I own nothing.

Once upon a time, Eleven had walked the through the blue and white school halls when there was a threat. But now, she was walking through them, notebooks and pencils in tow, to get to algebra instead of a demogorgon.

As usual, she was one of the first to be seated. Contrary to the seemingly universal opinion that death was more favorable when compared to algebra, El actually liked the class. And it wasn't because the desk next to hers belonged to Mike, either (although the day she complained about that was the day hell froze over); numbers were easier to work with than words.

But when the teacher started scrawling messy equations on the blackboard, Eleven found it hard to focus. Mike wasn't in his seat, and she knew he'd came to school that day -they'd walked together. They'd had Spanish (which El hated with a fiery passion) just two class periods ago. He should be here, she thought.

She watched the door for a while, waiting for it to swing open and for Mike to step through it. She did this for a little while before convincing herself not only that he wasn't coming, but that something was wrong.

So, she brought out what the guys liked the call plan 'Y', meaning it was meant to be used as a second to last resort (plan 'Z' being telepathically knock something big over -a bookshelf, per se- to create a distraction and pray to God that Hopper doesn't hear about it). Rolling a pencil, however, wasn't the same as dismantling a bookshelf, so long as she kept pretending to push it with her hand.

"Miss Martin?" She said carefully as she raised her hand halfway, "My nose is bleeding again,"

"Oh, for Heaven's sake Jane, you really ought to see a doctor about that. That's the third time this month!"

Okay, so maybe she used it more often than a second to last resort should be used.

"Hold on. I'll write you a pass -and get your stuff in case the nurse decides to send you home. Homework's page two hundred and six,"

"Thank you," Eleven said, standing from her seat at record speed after gathering her things.

She hauled ass once she was out in the hallway, wiping the blood off her upper lip with her sleeve as she did so. She hurried into the girls' bathroom, shut herself in a stall, and quickly tied the sleeve of her flannel (really, it was Mike's flannel, but he'd never asked for it back) around her eyes.

It didn't take long to find him, and to say she was merely "pissed" was the understatement of the year.

She walked out through the door behind the gym. She found Mike a few feet away, standing across from a small group of who Eleven couldn't help but think of as 'mouth breathers'. She heard them laughing -all of them except Mike. She watched him stand there and ignore it, her anger only growing. Mike tried to leave, but one of the guys (Eleven thought she remembered his name to be Chip or something like that) thrust his arm out and blocked. Eleven had had more than enough at this point; she started towards them.

She stepped slightly in front of Mike, fighting back the urge to break this Chip (or was it Chuck?)'s arm too.

"Aw, look! His little girlfriend showed up!"

"Don't you have anything better to do?" Mike said, once again trying to leave but getting blocked.

"Do you want us to leave so you and your girlfriend can go screw each other?"

"Does he even have anything to do her with?"

Mike's hand balled into a fist. He was about to raise it when Eleven cupped it with her own hand.

"Don't, Mike," She said softly, her brown eyes -now calm- meeting his.

"Aw, they're holding hands!"

"Leave." Eleven said with a glare, not letting go of Mike's hand (although it was still balled into a fist).

"I didn't hear you say please," The same guy taunted, cupping a hand around his ear, as if he expected her to actually request he remove his ass from their presence politely.

And maybe the old El would have. Maybe she would have said please just so they would leave Mike alone. But the old El hadn't hung around the scrappy, quick witted Max Mayfield.

Eleven tried to make her words as bitter and as scornful as she could, "That's because I didn't."

"Hey now, don't be so feisty with me. We're only joking,"

"Jokes are supposed to be funny," Eleven said, "That's not funny,"

One of the guys scoffed. Eleven refrained from rolling her eyes.

"Come on, Mike," She said, dragging Mike off. She could heard the mouth breathers laughing as they walked off.

"Frog face!"

Mike stopped.

El gripped his hand harder.

She ended up dragging him into the janitor's closet, and made him sit down on an overturned bucket.

She ended up dragging into the janitor's closet, and made him sit down on an overturned bucket. He refused to meet her gaze.

"Why do they call you frog face?" She asked after a moment. She'd heard people, people who weren't his friends, call him that all year.

Mike kicked a rather disgusting looking sponge halfheartedly, "They think I look like a frog,"

El didn't think he looked like a frog. El thought he looked nice. She reached her hand out of cupped his cheek, "You don't look like a frog. You look..." Eleven struggled to remember the word, "Holdsome?"

Mike's grimace gave way to a small smile, "Handsome," He corrected.

"Handsome," Eleven repeated, placing a short kiss on his lips, "Are you okay?"

Eleven had begun to ask Mike that almost as much as he asked her.

"Yeah," Mike said, "I'm okay... but I don't really want to go back to algebra,"

"Then me either," Eleven said, moving to sit on the bucket with Mike.

Before either of them realized exactly what was happening, their lips crashed together. It wasn't a short, sweet peck like it usually was. No, this was a kiss that would make ol' Hopper smash a lamp if he ever found out.

Eyes locking led to lips locking -and, well, they stayed lock. It wasn't like their usual sweet, chaste pecks. No, this was hands in hair, a bit of tongue even -all in all, it was the type of kiss that would make ol' Hopper smash a lamp if he ever found out.

And you know what? Eleven would take this over algebra any day.

I hope my questionable Mileven trash made you guys happy :)