[ ix. the broken spaceship ]

november 9th, 1983. wednesday.

⇝ ⇝ ⇝

"STUPID, STUPID SHIRT!  THIS is ridiculous!"

Melanie tugged at the sleeve again. The fabric strained awkwardly over her cast, and with an exasperated grunt, she finally yanked the tight shirt off. Her face flushed with frustration, and her gaze darted to the desk, where a pair of scissors gleamed under the morning light. For a brief, reckless moment, she entertained the idea of hacking through the cast. Could those dull blades even make a dent?

She shook the thought off—too messy, too risky. Her jaw clenched. There had to be another way.

With a sigh, she threw on her robe and marched across the hall to Nancy's room. The silence beyond the door suggested her sister had not emerged yet, despite the ticking clock inching closer to the start of school. Perhaps she was still sleeping, and for once, it was a genuine possibility. After all, Melanie had stayed up, thoughts tangled with worry about Will, only to accidentally overhear the muffled argument between her mother and Nancy after her sister had rolled into the house past midnight, way after when the school event that was supposed to honor the Byers' family had ended.

Karen had been livid. But—like always—Nancy managed to talk her way out of it.

Regardless, even if a mother does not give consequences, a little sister surely does.

Melanie rapped her knuckles against the door. "Nancy? You awake?"

Silence stretched for nearly a full minute, and just as Melanie was about to give up, she heard the faint sound of footsteps. The door clicked open, revealing Nancy, already dressed to perfection. Her hair was immaculately styled, her makeup done with care—yet her expression screamed irritation.

"What do you want?" she deadpanned.

Melanie forced a sweet smile. "Can I borrow your blue, long-sleeved shirt? You know, the one that's too big for you?"

Nancy's eyes narrowed to slits. "If it's too big for me, what makes you think it'll fit you?"

Melanie shrugged, keeping her tone light. "I just need something that'll go over the cast." Nancy folded her arms, clearly not wanting to budge. "Please?" Melanie's voice softened, her head tilting just slightly.

Nancy rolled her eyes, but then turned on her heel and disappeared into her pink-themed bedroom. Melanie lingered at the doorway, her feet rooted to the threshold as if crossing it would somehow trigger an alarm. She never ventured into Nancy's room—not because she could not, but because she was not welcome. And honestly, she preferred it that way. The less interaction they had, the slimmer the chance that she would ever be forced into sharing a bedroom with her sister.

Melanie would sleep in the backyard with the mosquitos before sharing the same four walls with Nancy.

When Nancy finally returned, she shoved a blue sweater into Melanie's chest. "Don't stretch it," she said, her voice clipped. "Or you're dead."

"Dead?" Melanie repeated, feigning surprise. With a casual flick of her wrist, she tossed the sweater over her shoulder. "But . . . if I'm dead, how will I ever tell Mom the real reason you were out so late? You know, the reason that had nothing to do with the Byers family. That really you just wanted to see Stev—"

The door slammed in her face.

Melanie blinked at the closed door, a smirk tugging at her lips. She could almost hear Nancy fuming on the other side. Satisfied, she turned on her heel and headed back to her own empty room. The blue sweater slid over her cast easily, its soft material welcoming against her skin. She curled her uninjured wrist into the oversized sleeve and let out a quiet breath.

Baggy clothes had always been her favorite—comfortable, easy to hide in. When no one was paying attention, she would steal Mike's jackets. Funny, he had not even noticed. Typical Mike. Typical Wheeler family, really.

After she finished dressing, she tied her long hair back with a ribbon she grabbed from her desk, securing it into a loose ponytail before giving herself a once-over in the mirror. Presentable enough. With a quick glance at the clock, she grabbed her schoolbag and headed downstairs.

The smell of waffles greeted her, and without hesitation, she swiped three off the counter while Karen's back was still turned at the stove. Her mother's voice floated over the kitchen's quiet hum.

"Dustin and Lucas are downstairs with your brother. Be ready to go in ten."

Melanie did not bother responding beyond a halfhearted "Sure thing," the words laced with thinly veiled resentment. All she wanted was to get back on her bike, to feel that freedom again, and her mother was standing in the way—far too overprotective and smothering.

With a waffle clenched between her teeth, Melanie kicked open the basement door with her foot, the creak of the old hinges accompanying her descent into the gloom below. When she reached the bottom, she found Mike, Dustin, and Lucas huddled around the campaign table, backpacks already slung over their shoulders. The game board sat in the middle, still flipped upside down, but Melanie noticed something strange—the pieces had shifted.

Meanwhile, on the opposite end of the basement, Eleven sat on the couch, still clutching Mike's radio. Melanie crossed over to her, holding out two waffles. "Here," she offered gently. "Got you some breakfast."

Eleven looked up, her large, inquisitive eyes meeting Melanie's as she hesitantly accepted. But before she could say anything, Mike's voice interrupted from behind. "I already got her some, Mel," he pointed out.

Melanie shot her brother a sideways glance. "Well, there's nothing wrong with a second breakfast, now, is there?"

Mike rolled his eyes, but before he could snap back, Lucas snorted. "Your jealousy is shining through, Mike."

"Shut up," Mike muttered, giving Lucas a sharp nudge in the arm. The Sinclair boy, of course, hit him right back, the scuffle escalating quickly.

Dustin sighed in exasperation, stepping between them. "Son of a bitch—will you two cut it out?" He grumbled, rubbing his temples once they separated. "Now, can someone please tell me the plan again? I've got to convince my mom. She gets lonely when it's just her and Mews all the time."

Mews, the Henderson family cat, was about the only companion Mrs. Henderson had since the permanent absence of Mr. Henderson.

Mike straightened up. "We just tell our parents we've got AV Club after school. That'll give us at least a few hours for Operation Mirkwood."

Lucas cast a cautious glance toward Eleven, who had quietly begun nibbling on the waffle Melanie gave her. "You seriously think the weirdo knows where Will is?" he asked.

"Just trust me on this, okay?" Mike pleaded.

Lucas hesitated, but finally nodded. "Okay . . ."

"Good," Mike said, then quickly shifted gears. "Did you get the supplies?"

Lucas swung his backpack off his shoulders and dropped it onto the campaign table. He began pulling out various items, laying them out like weapons for war. "Binoculars from 'Nam," he announced. "Army knife, also from 'Nam. Hammer. Camouflage bandanna." He paused for dramatic effect before producing his final prize. "And the wrist rocket."

Dustin snorted. "You're going to take out the Demogorgon with a slingshot?"

"First of all, it's a wrist rocket," Lucas corrected, narrowing his eyes. " And second of all, the Demogorgon's not real. It's made up. But if there is something out there, I'm going to shoot it in the eye and blind it!" He pulled the rubber band back, mimicking the action, and let it snap forward with a loud crack.

The other members of the Party grimaced. It was not exactly inspiring.

Mike promptly turned to Dustin. "What did you get?"

The Henderson boy grinned and flipped his backpack upside down, spilling an avalanche of snacks across the table.

Melanie reached down. "Pringles?" she said, pulling out a can.

Dustin smirked. "Help yourself." Before she could decline, her stomach growled audibly. She sighed in defeat and popped the lid off, while he watched her, barely holding in his proud laughter. "As you can see," Dustin eventually continued, "I brought Pringles. Nutty Bars, Bazooka, Pez, Smarties, Nilla Wafers . . . Oh, and some apples and bananas. Some trail mix, too."

Lucas frowned. "Seriously?"

"We need energy for our travels," Dustin defended. "For stamina!"

"For breakfast," Melanie added through a mouthful of chips.

"That too!" Dustin agreed, nudging her shoulder playfully. Then, with a sly grin, he pointed at Eleven. "Besides, why do we even need weapons anyway? We have her."

Lucas rolled his eyes. "She shut one door!"

"With her mind!" Dustin shot back. "Are you kidding me? That's insane! Imagine all the other cool stuff she could do! Like . . ." He did not even finish his thought before he grabbed one of Mike's toys—a massive plastic spaceship—and held it up. His brown eyes were wide with awe. "I bet she could make this fly!"

"Oh my God," Lucas muttered under his breath, already bracing for the inevitable disappointment.

Dustin, completely ignoring him, crossed the basement to Eleven. "Hey, El!" His voice broke her focus from the radio. She looked at the spaceship in his hands, her expression uncertain. "Okay, concentrate," Dustin urged her. He released the toy—and, unsurprisingly, it tumbled to the floor with a hollow clatter.

Mike groaned, rubbing his eyes. Melanie clicked her tongue, crossing her arms over her chest. "Seriously, what did you expect?" she asked him. "I'm genuinely dying to know what your thought process was here."

Just as he had with Lucas, Dustin ignored her now, undeterred by the lack of success. He bent down and grabbed the toy again, turning back to Eleven with renewed determination. "Okay, one more time," he coaxed. Eleven's face remained blank, her head tilting slightly. She did not seem entertained by his attempts to use her like some party trick. "Use your powers, okay?"

He let the spaceship drop from his hands once more.

And nothing.

"Idiot," Lucas huffed, shaking his head.

Before Dustin could try again, Mike lunged forward, scooping the toy off the ground. "She's not a dog!" he snapped, throwing the spaceship onto the couch, far from Dustin's reach.

"She's way cooler than a dog," Dustin grinned, missing the point entirely.

"Stop that!" Melanie cut in. "El's not some science experiment. She's a person—a kid, just like us. She's not here to be tested for tricks. For all we know, she could probably lift one of us and throw us across the room. Maybe we should be thankful she hasn't."

Dustin's eyes lit up at the suggestion, spinning toward Eleven once more. "Wait, could you really lift one of us?" he gaped, half-expecting her to demonstrate right then and there.

But Eleven did not verbally respond. She merely blinked at him with bored indifference before turning her attention back to the radio in her lap, as if the conversation held no interest to her whatsoever.

On Melanie's other side, Lucas was still hovering over the supplies spread across the table. Clearly uncomfortable with the entire Eleven topic, he was eager for a distraction. "So, Mel," he asked, "what'd you bring?"

Melanie scoffed. "I didn't bring anything because I'm not going," she muttered, rolling her eyes. "I've got detention with Miss Maples after school."

Lucas stiffened, his eyes widening. "Maples?"

"The one and only," Melanie confirmed.

He gave her a solemn pat on the shoulder, squeezing lightly. "Godspeed."

Melanie stifled a pout, her lips pressing into a thin line. "Yeah, yeah. Just make sure you fill me in tonight on whatever you guys find while I'm trapped at school. This is the first and last time I'm missing out on a search. It's not happening again."

The boys nodded in agreement. Then, from upstairs, Karen's voice echoed. "Kids! Time for school!" In unison, all four of them groaned. Still on the couch, Eleven glanced up at the sound, her brow furrowed slightly in concern as she watched them.

Briefly, Melanie doubted Eleven had ever been to school.

As Dustin and Lucas raced up the basement stairs, their feet pounding against the wooden steps, Mike lingered behind, dropping down beside Eleven for a final word. "Just stay here," he instructed. "Don't make any noise and don't leave."

Melanie returned her half-empty can of chips to the table. "If you get hungry, help yourself to Dustin's snacks," she said. "I recommend the Pringles."

"Michael! Melanie!" Their mother's voice sliced through the basement again, more insistent now.

The Wheeler twins tilted their heads upward in unison, eyes tracing the staircase toward the open door. "Coming!" they both shouted back.

Mike let out a frustrated sigh, his attention hurrying back to Eleven. "You know those power lines behind the house?"

Her brow furrowed slightly. "P-Power lines?"

"Yeah." Mike nodded. "The ones behind our house?"

Eleven's eyes flickered toward Melanie for a brief second before landing back on Mike. "Yes," she confirmed softly.

"Meet us there after school."

"After school?" Eleven repeated, her voice so faint Melanie barely caught it as she hovered closer to the stairs, preparing to leave but still tethered to the conversation by a thread of curiosity.

"Yeah, three-fifteen," Mike clarified, his movements quick as he unclasped the watch from his wrist. He reached out and their fingers brushed as he fastened the watch around Eleven's skinny wrist. "When the numbers read three-one-five, meet us there."

"Three-one-five," Eleven echoed, her wide eyes studying the watch.

"See you later, El," Melanie called out, starting up the stairs.

But when no reply came, she paused halfway up, her hand gripping the banister. Turning her head, she caught sight of Mike still crouched beside Eleven, the two of them lost in a gentle smile shared only between them.

Melanie's gaze drifted beyond the pair then, falling on the broken spaceship now discarded on the couch. Eleven's powers were undeniable, but the depth of them? That was the real question. Could she really be the one to find Will? And if so, where did her abilities end? Did they end?

Such considerations were too vast, too incomprehensible. This upside-down world of Eleven's felt like a twisted mirror to their own—a place where logic faltered, and darkness ruled. Yet for all its terror, for all its unknowable questions, it was still the Party's playing field. A place they had no choice but to navigate . . . even if none of them were very good at sports.

Melanie's lips pressed together in a tight line. Maybe there were no answers, no neat solutions. Maybe the universe was just too big, too brutal to fit into the tidy stories they told themselves. But accepting that? No, Melanie Wheeler was not quite ready for that kind of surrender.

Not yet anyway.

~~~~~~~~~~

edited 10/05/2024.