clock, and I watch the secondhand tick, tick, tick.

I've been in this exact spot dozens of times before, usually with my feet bouncing against the carpet and my nails digging into the center of my hand.

Today, the ticking is peaceful, like a lullaby.

I watch it take its lazy turns, once, then three times, then ten.

Ten minutes go by, and a soft voice calls out, "Winter?"

Ms. Kelley is smiling like always, her hands clasped in front of her long skirt, a white, frilly blouse puffing along her arms.

"Hi," I say. "Sorry, I'm a bit early."

"More than a bit," she laughs. "We don't usually meet until 2:30."

"Well," I shrug. "I can sit here until then."

"That's not necessary," she strides forward, twisting the gold knob and pushing open her office door. "Come on in."

Ms. Kelley doesn't bother getting my folder out today.

She has it memorized.

She knows the Courier M font that lists my name in the order of last, first, middle. And the space where a school photograph should reside. And my class list typed out alongside smug As and A+s. My GPA would be perfect if it weren't for Spanish class, where my grade never budges above a B- even when I bake perrunillas for Señor Castaneda.

Nope, Ms. Kelley doesn't need the file anymore; it's in her memory bank.

Reid Winter Jane

10136 Hickory Leaf Rd

Hawkins, IN 47823

Date of birth: March 26, 1969

Enroll: 9/04/83

Parent Name:

Mr. Lee Reid (deceased)

Mrs. Virginia Reid

Grad year: 1987

I've never looked around much in here, too busy keeping my eyes away from Ms. Kelley's trustworthy stare and keeping all my truth from spilling out on the floor.

The walls of her office are pink, and the window in the corner is always open, allowing sunlight to bathe the hanging plants.

There's a weird amount of clocks in here, all set to the same time, and the ticking creates a doom-filled beat when silence falls over the room.

An unsettling tick tick tick as the seconds slip away.

Maybe Ms. Kelley likes her clocks because they remind her to make the most of every minute. Time is a limited resource one must use wisely. Or, maybe, it's a psychological tactic that aids in the Freudian-esque excavation of the Hawkins student body.

She's perfected the kind smile/blank stare combo, and when she waits for you to answer a question, with compassionate scrutiny written in her smile lines, the clocks tick tick tick, and the oxygen vacuums out of the room.

I slip into the same chair, not slouching or slumping, but settling back comfortably, crossing my left leg over my right, and giving Ms. Kelley a warm smile.

"Thanks for seeing me," I utter.

She blinks, surprise she isn't trying to hide written across her soft face.

"Usually, I have to drag kids in here," Ms. Kelley jokes. "I almost fainted when I saw you waiting for me."

I laugh lightly.

"Is everything alright?" She asks, head tilting, eyes carefully scanning my face. Her surprise over my appearance has turned into worry. "Did something happen?"

"No," I reply simply. "Absolutely nothing."

"Okay..." Ms. Kelley squints her eyes.

She's so used to discreetly guiding me down a winding road of questions, lulling me back and forth before making a sharp turn towards an earth-shattering truth, something so pointed and honest it sends me reeling.

Now, she's the one at a loss, unsure how to proceed.

"How's your day going?" I ask, folding my hands on my knee.

"Uh, good," she nods slowly, a soft smile teasing her lips. "You seem different, Winter."

"Do I?"

"At our last meeting, you said you hadn't been sleeping well," she scooches forward, clasped hands advancing upon her desk.

"Sometimes I can't sleep..." I shrug. "But that's because I can never quite get comfortable, and the forest has been making weird noises lately. Oh - and the anxiety dreams."

"Anxiety dreams?"

"Well, that's what I call them..." My fingers tug on my locket, pulling so tight I feel the chain dig into the back of my neck. "I'm not sure if that's the technical term."

"Can you explain these dreams to me?"

"Um... if I've been worrying about something for a while, it tends to pop up when I sleep. My brain builds my dream around the worry. Like, when I went to my first game as a cheerleader or the night before final exams."

"You dream about yourself doing those things?"

I nod.

"And what happens in the dream?"

"They're like most dreams, totally unintelligible. Ridiculous. I dreamt a moth was going to rip the roof off the gymnasium. They don't make any sense."

"So your brain is showing you how silly your worries are? That the worst case scenario is also the most unlikely," Ms. Kelley concludes.

"I guess so." I drop my hands to my lap, exchanging the nervous tick of fidgeting with my necklace for twisting my fingers in my lap. "They are silly... most of the time."

"But they aren't anymore?"

"It's still an anxiety dream, but um... not as specific. The worry isn't something coming up on my calendar or anything I can control. It's more like a feeling."

"What kind of feeling?"

I swallow hard, recalling the way I awoke this morning - red numbers on my alarm clock blinking 1:36 am, and my sudden scream ripping through the darkness.

My mom stumbled into my room with her hair knotted and her hands clutching an umbrella, the weapon her barely awake mind had chosen.

"Winter?! Are you okay?"

My limbs tangled in my sheets, fighting against some force that felt like a boulder dropped upon my chest.

The feeling in my chest burned up my throat, and I had a distant recollection like a hand had just been on my neck, squeezing tightly.

Asleep me couldn't do anything, but awake me fought back. I was in that post-dream haze where everything feels clearer and more terrifying, and you remember everything.

"I'm fine -" I gasped, springing upright, fingers clutching my floral sheets, and strands of hair covering my eyes. "Sorry. Just a bad dream."

"You were screaming," she said, trembling and eyes scanning the room for a boogeyman hiding in the corner.

"It was nothing."

I was starting to forget. The dream was floating away, and the fingerprints on my neck evaporated.

"Go back to bed, mom."

"Why is your window open?" She tossed the umbrella and darted across my room, dropping the wooden frame with a thunk. "It's freezing in here."

"I can't sleep when it's hot," I mumbled, untangling my limbs from the sheets and pushing myself to stand.

"Where are you going?"

"To get water," I snapped. "Please go back to sleep."

"You scared me," she whispered.

I paused at the threshold and rubbed my palms over my face. Then, for some reason, my hands descended to my throat.

I held them there, feeling a nagging in the back of my head. My fingers carried a muscle memory, but my brain came up empty. The dream was gone, and all left was a vague lump in my throat.

My palms held tightly over skin, desperately trying to remember who or what just had their hands in the same spot.

"Babydoll?"

I tugged my locket from under my AC/DC shirt and clutched it tightly.

"Sorry..." I turned to face her. "I didn't mean to frighten you. I fell asleep reading Stephen King. It must've fucked with my subconscious."

My mom winced over my language but was too tired to reprimand me.

"Okay," she sighed. "Keep your window closed at night. It's just the two of us here... we need to be careful."

"Okay."

I watched her wander back to her bed. She didn't shut the door.

I hurriedly drank a glass of water in the kitchen and stared out the window. I was awake and unscathed, and all that lingered was a feeling.

It felt like I had just been somewhere. A door had been opened in my mind.

A door I shouldn't have opened—a red door.

Someone had left it unlocked, and I remember, only vaguely, when I escaped the dream, I was running towards it before I sprang upright in my bed.

And, just before I opened my eyes, I saw scratches. Deep scratches in the wood. Scratches that had probably broken fingernails and trickled blood down wrists.

The red door.

And a feeling.

What was that feeling?

"Dread," I whisper.

Ms. Kelley straightens in her chair, slightly startled by my admission.

"So, you've been having nightmares?"

Are they nightmares? Was it all just in my head?

"I guess so."

My nails scratch against the center of my palm, digging for something just under my skin.

"Do they all follow the same pattern?"

"I don't really remember them after I wake up."

"But, you remember how they made you feel," Ms. Kelley presses. "It disturbed you."

"It disturbed my sleep," I respond halfheartedly. "But it's just a dream."

"Nightmare," she corrected.

"That's a funny word," I murmur. "Do you know its origin?"

I sense her shake her head, although my eyes are not on hers, but on the red circle forming on my skin and the pain spreading outwards.

"A mare is an entity from Germanic folklore. They would sit on people's chests while they slept, holding them down, submerging them in a bad dream. It's a monster."

"Well, that's... interesting," Ms. Kelley hesitates.

"People wanted an explanation for why they woke in such terror. So, they invented evil spirits, goblins, demons... The mare."

I force my fingers to halt, clasping my palms tightly together and focusing on the burning at the center of my left hand.

"Bad dreams are scary, so it probably gave people comfort to have something to pin it on. Something malevolent. But..." I shrug. "It's not true. There's no such thing as night goblins or evil spirits."

Ms. Kelley tilts her head, her initial discomfort over my subject change has given way to curiosity.

"So, where do you think your nightmares come from?" She asks, attempting to steer me away from folklore, from mysticism back to science.

I raise my head to meet her eyes and offer one word in response.

"Me."

"But, we just talked about how your anxiety dreams are irrational... silly..." Her hands squeeze together, and she falters for her next words. "Wouldn't your nightmares be the same?"

"I don't think they're silly." My voice is quiet but steady, and, for once, I'm not fidgeting. "I think they're real."

"Winter, they aren't real," Ms. Kelley squishes her eyebrows together. "This is real."

"I know that," I reply calmly. "But, the nightmares are real, too. It's a part of my brain. Not a random assortment of movie clips and anxieties cobbled together for some highlight reel of potential humiliation. It's not like that. It comes from someplace within me, something that's always been there."

Ms. Kelley's mouth opens and shuts. She doesn't know what to say. After almost ten months of meeting together, I've never seen her struggle for words. I've never seen control slip from her grasp.

What was I thinking? She can't help me.

Why do I always expect grown-ups to have the answers? Like I'm some child waiting for instruction and a gold star.

Ms. Kelley doesn't have the answers. The realization has dawned on her too, and she looks frightened by its weight.

I release a deep breath and try to shake the heaviness away. Reviewing my sleep habits isn't what prompted me to seek out her counsel.

When dawn broke this morning, I was fast asleep. Sunbeams danced over my eyelids, hazy golden circles spotting my vision as I blinked my eyes open.

The birds sang their chorus, sheets on the clothesline billowed in the early breeze, and my nightmare was gone.

"I think I'm vulnerable when I'm asleep," I blurt. "My subconscious just dumps the contents of my brain on the floor... so my dreams are kind of a mess. But... I'm getting stronger."

I glance up to meet her eyes, and Ms. Kelley smiles. It's an instant flood of relief that she's not clicking her pen or hunching forward to coax the darkness from the back of my skull.

She sinks into her chair and says, "You do seem better... happy."

A light flicks on in my chest, illuminating an empty space that I want to fill.

Reassurance - that's exactly what I need.

"I am happy," I insist. "Things have been... different. But I'm adjusting a lot better than I thought I would. I surprise myself."

"What's different?"

"Oh..." I exhale slowly, glancing up at the ceiling and clicking my tongue against my teeth. "Well, I'm dating a boy. And I have a new best friend who I spend most of my time with, but... my other best friend... we've been a bit... distant."

"I'm sorry to hear that," she sympathizes. "Is it hard to find time to spend together?"

"No," I shake my head. "I see him every day. Seeing him isn't the issue. It's more, just... being around each other."

"And that's hard?" She concludes.

"Yeah," I say, my eyebrows crinkling, the poise I felt five minutes ago melting into discomfort. "I don't want it to be hard... but it is."

"Where do you think the disconnect is coming from?"

"Well..."

I pause, mouth hanging open, words dancing on the edge of my tongue.

"Everywhere," I conclude.

"That's a bit broad," Ms. Kelley responds with a soft laugh. "Let's try to find something specific."

"Specific..."

I race through all of my moments with Eddie, rewinding to before Theo's party and replaying the morning after.

"I guess it changed after I got a boyfriend."

"Oh-" Ms. Kelley looks mildly surprised. "What do you mean?"

I shrug.

"He's so protective, and I wanted to do things that he didn't want to do," I explain. "So I had to go out on my own. I think part of him expected me to fail, to run back to his side like always, but... I didn't."

She nods encouragingly, and it all begins to rush forward like a waterfall, like I couldn't solve the puzzle but had all the pieces strewn across my coffee table. But I can see it now.

The entire picture.

"I'm not sure he's ever seen me like this before," I murmur, glancing down at my uniform, at the cheer skirt that reveals most of my thighs. "He met me when I was a kid... and sometimes I think he still sees me at twelve, not me right now."

"Hmph," Ms. Kelley sounds out, leaning back in her chair.

"I don't think he knows how to leave childhood behind. I want him to see me as I am... all of me. But he seems intent on pushing me away like... like I don't need him anymore."

"But your friendship is still important to you... yes?"

"Yeah," I nod eagerly. "But... for two kids that never had much stability, that's what we gave each other. Only, now, our routine is broken - cracked wide open, and I'm coping better than him, which is a shock to me considering, y'know, that I'm a basket case-"

"You're not, Winter," Ms. Kelley interrupts sternly, tilting her chin down like a lecturing parent.

"Right," I mumble. "Sorry... I just... everything I did before this year was routine. Easy... predictable... safe... because I couldn't handle much else."

"Yes," she agrees. "We've talked a bit before about your childhood."

A bit? That's all we talk about.

She smiles as if reading my thoughts.

"Well, we've discussed it in-depth," she clarifies. "You never wanted to upset anyone and weren't sure how to separate your desires from others' expectations."

"Sounds about right," I mutter.

"So... you hid."

I pull my head back in surprise, although this is what Ms. Kelley does excellently, ease and then whack, a fly swatter of truth smacking you across the cheek.

And she's so kind about it, even if it stings.

"You watched others, anticipated their needs, and molded yourself to fit," she says quietly. "We all do that, to a certain extent, but you had to do it to survive."

Survival.

That seems to be the theme of this year, doesn't it?

"Yeah," I nod cautiously. "I did."

"And it worked," she adds.

"It worked," I breathe.

"Until you didn't have to just survive anymore, then you were left with all those skills, all those plans, and nowhere to put them."

I fell apart.

And it wasn't from grief. It was anger.

It's clear now where all of this shit stems from, and hilariously underwhelming to discover it's just been my body trying to keep me alive.

My brain working overtime to protect myself. My heart beating madly, steering me toward a boy on the basketball team that would look at me in wonder, offering me validation and his heart.

I would tip one way, running to Theo's house and pushing him onto his bed, and then the other, shutting down, going numb, locking myself inside my head.

I went back and forth, from one extreme to the next, trying to find a way to fix myself.

"Oh shit," I mutter. "Have any of the decisions I've made been mine?"

Ms. Kelley tilts her head.

My heart rate quickens, and I feel a flush enter my cheeks.

"It's all just been survival, still, after all this time?!" I shout, jumping to stand and flapping my hands through the air.

"Winter, are you okay-"

"No!" I cry. "I'm so pissed at myself."

"You shouldn't be," she soothes. "You've been through a lot-"

"My brain and my heart have been, like, fighting each other," I slap my palms together, emphasizing the collision. "And I've just been along for the ride. A passenger trapped in the back seat. I'm not the driver!"

"Um," she clears her throat, her hand raising as if gesturing for me to settle. "Why don't you take a seat-"

"I can't even drive!" I yell.

She blinks quickly, and I sink back into the chair, perching at the edge, leaning my elbow on my knees, and dropping my chin in my palm.

"It's like I just woke up and realized that," I mutter sadly, my eyes staring off into the distance. "I've been so blind."

"You've been through more than most people your age... or mine, for that matter," Ms. Kelley sighs, pulling me back to the moment. "But, you don't stop trying. And look at where it's gotten you..."

She raises her hand to gesture at my frame, slumped over and exhausted, my mouth sinking into an annoyed frown.

Every choice I've made these past three months has been reactionary.

And, I've had a good time - going on a first date and initiating my first kiss, settling in the back row beside Helen and sparking a new friendship.

Eddie is my constant, and it makes complete sense why we've been clashing.

I've been adding more to my life, trying on different versions of myself, listening to my heart, brain, and desires.

I let everything that was trapped alongside me in the darkness take the wheel, but it was never all of me at the same time.

Eddie watched with mild amusement, but then it got more serious.

It wasn't just, oh, look at Winter on my front porch in her silly cheer uniform it was, oh, Winter went to a party at a basketball player's house and didn't come home.

It went from, oh, Winter has a crush, to oh, Winter has a boyfriend.

Eddie didn't know how to feel. He's never seen me like that - it was as new for him as it was for me.

I thought our friendship would see us through, but it's never that simple, is it?

Eddie is graduating. We aren't aligned. We're only completely different pages.

But... I get it now.

I get the way he's been watching me these past few months. I get his increasing recklessness and avoidance. I get why he couldn't be honest.

I thought he was hiding something bad. Or keeping some deep, dark secret.

But he's only been protecting his heart.

Watching me grow, letting me figure it out on my own, and planning to leave.

It's survival, preparing himself for the pain, and steeling himself for the inevitable.

But, I don't want him to go anywhere.

"I'm a mess," I mutter.

"Perhaps, but at least you're a self-aware mess."

I snort in surprise, and Ms. Kelley laughs.

"You've grown a lot, Winter," she says, her voice sounding so proud. "We're all messes... every single one of us."

"You don't seem like a mess," I sniff, slowly correcting my position and folding my hands in my lap.

"I'm a mess," she says firmly. "Trust me."

A smile tilts at the edges of my lips.

"So, it took you a while. So, you had to try a few things out, put yourself out there, get burned," she shrugs. "So what? That's life. And you deserve to live it."

I sink a bit in the chair, feeling deflated but not wasted. I feel complete.

All of my shards have aligned into one picture.

Stained glass, colorful and broken, but beautiful.

"And my best friend?" I ask softly. "The one who doesn't seem to recognize me anymore?"

"Show him who you are," she says. "You're still the girl who swam in the ocean, Winter. But it's time to grow up."

"Time to accept the mess?"

"Yeah," she agrees, settling back, laying her clasped hands over her stomach. "I like that. Accept the mess."

"I'm going to stitch it on a pillow for you," I joke, a wide smile cracking over my face.

She laughs lightly, and a bell rings out, signaling the end of lunch.

"Time for me to go," I murmur, pushing out of the chair and moving to the front door.

I turn, watching as Ms. Kelley slides over a stack of manilla folders for whichever poor, lost soul meets with her next.

"Thank you," I call softly. "For... um... everything."

"You're welcome, Winter," she replies. "Have a good spring break."

I nod quickly.

"Yeah, you too."

The door creaks closed behind me, and I exhale a heavy sigh.

Everything feels a bit lighter, and even the fluorescent lightbulbs above my head don't seem so harsh.

I'm going to Theo's cabin tonight.

It's happening. I will push myself out to the middle where my feet can't touch the bottom, where there is no life preserver or plan, and I will figure it out once and for all.

Discovering if he's the boy for me and if this is who I am.

Or... not.

And if not ... then I've got a few other things to figure out, but I have time.

Just like all the clocks in Ms. Kelley's office.

Time, time, time.

So much time.

The hallway floods with students pouring out of the cafeteria, and I find Theo lingering outside the office, holding my pink backpack in his left hand.

"How'd you know I'd be in here?" I ask, hooking my finger under the strap and slinging it over one shoulder.

"I followed you," he says simply.

"What?"

"Yeah," Theo smiles. "You ran out after Jason got all agitated, and I was worried. But then I saw you go in here and figured you needed some space."

I falter, mouth hanging open and my eyes darting across his kind face.

Theo has learned a few things about me in our time spent together.

Most are shallow truths, like my affinity for cherry slushies and Molly Ringwald. Or how I like to walk with my chin pointed down, eyes scanning beneath my feet for the prettiest rocks to add to my collection.

He also knows how much I hate yelling. How crowded rooms make me feel like a boa constrictor is wrapping me in a suffocating embrace. How I prefer to sit in the diner booth closest to the front door, with my eyes watching as it swings open and shut.

And I suspect Theo knew that as soon as Jason flew to stand, with his knuckles cracking and eyes flashing, I began to cower.

I don't mind loud music, or tight hugs from Helen, or bickering with Eddie.

But yelling, or bodies packed so tightly there isn't a path to escape, or anger - that sends my instincts into overdrive.

"Oh..." I breathe. "Thank you."

"No worries," he shrugs, easy as ever. "You run away a lot... I've gotten used to it."

A giggle forces its way through my lips, and Theo looks intensely pleased by the sound.

Over his shoulder, a group walks down the hall - the Hellfire club striding in formation with their leader strolling at the back.

"And this is the part where you run away again?" Theo's voice calls, but it sounds further than his position right in front of me.

"I just need to talk to-"

"Eddie," he finishes my sentence. "Saw that one coming, too."

I tear my gaze away from the curly-haired boy in the denim vest to meet Theo's gaze, feeling a wave of relief as I take in his unperturbed stance.

Lopsided smile, shimmering eyes, and hands shoved into the pockets of his varsity jacket.

He's accepted so much, even if my ramblings don't make much sense to his ears, or I run on a whim whenever my emotions deem it necessary.

Marissa was right... Theo is good.

"I'll see you later," I promise, reaching out and squeezing his hand. "Okay?"

"Okay," he nods, watching as I brush past and maneuver upstream to get to Eddie's side.

Three girls with their elbows all linked invade my path, and I dart to the right, colliding against the back of some poor kid just trying to get his books out of his locker.

"Sorry," I mumble, spinning away and stopping with a huff, the toes of my Reeboks kissing the toes of Converse sneakers.

"Hi, Winnie," Eddie says with a smirk.

"So, you put on a show today," I blurt, getting directly to the point.

"Which show?" He tilts his head.

"The one where you looked like a preacher selling tickets to hell instead of heaven."

"Oh..." Eddie nods, lips pursing to disguise his laugh. "That show. Are you here to buy, then? I've got one more spot left in my chariot of death."

"No, thank you," I reply sweetly, leaning forward an inch. "I was just wondering why you did all that."

He narrows his eyes, challenging me without words.

"You read the article, didn't you?" I muse, mouth cracking into a grin.

"Maybe..."

"I thought it was funny," I shrug.

"Me too," Eddie agrees. "Until about the fifth time the author indirectly called me a killer. Then it wasn't so amusing."

"You wouldn't hurt anybody," I say breezily.

"Seems like you're the only person who believes that," Eddie mutters.

I pull my head back slightly, watching as his smirk drifts into an unnatural frown.

He's hurt, although with Eddie, that manifests more as mild irritation than tears.

"That article was bullshit-"

"I'm a freak, Winnie," Eddie shuffles against the lockers and settles his mouth into a pinched smile. "Better keep your distance."

"That's not funny," I say, eyebrows crinkling.

"You're safer surrounding yourself with them anyways. Especially if there's going to be a witch hunt."

Them.

The people he was directing all his angst toward today.

The jocks. The cheerleaders. Theo.

I choose to breeze past his bitterness and comment instead on the article, the two-page manifesto that aimed to rile up unsuspecting mothers who would pick up Newsweek at the beauty salon.

It landed in my hands in the checkout line at the grocery store, and then I passed it along to Eddie. I should've known, just like Tipper Gore and the PMRC hearings about heavy metal music, that Eddie would see the crusade against DnD the same way.

As an attack on his personhood. Bullets and sharpened pitchforks aimed at his entire existence.

"If anyone has a loose grasp on reality, it's the people who think a board game is more dangerous than war or smoking-"

"I smoke," Eddie interjects.

"Yeah, well... what I'm saying is..." I hesitate, struggling to find the exact words of reassurance. "People don't matter, Eddie."

I just quoted him back to him, and his own words of wisdom are the only reminder he needs.

Eddie has always known who he is, and no one can take that away. At least, not without his permission.

He raises his head, the corners of his lips ticking upwards.

"Unfortunately, some people do," he counters softly. "Especially when they're calling my friends dangerous."

"Well... fuck 'em!" I shout, slapping my hands down against my thighs.

Eddie breaks into a wide grin, and I poke my index finger against his heart.

"You're not a killer," I insist. "And if it does come down to it, you know I'll give you an alibi."

"Fine," Eddie sighs, looking down at his feet, curls obscuring the expression of satisfaction he wears. "You're right, anyways... fuck 'em."

He picks up his head, returning to the Eddie I know - invincible, confident, resilient - and I feel myself soften.

"Hey, Eddie," a voice calls. "We're uh... we're not having very much luck-"

I glance over to find Dustin Henderson shuffling on his feet, bouncing like a bobblehead full of nerves, and Mike Wheeler behind him, far enough away to run if Eddie lunges out but close enough to stand in weak solidarity.

"Luck with what?" I ask.

"Well, Lucas can't make it to Hellf-"

"Don't worry about it," Eddie says briskly.

I purse my lips into a pout, watching as Eddie straightens tall and takes a step forward.

He slaps his hand down on Dustin's shoulder and offers him a grin, but not the same one he gave me. This one is wicked and untrustworthy.

"Remember what I said?" Eddie drawls, asking a question but not wanting an answer. "I'm placing my faith in you two. The rest of Hellfire did, too. You have a mission. We're counting on you."

"Y-yeah," Dustin stutters, nodding quickly. "You're right. We, um... me and Mike can do it."

"That's the spirit, kid," Eddie booms, his voice like thunder. He reaches out and tugs on the front of Dustin's shirt, fixing it like a mother sending her son off to prom. "Now go."

Dustin turns without protest, marching past Mike, who tucks his head and jogs to follow.

Eddie chuckles lowly and spins to face me, his hands innocently clasped behind his back.

"You know... you haven't called me that in a while."

"What?" Eddie scrunches his face in confusion.

"Kid," I clarify. "You stopped calling me kid."

Eddie opens his mouth to reply but can conjure no words.

I raise my eyebrows as he sways left to right, his smirk pushing out a row of dimples, but he seems caught off-guard.

"Well..." he shrugs casually. "You're not one."

I adjust my backpack, wiggling my arm through the hanging strap and pulling it tight upon my shoulders.

"I haven't been a kid for a while, Eddie," I reply softly, holding his gaze firm. "Maybe it just took you this long to notice."

Eddie stares back, his face hardening.

I take a few steps backward, watching as Eddie still can't find anything else to say, and offer him a gentle smile.

My Reeboks spin beneath me, and I dive back into the stream of students, crossing my arms tight over my chest.

I hear the tick, tick, tick of Ms. Kelley's clock reverberating through my skull, followed by a slight prick of anxiety, but I welcome it.

It means change. It means something is coming.

And it makes my stomach hover like a drop on a rollercoaster.

Anxiety, yes, but it's transformative.

I left my trailer this morning thinking today would be like any other, but it won't be.

It'll be different.

I don't know why, I don't know how, but it will be.

author's note:

whose gonna tell Winter she doesn't have as much time as she thinks she does? it's not gonna be me.