chapter twelve
blueprint for a breakthrough

        Alex would trade all of her tomorrows for just one yesterday.  Just one do-over to make everything right.

In times of unimaginable grief, people will offer you their sympathies.  Alex doesn't want the outstretched hands that people offer her in this time of grief.  She is in a breaking things kind of mood.  She wants to pummel the drywall of her house until there is nothing left but dust and a gaping chasm where the wall once stood because she wants to feel something, even if that something is the sting of a broken hand.  But she has to remind herself that she's supposed to be okay.  Alex isn't fragile.  Alex does not need to be treated like a pretty little china doll sitting on an antique shelf.  She spends second and third period in Kyra the Counselor's office because the sympathetic stares become too much and she snaps her pencil in half during history and storms out of the classroom and Mr. Clarke suggests that she seeks Kyra. 

Alex lays on the azure couch pushed up against the wall of the small, cramped counseling office with her arms crossed tightly over her chest.  Her leg bounces rhythmically because it's the only thing that has the capability of calming her right now.  The mug of hot chocolate that Kyra had made her (from her 'special occasions' stash) sits untouched at the food of the couch.  Alex stares up at the ugly off-white popcorn ceiling, playing connect-the-dots with the rough surface.  Maybe the weight from the guilt of feeling nothing will become so heavy that she sinks into the depths of the couch. 

"How are you feeling?" Kyra finally asks gently.  Up until this point, she has been uncharacteristically silent during her visit, sitting patiently with one leg crossed over the other in the brown armchair that sits across from the couch with a clipboard in hand.  You cannot get the counselor without the clipboard.

Alex hesitates.  There's a wheel of words plastered to the wall just behind Kyra.  She says it's to help them identify and categorize their feelings better, but Alex doesn't feel any of the things listed on the wall.  Alex doesn't feel.  When she comes home the previous night, her face is numb from the cold, but they're still dry.  She doesn't crack when she tells Steve about the body that they pull from the Quarry.  She doesn't crack as she stares at Will's book which sits on her nightstand (it's in her backpack now, she feels better with it near her).  Steve's arms around her feel more like a heavy, smothering weight on top of her than a notion of comfort.  And maybe, there is something wrong with her—something more than just the anger—because, at this point, she should be crying.  At this point, it should set in, like a bullet tearing into her chest, that Will Byers is dead and gone.  And it's supposed to hurt, it's supposed to sting like a bitch and you'll wish that you were dead, but time will heal the wounds.  But Alex remains stubbornly numb.

Usually, she thinks that if someone were to take a scalpel and cut her open, they would find nothing but the blaze of anger burning brightly within her.  Because she has only even been anger.  But now, if one were to cut her open from head to toe, they would find nothing, just an empty chasm where all of her organs should be, and the ashes of a small fire that once burned brightly.  Because right now, Alex is just a hollow vessel.

She comes to Kyra the Counselor because she wants to feel better.  But can she feel better if she feels nothing?

"That's the thing," Alex replies, keeping her gaze focused on the star she's created with the popcorn ceiling.  The bounce in her leg intensifies.  "I don't feel anything.  I haven't felt anything since last night when they pulled his body out of the water."

Alex half expects herself to crack right then and there in the safety of the counseling office as her thoughts drift back to the tiny body with the sunken face and hollow eyes.  She expects the dam that holds back her emotions to crack right through the middle and for her emotions to spill out into a tidal wave of sorrow that submerges her and drowns her.  Because right now, crying sounds better than feeling numb.  Because at least she feels more human when she's crying.  But the dam stays up and Alex stays numb.

"Actually no, I take that back," Alex continues, "I feel like shit because I should be crying.  I'm supposed to be crying because that's what you're supposed to do when someone—when your friend—dies."

"We all process grief in different ways," Kyra responds.  "And feeling bad about not crying goes a long way to show that you cared."

Alex nods.  She's been doing this a lot recently, taking Kyra the Counselor's words to heart.  She wonders if this is a sign of growing up; finally accepting that parts of you are damaged (but just because there are parts of you that are damaged doesn't mean that you're completely beyond saving) and seeking out the help that you need.  Because before all of this, Alex didn't want to get better, because she didn't think that she was ever broken in the first place.  But things are changing now.  And Alex still doesn't think she's quite broken, but she's far from pristine. 

And maybe growing up is the blueprint for a breakthrough.  Yes, growing up is scary, and yes, everything is changing so rapidly and vibrantly, but Alex also understands more.  She thinks she's grown more in these past three days than she's grown in these past twelve years.

There's a knock on the door and it creaks open.  Mr. Clarke pops his head in.  "Um, sorry, to interrupt, but the assembly's about to start, and I thought Alex might want to be there.  No worries if you're not up to it but—"

"I think..." Alex starts, pushing herself up from the couch.  "I think I'll go.  Thank you, Ms. Fernandez."

The halls are thankfully empty.  Alex doesn't know how much more pity she can take.   She trails a few feet behind Mr. Clarke just in case her Flight-or-Fight responses finally scream at her to run and she wants to go back to the haven that is Kyra the Counselor's office.

"Boys?" Mr. Clarke questions as he rounds the corner.

Alex creases her brows and steps around the corner only to be greeted with Mike, Dustin, and Lucas crowded by the AV Room door.  And then her eyes land on Eleven—or at least who she thinks is Eleven.  The boys have given her a makeover; dressed her in a soft pink dress that reaches just below her knees and a navy blue jacket that conceals just how thin her arms are and secured a wig on her head so the blonde strands fall just above her shoulders.  They stand before Mr. Clarke rigid with wide eyes—all deer in headlights, and all clearly not grieving for Will.

"Hey," Lucas greets softly as he leans against the door almost nonchalantly.

"Assembly's about to start," Mr. Clarke informs them.

"We know, we're just...you know..." Mike trails off, suddenly becoming interested in the spot on the floor between his shoes.

"Upset," Lucas finishes with a smile.  And then he seems to remember that he's supposed to be grieving and his face falls for a split second.  Alex has to hold back a laugh.

"Yea-yeah," Dustin stammers, "def-definitely upset."

"We need some alone time," Mike tells him.

"To cry," Dustin agrees.

"Listen...I get it.  I do," Mr. Clarke tells them softly, and Alex can hear the fondness in his voice.  "I know how hard this is, but let's just be there for Will, huh?"  The boys nod solemnly, but Mr. Clarke isn't finished just yet.  "And then..." He digs out a key ring from his pocket and tosses it to Mike who catches it, surprised.  "The Heathkit is all yours for the rest of the day.  What do you say?"

The boys break out into grins.

And then, Mr. Clarke turns his attention to Eleven with a kind smile on his face.  "I don't believe we've met.  What's your name?"

Alex blanches.

"Eleven—" Eleven starts softly, soft enough to be lost beneath Mike's exclamation.

"Eleanor!" Mike cries.  "She's my, uh—"

"Cousin!" Lucas interjects.

"Second cousin," Dustin clarifies, holding up two fingers for emphasis.

Alex bites down on her lip to keep her from laughing.  Leave it to the boys to not have planned encounters like this.

Mike lets out a sigh.  "She's here for Will's funeral."

"Ah," says Mr. Clarke with a nod.  "Well, welcome to Hawkins Middle, Eleanor.  I wish you were here under better circumstances."

Eleven glances at the boys who accompany her, and then to Alex, and back to Mr. Clarke.  "Thank you."

"Uh, where are you from exactly?" Mr. Clarke wonders.

The boys freeze up, eyes wide as their head snaps in Eleven's direction.  Alex can only watch with a sense of looming dread as Eleven shakes her head.  "Bad place—"

"Sweden!" Dustin exclaims.

"I have a lot of Swedish family," Mike adds.

"She hates it there," Dustin explains.

"Cold!" Lucas exclaims.

"Subzero," Dustin agrees.

Realizing that he's bitten off more than he can chew, Mr. Clarke only nods and sweeps his arm down the hall.  "Shall we?"

"Yep," Lucas agrees eagerly.

They move as a unit down the halls, shoes squeaking and footsteps echoing and Alex finds herself in between Dustin and Lucas, who still seem more excited than sorrowful.  She glances over her shoulder at Mr. Clarke who seems distracted enough for her to hiss, "What the hell are you guys doing here?"

"Will's alive!" Dustin whispers back.

"What?" Alex hisses, her voice just barely above a whisper.  "What do you mean he's alive?  We all saw them pull his body out of the Quarry last night."

"We'll explain later," Lucas whispers as they approach the gym doors, "but we need the Heathkit in order to do that."

Dustin steps forward and flings the double doors to the gym open.  The doors bang against the walls and echo throughout the hollow gym.  Alex freezes where she stands in the threshold, thankful that Dustin blocks her from view.  Principal Coleman ceases speaking as every head in the gymnasium snaps in their direction.  Dustin gulps and glances around frantically.

"Abort," he whispers, turning on his heel, but Alex and Lucas catch him by the arms and shove him into the gym.

"We come together to heal, we come together to grieve," Principal Coleman says, his voice echoing through the gym as the five find an empty space on the bleaches that fit all of them.  Alex barely hears Principal Coleman's words.  She's too busy pondering what Dustin and Lucas can possibly mean by Will being alive.  They all saw that it was his body being pulled out of the Quarry. 

Alex hears Mike scoff.  "Look at these fakers."

"They probably didn't even know his name till today," Lucas agrees bitterly.

Alex's attention is then drawn to giggling further down the bench.  Her blood boils and her fists curl when her eyes land on Troy Walsh and James Dante who sit with their backs hunched over and hands covering their faces as if concealing laughter.  Alex thinks, that if the gap between them wasn't so large, she would be pummeling them with her fists.  She could use her grief as an excuse because everyone needs something as a punching bag for grief.

"Mouthbreather," Alex hears Eleven mutter through a clenched jaw.

"Dicks," Alex agrees.

The school bell is accompanied by pounding feet and lively chatter (as if the students were not just commemorating the death of one of their own).  The students push through each other, hoping to get to the cafeteria first, but Alex's eyes are locked on the figures of Troy and James who continue to chatter throughout the entirety of the assembly. 

Mike leads the way through the crowd toward Troy and James.  There is enough anger to go around for the five of them.  "Hey!"  He calls, but the boys do not hear him.  "Hey!  Hey, Troy!"  Mike is only inches away from the bullies when they turn around.  They tower over him, but Mike is too blinded by his anger to cower today.  "You...you think this is funny?"

"What'd you say, Wheeler?" Troy taunts, leaning forward to emphasize the distance between them.

"I-I saw you guys were laughing over there," he says, trying to keep his composure, but Alex can hear the tremor in his voice.  She considers leaping forward and tackling Troy to the ground and carving a fist-sized hole into his face, but before she can indulge in this urge, Lucas and Dustin are already holding her back.  "And I think that's a real messed-up thing to do."

"Didn't you listen to the counselor, Wheeler?" James asks with a smug smile.  "Grief shows itself in funny ways."

"Besides, what's there to be sad about anyway?" Troy continues.  Alex glances around uneasily as a crowd congregates around them.  "Will's in fairyland now, right?  Flying around with all the other little fairies.  All happy and gay!"

At this, both boys laugh as they begin to prance around, and something inside of Alex snaps but Lucas and Dustin are still holding her back and she is not about to hurt them because of her anger.  But Alex isn't the only one who is armed with anger.  Mike surges forward and shoves Troy harshly to the ground.  Troy lets out a groan while Alex lets out a vindicated laugh.

Nice one, Wheeler.

Troy clutches his face with one hand as he slowly pushes himself up.  "You're dead, Wheeler!  Dead!"

He surges forward toward Mike, fist raised and Alex flinches because she's not going to be able to make it in time, but suddenly, Troy freezes.  His eyes widen as he glances around in the same confusion that is written across everybody else's faces.  And then his eyes bulge in horror when they all see it.  A dark trail that makes its way slowly down the inseam of his pants before the telltale sound of liquid hitting the ground.

"Dude, Troy peed himself!"

The crowd bursts into raucous laughter as Troy's face turns a deep shade of red.  Even James steps away from Troy to avoid the embarrassment.  Dustin and Lucas are laughing loudly from both sides of Alex, and she soon joins in but not before she locks eyes with Eleven who wears a proud smirk as she wipes a fresh trail of blood away from her face.

"Hey!  What's going on here?" Principal Coleman calls from across the gymnasium.

"Time to go," Lucas murmurs under his breath.

Alex doesn't need to be told twice. 

author's note: kyra the counselor has finally made an appearance!!  who knows when we will see her next.