— CHAPTER 2 —
THE MICKEY MOUSE GIRL

MONDAY 7th NOVEMBER,
1983

RINGO seems to have no recollection of last night — the feline is back to his usual, mellow self as Cath wakes up to find him curled up at the end of her bed. She, on the other hand, still feels an overwhelming fear coursing through her body, seeping into her memory the more she comes to.

The comfort of sunlight bursting through a slit between the curtains spreads a warmth through her chest. Even if it was late at night, the knowledge that she couldn't turn on the lights if she wanted to terrified her. It was fair to say most of her sleep was wasted away with the duvet clutched to her chest, her balding bunny soft toy in a headlock and wide-eyed with paranoia.

     At least today will be normal.

     Sitting up to rub the glue of tiredness from her eyes, Cath peers at Ringo once more. It's hard to believe last night he was caught up in a rabid fit, hissing and howling into the abyss — the bundle of ebony fur gazing at her from the foot of her bed seems so oblivious in comparison.

     She crosses the small space of her room to the oak chest of drawers, chipped at the sides from years of use, and opens it. It's the fairly usual combination she goes for: shirt, knitted cardigan or sweater, skirt, stockings and her Mary Janes. This morning, she opts for a deep cobalt cardigan she found in a car boot sale last summer. She takes care with each button, knowing they hang on only by a thin thread. After that, Cath brushes her hair and pushes back the front strands with a black headband.

When she leaves the room, Daphne's just coming out too with her bag slung over her shoulder. She mumbles a quick "Morning" to her, before bouncing down the steps with arms full of the same green posters from yesterday. Cath greets her in return and sighs, tip-toeing down the stairs behind her.

"... Yeah, I don't think it's gonna work..."

Threads of half a conversation drift into audibility the further she goes down, spotting her father leans against the wall with the phone's spiralling cord bobbing about as he speaks.

"... Did you see that power surge last night? A bunch of our cables are completely fried, and a couple bulbs broke in my room..."

"D'you want toast?" Daphne asks midway through opening the bread bin.

Cath nods. "Yes, please."

Popping two slices into the toaster, Daphne slides into a seat at the table and gathers her posters to her left. She pulls out a black marker from the front pocket of her overalls and begins filling in the bubble writing on the top few papers. For a few moments she watches from afar, fascinated by the careful hand she has — she's always been the most creatively inclined out of them all, whether it be through these posters or the stories and screenplays she writes but never lets her read. Cath isn't too bad either, but could never magic up something so brilliant and unique off the top of her head.

"Did you draw those all by yourself?" she asks in wonderment, gawping at the large pile.

Chuckling, the elder girl puffs a wisp of blonde hair from her face. "I had a little help, don't worry."

"Couldn't you have just printed them?"

"That would defeat the object of being environmentally friendly."

"Oh... yeah, right."

     She reaches and fumbles for the box of Meow Mix in the cupboard on the top shelf — and just like magic, the rustling summons Ringo downstairs, his eyes enlarged and hunger-filled. She places a bowl of cat food down on the floor and fondly watches him tuck in, filling up another bowl with water.

Cath feels the urge to ask Daphne about last night. To get a second opinion, or some words of affirmation to put her mind at ease. Anything to voice her scepticism about what happened. But she doesn't; instead she stays quiet, observing the cat absentmindedly while waiting for her toast.

After hanging up, their Dad walks in and folds his arms across his chest. "So listen," he begins, "I'm gonna have to fix the fuse box, so I'll be doing the night shift tonight. I'll get some supplies and try to get it done when you're at school and we have some hours of daylight... Daphne, are you listening?"

Popping her head up from the posters, she lets her marker fall to the table. "Yep, yep..." she mumbles with an undertone of irritability.

Taking on the 'responsible parent' tone he always does with Daphne, Thomas continues, "I'll buy something for dinner when I'm in town, so make sure you're home in time after school to cook, okay?"

"Okay!"

"And don't forget to—"

"— lock all the windows before bed." she finishes his sentence. "Yeah, I got it."

"Alright..." Thomas nods, trailing off in thought, as if he's calculating whether he's forgotten something or not. Eventually he straightens up, grabbing his keys as Cath's toast pops up. "Well, I'm gonna go, see if I can get there before it's busy —" pausing, he considers what the girls are thinking too: that 'busy' is unlikely in a town like Hawkins and on a Monday. Instead, he just resorts to kissing each daughter on the top of their head goodbye. "— anyway, have a good day at school, behave, and I'll see you two later."

     "Bye!" Cath calls out, plonking herself in a chair next to Daphne. A silence cloaks the room, that doesn't leave until they hear the car pulling out of the driveway. She watches her again for a few moments, afraid to break the quiet, before she clears her throat. "So," she asks, "Are you going on the bus today?"

     "No, Amy and I are biking together." she says, not looking up from her posters.

     "Oh. Cool."

     "Unless you'd rather I come with y—"

     "No no no, it's okay!" Cath cuts her off, instantly wallowing in guilt. Why did she even ask? "You do whatever you want, I'm fine. I was just... curious."

     "Okay..."

     A knock on the door alerts both of them, and Cath pauses midway through smearing her toast with strawberry jam. Daphne leans back in her seat, before grinning and bounding over to the door. The voice that warbles down the hallway is instantly recognisable, of that belonging to Amy Nakamura herself.

     "Talk about timing! We were literally just talking about you."

     "Oh, really?" her unsure voice replies, as if she's debating whether it's a good or bad thing.

     "Yeah," Daphne comes back into the room, Amy trailing closely behind her. "We'll just wait a few minutes before going, I don't wanna leave Cath on her own."

      "That's fine. Hey, Cath."

     "Hi Amy." she says timidly, crossing her ankles beneath the table with a slight nervousness.

The next few minutes she spends silently eating her toast, whilst Daphne and Amy chatter about posters they're meaning to display various places in Hawkins High and elsewhere if possible. Out of her sister's small friendship group, she secretly wishes her other friend, Felix Rancourt, was here too. He's kind, charming, upbeat — and most importantly, he never leaves her out. Back when Daphne and him were dating, she used to love the conversations he'd have with her and, when they were really young, the time he took to play with her and involve her. But nowadays, since their break up, Cath finds she can't so much as praise the boy without Daphne tensing up.

When breakfast passes, the sisters go their separate ways. Daphne and Amy vanish from visibility as they pedal down the street on their bikes, chattering as they do, leaving Cath alone on the pavement with her satchel clutched to her body. The little girl makes her way along the road, stepping carefully over the cracks in the pavement as she sings a Carpenters song under her breath — quietly enough so no one will hear her. On her way, the neighbour's ancient Basset Hound starts barking like every time she passes and she flinches, picking up the pace to get past both him and the stench of rotting beef jerky that follows the dog.

Cath comes to the end of Kerley road and turns into Mirkwood, where her bus usually stops, and clings onto the strap of her satchel, willing the bus to come as soon as possible. A squirrel scurries on past, and she focuses on it — the fur of deep auburn stands out against the trees yet blends in so perfectly, little paws scrambling to gather acorns off the ground. She steps to the side and watches it with a smile as it continues tearing down Mirkwood road.

     And that's when she sees the bike.

      At first, she thinks nothing of it. But then she does a double take. Carelessly tossed into the rusty brown leaves, the wheels sprawl outwards in bizarre angles like they're dislocated limbs. There is something oddly sinister about it, the way it's just strewn there, that made Cath's skin tingle uncomfortably. She can't explain why but it feels like an omen. The bike looks familiar too, although she can't place who it belongs to. To her, bikes are just bikes — telling them apart is none of her concern.

     Cath shakes off the dread she begins to feel. You must be paranoid after last night, she thinks. Get it together.

     To her relief, the bus comes rumbling along Mirkwood at that moment, and it's enough to shake some sense into her. Once she's stepped into the bus, the familiarity of it soothes her. Cath chooses one of the front seats, as usual, where the racket from the back of the bus can't harm her — crumpled balls of homework being catapulted left, right and centre, unnecessarily loud screeches of unruly boys, the subtly nauseating odour of dried up bubblegum underneath the seats — it's carnage, but one that Cath is willing to endure on the journey to school.

     It's always just her at the front; she and the bespectacled boy with the congested sinuses and the Walkman. Perhaps he listens to block out his own noises. She's tried having exchanges with him in the past, but they always fizzled out too quickly, so nowadays she just settles for a friendly nod of the head. Cath doesn't mind it, really. It's peaceful up here. She can hear herself think.

     But on a day like today, she doesn't want to hear herself think. For the first five of minutes of the journey to school, she spends her time overthinking last night and the mysterious abandoned bike. What if someone's lost it? What if someone's hurt? Or worse, what if someone's been kidnapped, ripped right off the seat? —

"... sitting here?"

     Cath turns, her mouth going dry when she meets the eyes of the stranger standing before her expectantly. Her brain goes into overdrive, doing a loop-the-loop of panic. "Uh..." she fumbles for words, what are words? "Hello."

     The girl (thankfully) chuckles lightheartedly, cocking an eyebrow. She gives her a smile that seems so genuine — dimples forming at the corners of her lips and her eyes twinkling. "Hi? I was just asking if this seat is free," she turns and nods over to the boy with the Walkman, "because I don't think Headphones over there is budgin'."

     "No... I mean y-yes! The no was 'cause no one's sitting here. Yes, this seat is free. So, you can sit here."

Oh, how she wishes the ground could swallow her up right now.

     "Cool, thanks." Without a moment's hesitation, the stranger plants herself firmly into the seat, holding her backpack on her lap. Cath stares as subtly as she can at her; she's definitely not from around here. First off, she's never seen the girl before, and at some point she's come across every person and their dog in Hawkins. Plus, the way she carries herself so freely seems so... out-of-place in this town. She glances down at their feet — the girl's sneakers are scuffed and worn, but also still maintaining a fun, bright rainbow of colours. Next to her own feet, strapped into brown buckled pumps with prim white stockings, the newcomer looks a paint palette sat by to a Victorian school child.

Her gaze then falls onto her denim jacket, or more specifically, the sea of pinned-on and sewn-on badges that swarms her chest — smiley-faces, stars, various souvenir memorabilia (one of which looks like a toucan bird, above the words 'Brasilia') and one that particularly catches Cath's eye, Mickey Mouse's face sewn on her shoulder. She's still staring at it when the girl notices her curiosity, and she feels her cheeks burning in embarrassment over being caught.

Tapping the Mickey Mouse badge, she grins. "I got this one at Disney. In Florida."

"Oh..." Cath says. She considers staying silent, but part of her is keen to keep the conversation going — after all, she's never even been to Disney. Only in her wildest dreams. "What's it like?" she asks.

"Florida? Or Disney?"

"Um," she lets out a bashful chuckle. "Both, I guess."

"Disney's super fun, and I'd definitely go again if I ever went back again." the Mickey Mouse girl rambles. "As for Florida, it's nice — if you like hot and sticky weather, that is. Now don't get me wrong, I looove a hot summer's day and goin' to the beach, but the humidity is just... eugh! Icky. Not to mention the hurricanes... I lived in Florida in, like, the early Seventies, and it was wild."

"Whoa..."

"Good thing I don't live there now! Oh, wait, did I tell you I'm new here?" she side-tracks, grabbing Cath's shoulder, much to her surprise. "I moved here last week. Actually never mind, you probably guessed."

She smiles sweetly. "Yeah. So, where did you move from?"

The Mickey Mouse girl takes a deep breath, narrowing her eyes as she begins to recall. "Well... I've lived all around the country. First Tampa, then San Francisco, then Chicago, then Indianapolis for a couple of months, and now Hawkins."

Cath's eyes pop open a little wider, bewildered.

"Oh, and I was born in Brazil, so I lived there until I was three."

Lost for words, she simply nods in response. How is she supposed to respond when she's barely stepped foot outside of her home state, let alone the continent? "That's... wow." she says finally, looking again at her badges and realising that's probably where they've come from.

"Yeah, my family travels a lot." Mickey Mouse girl says with a shrug, reaching into her bag. "My Dad has this job where he goes around helping start up businesses or whatever — I don't really care for it!" she pulls out a juice box from her bag and asks, "You don't mind, do you? I was so excited this morning, I could barely eat breakfast."

"No, please. Go ahead."

"Thanks!" she chirps. Stabbing a straw into the carton, she takes a long sip of apple juice and turns in her seat to face Cath. "Today's my first day. Are you in Seventh Grade too?"

Smiling eagerly, Cath eyes a drop of juice that leaks from the straw hole. "Yeah, I sure am."

"Oh, awesome! Maybe we'll have some classes together..." a pause, before she holds out a hand to shake. "I'm Andrea, by the way."

She takes her hand in return, slightly startled by how strong of a grip she has. "I'm Catherine, but everyone calls me Cath."

     "Nice to meet you. Hey, and by the way, I'm just Andrea. My friends have tried calling me Andi in the past, but it just reminds me of my Uncle Andy who I do not wanna be twinning with."

━━━━━━

     MOMENTS like this, with the cool November breeze rustling her hair as she rides through soggy autumnal leaves on the damp road, are enough to make Daphne forget how much she wants to get out of this town.

     It's quite seldom the people who make her appreciate her humble little hometown, but more the surroundings — the forests thick with trees on either side of the road if you drive out far enough, the characteristic bumps and cracks in the Hawk Theatre's infrastructure, the tranquil evenings in the summer...

     But she also has her fair share of moments that make her think, How long 'til graduation again?

     She has one of them this morning; turning carefully into the courtyard at Hawkins High, Amy gliding closely behind her on her bike, Daphne takes a couple of careful glances at the road before pedalling over it. Then faster than she can process, there's a car and she yelps — "Jesus, fuck!" — careening to the side with no hope of stopping. She sticks her feet out desperately and scrapes them against the ground, managing to stop herself from sustaining an injury, but not in time to topple over a couple of other parked bicycles in the process.

     Oh yes, Daphne has every intention of leaving Hawkins in the dust; at least if she can make it out alive.

     It doesn't take a genius to guess who's behind the wheel. A sniggering Tommy H. emerges, propping his elbow up on the car roof as Carol gets out the passenger seat. Of course. Daphne tries to avoid eye contact, with both them and a visibly pissed Amy, wincing slightly at the dull ache that radiates from her pelvis as she dismounts the bike.

     "Are you okay?" her friend asks, fuming. Her knuckles whiten as her hands tighten their coil on the handlebars.

     "I think so."

     "You still alive?"

     "Just about..." Daphne half-laughs, half-sighs.

     Swivelling around, Amy clenches her jaw to suppress some of her agitation, soon proving useless. "ASSHOLES!" she hollers across the courtyard. With a symphony of embarrassed curse words under her breath, Daphne grabs her by the shoulders and spins her away from plain sight of the hyenas across from them.

"It's okay, Ames. They're not worth our time."

Taking a deep breath through her nose, but still failing to release it, Amy begins to loosen up. She clutches and rubs her forearm obsessively — a coping mechanism Daphne's noticed over the years whenever the lid for her temper is blown.

"Anyway, it's their loss..." Daphne shrugs. She reaches into her backpack and pulls out a stack of posters, grabbing them tightly so they aren't carried with the wind. "Because they'll be the ones looking stupid after we put these bad boys on every notice board in Hawkins High!"

Amy lets out an unconvincing chuckle, shaking her head skeptically as she retrieves her own pile from her bag. She pulls her sweater sleeve down over her wrist and jogs over to catch up with Daphne, who's already starting making her way to the school building. "We'll just have to see how long it takes those dickheads to rip them down." she mutters spitefully.

     "They won't. We've got the go-ahead from the Principal, so we have every right to put these up."

     "Okay, but if you forget Neanderthals like Tommy," she says, "Then who's actually gonna pay attention to these?"

     "They will."

     "But no one cares."

     Daphne stops dead in her tracks. Clutching the posters self-consciously to her chest, she considers the words. No one cares. And in truth, Amy isn't wrong. She remembers the indifference, the flippant acceptance of her eagerness to spread this knowledge from the Principal — about the landfill sites, about things she'd heard of human activities destroying the earth. He just permitted her with a careless wave of his hand. Like he doesn't understand. No one seems to understand, and it irks her. Earth, for Daphne, remains one of the things she treasures deeply in life. Where would she be without the greenery to roam, or the fresh air to feel in her lungs? The concept of her future children living in a world where the damage done by humans is beyond repair is, frankly, terrifying.

     Then again, not everyone is Daphne Delaney. And not everyone gives a damn about the planet possibly dying.

     If she's the only person in Hawkins who actually cares, then so be it.

     "Well." she hums. "They'll just have to start caring then, won't they?"

     She holds the door open for Amy with her foot, rummaging in her bag for the metal tin filled with pins, still smelling vaguely of cigarettes even after her father's long-abandoned smoking days. On the first notice board, right in the middle of Band posters and School Bulletins, is a perfect gap for a poster. Gleefully, Daphne holds one in the space with one hand, and takes the first pin from Amy.

     As she's pushing the pin into the cork, Amy switches the subject.

     "Hey, are you free after school?"

     "Should be. Why?"

     "Felix rang me last night, saying he couldn't get through to you or something." she explains, handing her a second pin.

     "Ah," Daphne says quickly, "That's the power cut, probably. It completely zapped our house." She attempts to hide the painfully obvious flutter she feels in her chest upon hearing his name, immersing herself in the task of attaching the poster with a hyper-focused concentration.

     "Right. So..." Amy hesitates. "He called to ask if you were up for getting burgers at Benny's after school?"

     She perks up, looking to her with a radiant smile. "Of course. He doesn't have to ask — I mean, that's just what the three of us do, right?"

     "Four."

    "What?"

     "The four of us."

     Now she understands. The three of them, and her.

     "... Oh." Daphne finally musters a response, failing to sugarcoat the immense disappointment in her voice. Expectedly, this seems to tick Amy off, as many other things do.

     "Daphne, you have to just get over it." Amy declares sternly, tilting her head to the side with irritation.

     "I will, I will —" Daphne's defences go flying up, and she turns back to the poster. Her skin is already crawling with uneasiness on the topic. "— I just... need some time."

     "How much? It's been two months. You can't just keep avoiding him whenever Tonya's there too because, I hate to break it to you, but they're attached at the hip." she lets out a sigh when she sees how crestfallen her friend looks, and tries to soften a little as she adds in a low voice, "More to the point, it's driving me batshit crazy."

     Daphne manages a weak laugh. It's driving her crazy, too — she genuinely wishes it was as easy as Amy makes it sound. If this is the cost of High School romance, then she isn't sure she ever wants to experience it again. Whilst the dizzying, intoxicating euphoria was wonderful and everything she'd ever dreamed of, crashing down from the high was twice as emotional. And not in the best way at all.

     Her biggest takeaway from this? Never, ever date your best friend.

     "I'm fine," she forces an uncertain smile, finishing up with the last poster. "I'll just have to... suck it up..."

     But the words die on her mouth; as soon as she says them, she turns and is unwillingly an audience to the two aforementioned lovebirds. Felix and her — Tonya McCarthy. Their fingers effortlessly threaded together, like they were meant to be intertwined, Felix leans forward to whisper something in her ear, lips gently brushing her temple. From afar, she watches Tonya's lips turn upwards into a smile as she giggles melodiously with him.

Her heart sinks.

     She can't even hate the girl. Since they've been together, Tonya has been nothing but nice to her, offering her little favours if she ever needs them. Daphne feels awful every time she rejects them, but she doesn't know whether she'd rather give in or keep up this game of beating about the bush. And she's pretty... really pretty. Chestnut brown eyes like those of a deer, smooth silky hair of the same colour, a sweet little pair of rosy lips and clear skin like a porcelain doll. The girl is practically perfect in every way she can think of.

     Then it gets worse — they're kissing now. Light ones at first, little pecks, that soon deepened into one more passionate. Daphne's heart hammers with the nauseating feeling that she shouldn't be watching this. Or more to the point, she can't watch it.

     "Take these," she hastily dumps her posters onto Amy's stack, not bothering to wait for her protest. She takes off down the hallway, trying to shake her light-headedness as she averts her gaze from the couple when passing them.

     "What? Where are you going?" Amy protests behind her. "Daphne!"

     "Bathroom! See you in class."

     When she reaches the girl's bathroom, she finds it empty; and so begins the quest for choosing a vacant stall. The first one she goes into, she tries the lock only to find it's flimsy, and with a groan she moves onto the next one. This time, she's more successful — Daphne locks the door and makes her way to the back of the bathroom stall. She hugs her knees to her chest with a sigh, balancing her feet on the edge of the toilet seat.

What is she doing here?

Well, she knows what she's doing here — hiding from her best friend. Which sounds ridiculous, now she thinks of it. She pinches her eyes tightly shut, in the hopes of blocking out any thoughts of images of them together.

     The door creaks open. Daphne shuffles back on her seat a little, trying to quieten her breathing and find her feet a secure place to be mounted. She hears the girl rubbing her feet against the floor, and not vanishing into one of the adjacent stalls. She must be waiting for someone. Relaxing herself again, she lets her head fall gently back onto the tiled wall behind her. Back to solitude.

In here, she can recollect her thoughts. She's been doing it for as long as she can remember. When she was really little, she'd go run out and sit under a tree, perhaps talking to it for a little bit. Trees made good friends back then. They listened when no one else would. But at some point in Middle School, it was like she passed a threshold — suddenly having trees as friends became a bullying point, and not just a little quirk that went uncriticised. She couldn't just be herself anymore. People start calling you even more names, as if the original ones weren't enough: 'Stoner', 'Loony', 'Mental Jacket'. Although 'Tree Hugger' wasn't so bad — in fact, she tried to own that one. Unfortunately that was only one insult out of an infinite list. And you can only pretend that words don't cut deep for so long.

     So instead, the bathroom stalls became her new retreat. It wasn't as bad as she thought it would be at first — sure, maybe it stunk a little, and she felt her muscles tighten every time there were other girls in there. Something about having her own little box, all to herself, was surprisingly comforting. In here, she could silently cry, or eat her lunch, or do anything without being exposed or judged by anyone. At least if she was careful enough.

     For a few minutes, she sits in complete silence. Devoid of thought. It's almost meditative, if it weren't for the burst of paranoia that spurt every time she becomes aware of another human outside the stall. These four walls have become a sanctuary and a prison simultaneously.

     She starts to become slightly restless after the door opens a second time. So, with nothing else to do, she channels her boredom into listening to the outer goings-on of her cage.

     "Is there anyone else in here?" one girl asks; barely in a whisper, and slightly unsure. Daphne holds her breath.

     "No. I've been in here for five minutes and it's, like, completely dead."

     It's a boy. There's a boy in the girl's bathroom. And more to the point, from what she could hear, she's pretty sure it's Steve Harrington — the pretty boy of Hawkins High, who the likes of Tommy H. and Carol follow around like a train of ducklings. He wouldn't be surprised if he laughed at the story of them almost killing her in the parking lot this morning.

     What the hell is he doing in here?

     Wait, scrap that — she knows exactly what he's doing in here, and it makes her eyes roll so far back into her head, she thinks they enter another dimension.

     "Okay..."

     The girl — who, by process of elimination, Daphne's pretty sure is Nancy Wheeler — lets out a timid, breathy giggle, much like the one Tonya has. She considers whether she should just walk out right now, get the awkward encounter out of the way, and just let them have their romantic escapade.

     "But if anyone saw us in here —"

     "— They'd be jealous of me."

     "Oh, Steve..."

     The squeak of lips colliding and moving together, like a balloon artist crafting an obscure shape, fills the room. A hot flush rolls down her spine and manifests across her skin in pinpricks — now she definitely can't go anywhere. What is she supposed do? Just waltz right out and announce, "Hey lovebirds! Sorry to interrupt your little 'moment', I swear I'm not a creep, I just like to choose my moments." No. She will just wait until the bell goes, and once they're out of sight she'll leave like nothing happened.

     Her master plan doesn't make it any less awkward. Especially when she soon hears a small thud, spotting through the crack in the door that Steve's now got Nancy pinned up against the wall, and instinctively feels her gag reflex kick in. Even in here she can't escape the obvious, blinking like a warning light before her eyes:

     Newsflash! You're not over Felix.

    Something drives her to lean nearer the crack, a morbid curiosity — she sees the giddy, infatuated smile on Nancy's face, the way Steve's hands find a resting place on her waist. The way he persuades her to stay with more kisses, even when she glances at her watch awkwardly. She finds herself thinking back to a time when she too was soaring on the high of first love, and yearning it.

It hits her just then, how much she's been hurting. How she feels a punch in the gut every time Felix looks at another girl the way he used to look at her. And so quickly, too.

     BRIIING!

     Daphne's bag falls pitifully to the floor with a loud thwack! after the shock of the school bell. Trying her best not to utter every curse word she knows, she scrambles helplessly for the bag and pulls it up to her chest with such force, she thinks it'll go flying over the stall. Her heart thuds, mortified. Through the crack, Steve's pulled his lips away from Nancy's, and they both stare at the spot under the bathroom stall's door where her bag had fallen. Whilst he's distracted, Nancy takes the chance to make a run for it, but he's not letting her go just yet.

     Not even afraid to showcase her hiding place anymore, she begins tapping her foot furiously as the lover's quarrel unfolds. Now she really wants to bust down the door — but if she can help it, she'll wait. But not if it means she's late to class. As Steve teases Nancy about 'studying' (whatever that means in his terms) Daphne wishes more and more that she could just make a decision for them so that everyone could move on.

     "So should I come over, say, eight?"

     "Uh, are you crazy? My Mom won't allow that, no way..."

     "Who needs to 'allow' anything? I'll just climb through your window, and she won't even know I'm there." Steve reassures her coolly. "I'm stealthy. Like a ninja."

     Cringing internally, Daphne glances at her watch ticking. It's already been a full minute and they aren't budging. Impatience turns to anxiety — she can't deal with a detention right now! Especially if it's because Steve Harrington couldn't keep it in his pants. She's starting to seriously debate on simply opening the door and running out there in a flash. Besides, her life is a never ending film reel of awkward moments, so what's a little more? If those two didn't hurry up—

     "Steve, I have to study. I'm not kidding."

     "Why do you think I want it nice and quiet?"

     Daphne suddenly feels thankful for hiding in a bathroom, as the sudden urge to throw up takes over.

     "You're an idiot, Steve Harrington..." Nancy's smiling through her voice. Footsteps drift out of audibility. Yes! They're leaving! "I'll meet you at Dearborn and Maple. At eight. To... study."

     Her eyes dart around the confinement of the stall, frozen like an athlete waiting for the starting gun in a sprint, as she listens out for the blissful sound of the door opening and closing. They've gone. At last. Daphne hauls her backpack on again, bouncing with adrenaline while taking one last look at her watch. She has a minute. A minute to get to class. If she jogs hard enough, she could make it with time to spare — it's sure to work.

     Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy....

     With one clean movement she swings open the door, her brain only catching up with her body when her feet become rooted to the floor in horror.

     Standing opposite her, staring awkwardly like a deer in headlights, is Steve Harrington.

     Daphne stares at Steve. Steve stares at Daphne. Both contemplating whether either should say anything, and both hoping neither will say a single word to the entire school. It feels like one of the stare downs she's seen in the black and white Westerns they show on TV, except this was possibly the strangest encounter in her life.

     Then time becomes the prominent thought in her mind again. Before Steve can say anything, she hurtles out of the bathroom with a mortified whimper. "Fuck, fuck, fuck..." she mutters under her breath, power-walking down the hall with a newfound purpose.

     She doesn't relax until she turns the corner into her History class, where the teacher is turned to the blackboard and scrawling out the words, 'The Great Depression' — Daphne avoids the stares of her classmates as she hops over bags to get to her seat. Once sat down she puffs out a huge breath, feeling the blood rushing to her cheeks.

     Felix, in front of her, turns in his chair and raises an eyebrow at her. "You alright?" he asks, looking her up and down as he catches her breath.

     "Y-yeah..." she swallows thickly, and gives him a thumbs up. "I'm good for tonight by the way. You know, Benny's."

     "Oh, great! I'll tell Tonya after class."

     "Mhm, yeah. Great."

     Still grimacing as she flips to the correct page in her textbook, there's a knock at the door. Her teacher stops, and the class's eyes become trained on the Principal looming in the doorway with a magnetic kind of force. Behind him stands the Chief of Police, Jim Hopper, who looks pointedly in her direction — instantly her heart picks up the pace again, just when she thought she'd give it a break. "Sorry to interrupt," says the Principal. "Could I borrow Daphne Delaney for a moment, please?"

     Oh, she thinks. I'm screwed.

     Every pair of eyes bore into the back of her head, burning holes there as she slowly stands from her desk. She tries to swallow but her throat is sandpaper. "Do I..." she clears her throat awkwardly. "Do I need to bring my stuff?"

     "Just yourself, thanks." says Chief Hopper.

     She looks down and catches Felix shooting her a confused stare. He narrows his eyes at her, mouthing 'What?', to which she replies with a clueless shrug — 'I don't know' — and weaves her way slowly past the students in the classroom.

     Both the Principal and the Chief's walks are brisk and purposeful, and she trails closely behind them, lagging slightly. It's strange seeing Hopper look so resourceful this morning. All the times she's seen the Chief, he's had his legs propped up on his desk with a donut in one hand and a coffee in the other. What was it he always said? "Mornings are for coffee and contemplation."

     Today, Hopper seems like he's been having lots of contemplation and not enough coffee.

     In the Principal's office, two of his other colleagues are there. She recognises them as Callahan and Powell — not that she's been doing criminal activity, of course. Everyone knows virtually everyone in Hawkins. But most notably, Powell was the one who dealt with she and her sister when they found Ringo as a stray kitten, back in '79. Callahan, on the other hand, is the uncle to of one of Cath's friends, Gina. She thinks they're her friends, anyway...

     "Please, sit..." Hopper gestures to a chair, once the Principal has shut the door and closed the blinds.

     Something about this gives her an ominous feeling — everyone's acting too seriously for it to be a simple questioning. Nevertheless, Daphne takes a seat opposite the Chief. Her eyes drift to the window behind Hopper for a moment, watching the sunlight filter through the blinds. Then she shakes her head. Now isn't the time to be zoning out.

     "Alright," he coughs, in the way she recognises a smoker doing. "I'm sure you're probably wondering why you're he—"

     "Is this about the posters?" Daphne cuts in breathlessly. "Because—"

     "The what?"

     "Oh, she was just planning to put up some posters around the school," the Principal intervenes, sensing Daphne being on edge. "But she's got the green light from me."

     "Right, right. Okay..." Hopper blinks, thrown off course by her sudden outburst. "So, you live on Kerley Road, right?"

     Daphne shifts in her seat. "Um, yeah."

     "And I'm assuming you know Will Byers?"

     Where is he going with this? Nevertheless, Daphne goes on. "Yeah, I know him. He's a great kid."

     "Yeah, yeah. Well, did you happen to see him last night?"

     "... No?"

     Her palms begin to sweat. She doesn't like the succession of these questions, for they imply that the boy has something warranting a visit from the Chief of Police. This can't be a throwaway incident. The impending anticipation of what's happen to the Byers boy begins to set in, locking her teeth together with dread.

     "Why?" she asks. "Is he okay?"

     Hopper drags out a deep breath — glancing from her, to his colleagues, to the Principal, and then back to her. The longer pause only heightens her anticipation, her heartbeat roaring in her ears.

     "Will didn't make it home last night."

━━━━━━

A/N;

AHHHH okay, so a lot happened in this chapter! first we've got the newbie, andrea, and also the first section from daphne's point of view! out of interest, did it feel distinguishable to you as a reader that this pov was taking place with a completely different sister? just curious as a writer, because that's what i wanted to achieve!

also, we love andrea sandoval in this house 🥰 and we love daphne being aware of climate change (that actually took some research, i was trying to figure out what the general opinion/awareness of it was in the 80's — it might be a little bit off, but hopefully it's kinda accurate!)

updates might not be as frequent from now on, because september is fast approaching, and that means back to school season, so i'll probably be very busy. but i'll try my best!

hope you enjoyed! and remember, writers love seeing what you thought of the story. votes are nice and all, but comments are 100x more valuable to us! ✨ have a good day/evening

— Imogen

[ Published: August 26th, 2020 ]