PLEASE DONT BE A GHOST READER!!!!
VOTE AND COMMENT!! IT HELPS US WRITERS STAY MOTIVATED:) STOP BEING A GHOST READER!!!

The sound of metal scraping against metal filled the garage as Madison tightened another bolt on her motorcycle. The air smelled of oil and gasoline, a testament to the hours she had already spent fine-tuning her bike. A grease stain marked her cheek, and her hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail, loose strands sticking to her face from the heat. She leaned back on her heels, surveying her work with a satisfied smirk, before reaching for another tool on the cluttered workbench.

The crunch of tires on gravel pulled her out of her focus. She glanced toward the open garage door and immediately recognized Chief Hopper's familiar police vehicle rolling to a stop.

"Well, well," Madison muttered under her breath, standing up and wiping her hands on a rag. As Hopper stepped out of the car, she leaned casually against the motorcycle, crossing her arms with a smirk. "If it isn't Hawkins' finest. What's the occasion, Chief? Run out of donuts?"

Hopper shut the car door with a heavy thud, his face set in the kind of stern expression Madison had grown used to. He didn't immediately respond, instead walking toward her with his hands resting on his hips. He stopped just outside the garage, taking in the scene—her grease-stained hands, the disassembled motorcycle, the cocky attitude.

"How can I get you to stop acting out, Foxx?" Hopper asked, his voice tinged with frustration. "If you get one more strike, you're headed straight back to juvie."

Madison shrugged, unbothered. "Can't stop, won't stop," she said, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "It's who I am. Trouble's basically my middle name." She tossed the rag onto the workbench for emphasis.

Hopper let out a long, tired sigh, rubbing the back of his neck as he stared at her. "You're gonna burn through all your chances, kid. And when you do, no one's gonna be able to pull you out of the mess you've made."

She gave him a lazy shrug, her smirk growing. "Wouldn't be the first time."

"Yeah, well, maybe this time it'll stick," Hopper shot back, his voice sharper now. He stared at her for a long moment before something in his expression softened. "Look, how about I make a deal with you?"

That caught Madison's attention, though she hid her interest behind a raised eyebrow. "What kind of deal?" she asked, skepticism laced in her voice.

"I can't say here," Hopper said, glancing around the quiet neighborhood. "Not in public."

"Then why bring it up at all?" she countered, her tone equal parts annoyed and amused.

Hopper took a step closer, his voice dropping as if to emphasize the seriousness of what he was about to say. "Let's go for a ride."

Madison rolled her eyes, immediately shaking her head. "No way. I'm not getting in your stupid cop car."

"Foxx, please," Hopper said, his tone surprisingly gentle.

Her jaw tightened at the sound of his plea, and for a moment, she hesitated. She looked at him, searching his face for any hint of what he might be up to. With a heavy sigh, she snatched up the rag from the workbench and threw it down again. "Fine," she grumbled, walking toward his car. "But if this is just another one of your speeches about responsibility and 'being a better person,' I'm out."

Hopper chuckled under his breath, shaking his head as he followed her to the car. "Just get in, Foxx," he said as he opened the passenger door for her.

Madison slid into the seat, slamming the door shut behind her. She crossed her arms and slouched down, staring out the window as Hopper climbed into the driver's seat. Whatever this was, it better be worth it.

The police vehicle rumbled to a stop in the middle of the woods, the engine's low growl fading into an uneasy silence. Madison sat slouched in the passenger seat, her boots propped up on the dashboard, a faint smirk playing on her lips. She glanced out at the small, nondescript cabin ahead of them, her curiosity piqued despite herself.

Hopper grunted as he killed the engine and unbuckled his seatbelt. "Alright, get out," he said, opening his door and stepping into the crisp forest air.

Madison leaned her head back, feigning an exaggerated sigh. "Seriously? What is this? Your creepy old man murder shack? Should I be worried, Chief?"

Hopper shot her a flat look over the roof of the car. "Very funny. Just get out of the damn car."

Madison swung her legs off the dashboard and pushed the door open, hopping out with practiced ease. She stuffed her hands into the pockets of her leather jacket, sauntering a few steps ahead of Hopper. "If you were trying to impress me with your secret hideout, you're gonna have to try harder," she said, eyeing the cabin. "This place looks like it's one bad storm away from collapsing."

Hopper ignored her and walked toward the cabin. "Alright, Foxx," he said, stopping in his tracks to face her. "Here's the deal."

Madison tilted her head, her smirk still firmly in place. "Oh boy, here it comes. Lay it on me, Chief."

Hopper crossed his arms, his tone dropping into something more serious. "If I show you what I'm about to show you, you have to promise me one thing. No exceptions."

Madison raised an eyebrow, intrigued despite herself. "What's the catch?"

"You can't tell anyone. Ever," Hopper said firmly, his eyes locking with hers. "And I mean anyone. But you can come here whenever you want. Deal?"

Madison's smirk wavered as confusion crept into her expression. "Okay... that's weirdly ominous. What exactly am I not supposed to tell anyone about?"

"Do you hear me?" Hopper pressed, taking a step closer. "You promise."

Madison held up her hands in mock surrender. "Yeah, yeah, I hear you. Sure, I promise."

Hopper gave her a long, measuring look before nodding. He walked up the short steps to the cabin's front door and knocked in a peculiar rhythm—three sharp knocks, a pause, and then two more. Madison leaned against the railing, watching him with growing curiosity.

"What's with the secret knock? Is there a password too?" she quipped.

The sound of clicking locks echoed from the other side of the door, and Madison straightened up. The door creaked open, and Hopper stepped inside, motioning for her to follow. Madison hesitated for a moment before walking in, her boots thudding softly against the wooden floor.

The moment she stepped inside, she froze.

Sitting on the couch, looking every bit as alive and well as she had a year ago, was Eleven.

Madison's breath caught in her throat, her heart pounding in her chest. "El?" she whispered, her voice cracking.

Eleven turned, her eyes widening as she saw Madison. "Madi?"

The two girls didn't hesitate. Madison dropped to her knees in front of the couch, and Eleven launched herself into her arms. Madison held her tightly, tears streaming down her face.

"I thought you were gone," Madison choked out, her voice trembling. "I thought you were dead, El. I thought—"

"I'm here," Eleven whispered, her voice muffled against Madison's jacket. "I'm here."

They clung to each other for what felt like an eternity, both of them crying quietly. Madison finally pulled back, wiping her tear-streaked face with the sleeve of her jacket. She turned to Hopper, her emotions a mix of relief, anger, and confusion.

"You've been hiding her?" she demanded, her voice sharp. "All this time?"

Hopper leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed. "Yeah. Found her in the middle of winter, hiding out in these woods. The lab can't know she's alive. Hell, no one can know."

Madison shook her head, trying to process everything. "So, you've just been keeping her here? Alone? What the hell, Hopper?"

"It's the only way to keep her safe," Hopper said firmly. "And now that you know, you have to help me keep it that way."

Madison looked back at Eleven, her protective instincts kicking in. "Of course, I will," she said, her voice steady. "But you realize this doesn't exactly erase the past year of thinking she was dead, right?"

Hopper sighed. "I didn't have a choice, Foxx. And now, neither do you."

Madison huffed, running a hand through her hair. "Fine. Your secret's safe with me. But I'm not making any promises about stopping my troublemaking."

Hopper groaned. "Foxx—"

"I'll do less theft and stuff that could land me back in juvie," Madison interrupted with a shrug. "But causing trouble? That's just who I am."

Eleven gave Madison a pointed look, raising an eyebrow in a way that only Eleven could. Madison chuckled softly, ruffling Eleven's hair. "Don't give me that look, El. I'll behave... mostly."

Hopper shook his head, exasperated. "Fine. I'll take what I can get. But there's one more thing—you can't tell anyone. Not even Mike."

At the mention of Mike, Eleven's face fell, her eyes darting to the floor. Madison frowned, glancing between them. "Not even Mike? The kid's been a wreck without her, and you know it."

"Not even Mike," Hopper repeated firmly. "You tell him, and we risk everything."

Madison sighed heavily, her frustration evident. "Fine. But this isn't gonna be easy, Hopper."

"It's not supposed to be," he replied, his tone softening slightly. "But it's the right thing to do."

Madison glanced back at Eleven, her resolve hardening. "Yeah. It is."

Madison's motorcycle roared into the school parking lot, the engine's rumble breaking through the hum of early morning chatter. The sleek black bike moved like a predator, drawing stares as it weaved through the rows of cars. Madison reveled in the attention, smirking under her helmet. With a smooth motion, she brought the bike to a halt near the main entrance, kicking down the stand and revving the engine one last time for dramatic effect.

Sliding off the bike, Madison yanked off her helmet, shaking out her hair like a rock star stepping offstage. Her eyes scanned the parking lot, landing on Steve Harrington's familiar BMW parked a few rows down. Steve was leaned over the hood, polishing it obsessively with the sleeve of his sweater. Madison rolled her eyes as she tucked her helmet under one arm and strolled toward him.

"Really, Harrington?" she called out, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Showing up to school just to play Mr. Clean?"

Steve straightened, squinting at her through the morning sunlight. "It's called taking care of your car, Madison," he shot back, his tone defensive. "Not that you'd know anything about that, riding around on that... thing."

Madison smirked, patting the side of her bike affectionately. "This 'thing' would leave your little Beemer in the dust, Harrington. Any time, any place."

Before Steve could fire back, a deep, throaty engine growl cut through the parking lot, drawing everyone's attention. Madison turned her head just as a bright blue 1979 Chevrolet Camaro Z/28 pulled into a nearby spot with an air of self-importance. The car gleamed like it had just rolled off the assembly line, its bold stripes catching the light.

The driver's door swung open, and out stepped trouble personified. The guy had tousled blond hair that looked like he spent an hour perfecting the just got out of bed look, a cigarette dangling lazily from his lips. His denim jacket hung open, revealing a tight white tank top that screamed bad decisions. He leaned casually against the car, surveying the lot like he owned it.

From the passenger side, a redheaded girl hopped out, clutching a skateboard under her arm. She looked like she was about Eleven and Mike's age, her fiery hair catching the sun as she threw the board to the ground. Without so much as a glance at the guy, she kicked off and skated toward the middle school across the street.

Madison's eyes flicked back to the blond as he started walking—no, swaggering—toward her. She leaned against her bike, arms crossed, already bracing herself for whatever nonsense was about to come out of his mouth.

"Nice ride," he said, stopping a few feet away. His voice was lazy, oozing arrogance. "But I bet it looks even better with you on it."

Madison tilted her head, giving him a slow once-over. "Wow," she deadpanned. "That was almost as original as your outfit."

The guy grinned, clearly not deterred. "Name's Billy," he said, gesturing toward himself. "And you are?"

"Not interested," Madison replied without missing a beat.

Billy chuckled, stepping closer. "Come on, don't be like that. You and me? We'd look good together. Maybe take that bike of yours for a spin. Then, if you're lucky, I'll let you take a ride in my Camaro."

Madison rolled her eyes so hard it was a wonder they didn't get stuck. "Wow, a Camaro? What am I, a charity case? Please. You couldn't handle me even if I let you try."

Before Billy could respond, another voice cut in. "Hey! Leave her alone."

Steve Harrington was marching over, Nancy Wheeler trailing close behind. Madison groaned internally as Steve stepped between her and Billy, puffing himself up like he was about to fight.

Billy raised an eyebrow, looking amused. "And who are you supposed to be?"

"Steve Harrington," Steve said, his tone firm. "And I'm telling you to back off."

Billy's grin widened, his eyes flicking between Steve and Madison. "Relax, Harrington," he drawled. "Just having a conversation with the lady." He turned back to Madison and winked. "Catch you later, sweetheart."

With that, Billy sauntered off, heading toward the school with a swagger that practically screamed trouble.

Madison turned to Steve, her expression a mix of annoyance and disbelief. "Seriously? Didn't need your help, Harrington. I can handle myself."

Steve threw his hands up. "Yeah, I could see that. Handling yourself by insulting him until he leaves? Solid plan."

Nancy stepped forward, her tone calm but pointed. "He was just trying to be nice, Madison. You don't have to be so—"

"Princess," Madison interrupted with a smirk, cutting Nancy off. "I didn't ask for his help. But thanks for the lecture."

Before either of them could respond, Madison turned on her heel and walked off toward the school building, her helmet swinging from her hand. Steve and Nancy stood there, watching her go, a mix of frustration and confusion written across their faces.

"She's impossible," Steve muttered, running a hand through his hair.

Nancy sighed. "She's not impossible. She's just... Madison."

The bell echoed through the school halls, signaling the end of another torturous English class. Madison groggily sat up, wiping the line of drool off her chin with the back of her hand. Her notebook was blank except for a faint imprint of her cheek from where she had been sleeping.

"Miss Foxx," her teacher's voice rang out sharply as students began gathering their things.

Madison groaned inwardly and glanced up. "What now?"

"You've once again decided to grace us with your unique contribution to education by sleeping through my entire lesson." The teacher folded his arms, glaring at her. "If you're planning on passing this semester, I'd suggest staying conscious during class."

She smirked and leaned back in her chair. "If you're planning on keeping me conscious, I'd suggest making the class a little less coma-inducing."

A few students stifled their laughter, but the teacher wasn't amused. "Detention. Again."

"Shocker," Madison muttered, grabbing her bag and slinging it over her shoulder as she made her way out of the classroom.

The hallway was alive with noise as students filtered out of their classrooms, the typical chaos of lockers slamming and conversations overlapping. Madison weaved through the crowd, barely noticing the whispers that trailed her. She wasn't one to blend in—her pink hair, leather biker jacket, and overall "don't mess with me" vibe made sure of that.

But as she rounded the corner to her locker, she immediately spotted him.

Leaning casually against the wall, arms crossed, with a grin that screamed trouble, stood Billy Hargrove. His denim jacket was unbuttoned just enough to show a gold chain hanging against his chest, and his eyes lit up the moment he saw her.

Madison groaned audibly. "Oh, for the love of—"

"Hey there, Pinky," Billy drawled, pushing off the wall and stepping into her path. "Miss me?"

"Nope." She sidestepped him, but Billy blocked her way again, his grin widening.

"Come on, don't be like that," he said, his tone dripping with faux innocence. His eyes flicked to her leather jacket. "This look you've got going on? It's something else. Pink hair, biker leather—total heartbreaker vibe."

Madison glared at him, crossing her arms. "Yeah? Thanks for the fashion critique, Vogue. Now, move."

Billy chuckled, undeterred. "You know, I've seen a lot of girls try the whole 'tough and untouchable' thing, but you? You really sell it. Makes me wonder what's under all that attitude."

"More attitude," she snapped, trying to push past him.

Billy stepped closer, invading her space. "Relax, I'm just trying to be friendly. You don't have to play so hard to get."

Before Madison could retort, he reached out and ran a finger down the sleeve of her jacket. That was it. She shoved him hard, sending him stumbling back a step.

"Touch me again, and you'll lose that hand," she said, her voice cold.

Billy's hands went up in mock surrender, though the grin never left his face. "Damn, you're feisty. I like it."

"Hey!" a voice shouted from down the hall.

Madison turned to see Steve Harrington jogging toward them, his expression a mix of frustration and concern.

Billy raised an eyebrow as Steve stopped in front of them, positioning himself between Madison and Billy. "Harrington," Billy said, smirking. "Didn't know you were the chivalrous type."

"And I didn't know you were the type to harass girls in the hallway," Steve shot back.

Billy chuckled, shaking his head. "Relax, man. We were just talking."

"Yeah, I saw how you 'talk,'" Steve said, his tone sharp.

Madison sighed loudly, crossing her arms. "Seriously, Harrington? I had it handled."

"I know you did," Steve said without looking at her. His focus remained on Billy. "But I'm not gonna stand here and let this guy pull his usual crap."

"Usual crap?" Billy repeated, his grin turning into a smirk. "You make me sound so predictable."

Steve took a step forward, his voice dropping. "Leave. Now."

Billy chuckled again, backing up with his hands in his pockets. He glanced at Madison one last time. "Guess I'll see you around, Pinky." With a wink, he turned and sauntered off.

Madison groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. "You really can't help yourself, can you?"

Steve turned to her, exasperated. "You're welcome, by the way."

"I didn't ask for your help," she said, brushing past him.

Steve sighed, running a hand through his hair. "You're impossible, you know that?"

Nancy appeared at Steve's side, frowning. "What happened?"

"Nothing," Madison said over her shoulder. "Just Harrington trying to play knight in shining armor. Again."

Nancy glanced at Steve, who shrugged helplessly, and then called out, "He was just trying to help, Madison."

Madison stopped and turned, flashing a mocking grin. "Aw, thanks, Princess. But I don't need a babysitter." She shot them both a sarcastic salute before disappearing into the crowd.

Steve shook his head. "Why do I even bother?"

Nancy patted his arm. "Because you care. Even if she's... well, Madison."

The quiet hum of fluorescent lights and the occasional creak of the old school building were the only sounds as Madison Foxx leaned against her desk, her chin resting in her hand. Detention was her usual haunt after school, and today was no different. She'd fallen asleep halfway through the hour, drooling onto her arm until the sharp slam of a book on the teacher's desk jolted her awake.

"Miss Foxx," the teacher drawled, looking unimpressed. "You're free to go now. But don't get too comfortable—you'll probably be back tomorrow."

Madison yawned, stretching lazily as she stood up. "Always a pleasure, Mr. Reynolds," she replied with a smirk, slinging her leather jacket over her shoulder. She sauntered out of the room, her boots clunking against the tile floors, echoing in the empty hallways.

The cool evening air hit her as she stepped outside. The parking lot was nearly deserted, save for a couple of cars under the dim streetlights. She made her way toward her motorcycle, pulling her keys from her pocket. That's when she saw him—Steve Harrington, leaning casually against her bike like he owned the damn thing.

Madison groaned loudly, throwing her hands up in exasperation. "What is with you, Harrington? Are you stalking me or something? Seriously, did I forget to file a restraining order?"

Steve straightened up, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his bomber jacket. "Relax, Foxx," he said, his tone lighter than hers. "I'm not stalking you."

"Oh, sure," Madison replied sarcastically, gesturing toward him. "You're just coincidentally loitering around my bike. Again."

Steve ran a hand through his perfectly styled hair, clearly trying to maintain his cool. "I wanted to talk to you," he admitted, taking a hesitant step closer.

Madison raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms over her chest. "Talk? About what? Because if you're about to tell me I've got detention tomorrow, I already know."

Steve sighed, his confidence faltering for a moment. "I wanted to apologize. For... how things ended between us."

Madison scoffed, leaning back against her bike. "Oh, here we go," she said, rolling her eyes dramatically. "Let me guess—you're sorry for slut-shaming Nancy, calling Jonathan the f-slur, and being an all-around douchebag? Because, newsflash, Harrington, you deserved every punch I threw at you last year."

Steve flinched at her words but held his ground. "I know I was a jerk," he said, his voice softer now. "I've apologized to them—Nancy, Jonathan. I've apologized a hundred times. I've been trying to make up for it."

Madison smirked, shaking her head. "Yeah? Good for you. But guess what? Apologies don't erase the past. And it doesn't change the fact that you were a grade-A asshole."

"I know that," Steve replied, his jaw tightening. "But I've changed, Madison. I'm not that guy anymore."

Madison stared at him, her expression unreadable. "Cool story, Harrington. But you've been apologizing to me for, what, a year now? Every time you see me, it's 'I'm sorry, Madison.' You think that's gonna fix things?"

Steve sighed, stepping back slightly and raising his hands in frustration. "I don't know! I just... I don't like how things are between us. I don't like this—"

"This what?" Madison interrupted, her tone sharp. "This awkward little routine we've got going? Where you try to be buddy-buddy, and I remind you that you're still the guy who called me 'trailer trash' in front of the entire school?"

Steve winced again, his gaze dropping to the ground. "I was a dumb kid," he said quietly. "I didn't mean it. I didn't mean half the things I said back then."

Madison let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head. "Doesn't matter what you meant, Harrington. You said it. And you can't unsay it."

For a moment, there was silence between them, the tension hanging heavy in the air.

"You beat the crap out of me, you know," Steve finally said, his tone almost amused. "And I let you."

"Damn right, I did," Madison shot back without missing a beat. "And you deserved it. Every bruise, every busted lip. You earned it, Harrington."

Steve looked at her, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips despite himself. "Yeah," he admitted. "I probably did."

Madison swung her leg over her bike, settling into the seat. "Glad we're on the same page," she said, slipping her helmet on.

"Madison—" Steve started, but she cut him off by revving the engine, the roar of the motorcycle drowning out his voice.

She glanced at him one last time, her eyes narrowing behind her visor. "See you around, Harrington," she said before speeding off, leaving Steve standing alone in the parking lot, watching as she disappeared into the night.

ASH SPEAKS!!!

it's painfully obvious how steve is in love with her.
yesss some season 1 mentions of what happened! steve gets his redemption this season !

PLEASE DONT BE A GHOST READER!!!!
VOTE AND COMMENT!! IT HELPS US WRITERS STAY MOTIVATED:)