Author's Note: Here we go again, my dears!

This time I'm coming at you with a very canon-divergent AU in which Max never moved to Hawkins. I know she's not canonically from Lenora Hills but I liked that we already had a setting and some characters so I'm using it. Also I know in the show Lenora is somewhere near Bakersfield, but for this fic it's about halfway between Fresno and Modesto.

In this story the first three seasons all happened, but with Steve dying at Starcourt instead of Billy (RIP Steve). You'll likely notice pieces of S2 and S4 being borrowed and twisted to fit the story I'm crafting.

As usual, kids are aged up to have been 13 during S1 instead of 12. Most changes will hopefully be addressed in future chapters, but if you have any questions feel free to ask in the comments or on my tumblr :)

You'll find that this Max is a little happier and less guarded than in the show, which is what I imagine she'd be like if her life hadn't been forcefully uprooted. Her home life is still kind of shitty but Mike is definitely the depressed one here.

If he squinted, Mike could almost pretend that the endless stretches of Central California farmland were Indiana. But then he'd look to the east and the hazy, distant peaks of the Sierra Nevada mountains, jutting up from the horizon like sentinels, quickly reminded him he'd never been further from home.

They'd driven through them about four hours ago when three days of nothing but dull prairies and barren desert had finally given way to lush greenery and admittedly breathtaking views.

Now as they approached their final destination the landscape had once again morphed into relatively flat fields and rows of short trees as far as the eye could see. Almond groves, his mother had informed them with the same shrill, over-the-top excitement she'd been using for the past month.

"Here we are!" she exclaimed just then from the passenger seat.

Mike turned his head to the right and caught a glimpse of the sign as they passed it. Welcome to Lenora Hills! Harvesting Happiness in the San Joaquin Valley!

He wrinkled his nose and looked away. Fucking shoot me.

The past two months had been the worst of Mike's life by far. After a mere six, blissful months of peace, the Upside Down had returned with a vengeance, this time in the form of a physical manifestation of the Mindflayer that ended with mass casualties, El losing her powers, and Steve and Chief Hopper both sacrificing themselves to save everyone.

A month later El broke up with him. Two weeks after that his parents informed him and his sisters that they were moving across the country. A fresh start, they'd said.

Unbeknownst to them, their father had applied for a transfer to the West Coast branch of his company, and the new position came with a sizable pay raise along with the opportunity to get away from all the chaos and tragedy that kept befalling Hawkins.

Mike hadn't talked to his parents for a full week after they'd announced the move. It was incomprehensible to him that they would think it was a good idea to rip them away from the only home they'd ever known. It was insanity.

He'd tried his hardest to get them to reconsider. He'd made presentations, bargained, begged them to let him stay behind and move in with Dustin, just until the end of high school. When that hadn't worked he'd shouted and slammed doors and stomped around and refused to eat for an entire three days.

Nancy had tried too for a bit, pleading with them to reconsider, but she'd eventually given up and accepted her fate. Mike, however, refused to back down, all the way up until moving day. He would never be okay with this.

He didn't care that he'd never have to shovel snow again or that Yosemite was less than two hours away or any of the other so-called perks of this place that his parents had tried to use on him. This wasn't even the good part of California.

Pressing his forehead against the window, he unhappily surveyed his new surroundings, the rows upon rows of identical ranch-style homes flashing by monotonously. This town was more than twice the size of Hawkins, although the bland suburban streets didn't look all that different save for the occasional palm tree and the brown, dry grass from a summer without rain.

"This is it!" his mother sing-songed a few minutes later when they pulled into a long, curving driveway. "Oh, it looks even better than the pictures!"

Mike felt a wave of dread wash over him as he hauled himself out of the cramped vehicle, stretching out his back before stepping around the car to take in his new prison.

With the money his parents had made from selling the old house, as well as his father's moving bonus, they'd decided to get a brand new build, selected from a developer catalogue and customized to his mom's exacting specifications. That was the reason why they weren't moving in until halfway through September, as the flooring she'd insisted on had been backordered and caused a delay.

Nancy pulled up behind them in the overstuffed station wagon, helping Holly out of the back seat and joining the rest of the family as they took in their new home. Like all the neighbouring houses, it was a shiny, sprawling single-story with huge grid windows and a pool in the backyard, which would be kind of cool if this wasn't the worst thing that had ever happened to him.

Karen threw her arms around her two oldest children, squeezing their shoulders. "Home sweet home!"

Mike scowled. It didn't feel like home. It didn't feel like anything.

An hour later he stood in his new bedroom, sifting through the few boxes that had been squeezed into the cars while they waited for the movers to arrive with the bulk of their things. He didn't even want to unpack. He just wanted to go back, to the place where the air smelled like damp earth and adventure, where his friends were probably hanging out right now without him.

Mike wondered where they would gather now that his basement was no longer an option. Probably Dustin's place, since Will's was small and Lucas's had Erica and her friends causing chaos.

This stupid house didn't even have a basement. Apparently, none of the houses in California did. Ridiculous. Maybe that was for the best though. It would never feel the same as the one he'd left behind. The one he'd filled with memories and laughter and countless D and D campaigns, and where soft, brown eyes looked at him like he hung the moon in the sky…

At least his room was big. And the first-floor window would be easy enough to climb out of if he ever needed to get away from his family for a bit. Or maybe just run away and hitchhike back to Hawkins.

His chest constricted as he looked around at the bare, blue walls. When his mom had asked what paint colour he wanted he'd dismissively told her to just make it the same as his current room, still certain that he'd be able to change her mind about the move.

Now Mike found he regretted it; it felt too much like a cheap replica. The thought of putting up all his old art and posters made him feel nauseous.

Sighing, he shoved his hand into the side pocket of his duffle bag, fingers closing around something cardboard. He pulled it out to reveal an open box of condoms, and his heart immediately plummeted.

He darted over to his empty nightstand and shoved it to the back of the top drawer, getting them out of his sight as fast as possible in an attempt to block out the associated memories.

Mike wouldn't be needing those anytime soon. Or ever. Because he was never falling in love again. He was done with relationships. Living out the rest of his days as a monk was far preferable to opening up his heart only to having it smashed into pieces.

El had started pulling away from him right after the Starcourt fiasco.

She'd been understandably devastated over Hopper's death and the loss of her abilities. But instead of letting him comfort her like she usually did, she'd retreated into herself, pushing him further and further away until she told him one day through a stream of tears that she needed space. That they should break up.

The backs of Mike's eyes stung at the memory. He had been completely blindsided. Nothing made sense without her. They belonged together, how could she not see that? He'd never even gotten to tell her he loved her. Maybe if he'd had the balls to do that instead of freaking out and clamming up every time he tried she wouldn't have done it.

There were so many things he wished he'd done differently. And now it was too late.

Suddenly feeling exhausted, he threw himself down onto his bare mattress, immediately flailing as it sloshed chaotically beneath him. Right. Water bed. Yet another one of his mother's "surprise treats" for the whole family.

Mike closed his eyes, willing the tears to go back where they came from and wishing he could just fall asleep and wake up in his old bedroom, back where he belonged. But when he opened them again he was still there, in that too-bright, too-hot room in the middle of nowhere.

And for the first time in a long time, he felt truly alone.

They had arrived on a Friday, so Mike had the whole weekend to kill before starting school the next week. Saturday morning he drifted around the house, listless, as his parents and Holly excitedly unpacked, slowly filling up the stark, untouched emptiness with their belongings. It looked so wrong, all of their familiar things in a strange, unfamiliar setting.

Eventually, he decided to tackle some more of his boxes, and everything was fine until he opened up a shoebox filled with all the pictures of El he'd once had pinned to his corkboard. The one on top was taken last spring, when she'd decided she wanted to try painting Easter eggs. They grinned at each other as they held up their blue and pink stained fingers, young and carefree and hopelessly infatuated with each other.

His chest tightened as he thought about her laugh—a sound so vibrant it had felt like music in his veins. Now, it was just an echo in the hollow spaces she'd left behind. He forcibly swallowed down the lump that arose in his throat and put the lid back on.

It would be weird to hang them up, but he also couldn't bring himself to get rid of them. Not when there was still a chance they could somehow get back together.

Because as much as he told himself he was done with relationships, Mike knew that if she called him right now and told him it was all a mistake, he'd take her back in a heartbeat. It didn't make sense for them not to be together after everything they'd been through. They'd figure it out. They could write letters and talk on the phone and visit over holidays… if she'd only give him the chance. They could still have the happy ending he knew they deserved.

Then things went from bad to worse when he opened up the next box and found the letters. Lucas, Dustin, and Will had all written letters for Mike to take with him and open when he was feeling lonely. His hands trembled as he held the thick envelope with Will's name written across it in his neat handwriting.

Another memory he'd been trying to keep buried down flickered to the surface of his mind—of the thing that happened the night before Mike left. The thing he hadn't even begun to unravel and grapple with…

His heart pounded. Fuck. He couldn't let himself spiral again; he needed to get out of his head. He remembered passing the Rink-O-Mania on the drive in and the sign that said they had an arcade.

Tossing the letters into one of his empty dresser drawers, he pivoted to a box labelled "Mike's Clothes", unsure of what was inside since his mom had ended up doing almost all his packing for him.

He opened it up and took out the items that were on top, which turned out to be some of the brand-new clothes she'd ordered for him in an attempt to buy his cooperation. These looked nothing like what he normally wore, though. There was a bright yellow printed shirt, a purple tank top, some shorts that were actually okay and—most inexplicably—an appalling, tropical print visor.

Mike frowned as he regarded the outfit laid out on his bed. Was this seriously how people in California dressed?

He glanced out the window. It was sunny and seventy-five degrees out, which would definitely be shorts weather in Indiana. Figuring he may as well conform, he put on the clothes before heading for the garage to dig his bike out from the mountain of boxes and furniture.

Fifteen minutes later, he was locking up his bike outside the roller rink when he glanced around and his stomach began to sink. Nobody else was dressed like he was. The kids and teens streaming in and out of the building were all dressed completely normal, the same as they would on a fall day in Indiana, in jeans and flannels and denim jackets.

Mortified, Mike ripped off the visor, throwing it straight into the trash before tucking in his tank top and buttoning up his shirt. Thank god he realized this before his first day of school on Monday. Drawing unwanted attention to himself was the last fucking thing he needed. Note to self, do not let Mom buy my clothes anymore.

He stepped through the doors, the bright world outside dissolving into a haze of neon lights and pulsating music. The air inside was warm—thick with the scent of popcorn, cheap cologne, and the faint tang of sweat. The floor beneath his Converse sneakers was a scuffed tile that shimmered faintly, reflecting the spinning disco ball above the rink.

It was busy, full of children's birthday parties and couples on dates and groups of girls in matching leg warmers. He bypassed the long line at the rental counter, having zero interest in roller skating, and beelined for the games lining the back wall.

Mike had become somewhat obsessed with arcade games after El ended things and he found he could no longer stand to be in that basement that held so many memories of her. Instead, he'd spent his last month in Hawkins logging countless hours at the Palace Arcade in an attempt to keep the despair from swallowing him whole.

The arcade at the Rink-O-Mania was decent. It had most of the same games as the one back in Hawkins and even a few new ones he hadn't seen before.

He quickly fell back into the familiar groove of mindlessly playing game after game, feeding quarters into the slots and not focusing on anything except the pixels moving across the screen inches from his face, letting the beeps and blips drown out his thoughts.

He came back on Sunday too, getting so fixated on Dig Dug that he ended up with the top score on the leaderboard at closing time. Mike should have been elated. When he'd first seen the previous high score he'd been sure it was impossible to beat. But as he keyed in his requisite six-letter tag of WHEELS, he found he couldn't even feel happy about it.

Because now he still had to go back to that home that wasn't home, and no amount of video games or high scores could change how fucked up everything was.

And tomorrow he had to start his sophomore year at a brand new school.

Fuck.

Lenora Hills High School was bigger than Hawkins High. A lot bigger. A well-kept, landscaped quad sprawled out in front of the imposing three-story building, Go Eagles! painted in red and white on a long wall in front of the stairs.

He'd just barely gotten used to his old school and now everything was new and alien again—the mural painted on the wall was of a sneaker-clad eagle instead of a tiger, the lockers were a kind of burnt orange instead of white... it was all wrong.

Mike and Nancy stepped out of the vice principal's office. He was some sort of wannabe cowboy—dressed in a bolo tie, with statues and paintings of horses all over his shelves and walls. Mike would've bet a year's allowance that if he'd peered under the man's desk he would have been wearing cowboy boots. His walkie-talkie had been going off the whole time and he'd barely spared them a second glance as he provided them with their schedules and textbook lists before ushering them back out into the hall.

Mike reached up and tugged self-consciously at his bangs, cut into a straight line just above his eyebrows. His mother had accosted him last night with a pair of scissors, insisting he couldn't have them falling in his eyes like some kind of hippie. At least he'd managed to guilt her into allowing him to keep the rest of his hair long.

Nancy was already planning which clubs she was going to join, running her pencil down her lengthy to-do list. "Okay. I need to find out about the school paper, student council… should I do yearbook too? Ugh, I don't think I'll have the time but–"

"How are you so okay with all of this?!" Mike exclaimed, unable to hold his feelings in any longer.

She looked up at him and sighed impatiently. "I'm not, Mike. You think I'm happy about moving here? I didn't want to leave Jonathan. I was going to be the editor of The Weekly Streak! But it's my senior year and unlike you, I don't have the option of not handling it well."

Before Mike could reply the bell rang—a shrill, unfamiliar sound that made him nearly jump out of his skin. Suddenly it seemed like there were a hundred different people going in a hundred different directions, jostling him as they walked purposefully to their destinations.

"I'll meet you at the car after school!" Nancy called over her shoulder before vanishing into the sea of teenagers. Mike frowned. How the hell did she know where to go?

He looked down at his schedule in one hand and the scrap of paper with his assigned locker number and combination in the other.

The halls were already emptying out, students disappearing into their homerooms. He glanced around, anxious to find help before he was left totally alone.

"Excuse me?" he called out to the first person he saw walking by. They stopped and turned around and Mike was pinned in place by the bluest eyes he'd ever seen. "Uh…"

Pretty… was the only thought in his dumb, boy brain as he took in the girl standing before him. She had full, pink lips, long red hair in two messy braids… and a quizzical look on her freckled face that was quickly turning impatient while he just gawked at her like a total creep.

He blinked, shaking himself out of his stupor. "Um, hi," he stuttered. "I'm uh, I'm new here, can you tell me which way locker 249 is?"

"Oh, sure," she said, her expression softening. "It's just around the corner, follow me."

Despite his longer legs, Mike struggled to keep up with her as she wove quickly through the dwindling crowd. He knew he should probably be paying attention to the route they were taking but instead, he took the chance to study her.

She was dressed kind of boyish—a baggy, striped t-shirt hanging off of her small frame, light wash jeans tight-rolled above her red high-top sneakers. Her well-worn, light blue backpack was frayed around the zippers and covered in buttons and black marker doodles.

She came to an abrupt stop and slapped her palm against an orange locker at the end of the top row. "This is you."

"Cool, thanks." He glanced around the now nearly empty hallway, trying to work up the courage to ask her her name.

"Well, I gotta run," she said before he could manage it, already taking a few backward steps down the hall. "If I'm late again I'll get a detention."

Dramatically throwing her arms out to the side, she flashed him a teasing half-smile. "Welcome to the armpit of California, new kid."

By the time he got his things in his locker and tracked down his homeroom, Mike was already a few minutes late, which meant that everyone stared at him as he stood awkwardly at the front of the class, including a familiar, pretty redhead smirking from the back row whom his eyes landed on immediately.

He averted his gaze, painfully aware of how sweaty his palms and armpits were becoming. God, being the new kid sucked.

"You must be my new student," the kind-looking blonde teacher said with a welcoming smile.

"Um, yeah."

"Class, please give a warm welcome to Michael Wheeler, all the way from Indiana," she proclaimed with far too much exuberance. "The Hoosier State!"

Good lord. The whole class snickered and Mike thought it would be a great time for the San Andreas Fault to have one of its slips and crack open the ground beneath his feet.

"Uh, Mike," he mumbled, prompting the teacher to look back at him with a raised eyebrow. "It's just Mike."

She nodded, making a note on the paper in front of her. "Take a seat, Mike."

He kept his eyes on the floor as he dragged his feet to the only available desk, directly in the middle of the room.

"Wheeler?" he heard a boy whisper somewhere behind him. "I bet that's him!"

Cheeks burning, Mike stared down at the crude words carved into the wooden desktop. He didn't even want to know what that was about.

He glanced up at the clock above the door and sighed. Just seven more hours to go.