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You kind of hated Hawkins.
It wasn't a burning, desperate hate. Just an inkling, present at every trip to the grocery store, every time you tried to order pizza after 10 PM, and every step you took in Hawkins High. Things were different here. You wanted to go home.
It didn't help that you transferred in the middle of the year when everyone had already picked their classes and made their friends, and you got stuck with the shittiest electives, the worst seats in your classes, and an already over-crowded lunch period where there was rarely any space for you to sit at a table alone so you just had to awkwardly sit a couple of seats away from people you didn't know, who kept looking at you like you were a total ditz. The school didn't even let you choose an instrument to play – not that your mom would let you do that anyway. Patricia liked the house to be completely quiet while she drank herself into oblivion and not giving a fuck about her kids, and that meant no music practice, no listening to music, no talking on the phone, no watching TV, and certainly no having friends over. Not that that was an option because, ha, ha, you had no friends.
Okay, so maybe you didn't hate Hawkins, but you certainly hated what it represented. You had no attachments or plans here except to make as much money as possible at your after-school job, graduate next summer, and leave this whole stupid place in the dust when you moved back home. The people of Hawkins, Patricia, and especially everyone at Hawkins High could go fuck themselves as far as you were concerned.
You would never admit it, but it still hurt when they made fun of you, regardless of how insistently or frequently you told yourself they didn't matter.
You watched, wary, as a couple of boys in Hawkins High jackets – the basketball team, you thought – approached you, laughing amongst themselves.
"You're (Y/N), right?" One of them asked.
"Uh-huh." You replied.
"Aren't you from New York or something?" The other asked.
"Yeah." You said shortly, setting your book on your lap and steeling yourself for the inevitable question.
"We're on the basketball team… do people like basketball there?" The first one asked.
"It's not as popular as baseball is." You didn't bother finishing the thought, knowing that they had gotten what they wanted when they dissolved into snorts of laughter. People here never seemed to get tired of your accent, or of making fun of it. You willed your face to stop burning, but it didn't.
"I don't think that word has a 'w' in it, sweetheart," One of them snorted.
"Can I – can I hear it again?"
"You can bite me," You muttered under your breath, pushing past them.
You'd just go to geometry early and sit there for a while, you thought. No one would even notice. Someone did, but only to look at you like you were a complete spaz when you rushed into the room and dropped your stuff on your desk. You looked back at him, hoping your expression read don't fuck with me rather than I'm about to cry, which was what it actually was. The guy, who wore a denim vest and a shirt with a weird face on it, lowered his head and looked back out the window, clearly not intending to mess with you.
You sat down at your desk and stared down at your book angrily, unwilling to wipe away the tears that threatened to spill down your cheeks because that would mean acknowledging that they were there. The minutes ticked by, the only sound in the room the music blaring through the headphones of the guy a couple of desks away from you. You kept trying to read, but inevitably your mind would be drawn to the boys from the basketball team, to what you wish you had said to them, to how pissed off you were with Patricia, or how much you missed home. Eventually, you stopped trying to read and just glared at the clock. Then, you got tired of that, and your attention wandered to the room around you.
… feel the eyes upon you ... pretend it doesn't bother you but you just want to explode…
You didn't want to look at him, but you strained your ears to hear the tiny voice pumped through his headphones through his walkman. The guy was a few seats to your left, his chin resting on his fist. He tapped his foot to the music.
Most times you can't hear 'em talk, other times you can… all the same old cliches….
He wasn't looking, so you turned in your seat and leaned forward a little to hear better.
You always seem outnumbered, you don't dare make a stand… make your stand….
He glanced at you, did a double take, and shut off his walkman. You stared at each other in silence.
"What?" He finally asked, not unkindly. It was almost shy, like he thought you'd make fun of him or something.
"What are you listening to?" You asked, in the same tone.
"Uh… sorry…" He fumbled with the walkman awkwardly, "If it bothers you, I can…"
"It doesn't bother me." You said, and his ringed fingers stilled "I, um… it just sounded good." He blinked at you slowly, as though completely bewildered. You blinked at him, sat up a little straighter, and started to turn in your seat. "Nevermind," You muttered, opening your book again. You didn't need this guy making fun of you, too.
Beside you, he was silent, but eventually, you heard him stand up and move. He was sitting next to you now, playing with his walkman in his hands. Hesitantly, he popped the compartment open and held out a cassette tape.
"It's, uh… Metallica," He offered. "You want to borrow it?"
"No," You replied, though not without hesitation. You knew Patricia wouldn't like the noise.
"Really," He said, "I don't mind. I've listened to it hundreds of times." An awkward laugh. "That's kinda what I do. Listen to music, play music..."
"No." You said again, "I don't have a cassette player at home." And then, a little softer when you saw how he retracted from your hard tone, you added, "Thank you for offering."
"Um... I have an audio splitter." He offered hesitantly, holding up a weird wire.
"A what?" You looked at it in bewilderment.
"An audio splitter. So two people can listen on two different sets of headphones." He grinned. "We can listen together."
"I don't have any headphones." You admitted. "Sorry."
The next day, a set of old headphones, well-worn and with a couple of knots tied in the wires, was sitting on your desk when you came to geometry. You knew they were from him, but he didn't look at you until you approached him after class, fidgeting with them awkwardly as you stood next to his desk.
"You have a free period now, right?" He asked, "Everyone else does. I usually hang out behind the gym and listen to music…"
"Um, no, I have French." "French?" He asked, "French what?"
"Language." You said, awkwardly.
"Why are you taking French?"
"Because, um, it was the only elective left that I could take when I signed up?" It came out like a question. A nervous, shaky one.
"What, did you miss registration day last year or something?"
"No, I… just moved here," You frowned. Everyone else seemed to be acutely aware of that fact. Why wasn't he?
"You moved… to Hawkins?" He arched his brow.
"Trust me, it… wasn't my decision." You rubbed your arm, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. "I have a free period after that. I could… meet you behind the gym…"
"I'll be there."
You almost thought the wasn't going to be. As you rounded the corner, you had yourself convinced that he was just making fun of you, and wasn't really going to be waiting for you… but there he was, sitting in the grass, half a dozen cassette tapes spread out around him. When you approached, his smile was so genuine that it had you kicking yourself for thinking he would have just done this to make fun of you. He didn't seem to have a cruel bone in his body.
"I'm Eddie, by the way," He said when you were close enough to hear.
"(Y/N)." You replied, sitting across from him with the cassettes between the two of you.
"Where're you from?"
"New York."
"Really?" He couldn't help but laugh. "That's awesome! What are you doing in Hawkins?"
"Uh…" You laughed a little, yourself. "Honestly? Getting my time wasted by my mom."
"Ah." Eddie nodded his head slowly. "Moms do that."
"Does yours?"
"Nah, she's…" He looked off into the distance for a moment, twirling his hair absently as though it might help him find a good way to put it. Finally, he decided on, "Doin' her own thing. Somewhere." and an easy smile.
"She's not around?" You asked.
"Nah." He said again, as though it was meaningless. As though he didn't need her. You wanted to not need Patricia, either. "So, you want to listen?"
"Sure," You looked around at the cassettes. "You have a lot of these,"
"This is just what I had in my backpack," He grinned, "Got a bunch more at the trailer if you ever wanna…" He thought about it, bit his lip, and backed away from the thought. "Well, let's try this one first. Metallica's first album," He held the cassette case up with two fingers for you to see after popping it into his walkman. "Kill 'Em All."
You had never heard anything like it before. Eddie watched your face brighten with interest, your hands coming up to clasp the headphones tighter over your ears so that the sound was even more immersive. It was new, it was wild, it was incredible. At first simply because it was unabashedly loud, but soon because it was also irreverently against everything that Patricia and all of the other adults in your life stood for. Kicking ass, metal madness, screaming fans, and music that was never loud enough until it was ripping right through your brain. The little part of you that Patricia still had a hold on, the one that started screaming with Catholic rage when The Four Horsemen and Jump In The Fire came on, knew that it was wrong and wanted more. Then came Motorbreath, hard and heavy and dirty and mean and oh so breathtakingly fast, the anticipatory violence of Seek and Destroy, the weird muted feeling of a completely wordless bass solo called Anesthesia. Then, Eddie put on Ride the Lightning, their second album, and it was so wonderfully different from anything you had heard from them prior.
"This is amazing," You whispered, your eyes wide, your hands still clapped over your ears as though you could somehow keep it all for yourself. You looked at Eddie, who you realized wasn't even listening to the music, he was simply watching your reaction with the biggest grin that you had ever seen on someone's face. "This is amazing," You said, louder.
"I know!" He seemed to say back, but you could barely hear him over the thrumming intro to Fade to Black. You took off your headphones, music still thrumming from them, barely audible. Your ears buzzed with the lack of stimulation.
"Why isn't everyone listening to this?"
"Everyone thinks it's crap!" He laughed out. It was infectious. You laughed too. "They all call me a freak for listening to it."
"Yeah, well," You thought about it for a minute, "Everyone here makes fun of me for how I say basketball, so. They're full of shit. Don't listen to them."
His laughter faded abruptly. "Hey, there's nothing wrong with the way you talk."
"I know," You said at once. And you should have. It still hurt, though.
"Is that why you were so upset yesterday?"
"I wasn't… so upset," You defended yourself.
"You looked like you were gonna cry."
"I was trying to look tough so you wouldn't mess with me." You balled up your fists and put them up, in a facsimile of squaring up to fight.
"Wow, babe, you really missed the mark," He snorted, waving your hands away. You let them fall into your lap.
"It's just, like…" You hesitated and took a deep breath. You could stop talking – should stop talking – you barely knew Eddie and, while he seemed nice, spilling your guts to him wasn't exactly what you'd had in mind for this little meeting. But the way he looked at you, encouraging, his head tilted slightly as he waited for you to articulate your feelings, spurred you on. "I came in the middle of the year… Everyone has friends already. All the classes were full. I'm not from here, it's so … different, and small, and nobody talks like I do. Patricia – my mom – keeps saying kids are just mean and I have to ignore it, that I'm just here until I can graduate and it'll be different when I'm out of school, but it…"
"Yeah?"
"It hurts to not have any friends." You whispered.
Silence.
"Are we not friends?" Eddie looked at you seriously.
"I… I guess we are."
"Then hang out with me after school," He invited. "We can listen to more music. I promise I won't be weird, or anything," He laughed a little.
"Okay," You found yourself saying. It hurt your cheeks to smile so much, and you realized it was because you just hadn't been happy since you came here.
When you met Eddie in the parking lot to get directions to his house, he handed you a bright yellow cassette with an animatronic bird on it labeled Judas Priest: Screaming for Vengeance. "Let me know what you think." He raised his brows, nodding towards your car. "You have a cassette player in there, right?"
"Yeah." You confirmed.
"Good," He leaned in close, reaching around you to open your car door for you without breaking eye contact. "If you didn't, I'd be really worried."
He was waiting for you outside of the trailer when you arrived, nodding his head along with the beat of You've Got Another Thing Comin' as you shifted into park. You couldn't contain your excitement as you jumped out of the car and allowed him to lead you inside as you chattered.
"I liked Ride the Lightning way better," You relayed, "But the one song that was like, take these chains off, was really good." You missed the way his smile softened when you sang the lyric, turning to face him half a second too late. "I still can't believe I've never heard any of this," You turned in the middle of the little living room, smiling up at him as he hesitated by the door. "What?" You asked when he came towards you slowly.
"Nothing," He said, "You're just so… totally not like the girls in Hawkins."
"You haven't talked to every girl in Hawkins." You chided, "One of them has to like Metallica or Judas – even if it's not as good."
"Well, I don't want to talk to all of 'em and find out," Eddie was right in front of you now, his eyes locked with yours. "I only want to talk to you."
"Well…" You smiled. "Here I am."
"Yeah…" He looked at you like he couldn't believe it. "Do you want to, uh… I have a cassette player in my room." He motioned with his thumb down a hallway.
"Sure."
"Sure… sure," He echoed, seeming a little nervous as he led you into his room. He kicked something under his bed before you could notice it and laid the covers flat for you, gesturing with a flourish when he felt the bed was presentable enough for you to sit. You did so, smiling a little at his antics. "You don't have to clean up for me."
"I wouldn't soil this occasion with dirty tee shirts," Eddie said simply, sitting beside you. He turned to face you, placing a black tin between the two of you. "This is a momentous occasion for you. Everything needs to be perfect so we can continue our journey."
"Okay," You couldn't help but smile. You loved how excited he got to watch you experience these songs for the first time, and you could tell from the electric guitar that hung on his wall that he really, deeply loved what he was showing you. "What's next?"
"Well," He opened the box slowly and drew out a bag full of brownish-green nuggets and something shaped out of tin foil, along with a lighter. It looked like the same substance was in the foil thing and half of it was charred black. "I'm gonna smoke some weed, and then we're going to listen to some Dio." Eddie drew the makeshift pipe to his lips and raised the lighter, paused, glanced at you under his dark eyelashes, and asked, "Do you want some?"
"Um," You said, "I've never done it before."
He let the pipe fall out of his mouth in shock. Maybe it was a bit dramatic, but it set you laughing, even as he said, "No way. No way, man!"
"Yeah, way." You replied. "I've never even seen the stuff."
"I get this stuff from New York in the mail." He told you, "The way I hear it, it's some kind of weed paradise out there."
"Well, not where I'm from," You laughed out.
"You've really never even seen this stuff?"
"I wasn't exactly popular back home, either. I didn't have any cool friends who listened to Metallica and had weed under their beds. Once, I took one of my mom's quaaludes."
"This is way better than shitty quaaludes," Eddie snorted, turning the pipe in his hand to offer it to you.
"I dunno…"
"C'mon," He encouraged, "The world is not in your books and maps, it is out there." He gestured violently out from the two of you with one arm. "In … Metallica cassettes and the tiniest, tiniest hit."
"Not sure that's what Tolkien had in mind when he wrote that," But your smile was easier now, and you took the paraphernalia in your hands and stared at it for a moment.
"No pressure," He offered kindly. "I just think, you know… you might like it."
"How do I do it?"
Carefully, Eddie moved the box aside and scooted closer to you, until your knees were touching. His gentle fingers, in their big rings, pulled your hands apart and plucked the pipe from them, brushing your lips when he put it between your lips. "Put your hand here," He showed you, "Your thumb has to cover that little hole."
"Like this?"
"Yeah," He smiled, "You're a natural. Now, I'm gonna light it and you inhale."
"Okay."
"Okay…." He lit, you inhaled, and removed your thumb at his direction. It didn't feel like much until the end when suddenly you were overcome with a coughing fit that left Eddie laughing. "You'll get used to that," He said when you had calmed down.
"I don't feel any different."
"Give it a minute." Carefully, he selected a ted a cassette and popped it into the player. Once the music started playing, he sat back against the wall and hit the makeshift pipe himself, leaning his head back to blow the smoke up at the ceiling.
"I'm not cool, you know." He told you suddenly, after several minutes of silence. When you looked at him quizzically, he elaborated, "Earlier when you said you didn't have any cool friends who listened to Metallica and had weed under their beds. That doesn't… make me cool here. It makes me a loser… a freak. Honestly, I'm trying to figure out what a girl like you is even doing here."
"Listening to music," You shrugged. "Thinking the people here are stupid if that's what they think about you. Hoping you know there are places out there where everyone would think you were as awesome as I think you are." You didn't know what had come over you. Normally these thoughts were at least kind of guarded, but here you were sitting on his bed, your legs splayed out over his, these thoughts spilling from your lips as though you had known Eddie for years. He was staring at you again. Instead of averting your eyes, you met his this time.
"You think…?"
"Yeah," you said, in perhaps the bravest moment you'd ever had. "I really do."
"Me, too." He leaned towards you, stopping halfway and looking up at you in trepidation. You closed the gap and, quickly, pecked him on the lips.
"Me, too." You replied and giggled. "Sorry. You just said that. I don't know what's wrong with me."
"Nothings wrong with you," he laughed with you, his hand coming up to cup your cheek. The way he looked at you made you feel amazing, beautiful, and wanted in a way that you had never been wanted before. "You're perfect… Just high."
"You think I'm perfect?"
"Yeah," he said, "I really do." And he kissed you again.
Maybe you didn't hate Hawkins, after all.