October 1984.

Hawkins, Indiana.

~Sierra~

I wasn't sure what reached my ears first - the screech of my alarm bell or Zack's incessant, and remarkably loud, reminder that it was, in fact, Thursday morning. Also known as, get your ass out of bed. It was the day he had been waiting patiently for. Show and Tell days meant only one thing - my ear was going to get chewed off for the next hour until I dropped him off at the school. Inwardly, I groaned followed by a mental slap to the head. He was only 5. Shit, I was pretty certain I loved Show and Tell when I was a kid. Once upon a time, I had probably woken up with the same excitement at the prospect of a new day too. As Zack jumped eagerly on my bed, I tugged on his pajama shirt and brought the giggling kid down and tickled him mercilessly. Despite my own laughter getting the best of me, I had to shush him a little. After all, Dad had finally made it to bed around 4am, already reeking of a grueling hangover when I encountered him bringing some company up the stairs. The last thing we needed was having a hungover Dad emerging from his cesspit of a bedroom.

"Come on, let's go back some waffles" I whispered and started getting out of bed.

Zack, finally getting exactly what he'd set out to get, raced out of my room and down the stairs. The kid may be small, but his footsteps pounding the stairs may as well have been those of a giant. I winced, praying it didn't wake Dad up. Waiting for at least five seconds to elapse, the coast was clear and I tentatively made my way down the stairs and into the kitchen. I leaned against the marble breakfast bar Dad had fitted as a post-divorce present to himself and smiled as Zack balanced himself on his tip-toes to place a glass of orange juice next to me. He was so damn excited to get ready for the day. Truly, I wished I had the same outlook as him. Innocently animated at the idea of new opportunities, an energy so strong he'd wake up each day as if he'd had the best night's sleep. It had been a while since I'd had that positive perspective. Even more so the ability to feel refreshed upon waking. Since Mom left, it was the same routine. Face the dreaded alarm, have Zack's voice pierce my ears if I ignored the alarm for more than a minute, take him to school, down a coffee in my car, try and stay awake at school, go home and make dinner, collapse in an exhausted heap in bed. Rinse and repeat. Some days, there would be a party I would go to with Steve and Nancy. And of course, there was cheerleader practice with the pretentious bitches in my grade. Don't get me wrong, I loved Zack with all my heart. But if I wanted to party or do shit kids my age were doing, then he took priority. The love I had for the kid motivated me to do the best I could. But instead of daydreaming about college and which boy would take me to the Winter Ball, I dreamed about my head hitting the pillow. Then, I could dream about college. Even more so, getting the fuck out of Hawkins. Typical of dreams, all mine would all unfold with a breezy ease. No consequences, just living as a college girl would live. No asking the questions of how safe Zack would be, whether he would get three meals a day, or the worse nightmare possible manifesting into a reality. The deadline for college recommendations was looming. So far, I'd been hesitant to approach any of my teachers. I wanted to study English either at UCLA or Brown University. California seemed more appealing. Definitely a place I could let loose.

"Waffles, Sierra, pleaseeeeee!" I inhaled sharply and blinked a few times, realizing I'd been staring off into space for God knows how long. Zack was still going, trying his utmost best to say the word 'please' for as long as humanly possible. I raised a brow at him as he kept going, the arches of my lips striving to stay down. It wasn't long until he finally gave in to lack of oxygen and huffed. Not his personal best, he'd definitely gone on for longer than that before. I took a deep breath, ready to beat his goal.

"Okayyyyyy" I kept letting the word roll out of my mouth, perfecting it with a smooth finish. Of course, the game wasn't truly finished until I blew the biggest raspberry I could at him. "Ha, I win and I've beaten your record"

"You so do not, Sierra!" Zack retorted, placing his small hands on his hips in a bid to appear like the true winner in this little game of ours. "I did mine for 5.97 seconds to be precise!"

"Save it for one of your Math classes, kid" I chuckled and ruffled his dark curls as I made my way over to the refrigerator to get the waffle mix I'd made the night before. "Come on, let's get those waffles made"


Most days, I would look at the photographs framed on the wall as I descended the stairs. The more I looked, the more I frowned. They were forced to be there, a fake display of harmony. If we had visitors over, it was the first thing Dad would usually show them. He'd rehearsed the routine time and time again. First would come the photo of Zack as a baby. He was such a little scrap back then, so small and fragile. As I saw him waiting patiently with his collection of homemade dinosaur figurines for Show and Tell, I smiled to myself. He'd gone from being that little scrap to a beaming and bouncing kid with an obsession for dinosaurs. Even I smiled when Dad would recall Zack coming back home from the hospital. The smile would instantly fall when the anticipated sympathy would come along in the form of, "I'm so sorry the kid's mother isn't here" or "God, Anthony, you must be so proud how you've raised them singlehandedly since Rosa left". Dad would have known this was coming. It always did and so he would solemnly nod and thank them before referring to the photograph of him on his graduation day from Hawkins High, exhaling wistfully followed by the classic line before the applause:

"Damn, that kid back then had no idea what was coming, but God, I think he would be proud"

I'd really have to suppress an eye roll whenever that line came out. That same kid managed to knock his girlfriend up and sat outside with his head hanging whilst she gave birth as his parents told him to 'man up' and 'face responsibility like a real man'.

May 1st 1967 - my birthday.

Since that day, the 'kid back then' was forced to turn down the basketball scholarship, threw all his energy into creating his own finance business - going to work down Wall Street, sniffing cocaine and downing the quaaludes with the rest of the moguls before coming back to Hawkins when I was around six with a 7 figure income in tow - and became the one of richest men in Hawkins, up there with the likes of Richard Harrington and the Mayor. Whilst he succeeded in his career, the girlfriend he knocked up became his wife and the person who woke up to the screaming infant in the middle of the night. After she'd gotten over the initial, 'Holy shit, I have a kid and I'm still a kid myself', Rosa Nightingale gave her head a good shake and became a mom. She became a mom again to Zack five years ago and then a mother to us both when she left Dad for another man who'd gotten her pregnant during a year-long affair to settle down somewhere in the suburbs of Chicago. On the very few times he was coherent enough to have a conversation and sentimental enough to not throw fists, Dad told me this guy was some lawyer who'd been working for him. There were no photos of her on the wall. He'd burned them all last year in the back garden. Now all Zack and I had to remind us of her were the secret chats we rarely had about her.

Once I'd finished looking at the exhibition of family photos, I inspected the open plan living room and kitchen. If everything was neat and where it was supposed to be, then I could leave. Dressed in my favorite cropped black cardigan and acid-washed denim skirt, I reached the front door and collected my bags for the day, carrying Zack's GI Joe lunch box. I locked the door behind me and we headed out to my silver convertible Mustang. The saying, 'Judge a book by its cover' is often thrown around when casting judgement on another. However, no one ever said, 'Judge a person by their house'. Yet, in this era of opulence, it was the one that held the most meaning. My house dwelled on Mount Avenue right at the end. It was a middle class area predominantly populated by white middle class businessmen and their equally pale housewives. Hedges pruned to perfection, not a stray leaf out of place to destroy the facade of stability. It was one of those streets where people would make general pleasantries as they passed one another on the street, not a care in the world or blissfully ignorant to the fact they were wishing the person screwing their wife a good morning or the person saying good morning was high as a kite. Nope, we didn't acknowledge such scandals on Mount Avenue despite it being on everyone's conscious radar. Even as the neighborhood gossip, the forever polka-dot cladded Agnew Agnew, who seemed to be one of Hawkins historical relics, approached me to say good morning, we acknowledged one another with a smile as if we both hadn't heard my Dad loudly fucking his guest mere hours before. A fleeting smile, a quick exchange of "Surprisingly warm for October, isn't it, Sierra?" and "Yes, Mrs Agnew, it is surprising" and it was all over. She'd go and join her friend Elise Mayhew at the corner of the block and gasp about how my skirt wasn't leaving much to the imagination before discussing the latest gossip shaking up Hawkins. That cow escaping Bobby Wilkins farm a few days ago? Absolute carnage.

"Does Daddy like being locked in?" Zack asked and peeked into his lunchbox to ensure everything we'd prepared the night before was in there.

"Daddy is sleeping still, so we don't want anything waking him up" I replied and gently retrieved the lunchbox from Zack's clutches to place it with the rest of the bags in the back. That candy bar was just waiting to be devoured, but it would be the kid crying at snack time because he'd indulged a bit too early. "Don't worry, Daddy will be fine" Besides, he had company to keep him occupied. But the kid didn't need to know that. He was still wondering why Mommy hadn't come back yet. Another person, whether they be a regular or infrequent visitor, added to the equation would just confuse him.

Dad wouldn't wake up until noon, most likely. It was what he liked to call his 'work from home' day. Also known as, sniff coke from my new friends tits and make important calls. What a life, huh? Goddamn bastard. I suppressed an eye roll and started up the engine, ready to head off for the day. As Zack practiced his Show and Tell speech, I listened intently. He'd be great, I knew he would. If anyone needed to know any fact about a dinosaur, Zack was the go to person. Today was the day he could share all his knowledge and he was so ready for it.

"So, what you think?" Zack asked, a proud and assured smile plastered on his lips. He took a slurp of the orange juice I'd bottled up for him and shuffled a little closer so he could heed my feedback.

"Perfecto! You've nailed it!" I praised and took a hand off the steering wheel to give him a high five. I slowed the car down as we pulled up to the white building, groaning a little as I realized I'd probably have to parallel park. The Yuppy moms left no prisoners at 7:30am after they'd had their morning meal replacement shakes.

'Orchard Kindergarten: where new beginnings start…' the sign said in bubbly italics. Zack was too young to know new beginnings could have bad endings, and I wasn't going to be the bitch to ruin his dreams of superheroes defeating monsters. To him, Dad was one of those superheroes. In the eyes of my little brother, Dad was the hard worker whose sheer perseverance to provide for his family and rare bedtime stories made him one of the most amazing people ever. He didn't know what happened once his bedroom door closed for the night. As he silently slept in a world of crazy dreams, the house he called his safe place became anything but.

"You're going to be so awesome at Show and Tell!" I said to Zack, showering him with kisses before wishing him goodbye.

I stuck around to watch Zack merrily dart up the entrance where a teacher greeted him with a smile before turning my engine back on. As the car roof rolled down, I placed a cassette in the stereo and chuckled as Rock You Like a Hurricane blasted out, the sudden sound of the electric guitar causing a flock of moms to jump a little. As soon as they saw me, they gave me a small wave which I returned before joining the rest of the morning traffic. With the breeze running through my loose, dark curls, I had one thought in mind.

This is what freedom looks like.

Just me, the road ahead and music. It wouldn't be long until I'd pull up to Hawkins High School where my usual secluded parking spot would be waiting for me. I usually had fifteen minutes of soaking up the quiet hum of the other early bird students until Nancy and Steve would pull up next to me. It was one of the only parts of the routine I really looked forward to. The exchange of hugs, a moan about how shitty our parents were. We'd all been friends since kindergarten, but when we first came to high school, Nancy had parted ways from our little gang. That is, until I'd caught him and Nancy making out in the cheerleaders changing room one breaktime. Ever since then, the gang was back together, joined by my closest friend Pepsi. Pepsi, of course, wasn't her real name, but any other name was met with a very well rehearsed glower. Unless that name happened to be 'Marilyn Monroe's twin' which was totally acceptable seeing as she emulated her look and voice to a tee. Until such a time, I turn off the music and luxuriate in the peace with Brave New World. I had been so immersed in the dystopian world that I felt a pang of irritation when the sound of muffled rock music flooded my ears. Who the hell at Hawkins High listened to Shout At The Devil? I furrowed my brows and checked my watch. Yup, 7:38am. There should be literally no one here yet other than some teachers. Usually everyone suddenly turned up at around 7:50am before dashing off in a rush to the first period. I couldn't see Steve as being early. That Farrah Fawcett routine would never get finished by this time and Nancy couldn't drive yet. I tried to focus on my book, but the music grew louder. The words became blurry and the narrative went haywire. I rolled my eyes and stuffed the book back into my Hawkins High tote bag. Without making it too obvious, I caught a glimpse of the car next to me. However, I found myself doing a double take. A 1979 Camaro? When the hell was the last time I'd seen one of these? Probably at one of Dad's 'networking' parties. I used that word very loosely. 'Networking' to Dad and his friends was code for, 'Let's all get together and talk about how the Cunningham's may have gotten their kid a gold Rolex but they failed to get into an Ivy League over a few lines on the basin'. The direct route to Success Central in Dad's world was laden with white powder, constant comparisons over wealth and an appearance from Jim Hopper who ignored Agnes Agnew's noise complaint in return for a few shots of whiskey.

So lost in this musing, I hadn't realized my inconspicuous glance had turned into a full on stare. Hastily, I snapped my head back and grabbed my book out, landing on a random page I'd already read, and listened as the door of the car slammed and heavy steps marched away. My eyes drifted up a little, catching the snapshot of red hair as the middle school doors slammed shut behind them. Jesus, I felt like one of my neighbors. This would have really gotten Agnes Agnew and Elise Mayhew fired up. I had a few more minutes until I had to go into school and I wasn't going to allow them to be preoccupied by acting like my gossip neighbors. I was finding myself transporting to the world After Ford, the words finally seeping in until… click, click, CLICK.

I closed my book and stifled an infuriated groan, sucking my lips in and biting down. This was my only time in the day where I could actually enjoy a book and instead I was getting distracted by the incessant sound of a lighter clicking. I'd just meet Steve and Nancy by the lockers a little later. Conversation was not what I wanted just yet and I'd forgotten my morning coffee much to my frustration. I shoved the book back in my bag for the final time and grabbed my own lighter to give to whoever was disrupting my peace.

"Any chance I can borrow that lighter of yours?" a husky voice asked before I even turned around.

The idea of making idle chat with someone at the moment was not my idea of fun in the slightest, but as soon as I faced the stranger, I felt my breath hitch in my throat.

Holy shit.

I was never one to give myself away so easily, but as soon as my eyes landed on the stranger, I felt my rouged lips involuntarily part. Standing with his foot against the electric blue Camaro, swathed in double denim and the first few buttons of his white shirt revealing a tantalizing secret, a corner of the golden maned guy's lips slowly crept up into a smirk.

"Uh, yeah, of course" I replied and handed him the lighter. As quick as I had handed it to him, he set the end of the cigarette aflame and handed it back. The smirk still fixed to his lips, he raised a brow at me. I nearly uttered an 'Oh fuck' as I quickly gathered myself together, clearing my throat. "Oh, no problem" Shit, I had no idea if he even thanked me. But, from that gravelly chuckle exiting his throat, I'd definitely been caught in the act. "Nice car you've got there" I found myself saying in an endeavor to make it seem like I was really taken aback by the Camaro and not by how ridiculously attractive he was.

That chuckle of his made itself known again. I desperately tried to hide the warm rush of red flooding into my cheeks as he clearly roamed my body with a quick ease, lingering a bit too long at what lay underneath the V neck cardigan.

"As do you" the stranger said suggestively. That smirk grew on his lips and he discarded the cigarette, a stream of ashen smoke liberating itself from them as if it would be missed. "Thanks for the lighter"

And with a wink, the stranger sauntered away past the arriving cars, leaving me both mystified and absolutely buzzing with the same naive glee I had the first time someone called me pretty.

"Holy shit" I finally breathed, having held the sentence in since I laid eyes on the guy. So deep I was in this supercharged state that it was only when my bag dropped onto my foot I actually woke up. "Get yourself together, girl" I muttered and clumsily collected my things from the floor before striding into the building with a skip in my step like I hadn't been enamored by a complete stranger only seconds ago just because they asked me for a lighter.

It wasn't even because they'd asked me for a lighter. It was how he'd asked me. I had a thing for husky voices, and his was literal seduction. I gave myself a good inward shake. This town was depleted when it came to good looking and interesting guys. Something about him had stirred my interest, despite only having had a very short interaction with him. Seriously, Sierra, get yourself together. After my last relationship, I forbade myself from dating any guys or letting on that I was attracted to them. In Hawkins, it was very easy. I'd known all of them since I was a kid and had never had any remote attraction to any of them. Because when I let my guard down, that's when the bruises would begin to show - both metaphorically and physically. Only Austin Myers had been the exception to the rule and he betrayed all the trust I had put in him. Since then, no more. Whilst Pepsi and Nancy would swoon over gentlemen in romance movies, I actively buried my head in the popcorn. In movies, there always appears to be a moment so significant that it makes one feel a shift on stratospheric level. Nearly always, the acting is melodramatic and the events pure works of fiction.

So, I couldn't help but wonder why giving this complete stranger a lighter felt like one of those moments?