Max woke up the next day feeling more rested than she had in months. If she'd had her usual nightmares they hadn't woken her up and she didn't remember them now.

She wrapped her comforter around herself and rolled over, shivering slightly in her poorly heated room. Glancing at the clock on her nightstand she noted she still had an hour before she had to start getting ready for her job interview at Spin City Records, the record store that had recently opened just off Main Street.

She'd seen the "help wanted" sign in the window when she was running errands with her mom last week and figured it seemed better than waiting tables or working concessions at the multiplex. Max didn't love the thought of having a job on top of school, but money equalled freedom, and if she wanted to get the hell out of Hawkins as soon as she graduated, she needed a lot of money.

She yawned and stretched her arms up overhead, thinking back to yesterday afternoon.

Her first experience with weed had been overwhelmingly positive. It would be awesome if I could sleep through the night without having to rely on illegal substances, though. She definitely wasn't looking to make it a daily habit, having seen firsthand how it had fried Doug's brain. Not that he'd had that many brain cells to spare in the first place.

Max was still surprised at how comfortable she'd felt with Mike, and vaguely wondered why they'd always butted heads in the past when their personalities actually seemed to mesh pretty easily.

Maybe they'd both matured a little in the past year. Or maybe it was the trauma.

Either way, she'd felt better than she had in a long time. It felt like she could actually breathe and laugh and enjoy things like she used to. It felt like maybe there was a light at the end of the tunnel instead of unending darkness and despair.

Her thoughts drifted to the news Mike had shared with her of his breakup. She'd deduced pretty quickly that there was no fight with Dustin or Lucas, he'd just been mourning the end of his relationship and taking it particularly hard. Not surprising, he was fucking obsessed with her. She could imagine the boys had been pressuring him to get back to normal and put on a happy face like they were wont to do, and then Mike had looked at Max and seen a similarly lost soul who wouldn't expect anything of him.

She both was and wasn't surprised that his long-distance relationship with El hadn't lasted.

They'd get to see each other, what? Once a year? Twice, if they were lucky? Joyce probably couldn't afford to send El over here, plus she'd have to get a ticket for Will too so he wouldn't feel left out. Calls were expensive so they were probably just sending letters back and forth. On top of that, El was in a new place, going to school for the first time in her life. It was a lot for a fifteen-year-old to handle.

Max did have to admit that for those few months Mike and El had had together after Starcourt they'd been less insufferable, almost cute. Almost.

She threw back the covers and got out of bed before pushing open her curtains and peering outside. It had rained overnight, the sky was overcast and the grass was still wet, puddles visible in the bumpy asphalt of the road. She slid open the window and took a deep breath, letting the cool air wash over her and fill her lungs, earthy and invigorating.

After a quick shower, she actually took the time to blow dry her hair, trying to look a little more put together than usual. She glanced at her mom's collection of makeup that was scattered across the bathroom counter but decided against it. Now was not the time to be experimenting with a new look.

She put on her usual light-wash jeans and pulled a soft, black sweater from her dresser, putting it on and adjusting it so it hung slightly off one shoulder like she'd seen some girls doing at school. Not bad, she thought as she studied her reflection in the mirror. You can do this.

Spin City Records was sandwiched between a real estate office and a flower shop. The front window was covered in posters advertising concerts and tour dates and stacks of records and cassette tapes sat in the display.

Max frowned at the "Closed" sign that was displayed in the door, cupping her hands around her face and peering inside before knocking on the glass.

A few seconds later she heard the lock flip and the door swung open, revealing a tall man who looked to be in his early forties. His long brown hair was tied back in a low ponytail, a faded Led Zeppelin t-shirt strained over his slight beer belly, and his ripped, flared jeans were decidedly out of style.

He rubbed a hand over his goatee as he looked down at her over his wire-rimmed glasses.

"We don't open until noon," he said, pointing at the sign on the door.

"Oh, um, I'm Max? Mayfield? I'm supposed to have an interview at eleven?"

He looked her up and down in surprise. "Oh, my bad, I thought from the name you were gonna be a guy. No worries though, we don't discriminate here!" He opened the door wider and gestured for her to go inside.

Max glanced around the shop, not sure where to look first. It seemed like every inch of wall space was covered in band posters or album sleeves, and neon beer signs cast a colourful glow over the otherwise dark room. There were several rows of bins full of albums and a few with 8-tracks and cassette tapes.

"This place is great," she breathed, trying to take it all in.

The man smiled proudly as he looked around the shop. "She's my pride and joy. The name's Wayne by the way, I own the place, in case you hadn't already guessed."

Max stuck out her hand for a handshake, and he looked momentarily taken aback at the formal gesture before clasping her hand in his and giving her a firm shake. "Nice to meet you, Max," he chuckled. "Uh, why don't you come back here and we can chat. He led her over to the counter on the right side of the store and gestured at the lone wooden stool behind it.

She took a seat, unsure of what to do with her hands for a second before clasping them in her lap to stop herself from fiddling with the ends of her hair. She found herself desperately wishing she'd had a cigarette before this to calm her nerves.

Wayne leaned casually on the counter next to her, straightening out the cash register and the chipped mug full of pens that read #1 DAD before turning and giving her a scrutinizing look.

"Alright, top three albums, go." Max froze for a moment at the unexpected question, suddenly forgetting every single band she'd ever listened to. Come on, Mayfield, you listen to music every damn day.

She gave her a head quick shake and looked up at Wayne who was staring at her expectantly, eyebrows raised.

"Um, okay… Fleetwood Mac, Rumours."

Wayne gave a nod of approval. "A classic. Good choice."

She felt a boost of confidence at his positive reaction and the next answer came much more easily. "Hyaena by Siouxsie and the Banshees." A grin broke out over his face and he straightened up a little.

"You know they have a new album coming out next month?" he asked. Max nodded enthusiastically.

"Tinderbox, yeah, I can't wait."

Wayne crossed his arms and leaned back a little, giving her a look as if he was seeing her for the first time. "Alright Max, what's album number three?"

She wiped her sweaty palms on her jeans and thought for a minute, hoping he wouldn't think her answer was too bizarre.

"Kate Bush, Hounds of Love?" she answered. Wayne shook his head slowly, chuckling as his smile widened even more.

"Damn it, those are some rad fuckin' choices, kid. You are much cooler than I thought you were gonna be."

"Um, thanks?" she replied, feeling her cheeks heat up a little at his praise.

"My daughter's a few years younger than you and all she wants to listen to is Madonna and Cyndi Lauper. I mean they're great, don't get me wrong, but I wish she'd expand her musical horizons a little more… You're sixteen?" Max nodded. "Hawkins High?"

"Tenth grade," she replied.

Wayne nodded and a reminiscent look crossed his face. "Walker still the vice principal?"

"Unfortunately."

He smirked and shook his head. "Still a total dick?"

"The biggest," Max deadpanned. Wayne gave her a sympathetic look.

"Dude totally had it out for me when I was a student. Back then he was just a history teacher, I can't imagine what he's like with actual power." He shuddered before standing up and clapping his hands together.

"Well, I'll tell you a little bit about the gig. You'd mostly be stocking the bins, making sure everything's back where it's supposed to be after the feral customers tear through everything, helping the customers who can't figure out a simple alphabetized system find what they're looking for."

He paused and gave her a serious look. "Don't be too nice to them though, I like to keep them vaguely uncomfortable so they won't hang around all day without buying anything."

Max scoffed and shook her head. "That won't be a problem, trust me."

Wayne let out a hearty laugh before continuing. "So, what's your availability like and when would you potentially be able to start?"

"Um, weekdays any time after four and weekends are wide open… and I'd be able to start right away," she added quickly. Wayne gave a slow nod as he rubbed his hand over his goatee, thinking for a moment.

"Alright, I just have one more question then." He reached into his pocket and pulled out what appeared to be a joint. "Would you like to partake in this with me before I show you the ropes?" Max's gaze flicked back and forth between the joint and Wayne's face.

"Does that… does that mean I got the job?" she asked cautiously. Wayne gave her a cheeky grin and clapped her on the shoulder.

"Welcome to the Spin City family, kid!" he exclaimed before walking around the counter and spreading his arms as if presenting the store to her.

Max felt her stomach leap with nervous excitement. "Thank you so much, I promise I won't let you down."

"Pfft, I know you won't," he replied confidently. "I wouldn't have hired you otherwise. Now, I don't usually condone toking on the job, but this is a cause for celebration, don't you think?" Max nodded enthusiastically as she hopped down from the stool, following Wayne toward the back of the shop.

"Hey, Wayne? Do you think it would be okay if I listened to my Walkman when I'm not with customers? It um… it helps me focus," she asked with some trepidation. He shrugged and nodded his head.

"Sure, no problem. That would probably make you look cooler and more intimidating, which is the vibe I'm trying to cultivate here anyway." He gestured towards a crate of unorganized tapes in the back corner marked 75% OFF. "Feel free to listen to anything from the secondhand bin." A look of excitement crossed his face and he beelined for the bin. "Actually, let me pull some for you that I personally consider required listening."

Max couldn't hold back the smile spreading across her face. She had a feeling this was going to be a pretty great place to work.

The next week started much like the last, with her and Mike continuing to spend their lunch hours together. She'd told him about her new job and he'd smugly told her he knew she'd get it.

Unfortunately, despite the momentary boost in her mood from the fun she'd had on Saturday and how well the job interview went, she'd still felt the familiar suffocating veil of depression fall over her once she came home after school to the empty trailer.

In fact, she'd gotten so overwhelmed thinking about her new responsibilities that she'd had one of her worst panic attacks yet, crumpling into a ball on the floor and forcing herself to press her palms to the dingy carpet until her breathing regulated itself again and those relentless clock chimes faded away. Why couldn't she just feel fucking normal? Much to her disappointment the nightmares returned as well, resuming her routine of waking several times a night.

Now it was Wednesday, and Max was halfway through her second shift at the record store. She had her Walkman on, listening to a tape by a band called Dead Kennedys, whom Wayne had touted as one of the defining voices of American punk rock. She wasn't sure how she felt about them yet, they were definitely a little more hardcore than she usually went for.

She was breaking down cardboard boxes in the storeroom that doubled as Wayne's office when he poked his head in the door and gave her a wave. She lowered her headphones around her neck and stood up, slipping the boxcutter she'd been using into her back pocket.

"There's some kid here asking for you," Wayne said, jerking his head towards the front of the shop. Max frowned and peered through the window that looked out into the store, eyes landing on the familiar gangly form of Mike Wheeler. "You know him?"

Max felt the corner of her mouth twitching up into a half-smile. "That's just my stalker." She laughed at the look of alarm on Wayne's face. "It's cool, he's– he's my friend," she assured him. It still feels surreal to say that.

She followed Wayne out of the office and over to where Mike was rifling through the "R"s of the Classic Rock section. "I'm sorry sir, we don't have any Lionel Richie in stock right now," she called out, chuckling at the unimpressed look he shot her in return.

"You know I don't listen to Lionel Richie."

Max shrugged. "I dunno, I'm pretty sure I saw you jamming out to "Hello" when Dustin played it for us last summer." She came to a stop in front of him, tilting her head to the side. "What are you doing here?"

Mike ran his hand through his hair and shrugged. "Didn't feel like going home, thought I'd come check the place out." He gave Wayne an awkward smile over her shoulder and Max realized she'd totally forgotten he was there.

"Mike, this is Wayne, the owner. Wayne, this is Mike," she supplied quickly.

Wayne grunted and crossed his arms, looking him up and down, seemingly unimpressed. "You said he's your friend?" Max nodded. "Hm, alright then," he said as he went back to his spot behind the counter.

Mike looked at Max with a slightly terrified look on his face, and she gave him what she hoped was a reassuring smile in return.

"Hey Wayne, I'm gonna take my break now, okay?" Wayne dismissed her with a wave of his hand and went back to taking down the outdated fliers from the wall behind the counter.

Max gestured for Mike to follow her as she wove through the aisles towards the back door of the shop, leading him out into the alley where the late afternoon sun was slanting in between the buildings.

"So your boss is fucking intimidating," Mike breathed when the metal door closed firmly behind them.

Max laughed as she reached into her back pocket for her cigarettes, taking one out before offering the pack to Mike, who shook his head and leaned back against the graffiti-covered brick wall.

"Well he's nice to me," she teased once she'd lit her cigarette and taken a drag.

"Male authority figures just don't like me," he said, exasperated. "Hopper, Vice Principal Walker, now this guy."

"I don't know dude, you just give off brat vibes I guess." Mike glared at her and gave her the finger and she flashed him a shit-eating grin in return before taking a seat on an overturned milk crate. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the wall, seemingly enjoying the warmth of the sun.

They sat in silence for a few minutes while Max finished her cigarette, tossing the butt into an empty coffee can Wayne kept next to the door.

"So how are you liking the job?" Mike asked, tilting his head to the side and looking down at her. She squinted up at him, the low angle of the sun hitting her directly in the eyes.

"It's cool," she nodded. "Sort records and tapes, help the occasional customer. Wayne lets me listen to music while I work. Oh, and tonight he's gonna train me on the cash register so I can work by myself some days, just on weeks when he has his kid."

Mike tilted his chin down, looking impressed. "Wow, he must really trust you." Max picked up a pebble next to her foot and aimed it at the dumpster across the alley. It gave a satisfying "ping" as it ricocheted off of the lid.

"I guess. I'm kinda nervous about it, actually." She paused for a second, contemplating her next words. "If you wanna like, come hang out during my solo shifts… I wouldn't be opposed."

Mike's head whipped back towards her, an incredulous expression on his face. "Really? You'd want that?"

She felt her cheeks flush and she looked down at the ground in embarrassment, her nails biting into the palm of her hand.

"Nevermind, it–it's a dumb idea. Forget I said anything." You dumbass. Of course he doesn't want to spend his free time doing that.

"No," Mike started, turning his body to face her. "No, that sounds cool, actually. Better than just sitting in my room, avoiding my family and thinking about El."

Max looked up at him, feeling the heat still in her face, certain she was the colour of a tomato. "Are you sure? Don't feel like you have to, I just thought maybe–"

"I said it's cool, Mayfield," he reassured, giving her a gentle smile. "No take-backs now." Max let out a breathy laugh, unclenching her fist and reaching down to pull up her sock just for something to do other than continue to make earnest eye contact. "Would it be okay if I brought my homework?" She glanced up at him and nodded, figuring it would probably motivate her to do her own neglected schoolwork during downtime. "Cool," Mike said with a nod of his head.

The next day was Friday, and they'd made plans to get stoned after school. Thankfully, Mike had scored some rolling papers from Eddie so they were no longer relegated to smoking out of produce.

The forecast was calling for thunderstorms later in the evening, but currently, it was unseasonably warm with only a few clouds dotting the sky. They'd met up after class and walked the short distance to the picnic table in the woods near the school, jackets tied around their waists.

They were both sitting on top of the weathered table, feet resting on the bench while they passed a joint back and forth. Max took a long hit before handing it back to Mike, forcing the smoke out through her nose as she rolled her neck back and forth, trying to work out some of the tension.

"Have you gone to the Palace Arcade at all since it reopened?" Mike asked before exhaling a cloud of smoke into the air.

Max shook her head as she took the joint from his outstretched fingers. "Nah, we're kinda old for it, don't you think?" He shrugged, flicking away a ladybug that had landed on his thigh.

"I dunno, could be kinda fun if we're high," he mused, glancing over at her. "No pressure though."

Max thought about it for a minute. It had probably been almost two years since she'd been to the place where she used to spend so much of her time. A memory of Billy yelling at her for staying too late flashed into her mind for a second before fading away, the soothing haze of the pot sweeping the unpleasant recollection back where it came from.

She took another hit of the joint, handing it back to Mike to finish off before she stood up and jumped down to the ground, feet landing on the spongy earth. She felt strangely energized like she couldn't sit still for a second longer.

"Let's do it."

Mike had been right, the arcade was fun. They'd walked in, glazed eyes taking in the sounds and colours with childlike wonder. They'd probably smoked a little too much, stumbling over their words and taking way too long to figure out how much cash they needed for their tokens. The cashier at the booth definitely knew they were stoned, disapproval evident on her pinched face.

Max had immediately gone to her old favourite, Dig Dug, and was thoroughly dismayed when her impaired reflexes resulted in the lowest score she'd probably ever gotten. Mike wandered off somewhere looking for Ms. Pacman, a totally lame choice in her opinion, while she fed token after token into the machine until an hour later she'd finally managed to just crack the top ten.

Now he reappeared over her shoulder as she typed in her name for the leaderboard.

"SADMAX?" Mike laughed as he read her entry. "That is so bleak, dude." Max glanced up at him, giving a self-deprecating shrug. Sometimes you just had to laugh at yourself.

They decided to try one of the new pinball machines next, each of them controlling one flipper and attempting and failing to not get overwhelmed by the flashing lights and sound effects, laughing and jostling each other as the ball chaotically ricocheted around the machine.

After a couple of hours of bouncing around to various games—Out Run, Wonder Boy, even Dragon's Lair for old times' sake, it had gotten late and the arcade was emptying out.

They made their way out to the parking lot, standing in the orange glow of the new neon arcade sign.

The wind had picked up and Max could smell the approaching storm in the air. Mike chewed on the candy necklace he'd redeemed his skeeball tickets for while she smoked a cigarette, the aggressive high from before fading and leaving her feeling relaxed and uncharacteristically introspective. She fidgeted with the old blue lighter, clicking it on and off as she debated sharing some of the endless thoughts that ran through her mind.

She saw him look over at her out of the corner of her eye as she opened her mouth to speak.

"This used to be Billy's lighter," she said quietly. Mike watched her silently, probably sensing she had more to say. "I found it along with a half-empty pack when we were cleaning out his things after… after Starcourt." Max swallowed hard around the lump in her throat. "They're the same brand he used to buy," she continued, patting the outline of the box in her breast pocket and taking a deep breath. "I have nightmares almost every night. The dreams always start out benign and then everything fades away and I'm back in that mall and Billy's there and the Mindflayer–" she felt her voice start to tremble and cut herself off, taking a moment to regain her composure.

She glanced over at Mike, his pale skin glowing orange in the light of the sign, eyebrows knit together in obvious concern. "Ms. Kelley says I have survivor's guilt."

Max took a seat on the curb, resting her elbows on her knees as she ran both hands through her hair, trying to stave off her rising anxiety.

After a few seconds, Mike sat down next to her, moving slowly like she was a skittish animal that might dart away at any moment.

"I didn't know you see Ms. Kelley," he finally said. Max nodded, biting at a hangnail on her thumb and bouncing her knee nervously.

"Once a week." Lightning flashed on the horizon, followed by the faint rumble of thunder. "I just, I feel so confused," she continued. "He was horrible to me, to most people. But Neil was… violent. I don't know if you knew that."

Mike shook his head, confirming he didn't. "Billy's mom ran out on them when he was just a kid. And I can't fault her for escaping what I'm sure was an abusive marriage but who just abandons their kid with their abuser?" Max shook her head. "He didn't really stand a chance, you know? Of turning out any other way. And it's like, how can I hate someone for that?" She rubbed her hand over her mouth pensively and got lost in thought for a second. "But I did, I hated him so much," she said, her voice cracking.

Her hands shook as she took out another cigarette, fumbling frantically with the lighter and producing useless sparks while the wind whipped her hair around her face.

"Hey," Mike said softly, kneeling in front of her on the parking lot pavement. He took the lighter from her hand and held it to the tip of her cigarette, cupping his other hand around the flame so it wouldn't extinguish. Max looked up at him, pathetically grateful he was there.

He slid the lighter back into the pocket of her jacket before going back to his previous spot next to her as she shakily exhaled a cloud of smoke. She offered him the cigarette and he took it, taking a long drag before passing it back.

They sat in tense silence, letting the heaviness of her confession sink in.

"It's okay to mourn his death though, Max," he said after a minute. She blew another cloud of smoke into the night air and nodded.

"I'm working on accepting that," she mumbled, pinching the bridge of her nose. "I just wish I could stop the nightmares. They're somehow getting more vivid than before. I'm tired of being afraid every time I close my eyes."

She turned and looked at Mike, the wind picking up even more and blowing his long black curls sideways. "Do you ever feel afraid, or am I the only broken one in the group?"

More lightning flashed across the night sky, closer than before, punctuated by a loud clap of thunder.

"Sometimes," he started, chewing distractedly on this thumb nail and staring off into the distance. "I didn't use to be afraid, because I thought El would always be there to protect me. To protect us." He bit his bottom lip and looked over at her, dark eyes glistening in the soft glow of the light. "But now I don't know. I feel lost."

Max nodded, and they stared at each other in silence as the first raindrops fell from the sky.

On Monday at lunch, Max was sitting in the usual stairwell, chain-smoking cigarettes while she anxiously waited for Mike. They hadn't seen each other since she'd poured her guts out to him in the arcade parking lot. God, what had she been thinking? If her confession hadn't sent him running for the hills he'd probably start trying to get her to talk about it and try to fix her like Lucas had when she'd shared any of her darker feelings.

It had been a bad weekend. Her conversation with Mike had left her feeling exhausted and drained—raw, like an exposed nerve ending. She'd barely left her room the next two days, only venturing out to grab a Pop-Tart or granola bar, a headache relentlessly throbbing behind her right eye. Thankfully, she hadn't been scheduled to work until this week.

Max was pulled from her thoughts when a familiar pair of worn-out black Converse appeared in front of her, and she let her gaze drift up over faded black jeans and a blue plaid shirt before finally landing on his face. She expected to see a look of pity or concern, but instead, all she saw was the crooked half-smile he usually greeted her with.

"Hey," Mike said, as he sat down across from her, pulling his backpack into his lap. Max frowned.

"Why do you have your backpack?" she asked. An uncertain expression crossed Mike's face and he ran his hand through his hair before unzipping his bag and reaching inside. He paused and glanced up at her before he pulled out two clunky, rectangular objects.

"So, these were El and Will's walkie-talkies," he explained, nervously extending and collapsing the antenna on one of them. Max raised her eyebrows, not sure why he was showing these to her. "I tuned them to a different channel from the one the guys use," he continued. "I thought maybe um… if your nightmares were really bad or you just, like, wanted someone to talk to… you could call me? Only if you want to though, no pressure. At all," he added quickly.

Max blinked at him, eyes flicking between his face and the walkie-talkies in his hands. This was… not what she had been expecting. A look of distress passed over Mike's face, and he shook his head and put the radios back into his bag.

"Nevermind, I'm sorry, I don't know what I was– it's not my place," he stuttered. Max lunged forward and grabbed his arm, stopping him.

"I want one," she said decisively, giving him a small smile. Mike's face morphed into a look of relief and he pulled the walkie-talkies back out, handing her one. It felt solid and heavy in her hand.

He spent the rest of the lunch break showing her how it worked; and that night she fell asleep easier than before, knowing an unexpectedly comforting presence was just a button push away.