Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

She meets Eddie for what she thinks is the first time at the beginning of senior year. They have fifth period Chemistry together – she remembers the pinch of hunger at the prospect of lunch next period – and Mr. Branch narrows his eyes at the sight of him strolling into class as the final bell shrieks. His face pinches with agitation as Eddie flicks a lazy, two-fingered salute in his direction and makes for the back of the room, where his friend has saved him an open seat.

“I don’t think so, Mr. Munson,” Branch intercepts, voice clipped, and Eddie drags his gaze up to the teacher’s face with barely concealed disdain. “Let’s try this year at the front of the class, shall we? Maybe then you’ll actually have a chance of graduating.”

A few people laugh – she watches as Brenda Matheson from cheer nudges the boy next to her with a mean smile – and Eddie’s hands tighten into bleach-knuckled fists. Chrissy doesn’t blame him; her own face feels hot with embarrassment, and she presses a hand against her painfully empty stomach without thinking. Inhaling sharply through his nose, he turns on his heel and heads for the only other empty spot in the room.

Right next to her.

She hastily neatens up her papers, making sure that he has enough space at the table with her, and tries to get her blush under control. (“Fix your face, dear,” her mother suggests with disapproval, nudging at the corner of her mouth with a sharp-nailed thumb.) It’s not her fault that he can’t sit with his friend, but she’s not going to be a jerk about it. She just hopes he won’t be either. Everything she knows about Eddie Munson is from reputation alone, but she doesn’t think he’s the kind of boy to be mean just to be mean, so she blinks herself into a happy smile.

“Hi,” she offers quietly as he flops into the seat beside her. The chair legs squeak against the linoleum, and he drops his battered backpack to the floor with a beleaguered sigh. “I’m Chrissy.”

Eddie tilts his head back to stare up at the ceiling for a moment before slanting a look in her direction. His eyes immediately light up, almost glittering with mischief, and he holds out a hand for her to shake. His wrist is surprisingly thin – delicate, she thinks, this boy has very delicate wrists – and she bites down on her laugh as she gently takes his hand in hers.

“Eddie Munson, at your service, m’lady.”

He winks at her, and she has to duck her head before she really makes a scene. There are giggles bubbling in her belly, and she covers her mouth with one hand to keep them down. Branch notices, if the way that he clears his throat means anything, so Chrissy twists to face the front of the room, very deliberately not looking at the grinning boy next to her. Eddie slouches in his chair, arms folded behind his head, and doesn’t even try to disguise his amusement.

(Technically, they’ve already met – a fateful combination of pom-poms and guitar riffs – but Chrissy hasn’t remembered that yet. So. As far as she knows: First meeting. Senior Year. Chemistry.)

- - -

Jason is good to her, in the way that unimaginative high school boys are good to their girlfriends. He calls her beautiful. Says she’s the best thing that’s ever happened to him. Talks vaguely about their future together with something like stars in his eyes. He can’t wait until they’re married.She tried to imagine it once, but all she could see was a faceless, white dress and an empty church.

Sometimes she feels like a doll, smiling emptily as he kisses her cheek before rushing off to basketball practice. She’s a prop, sitting dutifully in silence at the lunch table with him and his teammates. Everyone talks over her, and she picks at her sandwich without actually eating anything.

But.

He’s doesn’t control her like some of the football guys do with their girlfriends, doesn’t tell her who she can and can’t hang out with, doesn’t smack the backtalk out of her mouth like Jillian Piccoli’s ex did at Tommy H.’s spring break rager, doesn’t try to hold her down in the backseat of his car like Michael Stanton did with Bethany Nichols at the quarry.

Instead, he holds her hand in the dark of the movie theater. Walks her to the door instead of dropping her at the curb. Kisses her under the porch light. Tucks a curl behind her ear. Grins all bashful and charming like the good Christian boy he is. Say she’s the prettiest thing he’s ever seen.

Even when they’re parked in his car, he’s never rough with her. He whispers to her about how good she makes him feel, how she’s the best thing in the world, how happy he is. And Chrissy does what he needs her to do, uses her mouth or her hands, and he doesn’t pull her hair or choke her or make her cry.

Or touch her in return.

But she tells herself that it’s enough. Ignores the acid churning in her stomach, and the bitterness on her tongue, and the tears burning behind her eyes. She tightens her ponytail, puts on mascara, and fixes her face.

She’s a marionette. A mannequin. Vacant eyes. Bright smile. She’s a thing. A thing. A thing.

And she tells herself it’s enough.

- - -

Eddie Munson, despite his less-than-stellar reputation, is a decent lab partner. He’s picked up on the fact that she really cares about her grades – that school is actually important to her – so he makes an effort to reign in his penchant for chaos. He takes notes when she tells him to, doesn’t blow anything up with the Bunsen burner, and accurately measures out the different components for their assigned experiments.

Either he’s not as crazy as everyone says he is, or he’s choosing to contain himself because he takes pity on her.

(Except for the time he eats most of the strawberries they’re supposed to be using for DNA extraction. “What can I say?” He’d asked, sucking the juice off his thumb while maintaining very intense eye contact. “I’m a sucker for anything sweet.” She went bright red, face burning, as she jerked her eyes back down to her notebook. Eddie laughed, loud and uncaring, before apologizing. She shook her head, told him it was fine and asked him to pass her a test tube. Their fingers touched when he did.

He has a nice laugh. She likes it more than she should.)

Regardless, she’s surprised by how well they work together. And maybe he is too, judging by how he smiles when he gets his grade for last week’s pop quiz.

“God damn Cunningham,” he whistles under his breath, and she can’t help but laugh at the wonder in his voice. An 87 is nothing to sneeze at, and she feels proud of him. “Maybe there’s hope for me after all.” His eyes narrow as he speaks, and he catches his lower lip between his teeth. Eddie doesn’t care what people think of him – he knows he’s a menace, and Chrissy privately thinks he enjoys the associated notoriety – but he doesn’t exactly revel in being a triple senior. Doesn’t necessarily love having it rubbed in his face.

“You’re a good student, Eddie,” Chrissy tells him, wincing internally at how earnest she sounds. He raises an eyebrow in silent reproach, and she purses her lips. She’s not trying to whine at him, but it makes her sad? angry? – regardless, something clenches in her heart when she sees him undercut himself like that. Taking a deep breath, she tightens her hands around her trusty notebook. “Listen, why don’t we study together for the test next week?”

“We have a test next week?” He says slowly, tilting his head and staring off into space in confusion. He holds that pose for maybe a second before she reaches out and smacks at his hand.

“Come on! You know we do,” she laughs at the wide-eyed look of surprise on his face. He’s staring down at his hand, mouth open in something like shock. His cheeks are flushed pink, and she can’t remember the last time she saw a boy blush. Something sparks in her belly at the sight of Eddie Munson, all flustered and delightful, and she feels a thrill, knowing that she was the one who made him that way.

“Did you just hit me, Chrissy Cunningham? That’s assault!” She ducks down, hiding her face in her notebook, as he flails around in protest. “Call the cops. We got a rogue cheerleader on a rampage!”

“That’s enough, Mr. Munson,” Branch sighs heavily, and Eddie gasps in mock offense. “You too, Ms. Cunningham. I expected more of you, young lady. I don’t want to have to talk to your coach about this. Let’s get back on track, now.”

Chrissy sits up suddenly, spine rigid as ice settles in her stomach, and she opens her notebook to a clean sheet of paper. Coach is insane about her cheerleaders acting up in class, and Chrissy doesn’t want to be on the wrong end of a lecture about being a role model and setting a good example. Her hand trembles a little as she writes today’s date, and she exhales shakily, forcing herself to keep her breathing measured and slow.

Eddie must pick up on her panic, because he taps his foot against hers – she tries not to notice how his boots look next to her sneakers, all heavy black and sturdy. She nudges him back, and his face breaks into a wide smile.

(He has a killer smile. She likes it way more than she should.)

- - -

Lunch that day is better, despite the nerves still clinging to her bones, and she manages to choke down half her cucumber sandwich. Jason and the guys jostle each other, all revved up about the game on Friday – they’re convinced they’re all going to win against Harrison High, and they’re already throwing elbows in celebration. Chrissy lets the conversation flow over her as she picks at the remaining half of her sandwich.

(She’s probably not going to eat anything else today. Maybe some vegetables at dinner, if her mom doesn’t use too much butter.)

Brenda Matheson is sitting across the table from her, rolling her eyes as Josh Martinez slings his arm over her shoulders. She shrugs him off with a catty smirk, and he smacks an obnoxiously loud kiss to her cheek. Chrissy smiles down at her lunch, and Brenda quirks an impeccably groomed eyebrow at her.

“What was up with you and Eddie today, Chrissy?”

Chrissy twists her fingers in the hem of her sweater as Jason settles a heavy hand on her back.

“Eddie the freak?” He asks, voice pitched low with concern, and she gnaws on her bottom lip. Eddie isn’t a freak – he’s goofy and he makes her laugh and his eyes sparkle when he smiles – but she doesn’t really know how to tell Jason that, so she shrugs instead.

“Yeah, they sit together in Chem,” Brenda explains, ever so helpful. “Branch made them,” she adds as an afterthought, ducking her head in a halfhearted apology when Chrissy doesn’t say anything.

“Has he been messing with you, baby?” He rubs up and down her spine in big, long passes, and she shakes his head.

“No, no – Eddie’s nice to me.” Jason narrows his eyes, leaning in close until she offers him a shaky smile. The smell of his aftershave is a blanket smothering her. “I’ve just been helping him with Chem. We study together – that’s it.” There’s a stall in the conversation, a stretch of silence, until Jason reaches for her. He brushes over her cheek with his thumb, gentle and soft, and presses a kiss to her forehead.

“You’re too sweet,” he tells her, but she doesn’t think it’s a compliment. “You gotta be careful. Someone might take advantage of that, baby.” She lets him hold her for a moment longer before bracing both hands on his chest and pushing back. Just a little. Just so there’s some space between them.

“It’s okay, Jason. Really.” Biting coyly on her lower lip, she widens her eyes and slips into the role of doting girlfriend. (“Fix your face,” her mother reminds her coldly.) She can’t remember when this became a routine, a pantomime, but all she knows is that her cheeks are hurting. And she doesn’t know how to make it stop.

“You let me know if he crosses a line, all right? I don’t trust that freak.” He loops an arm around her shoulders to tuck her tightly against his side, and she lets him. Lets him move her body around like it isn’t hers anymore. She becomes his doll, cuddled against his chest, and she tells herself it’s enough.

- - -

Between her cheer practice and… whatever it is that Eddie does when he’s not at school, the only time they have to meet and study is during lunch. She tells Jason the night before that she’s not going to be at their table for a little while, because she has to prep for a big test, and it’s really important.

(She doesn’t tell him it’s for Chem. And she doesn’t tell him about Eddie. But she’s not examining that too closely.)

But Jason trusts her. Doesn’t try and manage her schedule for her. Doesn’t question her motives. His voice comes through the phone all happy-warm and proud as he praises her for taking her schoolwork seriously. Something tightens in her throat – she always takes her schoolwork seriously, because she knows she’s smart, and she’s never going to be ashamed of that, because her face might need fixing, and her clothes might be too tight, but she knows she’s smart – and she closes her eyes for a moment, wondering why her insides suddenly hurt.

“Right, so, I’ll see you after practice, okay?”

“Of course, baby. Go make me proud. Love you!”

“Love you too.”

(Does she? She does.)

She’s still trying to convince herself the next day as she trails after Eddie. He’s taking them through the trees behind the school, because they both agreed to skip the cafeteria. And the librarian gives him dirty looks whenever she sees him – “you forget to return one book,” he’d complained, “and you’re on her shitlist for life.” – so outside it is.

“You know,” he says, glancing over his shoulder with a wry grin on his face. He looks happier now that they’re not trapped inside a classroom, now that they’re free to roam around. “This isn’t the first time we’ve hung out.”

“I mean, yeah, duh,” she laughs, and his face lights up. “We have Chemistry together.” She isn’t sure that sitting together in class really counts as hanging out, but she kind of wants it to.

“Yeah, we do,” he agrees in a low voice, gravelly and rough, and she feels her face immediately catch flame. She fights the urge to cover her cheeks with her hands, and Eddie catches his tongue between his teeth. The tips of his ears are pink – she can see where his hair is pushed back – and she giggles. “But no, that’s not what I’m talking about it.”

“What do you mean?” Chrissy is pretty sure that, aside from passing each other in the hallways, they haven’t spent much time together before meeting in Chemistry. He shakes his head, clearly disappointed, and she pouts. “I’m sorry!”

“It’s okay – you really don’t remember?”

They’ve finally reached the picnic table, and they sit across from each other. Chrissy smooths her denim skirt over her knees and breathes in the crisp autumn air. The leaves above them are just starting to turn, blooming into golden reds and amber yellows, and she finds herself distracted by their twisting in the breeze.

Eddie pulls her out of her marveling by drumming his fingers on the table. He’s wearing rings, and he still has his jacket and vest on – she can see his studded, leather bracelet peeking out from under the cuff of his right sleeve. She wants to touch it, feel the chill of the metal under her fingers and see how it contrasts with the warmth of his skin.

“It’s okay,” he announces finally, laying his palm flat on the wood. She twists her mouth, tangling her fingers together in her lap, and feels guilty. Nodding once to herself, she gets ready to say something – maybe apologize again – when he jerks, brings his hands together, and smacks himself in the chest. He topples over backwards, dramatic and wounded, and she makes a truly embarrassing noise as he rolls around in the dirt.

“I wouldn't remember me either, Chrissy Cunningham,” Eddie pronounces as he pops back up, and she feels a little bit sad, even as she laughs at the leaves and twigs in his hair. She doesn’t want him to think he’s forgettable. Not when he’s the farthest thing from it.

“Honestly,” he shakes his head, brushing himself off. “Do I have stuff in my hair?” His dark eyes are glowing, dancing, and she pulls the sleeves of her sweater down over her hands so she doesn’t reach for him. She’s not supposed to be the type of girl who reaches for boys.

Especially when she isn’t dating them.

“You really don’t remember?” He struts around the picnic table in a loose circle, forcing her to twist around to look at him. He’s flirting with her, she realizes – actually, fully flirting. And it doesn’t scare her like it should.

“I’m sorry,” she says again, practically whining at him through her laughter, and he crosses his arms over his chest.

“Middle school. Talent show,” he reminds her slowly, and she furrows her brow. “You were in sixth grade. I was in eighth.” She vaguely remembers the bright stage lights burning into her eyes, the stiffness of her skirt, how her socks itched, and how she got to wear make-up for the very first time. She felt so grown up, standing still as her mom layered on the foundation and lipstick and eye shadow. Navy blue. Hawkins Middle colors.

“You were doing this cheer thing,” he keeps going, “you know…” Eddie unfolds his arms to shake his hands in the air in a loose imitation of cheer poms. He should really try out for the squad – they need more boys. “The thing you do.” He looks a little self conscious, nervous under her confused stare, and he drops his hands.

“Are you making fun of me?” She asks, mostly to break the tension, because she feels like she has a pretty good read on Eddie Munson now. She knows that he’s just teasing, just playing around.

“No, not at all. Not at all. It’s, uh, pretty cool, actually.” He jerks his head, kicking at the leaves on the ground as he resumes his pacing. “And I was with my band…” His shoulders hunch, and he looks away from her.

But Chrissy can see it now – four boys on stage in the cafeteria, playing so loud she thought the ceiling was going to collapse in on everyone. She could feel the pounding of the music in her little girl bones, and it was like nothing she’d ever felt before.

“Corroded Coffin!” She blurts, and he spins around in a tight circle, leaves falling off his shoulders, as he claps and points at her.

“You do remember!” He has a smile splitting his face, honest and happy, and she’s thrilled to know that she helped put it there.

“Yes of course! With a name like that, how could I forget?”

“I don’t know. You’re a freak.” He looks at her now, openly checking out the shape of her – she has her hair pulled back in a customary ponytail with a dark blue scrunchie, and she’s wearing navy eye shadow; it all matches her sweater, which doesn’t exactly hide her body, but it doesn’t show it off either. She wonders what he sees when he looks at her though. Which parts of her he notices the most.

“No, you just…” She frowns, trying to organize her thoughts, as she pulls up an image of eighth grade Eddie Munson. Shorter, definitely. But still loud. Still funny. Still cute. “You looked so...”

“Different?” He shrugs, practically defensive. “Yeah, well, my hair was buzzed, and I didn’t have these sweet old tatties yet.” Smirking, he pulls down the collar of his shirt, showing off the ink on his collarbones. She’s already seen the tattoos on his arms, but she wonders were else he has them. If there are more on his chest. If she’ll ever get to see them.

(She shouldn’t want to see them.)

“You played guitar, right?” He was the front man of the band, jumping up and down on stage and screaming out the lyrics to songs he probably wrote himself.

“Uh huh, still do. Still do. You should come see us. Uh, We play at the Hideout on Tuesdays. It’s pretty cool. We actually get a crowd of about... five drunks.” He laughs again, clapping his hands together as he nods to himself. “It’s not exactly the Garden, but uh gotta start somewhere, right? So.”

Chrissy knows the Hideout – knows of it mostly by reputation. Battered motorcycles. Bar fights. Broken bottles and busted neon. It’s on the other side of town, along a dusty stretch of road with no streetlights. But she’d like to go sometime. Maybe on a Tuesday night. Front and center, jumping up and down in the crowd and screaming out the lyrics to songs Eddie probably wrote himself. She imagines their eyes will meet, and he’ll wink, and it’ll suddenly be like he’s playing just for her.

“I’d love to see you play sometime,” she tells him, and she’s not lying. And maybe he can tell because he freezes, mouth open and eyes narrowed, but he wears the stillness like an ill-fitting coat. He’s not meant to be still. He’s meant to be pacing around, stomping in his big, black boots as he flails his arms in the air. “But first,” she unzips her backpack and pulls out her Chem book with a triumphant grin. “We need to study.”

- - -

Everyday that week, they meet at the picnic table – the test is next Monday, and Chrissy doesn’t want to waste a single minute. Branch has stepped up the snide commentary in class, making sure to single Eddie out whenever he mentions the upcoming exam. She knows she can’t stand up against a teacher, not on his own turf, so she makes it her personal mission to help Eddie not only pass but prove Branch wrong with at least a B+.

“Not gonna happen, your highness,” Eddie points out, twirling a pencil between his fingers. She’s talking him through the tedium of balancing chemical equations, and he’s dragging his metaphorical feet. “It’s gonna take a miracle for me to pass.”

“Well, with that attitude…” she scoffs under her breath, and he laughs as he shoves an Oreo cookie in his mouth. She’s noticed that Eddie doesn’t so much as pack lunch as throw an assortment of snacks into his backpack and make due. Her own lunch – another cucumber sandwich and a small handful of grapes – sits untouched at her elbow. They’re finally going to try for a pyramid at practice today, and she doesn’t want to feel too heavy.

Even if she always feels heavy.

Hunger pinches at her insides, and she hunches forward, pressing a hand against her stomach.

“You okay?” He asks carefully, searching her face with soft eyes as he tilts his head.

“Yeah,” she exhales through the pain, wills the dizziness to pass. It always does. Eventually. “Just nervous about the game on Friday.” He hums under his breath but doesn’t say anything. Eddie doesn’t really buy into the whole school spirit shtick, but he’s never been outwardly hostile towards her for it. He keeps his comments to himself.

“Well, you know what helps with nerves,” he offers delicately, nudging the package of cookies in her direction. “Gotta keep that blood sugar up.” She tenses at the word ‘sugar’, but he doesn’t seem to notice, still trying to tempt her with the promise of sweetness. And Chrissy can’t remember the she last ate an actual Oreo cookie, but it was probably around the same time of that sixth grade talent show.

“Oh, no, Eddie, I couldn’t…” She trails off, chewing on her lower lip and tapping her pen nervously against her notebook.

“Come on,” he smiles, and is it weird to think someone has pretty teeth? There is just something so damn endearing about Eddie’s mouth and the way he grins at her. “I baked these myself – just for you.” She laughs in surprise, ducking her head and hiding her blush.

“Well, when you put it like that…” He sits back, satisfied when she reaches for a cookie and takes a small bite. The crunch of the chocolate almost surprises her, and she tips her head back as she closes her eyes. “Oh my God, this is so good.”

“Yeah,” he clears his throat, eyebrows raised high, as she wiggles happily on the bench. Her ponytail dances as she shakes. “I’m sorry, are you… like new to society or something? Have you never had an Oreo before? Blink twice if you’re in danger.” He pitches forward, practically nose-to-nose with her, as he searches her face with startled, brown eyes.

“I’m sorry!” She covers her mouth with one hand as she chews. “I just haven’t had one in a long time. We don’t have a lot of sweets at home…” He follows her gaze to her lunch, sitting abandoned off to the side.

“No lady should live such a deprived life,” Eddie declares. “I’ll trade you – treats for tutoring.” He looks pointedly at the cookie in her hand, daring her to take another bite with his stare. She obliges with a delicate nibble, already planning to run extra laps at practice to make up for it, and he beams.

“You don’t have to do that,” Chrissy insists after she swallows. “I’m helping because I want to – because I know you can do this. You’re smart, Eddie, you just don’t…” She stops herself as he rolls his tongue around in his mouth, glaring down at his own spread of papers.

“Apply myself? Yeah, well, you’re not the only one who thinks so.” He frowns, scratching roughly at the back of his head, and refuses to look at her.

“Well. How about this. I’ll… trade you.” She catches sight of the cauldron of bats on his right forearm and drums her fingers excitedly on the table. “Or I guess make you a bet. If you get above an 85 on this test, you can, um.” He drags his gaze up to her face, eyes bored, clearly underestimating her negotiating skills. “Design a tattoo for me!”

The boredom evaporates immediately as his mouth drops open in shock. He catches himself, jerking his chin up as he squints down at her.

“No way,” he challenges, crossing his hands over his chest. “You can’t be serious.”

“Serious as a full twist layout,” she fires back, snickering and weightless, as if she’s actually been tossed in the air. “You don’t think I’ll do it?” This is such a stupid idea, but Eddie looks absolutely delighted at the prospect.

“No take backs,” he points in her face, and she reaches up to lock their fingers together in a promise.

“No take backs,” she agrees around a giggle, “but I do get veto and revision power. You don’t get to be mean!” He tries to pull back, but she keeps him trapped. “Don’t be mean,” she repeats, and he sucks in a noisy breath between his too-pretty-teeth. She’s already thinking about where she could even get a tattoo – somewhere she can hide, obviously, so that her parents don’t ever see it. That doesn’t leave a whole lot of options.

“You drive a hard bargain, Queen Chrissy,” Eddie says slowly, considering her offer, “but I accept.”

“Excellent! And if you get below an 85, I pick out a tattoo for you. But you don’t get veto power.” He crosses his arms over his chest, eyes sparking with fake outrage.

“That hardly seems fair,” he complains and she shrugs daintily, already flipping through the textbook to the next chapter. Nerves are dancing in her belly – the good kind, that make her want to twist her hair around her fingers, or… twist Eddie’s hair around her fingers – and she smiles privately to herself before she does something stupid.

“Well, don’t get below an 85 then.” He narrows his eyes at her and steeples his fingers together in front of his mouth but otherwise stays quiet. “Come on,” she taps his notes with her pen, “we still have a lot to cover. Let’s get to it!”

“As you wish, your majesty.”

- - -

Friday means game day means wearing her cheer uniform to school. She poses in front of her bedroom mirror, hands on her hips and smile on her face, before frowning. Her hair doesn’t feel right – her bangs are all wrong, and her scrunchie is too loose.

She shakes out her ponytail, runs her fingers through the loose waves, and reaches for an elastic. There’s green ribbon left over from last year’s Homecoming game tucked away somewhere in her vanity, and it does just the trick.

It’s more of vintage look – not her usual style – and she likes the way the loose ends of the bow get lost in her ponytail. Jason probably won’t even notice, but Eddie might. She remembers how his eyes trailed over her curves that first day at the picnic table, how he was almost memorizing the shape of her body under her sweater. A buzzing warmth heats up under her skin, and she smiles to herself.

Her mom’s face is pinched when she comes bouncing down the stairs, but her dad smiles at her from the kitchen table.

“You look very nice, sweetheart,” he tells her, and she grins.

“Thanks Daddy,” she trills as she reaches for an apple. Her mother’s eyes tighten even more, but Chrissy just looks away as she heads for the door. Jason is already waiting at the curb to take her to school. “I’ll see you guys after the game.”

If her mom has anything to say, it’s lost in the sound of the door swinging shut.

- - -

Eddie is late – usually they walk together after Chemistry, but he said he had to grab something from his van, so she walks to the picnic table alone. The leaves crunch under her sneakers, and she delights in the way the weak, autumn sunlight plays through the tree branches overhead. She can smell the coming rain, but for now, the sky is clear. She hopes it stays that way until lunch is over.

There’s still no sign of Eddie, so she drops her backpack at their table. (Chrissy’s started calling it their spot in her head – just a private place where she doesn’t have to worry about being perfect for once. Where no one’s going to judge her. Where she doesn’t have to fix her face.) She starts pacing without thinking, working through tonight’s routine with halfhearted focus. It’s not difficult – it’s still early in the year, so coach doesn’t trust them not to drop each other yet. She’s keeping things pretty simple for now.

Soon, though, they’ll be back to stunts.

She’s a flyer, and she’ll never get enough of being tossed in the air. Nothing but the trust in her teammates to keep her tethered to the ground. No one can touch her when she’s that high up.

And Chrissy can’t wait.

For now, though, they’re sticking to basic cheers and tumbles. She claps her way through the motions, counting beats in her head and hitting her marks with ease.

“I mean right on! The Tigers sure are number one.” she mumbles under her breath as she balances on one foot and throws her hands in the air.

“Rah rah rah,” comes a dry voice from behind her. Chrissy jolts, spinning around to see Eddie leaning against a tree with his arms crossed over his chest. He’s staring at her, eyes lingering over her bare legs in a way that makes her want to show off. “Lookin’ good, Cheer Queen. Love the ribbon.”

“Are you making fun of me?” She pops her hip, twisting the aforementioned ribbon around one finger. He cocks a brow at her, and she fights the urge to stick her tongue out in response. “Cheerleading is serious, you know.”

“Serious as a cinnamon twist lay-whatever.” He rubs at his nose with his thumb and looks away, and she laughs.

“Full twist layout,” she corrects, and he nods, face schooled into a serious frown. His eyes, though, are dancing under the curtain of his bangs.

“That’s what I said, yeah. A cinnamon twist lay-whatever.” She rolls her eyes as he makes his way to the table and sprawls on the bench. He takes up so much space, knees spread and arms flung open wide, and she’s envious of the easy way that he just exists – unapologetic and loud.

“All right then,” she shucks off her sweater and chucks it at him, so she’s just standing in her cheer uniform. Eddie catches the bundle of fabric with surprised eyes, and she paces a line back and forth in front of him a few times. Shivers races up her bare skin, and she warms up, crossing and uncrossing her arms to get the blood flowing.

The ground is flat enough here, she thinks. Shouldn’t be too hard. Inhaling, she pulls her arms high above her head and bends seamlessly at the waist to touch her toes. It’s an easy stretch, and Eddie chokes at the sinuous curve of her body. She holds the pose for a few seconds before straightening back up.

“What are you –?”

“Shh,” Chrissy hushes him without looking as she bounces on the balls of her feet and shakes the nerves out of her hands. She’s done this move hundreds of times – they always go over it at cheer camp, running drills again and again until everyone can do it safely.

Piece of cake.

“I’m only gonna do this once,” she tells him, taking a few giant steps back so she has plenty of room. “So pay attention.” He doesn’t say anything, so she glances in his direction – he has her sweater clutched to his face, practically hiding in it, so all she can see is his eyes peeking out at her, but he nods. “Okay,” she takes a deep breath. “Full twisting layout. Let’s go.”

She breaks into a run, arms high above her head, and launches into a round-off. She hears Eddie inhale sharply in surprise, and she smiles to herself as she cartwheels. This is just the beginning. She lands with both feet together, body steady and unbroken, and immediately kicks into a back handspring.

It feels so easy, tumbling feet over head and letting the strength of her own muscles and bones catapult her into nothingness, all while knowing that she’s going to end up exactly where she needs to be.

She’s laughing as she uses the momentum of her backspring to fly into the full, twisting her body a complete 360 degrees in the air. Gravity is nothing, and her ribbon whips around her face as she spins. Her heart pounds as she sticks a perfect landing, arms once again flung high above her head.

It takes about four seconds.

“Full twist layout,” she pronounces, breathless, and turns to face her stunned audience. He doesn’t say anything, and she drops her hands to her sides with a shrug.

“Holy. Fucking. Shit! Chrissy Cunningham!” Eddie cheers for her, clapping his hands together, and she laughs, hiding behind her fingers as he whistles loudly. His rings gleam in the sunlight.

“Stop it,” she tries to shush him once more – they’ve been lucky so far, hiding out back here where the teachers can’t find them, but she’s pretty sure someone’s going to notice if he keeps shouting. “Someone’s going to hear you!”

“Let them,” he jerks his chin and holds out her sweater. “Everyone should know what a bad ass you are!” He kicks up the volume again, yelling to the trees above them, and she buries her face in her sweater to hide how red her cheeks are. “Seriously, Chrissy, that was very cool.”

“It was nothing,” she counters, scuffing the toe of her sneaker against the dirt. “Just, you know, a thing I can do.”

“Well,” Eddie crosses his arms over his chest and looks her up and down. His gaze is like a physical touch, dragging over her legs and lingering on the flare of her cheer skirt. “It’s a very cool thing that you can do. On my honor as a gentleman, I swear to never talk shit about cheerleading ever again.”

“Thank you on behalf of cheerleaders everywhere,” she finally says, granting him a prim little curtsy, and he licks his tongue over his lower lip.

She should tell him to stop for real. Stop joking about their chemistry. Stop looking at her like he wants to see under her sweater and under her skirt. Stop acting like he wants to get his hands on her body.

Jason’s friends used to flirt with her – or at her, she supposes – when they first started dating. They’d talk dirty about meeting up underneath the bleachers, joke about how bendy cheerleaders are, ask loudly if she could do the splits and could they get a private demonstration. And Jason let them. He’d laugh and wrap an arm around her waist, pull her in close until she felt like she couldn’t breathe. It wasn’t until she almost started crying that he told them to knock it off.

But Eddie.

Eddie smiles at her, and it’s so real, like he doesn’t want to just get into her clothes but into her mind too. Like he wants to get to know her. He listens when she speaks, and not just about school work. He remembers her from middle school, and he brings her Oreo cookies. And he makes her laugh.

He makes her laugh so much.

But he isn’t her boyfriend.

Jason is.

So why is Eddie the one she wants to be kissing now?

Chrissy shakes her head, licking over her suddenly dry lips, and starts digging around in her backpack. Eddie watches, his elbows braced on the table, as she pulls out her notes and textbook with a bland, Barbie smile. (“Fix your face,” her mother hisses.)

“Come on, we’re almost done with review.”

- - -

They win the game, because of course they do. Chrissy doesn’t even pay attention – barely notices when Jason’s the one who makes the basket – just goes through the motions with the rest of the squad. She’s trying not to scan the crowd, because she knows she’s just looking for an unruly mess of brown curls and a wide, trickster’s smile. But Eddie isn’t there. He doesn’t come. It’s not his scene.

He’s told her that many times. But it doesn’t mean she’s not looking for him.

Her stomach twists in a way that has nothing to do with skipped meals for once. She feels guilty when she thinks of him, of the fireflies in her belly. Her blood is buzzing in her veins, sweet and electric, and she knows it’s not because of their hometown win. She knows it’s not because their boys are walking off the court victorious, jumping on each other, and shouting in violent glee.

The whole gym is swallowed by a thunderous roar of celebration, but Chrissy barely acknowledges the cacophony. Brenda Matheson is screaming her head off, and Jillian Piccoli pops up into a quick high split. She watches them, wishing distantly that she could be like them. Because she knows she was, once upon a time. But nothing’s she’s seen or done tonight has come even remotely close to the high of Eddie watching her do a full twist layout.

She shakes her poms with the rest of the squad, tossing in a few kicks for good measure, but she’s just… not feeling any of it. Jason catches her eye and blows her a kiss, and she halfheartedly waves a pom-pom in his direction. He’s supposed to drive them to a party at Josh Martinez’s house later, but she doesn’t want to go. Doesn’t want to stand silently at Jason’s side as the boys pound beers. Doesn’t want to sit in the back of his car so he can use her body how he wants.

God, she just wants to find Eddie.

Once the court is clear, she and the rest of the squad file into the girls’ locker room.

“You goin’ to Josh’s?” Brenda asks her as they grab their bags. It’s not like Brenda’s a bad person, but they’re not really friends. She’s always on the hunt for gossip, which could be said for all the girls on the squad. Hawkins is a very small town, and there’s not much to do besides talk shit about literally everyone else they grew up with.

“Jason wants to,” Chrissy tells her with a timid smile, and Brenda rolls her eyes.

“Always gotta do what the boys want, right?” She tosses her long, black ponytail over her shoulder, and Chrissy laughs to herself.

“I guess so, yeah. Are you gonna go?”

“Josh wants me to,” she says, crouching down to zip up her duffle – she winces as her hamstrings stretch painfully. Cheerleading is not for the faint of heart, and the price is paid by their muscles, bones, and tendons. Bethany Nichols broke a clavicle last spring, and it was not pretty. “But I dunno,” Brenda sighs, “I’m really tired, you know?” Chrissy glances down at her, taking in the heavy sag of her shoulders and the sleepless glaze in her eyes.

“Game days always take a lot outta me,” Chrissy agrees, turning around to lean against the cool metal of the lockers behind her. She drops her head back and lets her eyes fall shut – she’s pretty sure she could drift off right there with the gentle lull of her cheer friends talking and laughing around her. “Plus we have that test on Monday, and I am not excited about it.”

“Fuck!” Brenda hisses under her breath, “that’s right – shit, I forgot. Ugh, I’m so screwed.” Chrissy laughs, blinking her eyes open to stare up at the cement ceiling above her head.

“You still have the weekend. You can totally cram!” She tries to be encouraging, but Brenda scowls to herself.

“God, I hope so. I can’t fuck up my grades right now.” Chrissy nods knowingly, thinking back to how Eddie’s jaw ticks whenever Branch trash talks him in class.

“You’ll be okay, Brenda. You’re, like, super smart.” Brenda jerks her head up to stare at her, blue eyes huge in the dingy light of the locker room. Yeah, they’re not really best friends – and Brenda can be kinda mean sometimes – but Chrissy feels like she’s just handed this girl the biggest gift in the world just by calling her what she is.

Smart.

“Thanks Chrissy,” she says quietly before suddenly changing the subject. “Hey, Jason drove you, right?” Chrissy nods, and Brenda stands up, her bag slung over her shoulder. Her ponytail hangs heavy down her back, and she tucks her bangs behind her ears with a weary sigh. “Do you want a ride home? I think I’m gonna skip tonight.”

“You don’t mind?”

“Course not! You’re on my way.”

Chrissy shoulders her own bag with a wince. Game days are always so damn heavy, because they have to carry both their backpacks for school and their duffle bags of cheer gear.

“Thanks Brenda – I really appreciate it.”

“Don’t even worry. Hey Jilly?” Brenda catches Jillian Piccoli’s attention as they shuffle past. “If you see Josh and Jason, let them know we went home?”

“Sure thing ladies,” she smiles before reapplying a shimmering layer of lip gloss. “Get home safe, okay?”

“You too,” Chrissy tells her as she follows Brenda out to where she parked.

The rain broke sometime during the game, and the asphalt glitters wetly under the violent glow of the parking lot lights. Chrissy wraps her arms around herself as a shiver cuts through the night. The stars above her are bright against the rolling purple of the clouds, and she inhales the cool, damp air.

She wonders what Eddie is doing right now.

“You comin’?” Brenda tosses over her shoulder as she unlocks her baby blue VW Bug.

“Coming!” She jogs across the lot, twin ribbon tails trailing behind her.

- - -

She spends most of the weekend dodging Jason’s phone calls. He rings the house on Saturday, and her dad plays interference, making up an excuse that she just stepped out with her mom for the afternoon.

“Thanks Daddy,” she calls from where she’s camped out on the couch – her papers and text book are meticulously arranged in front of her, and she’s fully entrenched in Study Mode. Nothing will distract her. Not even wayward boyfriends.

“Everything all right, kiddo?” Her dad asks, glancing at the phone in its cradle. “We haven’t seen much of Jason lately. Are you two fighting?”

“Nope,” she shakes her head, and her messy bun wobbles on top of her head. “I just really need to study. I’ll see him on Monday. It’s okay.” He doesn’t say anything for a moment, so Chrissy drags her gaze up from her notes to smile at him. “I promise. Everything’s fine.”

Her mom shoots her a look from the kitchen; her eyes are narrowed like she doesn’t believe her, so Chrissy turns her focus back to her schoolwork. It’s better if she doesn’t try to engage.

She wishes that she had Eddie’s number so that she could check in on him – make sure that he’s making the best use of the weekend before their test. She really wants him to do well. (Even if it means she’ll come out of their bet with a tattoo she’ll have to hide for the rest of her life.)

Saturday bleeds into Sunday, and Sunday passes in a haze of review cards and laundry. She’s working on balancing her final chemical equation (KMnO₄ + HCl = KCl + MnCl₂ + H₂O + Cl₂) when two things happen at once: the buzzer on the drier goes off, and someone rings the doorbell. Tossing her pencil down, she makes a beeline to the laundry closet.

She’s checking her jeans to see if they’re actually dry (they always come out damp!), when her mom summons her from the foyer.

“Chrissy, honey, Jason’s here!”

“Shii—oot. Shoot,” she curses under her breath and immediately winces, silently blaming Eddie for her expanded vocabulary. “Coming!” She calls over her shoulder, mouth twisted into a frown. It takes maybe two seconds to walk from the laundry closet to the front door, and she makes the best of them – breathing deeply and testing out a smile.

(“Oh Chrissy,” her mom sighs in her head, “would you please fix your face?”)

“Isn’t this a surprise!” Her mom sings, clearly thrilled, and Chrissy nods frantically in agreement, her eyes wide and manic. “Jason, I’m so sorry – I didn’t know you were stopping by.”

“Oh, no, it’s okay, Mrs. Cunningham. I was just in the neighborhood.” Technically, he’s always in the neighborhood. His house is just a few streets over from hers. He ducks his head, and his honey-brown hair glints gold under the porch light. “Thought I would just check in on Little Miss Brainiac here..”

“Yes, Chrissy has been hitting the books hard lately,” her mom purses her lips in a borderline simper, and Chrissy catches the inside of her cheek between her teeth.

“I have a test tomorrow.” She reminds them dumbly, and her mom pats her shoulder sympathetically.

“Why don’t you take a break, sweetie? Your books will be fine without you for a minute,” she squeezes her elbow as she nudges past them to retreat to the kitchen. “Let me know if you two need anything, all right?”

“Sure thing, Mrs. Cunningham,” Jason calls after her with a Norman Rockwell smile. Chrissy wraps her arms around herself and chews on her bottom lip. “How’ve you been, baby?” He asks quietly, reaching out to cup her face. “Feel like I haven’t seen you in a while.”

“Let’s talk outside,” she cuts him off, ducking away from him as she quickly pulls on her shoes. Jason’s eyes go flat, and she winces, opening the door. “Mom, we’re going for a walk!”

“Okay dear!”

Chrissy catches her dad watching her from the kitchen. He raises his eyebrows in an unspoken question, and she gives him a wobbly smile in response.

Jason trails after her, his hands jammed in the pockets of his khakis, as she makes her way to the sidewalk. The sky above them is ink black, ocean deep, with only the faintest pinpricks of stars. She sniffs as a shiver slices up her spine, and she tucks her arms more tightly around herself.

It’s not hard for him to catch up to her, and he pulls her to his side as soon as she’s within reach.

“Babe, you’re shivering,” he teases, but he isn’t wrong. The autumn air cuts through her sweater like it’s nothing, and she grits her teeth together. He tightens his grip on her, in an effort to warm her up, but she holds herself rigid in his grasp. It would be so easy to fall back into their old pattern – her perched on his arm like a treasured pet, him showing her off for all the world to marvel at.

Pose for the cameras, darling. But you better fix your face first.

They make it halfway down the block before Jason breaks the growing silence.

“Come on, let’s go back – you’re gonna freeze out here, Chrissy.” His fingers dig into her shoulder as he tries to steer them back to her house, but Chrissy twists out from under his arm. She stops dead in the middle of the sidewalk, sneakers glowing white in the streetlamp, and Jason squints blankly at her. “What are you doing?”

“Are you happy, Jason?” She asks, voice cracking, as he shakes his head in disbelief.

“What are you even talking about – am I happy?”

“Well,” she pauses, jerking her chin in a way the reminds her of Eddie. “Are you?” He doesn’t say anything, just crosses his arms over his chest as he looks away. “Jason, tell me. Can you honestly say that you are happy?”

“Yeah,” he says, flicking his eyes to her face. “I am. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I don’t know!” She practically shouts, flinging her hands out. It’s freeing to finally say it out loud – she feels like she’s weightless, flung high into the air in an endless basket toss. And there’s no one to catch her, because she’s never coming down. “Because I’m not. I’m so not happy.” His arms drop to his side and he takes a step towards her.

“With me, you mean,” he clarifies, eyes caught in a shadow as he passes under a tree. “You’re not happy with me.”

“I don’t think so,” she admits, suddenly quiet, and Jason scoffs to himself. “I’m sorry –”

“You’re sorry? Chrissy, you’re not making any sense! What do you mean you’re not happy with me? We were gonna get married, babe! That’s always been our dream.” His voice kicks up, frantic and loud under the shivering autumn sky.

“Your dream,” she corrects carefully, twisting her fingers together as she buries her nerves. “I don’t think I want that anymore.”

He flinches, fully recoils, and sucks in a loud breath as he looks away from her. She gnaws on the inside of her lip, and he sniffs, blinking. He looks genuinely hurt, and Chrissy wishes she felt something other than guilt at the sight of Jason staring stubbornly at the street, his jaw set in a tearful rage. But she doesn’t. And that somehow makes he feel worse and better at the same time.

“Jason, I’m sorry,” she tries, swallowing thickly.

“Right, okay, well, clearly something’s going on with you, so I’m gonna give you some space, okay babe?” He turns on his heel, stalking off to where he parked his car. “We’ll talk more once you’ve cooled down, all right?”

“Jason, I don’t –”

“I’ll see you later, Chrissy,” he calls over his shoulder, and just like that, she’s left alone in the dark, fighting to stay warm under a blanket of indifferent stars.

- - -

She carries the stress of fifth period in the cradle of her stomach, even as she manages to make it through the first half of the day without completely losing it. She avoids Jason in the halls, intentionally taking the long way around the school and cutting through the library when she has to, all to stay far away from him and his buddies.

On top of that, she participates in a discussion in English, takes notes in History, stumbles her way through a vocab lesson in French, and successfully does not embarrass herself in Calculus.

Eddie is already sitting at their table when she makes it to Chemistry, and she takes her seat beside him with an encouraging, if somewhat uneven, grin.

She feels sleepless and raw (last night was rough after her conversation with Jason, and she didn’t get to do a final review before going to bed) but she forces herself to smile, forces it to reach her eyes. She knows how hard Eddie worked to get here, and she’s not going to distract him with her own grief.

“Good luck,” she whispers, tapping her foot against his – she wishes she could appreciate the way their shoes look together, how her white sneakers look so small next to his heavy, black boots, but her head just feels scraped up and hazy inside – and he nudges her back with a sly smirk.

“Won’t need it,” he insists, spinning a perfectly sharpened pencil between his fingers. “I had a good tutor.” She ducks her head, blushing despite herself, as she blinks down at her own arrangement of pencils and erasers.

Brenda catches her eye from across the room and shoots her a tentative thumbs up; Chrissy takes a deep breath and flashes her a quick smile before Branch takes his place at the front of the room.

“Easy as a full twist layout,” Eddie whispers to her, and she nods.

“Just need to stick the landing,” she agrees, knocking her pencil against his.

“All right everyone,” Branch clears his throat and holds up the stack of their exams. “You should know the drill by now.”

- - -

The test is brutal.

But it’s nothing she can’t handle.

She falls into it easily, burying her anxieties deep under a refusal to fail.

It’s a combination of balancing equations, vocabulary definitions, and callbacks to the experiments they’ve done through the previous unit. She works her way through each section methodically, showing her work in precise pencil marks, and refuses to be flustered.

Branch needs to try harder if he thinks he’s going to mess her up.

Easy as a full twist layout, she reminds herself as she taps her pencil against the paper.

Beside her, Eddie is talking to himself under his breath, brow furrowed as he rubs at his mouth with his hand. His eyes move furiously as he scans over the page, but he nods reassuringly and scratches a few things down on the page. His handwriting is truly a marvel to behold, but she thinks he’s making an effort to write legibly for once.

Neither of them is going to lose points on a technicality.

He notices her looking – he’s pretty perceptive like that, used to keeping his head on a swivel in the halls – and he winks when he catches her eye. Biting down on her lip, she quickly looks back at her own test before Branch notices. She doesn’t want him to think they’re cheating.

Under the table, Eddie taps his foot against hers, and Chrissy smiles.

- - -

By mutual, unspoken agreement, they head directly to the picnic table after class lets out. They push through the throngs of students heading to the cafeteria, dodging around groups who move too slow (how can three people take up the entire hallway?), and jumping out of the way of open classroom door (someone’s going to get a concussion one of these days), until they finally burst out into the dim, afternoon sunlight.

Eddie looks at her, smile huge and wild on his face, and she laughs, catching the tip of her tongue between her teeth. And if his eyes spark as he tilts his head, flicking a glance to her mouth, well she’s only going to laugh more.

The stress evaporates off of her in waves as they tromp through the trees – each step takes her farther and farther away from Jason and all associated anxieties – and she smiles at Eddie’s back, charmed by the easy stretch of his shoulders under the layers of his leather jacket and denim vest.

“What’d you think? Not too bad, right?” She asks carefully as she takes a seat at the picnic table. She’s positive Eddie wouldn’t look nearly this happy if he didn’t at least think he passed (he’s practically bouncing around now that they’re outside – maybe he feels just as trapped as she does inside the school building). But, he’s also really good at masking.

“It fucking sucked!” He drops his head back, yelling his frustration to the trees – she’s pretty sure he startles a squirrel somewhere up in the higher branches – and she laughs, covering her face with her fingers, as he shouts wordlessly in agitation. “Oh, but it wasn’t too bad,” he pronounces with a mild sigh and a blissed out grin, dropping down into the bench across from her. “Couldn’t have done it without you, Cunningham.”

“Happy to help,” she assures him, pressing her lips together and fighting against a smile. “It was my pleasure.”

“Yeah, it was,” he agrees in that same low voice, all gravelly and rough, and she rolls her eyes with a bark of laughter. Gasping, he clasps his hands to his chest, fingers spread wide. “You’re finally immune to my charms now, is that it?”

“If that’s what you call charm…” Chrissy shrugs, intentionally unaffected, as she pretends to examine her nails – all in a bid to get the fireflies in her belly under control.

“How the lady wounds me!” He swoons dramatically, all but smacking himself in the face as he slaps the back of his hand to his forehead, and topples backwards off the bench. “I’ll never recover,” he proclaims sadly to the sky, and she leans forward, peeking over the edge of the table to study his prone body.

His t-shirt (faded black, with a bright white skull grinning ghoulishly up at her) has ridden up, showing off a thin strip of his belly. She blinks, tilting her head to get a better look, and he frowns in confusion when he notices she’s very much not looking at his face.

“Uh…”

“Yeah, I think you’ll be okay.” Chrissy proclaims, sitting back down with a thump and tugging on the end of her ponytail nervously.

“Expert opinion?” He challenges. “I don’t remember seeing an MD after your name, young lady.”

“Expert opinion,” she affirms as he levers himself up to sitting, “CPR certified and everything. Oh, I think you have a little something –” He runs his fingers through his hair in an attempt to shake out the leaves stubbornly clinging to his curls.

“Do I have something in my hair? Is that it?” He shakes his head like a dog, and she smothers her giggles in her hands. “Did I get it? Am I good?”

“Yeah, totally,” she nods, fighting a losing battle to maintain composure. “You’re good.”

“Thanks Chrissy,” Eddie smiles, shows off his stupid, pretty teeth, and jumps to his feet. “Knew I could count on you.” Brushing off his artfully ripped jeans, he comes around to her side and plops down on the bench right next to her, his back to the table. He leans back on his elbows and tips his head back to study her out of the corner of his eye.

She lets him look, opting to sit in silence as he ponders her with something like curiosity in his smile. The sun peeks through the gaps in the leaves and branches, and the light catches in the unruly tangles of his chestnut curls – Chrissy tightens her hands into fists so she doesn’t reach out and touch him.

“Are you really CPR certified?” He asks at length, and she pitches forward with a laugh. “Don’t lie to me now, this could be a matter of life or death.”

“Yes, I’m really CPR certified.” She cocks her head, ponytail falling to one side as she furrows her brow at him. “Why?”

“Just wonderin’,” he shrugs, glancing away from her to rub idly at his rings. Chrissy has that urge again to reach out and touch him, to trace over his knuckles with her fingertips, and she feels her face start to burn. “It’s always handy to have a healer on deck.”

“Is that a, um,” she gestures uselessly, and he nods along with her as she pieces the words together, “a, um, D&D thing?”

“A D&D thing,” he says at the same time, huffing under his breath. “Yeah – they heal the other players, make sure that no one goes down permanently. A vital part of any adventuring party.”

“Do you think I could maybe play with you sometime?” She asks carefully, and he does a double take, blinking at her in stunned disbelief. “I mean, if that’s okay? I don’t really know the rules or anything, so you’d have to, like, teach me. But, like, maybe it could be fun…” She trails off, twisting her mouth and looking down at her sneakers.

The quiet stretches on, and she’s a little scared to look at him, so she shrugs, tugging the sleeves of her yellow sweater down over her hands. It’s getting unbearable, so she takes a deep breath and nervously looks off to the side, choosing to focus on a random tree instead of the suddenly unreadable boy perched next to her.

“Or, I guess, like if you don’t want… I mean, that’s okay, too. I just –”

“You’d really play Dungeons and Dragons with me?” He pauses, tilting his head in obvious confusion, as he rolls the words around in his mouth. “You. Dungeons and Dragons. With me.”

“Unless you don’t want me to?” She asks hesitantly, brow furrowed.

“Oh no,” Eddie leans forward, pulling out of his ungainly sprawl to balance his sharp elbows on his equally sharp knees. “It would be an honor to have you at my table, Cheer Queen. I just don’t know what you’d get out of it.’

“Well, it’s fun right? The game?”

“Very,” he assures her with a grin.

“Then that’s what I’d get out of it,” she proclaims, tossing her head so her ponytail shimmies happily in the sunlight. “A fun time. With my friend, Eddie Munson. But you’re not allowed to be mean – you can’t make fun of me for not knowing how to play!”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he mumbles. His face goes pink at her words, and he twists away from her to cover his mouth with one, so his voice comes out muffled. “Chrissy Cunningham, the Queen of Hawkins High… Who would have thought,” he says, mostly to himself, and his eyes are sparking.

“What do you mean?” She asks, suddenly warm in a way that has nothing to do with their secluded little patch of sunlight. Fireflies are dancing in her belly again, and she wants to chase that feeling and bottle it up for nights when she’s lonely and cold. (Nights when she’s alone on a dark sidewalk, holding herself tightly against the encroaching dark.)

“Let’s see,” he holds up a hand, counting off on his fingers as he lists. “You’re a cheerleading bad ass. A total chem genius. And, come to find out! A stealth nerd. You’re a deep well. They’ll never see you coming.”

“Oh my God, stop,” she laughs, smacking his shoulder.

“Not to mention a menace to society,” he adds in a whisper, “wanted in seven counties for armed assault.” She rolls her eyes, and he sighs, rearranging himself into an elegant sprawl. He shifts his hips against the bench, letting his legs fall open, as he props himself on his elbows.

“Getting comfy?” She teases, feeling brave enough to poke him in the cheek.

“Like I said,” he mutters, cracking open one eye. “A menace to society. God, that test was fucking rough – how many more do we have?”

“At least five. Not counting quizzes,” she sighs, and he groans, deep and angry in his chest. “Don’t worry,” she pats him awkwardly on the head and tries to ignore how his jeans stretch across the wide spread of his thighs, “we’ll get through it together.”

“Just kill me now,” he complains. “I’m never going to have to balance chemical equations in real life. Why do I need to do it now? It’s torture! Someone call the Geneva Convention.”

“Not much use for stoichiometry in the rock star business?” Chrissy teases him, and he barks out a laugh, pressing his tongue against the back of his teeth.

“Surprisingly no… surprisingly no.” He glances at her from under his bangs, brown eyes lit with an amber glow. “What about you, Miss CPR Certified? Are you gonna put those chem skills to good use?” She twists her mouth, considering, and he narrows his eyes as he leans in close to her. “Your adoring fans want to know – what does Chrissy Cunningham want to be when she grows up?”

“Hmm,” she hums, looking down at her lap and tangling her fingers in the hem of her sweater. “I guess…”

“Come on,” Eddie bumps his shoulder against hers, and she lets the warmth of his body, sturdy and sweet, seep into hers through the layers of their clothes. “You can’t tell me you don’t have it all planned out.”

“Promise not to laugh,” she begs him, jerking up and searching his face desperately until their eyes lock.

“Cross my heart,” he swears, sounding more serious than he ever has before, and solemnly places a hand to his chest. “Hope to fucking die. I will not laugh. You have my word.”

“Okay,” she gnaws on her lower lip, glancing off to the side, so she doesn’t have to look him in the eye anymore. “I want to be a social worker – you know, help kids and people in trouble? Like, I want to make the world a better place and maybe try to make a difference. I know it’s a lot of work,” she laughs self consciously and picks at her nails.

Eddie has gone still next to her – she isn’t sure he’s even breathing anymore, but she can’t stop rambling. “It’s a lot of work. But it’s important, you know? I want to feel like what I do is important. Whatever, it’s dumb,” she shrugs, hunching her shoulders and hiding the softness of her sweater as she laughs nervously. “But, it probably won’t require any Chemistry, so. That’s a good –”

Chrissy turns her head at just the right moment, as Eddie reaches up to cradle her cheek and presses their lips together. He literally steals the words from her mouth, chasing the sound of her voice with his tongue as he kisses her. His rings are electric against her skin as he tucks his thumb under her jaw, and her whole body feels warm.

She makes a truly embarrassing noise in the back of her throat (a startled little squeak that has him laughing against her lips, which tingles in a way that she will never forget) as her hands settle cautiously on his waist. The denim of his vest is surprisingly soft under her touch, and she tightens her fingers, grabbing fistfuls of fabric to pull him closer.

He exhales through his nose as he cups the back of her neck with his free hand and rubs at the sensitive skin behind her ear with his thumb. She shivers at the surprisingly soft caress and tries to follow his lead, tilting her head into the kiss and licking into his mouth. This is so much more than the one-sided fumblings she’s shared with Jason. He wanted to keep her pure and untouched, but all he did was leave her empty and unsatisfied with messy hands and an aching jaw.

There’s nothing pure about the way Eddie draws her in, pulling her into his space until she’s pressed up against him, until her heart is beating frantically against his, until his pulse is paired seamlessly with hers.

The fireflies in her belly are fluttering in her chest now, and she feels gauzy-sweet and weightless as she slides her hands up Eddie’s chest to grip his shoulders. She’s drowning in the shape of his mouth as he angles her head and sucks on her lower lip. Kissing has never been like this, all heady and syrupy slow, and she makes a happy little noise against his tongue.

He lurches back suddenly, hissing sharply between his teeth, and he pulls his hands away with a staggering jerk. Her eyes blink open, and she touches her mouth with trembling fingers – she’s buzzing, over sensitive, and hazy, as she takes in Eddie’s face. He’s flushed pink and feverish, but his eyes are frantic with nerves.

“Shit,” he curses under his breath and yanks his hands through his hair in vicious tugs; he stares down at his feet, stubbornly refusing to even look at her. “Shit, what am I doing? I’m such an asshole, Jesus Christ.”

“Eddie,” she lays a hand on his shoulder, and his whole body flinches as he springs away from her with a pitchy stutter.

“Ahh, this is so fucked up. Holy shit, I am so –” He closes his eyes and clears his throat before taking a deep breath. Exhaling slowly, he presses his hands together between his knees and turns to her with a deadly serious stare. “Chrissy. I am so sorry.”

“Eddie,” she says his name again and reaches out once more to touch him – he twitches as she carefully untangles his hand, holding one between both her palms. “It’s okay. I promise, it’s okay.”

His rings are sharp, bulky things, decorated with scowling, demonic faces and demented, grinning skulls. But they’re so pretty, in an Eddie sort of way. She traces the jagged grooves in the metal with absentminded curiosity, and he inhales sharply at her innocent touch.

“Unless the Hawkins High Rumor Mill is wrong – which it never is,” he admits with a sardonic roll of his eyes, “you are very much dating Jason Carver. Which means this,” he gestures between them with his unoccupied hand, eyebrows disappearing into the heavy curtain of his bangs, “is very much not okay.”

She frowns at the mention of Jason’s name and tries not to think about the last time she saw him – walking away on a suburban street, tossing a dismissive scowl over his shoulder as he faded into the cold gloom of the night. She likes it much better here, under the trees, at the picnic table with Eddie, where she can hold his hand and kiss his mouth.

“Jason and I aren’t together anymore,” she says in a slow, halting admission. Eddie leans forward, eyes narrowed with razor sharp skepticism.

“You’re joking.” He challenges, trying to take his hand back – she doesn’t let him, keeps him trapped as she interlocks their fingers. The sudden flush of pink across his nose helps undercut the ferocity of his doubt, and he rubs his thumb across his lower lip.

“Nope.” She answers simply, admiring the way their fingers look together, how his rings compare to the light sheen of her nail polish. “We broke up last night. Or at least,” she tilts her head, pouting thoughtfully. “I broke up with him. It was very much not by mutual agreement.”

“Can’t imagine he liked that,” Eddie laughs under his breath, tightening his grip on her hand.

“No, he did not. He kinda stormed off and left me standing by the road alone in the dark.”

“Jesus,” he widens his eyes in disgusted disbelief. “I can’t say I’m surprised. You sure know how to pick ‘em.”

“Yeah, I do,” she agrees immediately, delighted by the way Eddie’s face lights up in fiery blush. He ducks, hiding shyly behind his hair, and she tips her head back with a gleeful laugh. “Oh, so you can dish it out, but you can’t take it? Eddie Munson, you tease.”

“What can I say?” He mumbles, stretching for a recovery that he can’t quite reach. Chrissy chews on her lower lip as he peers up at her through his unfairly long eyelashes. “I’m a sucker for a pretty girl.”

“Charmer,” she accuses him, and he shrugs, unrepentant. He’s openly watching her now, eyes lingering on the kiss of her lips and the shimmy of her ponytail – she lets him look, meeting his gaze with a sort of bashful acceptance. “But I don’t know, Jason wasn’t always like that. You know? He was good to me – you heard about Jillian Piccoli’s ex, right? And what happened at Tommy H.’s party? Or Bethany Nichols and Michael Stanton?” Eddie nods slowly, eyes narrowed into dangerous slits, and she keeps talking.

“Right, so he never did anything like that. He was a good boyfriend. Things were good, I guess, and then they just… weren’t anymore. I don’t know what happened. But it was like all of a sudden, nothing felt real anymore. Like it was all fake.” She grimaces, twisting her mouth into a thoughtful frown. “I was just… going through the motions with him, and I wasn’t happy.”

She blinks, derailing the frantic train of her own thoughts, as she flicks her eyes up to meet Eddie’s solemn stare. “I probably sound crazy, huh?”

“No,” he contradicts quickly, firmly, and he reaches up to trace his thumb over the soft curve of her cheek as he cradles her face in his hand. “You don’t sound crazy.”

“Not even a little bit?” She teases with a watery smile, leaning into his touch, and his eyes melt into a liquid amber-gold.

“No,” he says again, darting forward to press a kiss to her hair. “I think you sound happy.”

“You know what?” She whispers as she closes her eyes and lets his warmth wash over her. “I think I am.”

- - -

Brenda Matheson catches them coming back inside for seventh period. Eddie heads off to shop class, and she watches him get swallowed up in the chaos that is the post-lunch passing period before making her own way to the fine arts wing for choir. Brenda falls into step with her easily.

“So,” she pronounces, snapping her cinnamon gum with a not unfriendly grin. “You and Munson, huh?”

Chrissy glances at her cautiously, but she really doesn’t look like she’s trying to be mean. Her blue eyes are bright with mischief, and Chrissy remembers how she stared up at her from the locker room floor, shocked silent by a simple compliment.

“I mean,” Chrissy shrugs cutely, and Brenda elbows her in encouragement. “I guess? Kinda? Yes?”

“Oh my God,” Brenda laughs, bouncing in excitement, as Chrissy blushes and buries her face in her hands. At least the cacophony of the hallway is covering up Brenda’s hysterics, because she is easily the loudest girl on the squad, and she is putting those vocal skills to good use right now. “But, shit, wait. What about Jason?”

“We actually broke up yesterday,” she tells her quietly, already accepting that it’s going to be all over school before the end of the day. The Hawkins High economy runs on gossip, and the dollar never has never been stronger.

“No fucking way!” Brenda gasps, grabbing Chrissy’s arm in shock. “Is it because of…?” She glances intentionally over her shoulder.

“Not really,” Chrissy says, and she’s almost surprised to realize that she’s not lying. She didn’t break up with Jason just because of Eddie. “It just… I don’t know, it just didn’t feel real anymore, you know? Like what was the point?”

“I get that,” Brenda nods sagely as they sidestep a gaggle of band kids coming out of the stairwell. “God, he was never right for you, anyway. You can do way better.” She dodges out of the way of their instrument cases with practiced ease.

“So you don’t care about…?”

“What, you and Munson? Nah,” she frowns up at the ceiling as she thinks. “It weirdly makes sense. He’s actually kinda hot, in that, like, feral sorta way. Plus, you know what they say about those tall, skinny guys, right?” She pushes her tongue against the inside of her mouth so her cheek bulges obscenely, and Chrissy blushes.

“Oh my God, stop it!” Brenda cackles, linking their arms together and skipping past the library to the fine arts wing. “But, um, do you mind not telling anyone? About me and Eddie, I mean. We’re still kinda figuring things out? Plus, Jason would freak if he found out.”

“Ugh, he totally would,” she rolls her eyes in disgust. “I don’t even want to think about it. No, I won’t tell anyone.” They stop outside the door to the choir hall, and Brenda pauses, studying her with a look on her face that Chrissy can’t even begin to decipher. If she has to guess, she would say pride. “Your secret’s safe with me, Cunningham.”

- - -

That night, Chrissy lies in her bed, staring up at the ceiling with a frustrated scowl on her face. The whole house is quiet – has been for hours, since her parents turned in – but she can’t settle down enough to sleep. Her brain is turning over and over, and she keeps thinking about Eddie.

They spent the rest of their lunch hour just talking about whatever random things they could think of. One of Eddie’s favorite bands is on tour, and he’s trying to get tickets to see them in Chicago (because literally no one ever comes to Hawkins). So, she told him about going to see Cyndi Lauper at the Park West a few years ago – her cousin Julie took her as a birthday present.

“My first concert,” she informed him proudly, knowing full well he’s been sneaking into metal shows since he was like ten, and that going to her first concert at fifteen is pretty embarrassing. But he listened, chin propped up on one fist, as she reminisced dreamily about how it felt like Cyndi was singing just for her. She and Julie screamed themselves hoarse – they knew every word to every song.

“Cyndi Lauper,” Eddie repeated to himself, clearly amused and teasing just a little. His brown eyes sparkled at her as he played thoughtfully with his hair.

“Got a t-shirt and everything.”

“How else could you prove that you went?”

“Exactly,” she smiled, scrunching up her nose, and he made an abrupt noise in the back of his throat as he ducked away from her. “What is it?” She laughed, giddy, and he shook his head, refusing to answer. “Are you making fun of me? Because I’ll have you know that Cyndi Lauper is a genius.”

“No, no,” he his lower lip between his teeth, suddenly serious as he looked at her, studying her with a single minded focus that had heat pooling in her belly. “I’m just really glad I met you.”

“I’m really glad you met me too,” she laughed, leaning in close to press her lips to his cheek.

Chrissy thinks of that now, of that live wire giddiness bubbling in her veins, as they traded lazy kisses in the late afternoon sunlight. His eyes were shining, trickster bright and sly, while he tugged loosely at her ponytail. She loves his eyes – loves how he looks at her, like she’s a puzzle he can’t wait to figure out, like everything she does is a wonderful surprise, like she delights him just by being herself.

Like she doesn’t have to fix her face. Or anything else, for that matter.

She wishes he was here with her now. Like he scaled the side of the house, slid open her bedroom window, and crept in to lie beside her in bed. Huffing in frustration, Chrissy rolls over, jerking the sheets and blankets up to her chin, as she forces herself to close her eyes. She imagines him curled up on his side, facing her so they can whisper to each other in the dark. Maybe he’d reach for her, run his fingertips up and down her bare arm as they talked.

Sighing, she flops onto her back and kicks off her blankets, feeling trapped under the stifling layers. Her nightgown twists around her as she tries to get comfortable, and she lets her arms flop uselessly to her sides.

Everything is so quiet. Her parents are heavy sleepers; they wouldn’t even know if Eddie sneaked over. Wouldn’t hear the tromping of his boots as he climbed up to the roof. Wouldn’t hear the two of them giggling to each other under her sheets.

God, she wishes he was here. Her heart pounds with how much she wants him next to her, and she bites down hard on her lower lip, as she slides her hand down to her belly and lower.

“Hey Cheer Queen,” she hears him whisper in her head, all gravelly low and smooth. He’d lie on his side, head propped up on one elbow, so he can watch. She’d let him watch, she realizes, as she works her hand between her legs.

She wants him to watch.

“Hey Eddie,” she murmurs aloud, voice hitching, as she teases herself. She keeps her touch light at first, screwing her eyes shut as she gasps.

Her face burns, and she tilts her head back against her pillows. She feels overheated and sensitive, like she’s catching fire from the inside out – she doesn’t usually think of anyone specific when she does this, just surrenders to the heady demands of her own body. But now, she can’t not think of him, can’t not imagine how his eyes would smolder as he watches her.

Whimpering, she turns her head to the side, almost embarrassed by her own fantasies. She wonders if he thinks about her when he does this – gets his hand around himself and pretends she’s there with him, moans her name in his bed, thinks about touching her as gives in to his own needs. She wonders what he sounds like.

Would he beg? Beg for her to touch him, to take care of him, to make him feel good like no one else can?

“Please,” he says, voice husky and desperate, “don’t be mean.” She imagines him writhing against her, shivering and senseless, and her hips jerk as she crooks her fingers. Her feet slip on her sheets, and she does her best to keep quiet. “Don’t be mean,” he pleads, burying his face in her neck. “Please, let me?”

She imagines his smell – smoky pine and leather – and catches her bottom lip between her teeth. Pressure builds in her belly, tingling through her thighs, and her breath hitches on an aching whine. She wants to kiss him, get her mouth on his skin, give him bruises. She knows he’d let her.

He’d wear her marks proudly, pulling the collar of his shirt down to show them off until they faded. Until she needed to give him new ones. She imagines cornering him in the halls at school, pressing him against the lockers and standing on her tiptoes to mouth at his neck until he was flushed and moaning.

Her spine arches, and her head drops back with a muffled keen as she claps a hand over her mouth. Pleasure crests over her whole body in sparking waves, leaves her shuddering and breathless as she works herself through the aftershocks.

She gasps for air, heart pounding, as she stares sightlessly up at the ceiling of her bedroom. She slowly comes back to herself, all boneless and happy and loose. Her mouth is dry, absolutely parched, and she licks her lips with a hysterical giggle. She’s almost worried she’s going to float up to the ceiling, she feels so light. Squealing to herself, she buries her face in her pillow to cover her blush.

Chemistry is going to be a lot of fun tomorrow.

Chapter Text

Thankfully, Branch spends the entire class lecturing, and Chrissy’s too busy taking notes to get distracted by the embarrassment of existing in the same space as Eddie.

He’s completely oblivious to her nerves, beset by a sleepiness that she’s never seen from him before – he interrupts his haphazard scribbling with wide, noisy yawns that have Branch’s eye twitching. If nothing else, it gives her the space to calm down, because she started the day convinced she’d spontaneously combust if he so much as looked at her.

The bell rings to dismiss them, and she feels much more centered as starts loading up her bag. It only took an entire class spent sitting next to him in relative silence for her to actually calm down. Not humiliating at all.

“Hey,” he catches her attention, snagging the edge of her sleeve with gentle fingers as he stands up from their table. His backpack is already hanging off one shoulder, and he hitches it up with an easy shrug. Grinning to himself, he rubs at the soft fabric of her sweater with his thumb.

“Hi,” she whispers, smiling up at him.

“I gotta get something from my van, and then I’ll meet you?” He rubs nervously at the back of his neck, and he looks off to the side with an unexpected blush.

“Sure,” she tells him, twisting her wrist so he lets go of her cuff and she can hook their pinkies together. She’s glad that he seems on board with continuing their solo lunch dates – she knows he used to sit with his friends in the cafeteria, just like she did, and she wonders if he’ll ever want go back to his old table.

“Okay, cool,” he bobs his head to himself, and they spend another half second staring at each other. He tilts towards her in an aborted halfway lean before lurching back with an awkward laugh. “Right, yeah, okay, I’ll see you in a minute.”

“Okay,” she says, nodding, and he turns away from her in an abrupt about-face that has her fighting back giggles.

“That was the cutest thing I’ve ever seen in my entire life,” Brenda comments from behind her, somehow managing to sound both horrified and infatuated at the same time. “Like, gag me with a spoon. I am disgusted.”

“Oh, shut up,” Chrissy rolls her eyes, pulling the straps of her backpack over her shoulders and heading to the door. The hallway is, predictably, a chaotic mess, and she and Brenda slip seamlessly into the stream of students. Brenda keeps teasing her, poking her in the ribs and fluttering her lashes.

Chrissy laughs, hiding in her hands as her face flames, when a sudden yank on her elbow pulls her up short.

“Shit,” Brenda hisses under her breath, and Chrissy inhales sharply – a group of basketball boys is standing tall in the crowd of students, easily a head above their peers. Jason is with him, but he hasn’t spotted her yet. Brenda easily steps in front of her, shielding her from view with her body as she jerks her head back towards the Chemistry classroom. “Take the long way around – I’ll distract them. Tell Eddie I say hi.”

“Thanks, Brenda – I owe you one.” Chrissy reaches for her, squeezing her wrist with grateful desperation, and Brenda rolls her eyes.

“Like hell you do. Go on, get going!” With one last shaky smile, Chrissy turns on her heel to disappear into the mayhem of passing period. A few kids are carrying poster boards and trifolds, and she uses them as cover as she makes her escape.

“Hello there boys!” She hears Brenda call out at the top of her lungs as she ducks around a corner and vanishes from sight.

- - -

Even taking the long way around, she makes it to their spot before Eddie. She hops up onto the table, feet together on the bench, and leans back on her hands. It’s colder than usual – the weather is finally dipping into edge of winter – and the bracing chill is welcoming on her feverish skin.

She hasn’t seen Jason since Sunday night, and she wasn’t prepared to run into him today. The thought of it leaves her feeling overheated and anxious, and she lets the afternoon breeze wash over her with a thankful sigh.

“God bless you, Brenda Matheson,” Chrissy murmurs, frowning.

“Amen to that,” Eddie agrees, dropping down onto the bench next to her, back pressed to the table. He sets something at his feet, and Chrissy cranes her neck to look at it. It’s a large, bulky case – shaped like a coffin and covered in scratches and stickers. “Why is God blessing Brenda Matheson?”

“We almost ran into Jason in the halls, and she covered for me,” she tells him, squinting thoughtfully. “Is this the part where you finally kill me and stuff my body in… that?” She jerks her chin at the case, and he stares at her for a second before busting into laughter.

“That’s way dark, Chrissy Cunningham!” He claps his hands together, delighted. “Goddamn! You’ve been hanging around me too much. Jesus, you’re demented.” She giggles, tossing her ponytail over her shoulder, and he cautiously wraps a hand around her ankle. His fingers are warm against her bare skin, and he rubs idly at the jut of her ankle bone. The shiver that works its way down her spine has absolutely nothing to do with the cold.

“So,” he turns to stare out at the trees, eyes darting nervously, “Jason’s still bothering you?”

“Not really,” she twists her mouth thoughtfully. “We haven’t really talked since the other night. I just don’t want to deal with it, you know?”

“Yeah,” he tilts his head in apparent agreement and squeezes her ankle once more before letting go. Grimacing a little, he bounces his knee and crosses his arms over his chest. There’s more he wants to say, but he settles for shaking his head once and clapping his hands together. “Enough about Jason Carver! Who needs that guy?” He leans forward, bent at the waist, to reach for the latches on the coffin case.

“I want to show you something,” he pronounces awkwardly, and she rests her hands primly in her lap as he looks up at her, squinting self-consciously. “But, full disclosure, this is a departure from my usual style – a break from tradition, if you will. Outside of my wheelhouse, you might say.”

He’s rambling, and she presses her lips together so she doesn’t laugh at him.

“What the fuck. Oh my God,” he mutters to himself, “what the hell am I saying – okay, here we go. I’m just gonna –” He flips the lid of the case to reveal an acoustic guitar. “Ta da,” he sings weakly, face flushed pink. It’s pristine, clearly well cared for, despite the dents scuffing its case. The dark, spruce wood of the guitar top gleams up at her from the plush velvet lining, and Chrissy beams in giddy excitement.

“Oh wow, Eddie!” He glances up at her, shy and unsure, as he carefully lifts the guitar out of the case and rests it on his knees. He twists to face her, folding one leg in front of himself as he idly tunes the strings. “It’s beautiful – are you gonna play something for me?”

“She,” he corrects quietly, and she nods apologetically.

“Oh yeah, sorry – she is beautiful. Does she, um, have a name?” She’s pretty sure she’s heard stuff about musicians naming their instruments, and Eddie seems like the kind of guy to do something like that. He pauses, blinking down at nothing and biting on his lower lip. She’s never seen him like this before – all cagey and awkward with nerves. Her heart flips tenderly at the sight of him fiddling awkwardly with the tuning pegs.

“Maria,” he mumbles finally and gives the strings one more strum. Satisfied, he folds his arms over Maria, and peers up at her. “So, like I said, this isn’t my usual style, and I literally just learned it last night, so like. Be nice please?” He smiles up at her in a grimace, squinting one eye shut as he opens his hands. “Just. Don’t be mean?”

Chrissy freezes, brain short circuiting, as he gazes up at her, all vulnerable and sweet. He probably means it as a joke, a reference to their bet about tattoos. But all she can think about is last night, and the tingling pressure in her belly, and the rolling waves of pleasure overtaking her whole body.

Don’t be mean.

It’s like her face is on fire, cheeks burning and red, and she presses her lips together to smother the truly embarrassing noise caught in the back of her throat. He’s going to think she’s losing her mind – she can only hope that he doesn’t notice how she’s suddenly squeezing her legs together.

Don’t be mean, he says, just shy of begging. Totally unfair.

“Mmhmm,” she squeaks out, nodding, “of course.” Taking a deep breath, she gets herself under control and folds her hands demurely in her lap as she looks at him. “I won’t make fun of you, I promise. Cross my heart and hope to… um, die.”

“Okay,” he mirrors her, inhaling deeply, and licks his lips. “Here we go…” He begins plucking out a rhythm, though it takes her a second to recognize it. She’s used to hearing it as a snappy, bubblegum synth, and he’s pulled the song down a few octaves, so it’s more in his range. But once she realizes what it is… She beams, clapping her hands to her mouth to smother her giggles.

Eddie nods along as he plays, almost without realizing, and he gains confidence as he makes it through the opening chords. He quirks his eyebrows, tilting his head as if to prepare himself, and begins to sing.

“I come home in the mornin’ light, my mother says, ‘when you gonna live your life right?’ Oh momma dear, we’re not the fortunate ones… And girls, they wanna have fun. Oh, girls just wanna have fun…”

Her eyes well up, and she bites down hard on her lower lip. His voice scratches against the lyrics, and he’s clearly used to screaming along to thrashing metal, but the song just makes sense as he sings it. He’s rough, rasping, and the sound tugs at her. She drops her hands to her chest, presses hard against her heart. He doesn’t look at her as he plays, keeps his head bent over Maria.

“The phone rings in the middle of the night, my father yells, ‘what you gonna do with your life?’ Oh daddy dear, you know you’re still number one. But girls, they wanna have fun.”

He glances up at her, mouth quirking in a crooked smirk as he plucks at the guitar strings without looking and lets his voice run. His fingers move deftly up and down the fretboard, shifting smoothly from one chord to another. She’s utterly captivated and completely overwhelmed as she watches him – he’s enjoying himself now, tapping his foot along with the beat as he plays.

“Some boys take a beautiful girl and hide her away from the rest of the world,” he shakes his head, tossing his hair over his shoulder, as he ducks down and closes his eyes. “I wanna be the one to walk in the sun. Oh girls, they wanna have fun.”

She silently mouths the words along with him, determined not to be a distraction. He was so nervous, and she doesn’t want to throw him off. Also, she selfishly wants to remember this as the first time he sang for her, even though he probably wouldn’t mind if she sang with him. (He’d probably love it.) Next time, they can sing together. But right now, he’s performing just for her – a private concert, right at the spot where she remembered how to be happy.

It’s a perfect parallel to the first time they met, under the blistering stage lights of the packed cafeteria in their old middle school.

He loses himself in the music, singing a song she herself has belted out at the top of her lungs, crammed in a car with her friends or dancing alone in her room. He makes it his own, raw and yearning, and Maria thrums readily under his expert technique. She’s mesmerized by how he works the strings, fingers picking and plucking in a way that has her blood humming. Her heart pounds and something soft and warm unfurls in her belly.

“...they just wanna, they just wanna. They just wanna, they just wanna.” He finishes with one final strum, holds his fingers on the strings so the last note can carry, and looks up at her with a heavy exhale. The quiet descends on them, taking up the vacuum left behind by his song, and Chrissy stares at him in stunned wonder. “So,” Eddie says at length, crossing his arms loosely over his guitar and looking away. “Thoughts?”

She reaches for him, grabbing his face in her hands, so she can smash their mouths together. The angle is awkward, with Maria trapped between their bodies, and Eddie makes a startled noise against her lips, but she doesn’t care. Chrissy gets her fingers in his hair, tugging just a little bit to draw him in even closer, and he groans. She chases the noise with her tongue, licking into his mouth with a single-minded determination.

It’s almost unbearable, how much she feels for him in this moment, and she tries desperately to pour it all into her kiss.

Finally, they part, pressing their foreheads together as they struggle to breathe.

“Thanks for the feedback,” Eddie exhales loudly, blinking to himself in something like shock. “I’ll definitely remember that for the future.”

- - -

Brenda finds her at the end of the day. They meet up at Chrissy’s locker, and she generously waits until she’s ready to go. (Brenda’s sort of become her de facto ride home, and it’s been nice getting to hang out with her more.) They have a game against Springfield this Friday – the Knights are basically their number one rival in all things sports, but especially basketball – so they’re having a pep rally tomorrow to get everyone pumped.

“I just wish we didn’t have to wear our uniforms all day,” she complains, rolling her eyes. “Like, it’s not gonna kill our chances if I wear pants to school. Jesus,” she huffs, and Chrissy laughs. “Hey, do you have plans this weekend?”

“Nope,” she shakes her head and zips up her backpack.

“You and… well, you-know-who aren’t doing anything?” Brenda lowers her voice, covering her mouth with one hand.

“I don’t think so? We haven’t really talked about it,” Chrissy shrugs, pursing her lips thoughtfully. She and Eddie haven’t made the jump to meeting up outside of school yet, but she suddenly very much wants to take him out on a proper date. They’ll start small – just burgers and shakes. She wonders what his favorite ice cream is. Smiling to herself, she twists her fingers in the end of her ponytail.

“For the love of God,” Brenda gags, “you’re so gross. I can’t stand it. Well,” she pushes away from the lockers to start walking down the hall. “If you’re not busy, do you wanna drive up to Fort Wayne on Saturday? I am dying to go shopping.”

“Oh, wow – yes please! That’d be awesome, Brenda.” Chrissy bounces on the balls of her feet, and Brenda laughs. “I’d love that. Thank you so –”

“Chrissy!”

“Jesus Christ,” Brenda hisses under her breath as they both freeze and turn to look over their shoulders with matching looks of disbelief. “You want to make a break for it?” Chrissy sighs, feeling suddenly exhausted, and shakes her head.

“No, I should probably talk to him,” she says in a low voice and nervously hooks her hands in the straps of her backpack.

“You sure? We could probably outrun him.” Brenda points out, and there’s a good chance she’s right. All the boys underestimate the cheerleaders, as if it doesn’t take a tremendous amount of athletic ability to do what they do.

“I heard that, Matheson,” Jason complains, cutting down the hallway to reach them. His face is set in a frown, twisting up his all-American, boyish good looks, and Brenda raises her eyebrows, clearly unimpressed.

“Great, good for you.” She cocks her hip, crossing her arms as she rolls her eyes up at him. “Was starting to worry about your comprehension skills.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He challenges and steps forward, like he’s going to get her to back down by sheer force of will. Brenda scoffs, flipping her long, black ponytail over her shoulder with an easy flick of her wrist.

“Just that you only hear what you want to hear.” She cuts a glance in Chrissy’s direction before looking back to Jason. “Learn to take a hint, Jason. It’s embarrassing.”

“Babe,” he turns to look at her, as if he’s just remembered she’s there, and his blue eyes wide with shock. Chrissy shrinks back without thinking. “Did you tell her about us?” He moves to take a step towards her, and Brenda blocks him, putting an arm out to angle Chrissy behind her as she gets between them. “Knock it off, Brenda, I’m not messing around.”

“Yeah, and neither am I.” Brenda’s never forgiven herself for not being there at Tommy H.’s party, and she wears that guilt like a shield now, using it to protect her friends however she can. Even with her own body. “You wanna talk to her? Then back off, Carver.”

He blinks, as if he’s coming back to himself, and he puts up his hands.

“I’m not going to hurt her,” he promises, following Brenda’s advice and taking a few steps back. “I would never – Chrissy, I’m not gonna hurt you. I just want to talk.” He’s pleading, eyes wet, and Chrissy swallows around the sudden lump in her throat. Brenda glances over her shoulder with a soft look on her face.

“If you want to go, we can go.” She says, loud enough for Jason to hear.

“No,” Chrissy shakes her head, “it’s okay. I’ll talk to him.” Brenda raises her eyebrows pointedly, giving her one last out, and Chrissy nods. “Don’t worry. I’ll be okay.”

“Yeah, Brenda,” Jason interrupts, “she’ll be okay. Can you give us some space, please?”

“Jason, stop it,” Chrissy sighs, and Brenda shifts out of the way so she can walk to him. She leaves a good foot of space between them, and she frowns up at him. He has about six inches of height on her, and that used to make her feel safe – like it made it easier for him to protect her, because he’s so much bigger than she is.

Eddie’s taller than Jason, she realizes now as she studies him.

“I already told you,” she says, sounding as tired as she feels. “I don’t want to be with you anymore. I wasn’t happy. We’re over.” He furrows his brow, mouth dropping open in shock.

“Babe, how can you say that? I don’t understand!” He clearly wasn’t expecting her to still feel that way. He’d been holding onto the hope that she would come to her senses and fall into his arms without a second thought.

“What is there to understand, Jason? I can’t be the person you want me to be – I’m sorry. You deserve someone who wants to be with you, and that just isn’t me anymore.” He scowls, and his jaw ticks as he sucks in an angry breath.

“Is there someone else?” He asks in a halting voice.

“Jason…” Chrissy chews on her lower lip and forces herself not to look away. She doesn’t want to think about what he’d do to Eddie if he found out about them right now. “Would it matter if there was? It doesn’t change the fact that I don’t want to be with you.”

“Would it matter – of course it would, what the hell, Chrissy? Were you sneaking around behind my back? Tell me his fucking name!” He shouts, voice echoing in the now empty hallway. She flinches, recoiling away from him, as her eyes well up with tears.

He’s never yelled at her like this before. They weren’t the kind of couple who fought a lot. She always did her best to keep the conflict to a minimum, shrinking herself to fit into whatever space he left for her. She used to think that was love. That what she was doing – standing very still, asking for very little, giving up pieces of herself until she was hollowed out and barren inside – was proof of her love for him.

She knows now that it wasn’t. That it isn’t. That love isn’t supposed to make her small. It’s supposed to make her feel bigger than her body, like she’s going to burst at the seams with how much she wants.

Wrapping her arms around herself, she swallows roughly around the tightness in her throat.

“We’re done, Jason. So, just leave me alone, okay?” She turns away from him, and Brenda is there, tucking an arm around her shoulders as they walk down the hall together.

She doesn’t really start to cry until they’re pulling out of the parking lot.

- - -

She takes an extra long shower that night, stands under the water as she sobs – her parents are downstairs, and there’s no way they can hear her, not when they’re watching Night Court. They never miss an episode. But, she stills buries her face in her hands to muffle the sound. The last thing she needs is for her mom to come check on her.

(“Fix your face and get yourself under control.”)

Her chest hurts, and she gasps for breath. She’s not even that sad about ending things with Jason. She feels like she’s been breaking up with him in slow motion for months now. Even before she started hanging out with Eddie. It definitely helped – probably got her there quicker than not, which she’s grateful for. But she would’ve gotten there on her own. She knows she would have. She has to believe that.

Because, she mourns for herself, for how much time she wasted with him, for how she carved herself up inside to be the girl he thought she was. She was trapped in that hazy in-between, halfway living place, barely conscious in her own body. Drifting through the day, completely alone. She tips her head back under the spray, lets it wash away the dregs of misery clinging to her.

She doesn’t want to think about Jason Carver anymore – who needs that guy? – just wants to leave behind everything she was when she was with him.

She finishes her shower quickly after that and walks out of her bathroom feeling much better. Her insides still feel wrung out and raw, but in an almost good way. Like she’s just finished a brutal cheer practice. She feels lighter, unburdened, like she’s done something she can be proud of.

Toweling off her hair, she picks through her shoe box full of cassette tapes – she wonders what Eddie’s listening to right now. He probably has a huge record collection. She’ll have to go shopping with him sometime, see what he recommendations he’d make. It’s not hard to find the tape she’s looking for, and she pops it into her boombox, cranks the volume as loud as she can.

“I come home in the mornin’ light, my mother says, ‘when you gonna live your life right?’ Oh momma dear, we’re not the fortunate ones… And girls, they wanna have fun. Oh, girls just wanna have fun…”

- - -

The next morning is bright, crisp, and bracing in a way that implies a new beginning. Chrissy takes her time getting ready, even spritzes some vanilla perfume behind her ears and on her wrists. Chewing shyly on her lower lip, she dabs a little on the insides of her thighs, just above the hemline of her cheer skirt. She blushes as she looks at herself in the mirror, face flushed pink.

She presses her lips together in a naughty smile as she pulls her hair back. Her vanity is surprisingly cluttered despite the neatness of the rest of her room, and her eyes light up when she finds the curl of green ribbon among the jumble of scrunchies and bobby pins. She ties it into a sweeping bow and turns her head from side-to-side, admiring how the twin tails get lost in the loose curls of her ponytail.

Humming under her breath, (how many times can she listen to one song in a row before her mom threatens to confiscate her boombox?) she starts doing her makeup. She picks up her teal green eye shadow with a smile – it’s not a perfect color match to her uniform, but she likes the way it makes her eyes pop.

“Chrissy, honey,” her dad calls from the kitchen as she’s reaching for her tube of Great Lash. “Brenda’s here!”

“Coming!” She settles for a few quick passes with the mascara wand and waits, eyes open wide, as it dries. Not wanting to keep Brenda waiting, she grabs her cheer sweater without even putting it on and rushes down the stairs. “Bye guys – I’ll see you after school.”

- - -

It’s another monotonous day of taking notes in Chemistry, and Eddie spends more time looking at her than at his notebook. She stares resolutely forward, mouth twitching against a persistent smile, as Branch drones on and on at the front of the classroom. She can feel his eyes on her, lingering on the drape of her ribbon and the pleats of her skirt, and she flushes when she catches him grinning out of the corner of her eye.

“Stop it,” she whispers, and Eddie snorts to himself, shaking his head. “I’m trying to listen, okay?”

“Mr. Munson,” Branch heaves a sigh, “I put you at the front so you could pay attention, not so you could corrupt Ms. Cunningham – is that understood?”

“Sir, yes, sir,” he mumbles under his breath, gritting his teeth so his jaw ticks. Chrissy scribbles out a note on her paper, angling it so he can read.

A little corrupting never hurt anybody. 💕

- - -

The bell rings, and they make a mad dash to their picnic table. Her backpack thumps against her spine as she struggles to keep up with him, and she laughs as they run. His legs are so much longer than hers, and he knows it – it’s very unfair! He looks over his shoulder at her and stops just long enough to graph her hand so he can tug her along. She barely feels the cold

They crash through the trees, a giggling, madcap mess, and he tugs her into his arms. His hands go to her hips, sturdy and strong, and she presses her palms to his chest, fingers clutching at his t-shirt as he buries his face in her throat.

“You are too pretty,” he complains against her skin and smacks a noisy, obnoxious kiss to her neck. She laughs, tipping her head back and dislodging him from his hiding place. “Uggh,” he groans, “I can’t stand it. You were put on Earth just to torture me. It’s a conspiracy.”

“Me?” She giggles, eyes wide, as he nods. “I’m not even doing anything!”

“Yes, you are!” He accuses, loud and offended. “This – what you’re doing right now! It’s criminal, it’s – it’s cruel and unusual. Have mercy, Chrissy Cunningham.” She brings her hands up to her face, smothering her hysterics behind her fingers, and he bares his teeth at her. “Stop it this instant.”

“I don’t even know what you’re talking about,” she gasps, and he takes a step back to gesture incoherently at her whole body.

“You’re too damn cute, and I’m going to need you to stop.” He waves a hand at her, shaking his head, “what with the hair and the face and… no, absolutely not. It’s not allowed.”

“I’m too cute?” She repeats, eyebrows raised, and he nods. “You’re one to talk, Mr. Tattoos-and-Ripped-Jeans.” To prove her point, she very obviously flicks her eyes down the length of him, and he blushes, suddenly self-conscious as he rubs at his elbow. “So, maybe, you should think about yourself before you go around criticizing me.”

“You think I’m cute?” The question comes out soft and unsure, like no one’s ever told him that before. As if anyone could look at Eddie Munson – with his big, brown eyes, and his sharp, wide smile, and his musician’s hands, and his tattooed arms, and his heavy, black boots – and not find him cute.

“I think,” Chrissy says, tossing her ponytail over her shoulder and grinning up at him as she steps into his space, “that you’re the cutest.” She reaches up on her tiptoes, hands once again pressed against his chest for balance, and rubs her nose against his.

A sudden breeze cuts through their small clearing, and she flinches with her whole body, cuddling close to him for warmth.

“Oh shit,” his arms go around her waist, and he pulls her tightly to him. “You must be freezing.” He glances down at her, angling his head to get a good look at her bare legs. “Much as I appreciate the view, cheer uniforms really aren’t that practical, are they?”

“Brenda was complaining about that yesterday,” she says, tucking her head under his chin. “She said it shouldn’t really matter if we wore pants on pep rally days.”

“She’s not wrong,” he muses aloud and lets go of her. “Wait – just gimme a second.” He takes off his vest first, dropping it on the picnic bench behind them before shrugging off his thick, leather jacket. “Here,” he holds it out to her. “Put this on. You’ll be way warmer.”

“Eddie,” she presses her lips together, peering up at him through her eyelashes. “What about you? Won’t you be cold?”

“Me?” He scoffs, choosing to just drape the jacket over her shoulders instead of waiting for her take it. It swallows her, and she feels suddenly cherished and protected. “Nah, I’ll be fine.” She slips her arms through the sleeves and snuggles into the warmth of his scent – she’s surrounded by the sudden smell of smoky pine, and she smiles. “Better?” He asks, voice tight, and he clears his throat, rubbing awkwardly at his neck.

“Hmm,” she hums, scrunching her nose as she steps towards him. His eyes shine in the afternoon sunlight, and she slides her hands up his chest to grasp at his shoulder. He automatically grabs her hips as she stretches up on her toes. “I might need a little more help.”

- - -

He lays his vest out on the picnic table for her to sit on, patch side down.

Wants her to be comfortable, he says, and he takes off his rings too – leaves them in a glittering pile beside her. (“They’re pretty sharp,” he explains sheepishly, working them off his fingers one by one. “Don’t want to scratch you.”) Her feet don’t come close to touching the ground, and he nudges between her legs with serious focus so he can fit in the spread of her knees.

Her cheer skirt is rucked up around her thighs in an indecent tangle of pleats – the vibrant, green fabric stands out against Eddie’s black, ribbed jeans, and Chrissy barely holds herself back from tightening her legs around his hips. She wants the drag of his denim on her bare skin, wants to rub herself raw against him so she can feel him later. Exhaling slowly to calm her nerves, she hooks her fingers in his belt loops. Eddie smiles, studying her face with earnest eyes.

“Let me know if you want to stop, okay?” He asks, tucking a loose curl behind her ear.

“You too,” she tells him with an earnest nod, and he ducks down, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

“No chance of that,” he promises, and she twists her fingers in the loose fabric of his faded, black t-shirt. She closes her eyes as he smudges another kiss to her cheekbone.

He starts slow, stroking her through the layers of her clothes – she jolts at the first pass of his fingers and catches her lower lip between her teeth as she squeaks. He keeps his touch light and easy, gently rubbing at the front of her cheer shorts with his knuckles until she gets used to it. The metal studs on his bracelet scrape painlessly against her inner thigh.

“Still good?” He asks, hoarse and croaking, as her hips twitch, and she nods jerkily.

“Yep. Keep going, please? It’s good,” she assures him, voice high and tight, and he chuckles nervously to himself. “You feel – I like it. Don’t stop, please?”

“All right, your majesty,” he tells her without a hint of mockery, tracing over the seam of her shorts with his thumb so she twitches, “you’re the boss.”

A thrill shoots her through at his words, and she starts to tingle all over, warm and buzzing. She tips her head back, clutching at his shoulders, as he keeps working her, syrupy slow and reverent until she’s gasping. She wonders if he can tell how wet she is through the layers of fabric. Can he smell it? The air around them is heavy with the scent of her wanton greed. He buries his face in her neck, plants a close-mouthed kiss to her pulse and just stays there, breathing in the candy sweetness of her skin.

He’s right there, touching the most tender parts of her, but it’s not enough.

“Um, I want,” she licks over her dry lips, and he drags his gaze up to her face. “More, please?”

“More?” He parrots, slipping both hands under her skirt to trace over the waistband of her cheer shorts. She shivers as he grazes her bare skin. “I can do more.” He hooks his fingers in the elastic and grins at her. “Lift up,” he encourages.

She leans back on her hands, steadying herself as she tilts her hips to give him space to tug them off. He leaves her panties on as he rolls the shorts down her legs – they’re tight, and it takes some awkwardly sweet fumbling to get them over her sneakers. He spends a moment looking at them, rubbing the green, cotton spandex between his fingers with a charmed smile. She blushes, and he folds them carefully and sets them on the bench next to their backpacks.

“Better?” He asks, eyes bright and dancing as he shifts back between her legs, nudging his nose against her.

“Mmhmm,” she nods, pressing a shy kiss to his mouth. He laughs against her lips, and she feels fireflies sparking in her belly. It gives her the courage to tug insistently at his shirt. “But, just…. Maybe more?”

“More,” he repeats, awed, already tracing his fingers up the insides of her thighs. She reaches for him, suddenly, gets her hands around his wrist and he freezes. The metal studs of his bracelet dig into her palm. “It’s okay – we don’t have to,” he reassures her, eyes earnest and soft as he searches her face for the smallest hint of distress.

“No, I want to, it’s just…” She flushes, chewing nervously on her lower lip. “You’re not allowed to laugh, okay?” She hadn’t exactly planned for anyone to see her underwear today. And she’s heard the girls talking in the locker room about the racy, lacy lingerie they’ll wear for their boyfriends – but that’s never really been her style. She likes cute things, pastel cottons, and colorful patterns. But she knows it doesn’t really paint the sexiest of pictures. (Jason never complained, but Jason never got to see them.)

“I’m not gonna laugh,” Eddie promises, “cross my heart and hope to fucking die.” He hooks his fingers in the waistband of her panties, rubs his thumb over the jut of her hipbone to calm her down. “I swear on Maria,” he quirks his mouth in a crooked smirk, and she gives him a small smile in response. He ducks his head down to press their lips together, and she lifts up her hips so he can tug her panties down her legs.

His vest is soft under her bare skin, and she moans against his tongue – she feels vulnerable and brave and unstoppable, spread out on the table for him to savor. She buries her hands in his hair, twisting her fingers and tugging, and he groans. He has to break the kiss so he has space to get her panties over her knees and fully off, and there’s another round of nervous fumbling as he clumsily twists them around her sneakers.

“Hold on,” he laughs against her mouth, and she can’t help but giggle, dropping her forehead to hide against his shoulder. It feels good to goof around with him – be ridiculous and silly and happy together as they figure out the best way to get her clothes off.

“Gimme a second – just wait, okay?” He snickers, stepping back and carefully untangling the fabric until, just like that, he’s suddenly standing between her open legs with her panties clutched in his hands.

“Are you okay?” Chrissy asks him hesitantly when he doesn’t say anything – he treats her underwear with the same reverence as her shorts, rubbing the soft cotton between his fingers with an awed look on his face.

“I need a minute,” he whispers, “I’m communing with God right now.” She blinks in surprise, and his eyes go wide. “Rubber duckies, Chrissy,” he says, voice pitchy and strained. “Seriously – you have rubber duckies –” he cuts himself off, pressing his lips together with a choked off moan.

“Is that… bad?” She frowns nervously, and he shakes his head, jerking his gaze up to her face.

“This,” he holds up her panties – pale blue with yellow rubber duckies – like a trophy, “is the sexiest thing I have ever seen in my entire life.”

“Um, okay, well, you can just like – oh, wait, seriously?” She pulls the sleeves of his jacket over her hands and hides her face, cheeks flaming red, as he tucks them in his back pocket. “I can have those back, right? I kinda need them for later.”

“We’ll see,” he says, shifting closer and stepping between her spread knees with a pirate’s grin. “Kinda want to keep ‘em.”

“Eddie,” she whines and rolls her eyes, and he laughs as he settles his hands on the bare skin of her thighs. His brown eyes gleam as he peers down at her, head tilted slightly to one side. The sunlight catches in his tangled curls, glinting gold and bright, and she reaches for him, taking his face in her hands to draw him down for a kiss.

“Still good?” He mumbles against her mouth, and she nods. She’s drowning in him – the warmth of his jacket, the weight of his touch, the smell of his skin is all consuming. “Okay. Remember, we can stop whenever you want. You’re in charge here,” he reminds her, squeezing her thighs before slipping his right hand higher up under her skirt.

The first touch his fingers against her bare skin has her squirming – she’s so wet, and her face flushes as his knuckles slide easily against her swollen flesh. Her hips cant as he presses his thumb down in tight, urgent circles, and she gasps, trying to grind against his hand. The rough stitching of his vest drags against her sensitive skin, rubbing and rasping her raw.

He buries his face in her neck, inhaling deeply as she grabs at his shoulders. She moans, tipping her head back, and he sucks a kiss against her pulse point. Everything fades away until it’s just the two of them, holding each other in the dappled sunlight of the late afternoon. She wants to stay in this moment forever, freeze it in time so she never has to leave.

“Eddie,” she whines, clutching him close, and he crooks his fingers so she shudders and shivers against him. Her blood is singing in her veins, bubbly loud and sweet, and he hums against her skin, soothing the bruise of his teeth with his tongue.

“Still good?” He asks again, voice muffled with a rasp, and she nods, mouth dropping open as her breath hitches in her chest. He wraps his free hand around her knee and hitches her thigh over his hip, opening her wider and adjust his fingers to press even deeper.

“Oh my God,” she keens, hips twitching, as she tightens her grip on his shoulders. She feels like she’s going to float away – pressure is already building in her belly, tingling and relentless until it almost hurts, and she squeezes her eyes shut. Eddie presses their mouths together, swallowing her moans and licking desperately against her tongue. She writhes against him, hips twitching as she tries to find relief for the rising tide of pleasure growing inside her.

“Let me try something,” he begs, pressing his forehead against hers, and she opens her eyes as he leans back to look at her. “I’ll stop if you don’t like it – promise.” He waits, searching her face, until she nods frantically. “All right,” his pupils are blown liquid black with wanting, and he darts in close for one more kiss before pulling back.

His wallet chain rattles, flashing silver bright in the sun, as he drops to his knees between her legs. Her cheeks flame, and she buries her face in her hands as he stares at her with wide eyes. She’s so wet and flushed, and she shudders as he nudges her knees into a wider spread. She feels vulnerable and aching under his shameless gaze.

“It’s okay,” he assures her as she shifts nervously, and he presses a quick kiss to the inside of her thigh, just above the hemline of her skirt, “I want to.” He nuzzles against her soft skin, brow furrowed, as he inhales deeply, and she squeaks in embarrassment. “I really want to. Jesus, you smell so good, sweetheart – like candy.”

“Oh my God,” she whines and tips her head back to stare up at the sky in humiliation. Her skin pricks and she refuses to look at him – there’s a real chance that she might spontaneously combust. “It’s, um, perfume. I put some on earlier.”

“Jesus Christ,” His eyes flutter shut as he groans, voice low and aching. “Cruel and unusual,” he mutters, mostly to himself, as he uses his fingers to spread her open. She freezes at the first touch of his mouth, her spine arching on a sudden gasp. He licks into her with a single minded focus, and she drops her hands to tangle in the thicket of his hair.

He shifts, uses his free hand as an anchor to spread her legs wider, as he hums his appreciation – the vibration rocks through her whole body, and her toes curl in her sneakers as she starts to shake. The shivers start in her thighs, building to full-body tremors, as he works his tongue between his fingers in delicate, determined kitten-licks. He’s devouring her, chasing the taste of her body like he’s starving.

“Eddie,” she croons, twisting her fingers in his curls and grinding against him. She feels too big for her body, like she’s about to fly apart, and she can’t help but squeeze her thighs around his head. He makes a pleased sound, gravel raw in the back of his throat as he slides his hand down her leg to grab at her knee, and she grips his wrist, covering his watch and whining. “You’re so good, Eddie. You’re so good,” she gasps, high pitched and senseless, and he moans, licking deeper with relentless urgency, “don’t stop – don’t stop, please.”

Her head falls back as her spine curves into a beautiful arch, and her voice hitches as pleasure courses over and through her body in blinding, sparking fireworks. She whines his name as he loves her through it, petting down her thigh in long, gentle passes and licking over her with slow, easy strokes. The force of it pulls her under in overwhelming, shuddering waves, and she shuts her eyes as she gasps for breath.

Eddie stays crouched on the ground in front of her as she slowly comes back to herself. Her chest heaves and she presses her lips together as she pushes her hair out of her face. He smiles when she blinks her eyes open and looks down at him. Her heart pounds, throwing itself against her ribs like it wants to find a new home in the cradle of Eddie’s palms – she feels dizzy, love-drunk, and languid.

“Holy fucking shit, Chrissy Cunningham,” Eddie says, mouth shiny-wet and cheeks flushed. “They’ll never see you coming.”

- - -

It takes a minute to straighten themselves out. She blots water from her water bottle onto one of his bandanas so he can wipe off his face. And there’s an embarrassingly tender moment where he cleans her up – he holds it out with a shy smile, but she shakes her head until he does it for her.

“Thanks,” she whispers as he runs the damp cloth over the insides of her thighs.

“Uh,” he blinks, staring down at his feet for moment as his brain metaphorically staggers to a standstill, “literally anytime. Besides, I should be thanking you,” he folds up the bandana and shoves it in his backpack to, presumably, find later. “That was, um. You were… You’re amazing. Thank you,” he offers her his hand, so she can steady herself as she hops clumsily off the table.

“It was my pleasure, she says primly with a knowing smile.

“Yeah, it was. It really was,” he snorts to himself and then clears his throat. “Oh, um, here.” He goes for his back pocket and fishes out a very familiar pair of panties. “You probably want these back, huh?”

“You know what,” she muses slowly, reaching awkwardly for her cheer shorts. “Why don’t you keep them for now?”

“No shit?” He breathes, staring down at the rubber duckies with an awed look on his face as she steps into her shorts. The fabric is thick enough that she’ll be fine for the rest of the day. “You’re sure?”

“Yeah,” she chews nervously on her bottom lip. “Just, um. Don’t show anyone?” It’s not like she thinks he’ll hold them up for everyone to see – this isn’t Sixteen Candles – but she still feels like she has to say it.

“No way,” he promises, folding them back up and carefully slipping them into his back pocket. “These are mine, sweetheart.” She steps towards him, sliding her hands up his chest to link her fingers behind his neck. He smiles crookedly down at her as she stretches up to her tiptoes.

“Thank you,” she whispers, pressing a kiss to the corner of his grinning mouth, and he wraps his arms around her waist. She rests her head over his heart and sighs. The bell has to be ringing soon for their next class, but she has absolutely no desire to go. She pulls back to tell him just this when she catches sight of his vest, still spread out on the picnic table.

With an unmistakable damp spot, right in the middle, where she was sitting on it.

“Oh my God,” she squeaks, covering her mouth with her hands as her face ignites. “Um, I’m so sorry – I didn’t. Um. Oh wow.” He frowns, craning his neck to follow her line of sight, and immediately breaks into laughter.

“This is officially my favorite thing in whole world,” his eyes dance, amber-bright and cocky, as he lets go of her and reaches for it. “Hand to God, I’m never going to wash it again.”

“Please don’t say that,” she begs him, and he makes like he’s going to put it back on. “Oh no, you cannot wear – tell me you won’t!” He freezes – he already has it hanging off one shoulder, and she curls her hands into fists so she doesn’t snatch it from him. “Eddie! You can’t – I’ll just die, oh my God.”

“Okay, okay,” he shrugs it off, holding the vest in half and jamming it in his backpack. “But only because I don’t want you to die.”

“Thank you,” she gasps, slumping against his chest and pressing her forehead to his sternum. She twists her fingers in the back of his t-shirt, and he wraps his arms around her once again. “That’s so embarrassing,” she whines, and he drops a kiss to her hair.

“Nah,” he rocks them back and forth, sounding way too smug. “Just means I did my job right.”

“Yeah,” she agrees after a beat of silence, “you did. Thank you.”

- - -

He doesn’t let her give back his jacket – tells her that he’ll get it from her tomorrow – so she wears it proudly for the rest of the day. She catches a ton of looks for it (lots of double-takes in the halls and disbelieving stares in her classes) and it doesn’t take long for someone to clock it as his.

“You and Munson?” Jillian Piccoli asks her during choir before they start their vocal warm ups. She drags her gaze over the battered leather jacket, noting how the sleeves hang over her hands. “Really?” She narrows her green eyes in consideration, and Chrissy meets her frown with a steady stare. She’s not going to hide from anyone. She and Eddie are together, and they don’t owe anyone an explanation.

“Yeah, me and Munson,” she confirms, holding her chin high. “Why?”

“Hmm,” she hums under her breath and studies her for what feels like an unnecessarily long moment before shrugging decisively. “Yeah, okay, I guess I can see it. He’s kinda hot in, like, an unhinged sorta way.”

“That’s what Brenda said,” Chrissy tells her with a laugh, and Jillian snorts under breath. “Well, she said feral, but...”

“Same thing. Oh man, you know Jason is gonna freak,” Jillian reminds her as the last of their classmates file into the room.

“We broke up,” Chrissy says, not like she needs to – the whole school knows by now that she and Jason are over. “It’s none of his business.”

“Doesn’t mean he’s not gonna lose his shit,” Jillian quirks her perfectly groomed eyebrows knowingly before groaning in disgust. Chrissy wonders how she handles everyone knowing about Tommy H.’s party and her ex, wonders if it still wears on her, or if she’s managed to put it behind her. Jillian’s always been fierce, and she doesn’t suffer assholes anymore. “Ugh, boys are such babies.”

“Tell me about it,” Chrissy complains under her breath, and Jillian laughs bitterly in agreement. It’s not going to take long for Jason to find out about her and Eddie. Chances are, he already knows. she sighs to herself, chewing on her bottom lip – hopefully he won’t do anything stupid.

Right, she thinks as she nervously tugs the sleeves of Eddie’s jacket over her hands, because Jason’s been so receptive lately.

- - -

“That doesn’t look like Jason’s,” her mom comments neutrally, eyes narrowing as she takes in the bulky shape of Eddie’s jacket. Chrissy meets her critical stare with a blank smile. She’s been dealing with comments all afternoon, and her patience is fraying.

“That’s because it isn’t,” she replies, equally flat, as she edges around her to open the fridge. “I’m hungry. What’s for dinner?” It’s unusual for her to openly discuss meal plans and food around her mom – it only leads to doublespeak and disappointment frowns.

“Oh, Chrissy, dear. Are you sure?” She turns away from the stove, lips pursed, as she examines her. “Homecoming is coming up soon, and I know you’ll want to look your best.” Chrissy sighs and presses her lips together.

“I already look my best,” she says evenly, refusing to raise her voice even as she so desperately wants to. She can’t remember the last time her mother looked at her honestly, and she wants to scream, wants to rip her hair out, wants to shake her mother by the shoulders until she drops the pageant queen facade.

“Of course, dear,” her mom simpers, eyes tight and smile tighter, and Chrissy sighs. “I only meant…”

“Mom,” she interrupts her, crossing her arms over her chest. “I’m hungry. What’s for dinner?”

“Meatloaf,” her dad answers, pausing to drop a kiss to the crown of her head as he ducks through the kitchen. “Nice jacket, kiddo. It’s not Jason’s, is it?”

“Nope,” she leans into him, “Jason and I broke up.” Her mom makes a choked off noise of surprise, and her dad frowns, dropping a sympathetic hand to her shoulder.

“Oh, kiddo, I’m so sorry.” She shakes her head with an easy smile. Her dad was only passively aware of Jason as an extension of her high school curriculars – interested insomuch as to make sure she was happy but not really looking for details.

“It’s okay,” she promises, even as he furrows his brow down at her. “Really, Daddy. It’s been coming for a long time.”

“You sure? I can always go have a chat with him, man-to-man.” He offers, and she laughs. Her mom’s spine is a steel rod as she starts chopping broccoli. The heavy thud of the knife against the cutting board is pointedly loud, but her dad is oblivious.

“No, no. It was my idea, anyway.” He rubs her shoulder, face softening at her reassurance.

“As long as you’re sure,” he confirms, and she nods. “Okay, kiddo.” He sighs in that tired-dad way, and she laughs. “I’m going to go get ready for dinner – why don’t you set the table?”

“Sure, Daddy,” she stands up on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek before turning to get a stack of plates out of the cabinet. Her mom waits until he closes the door to their bedroom and then sets her knife down. Chrissy takes a deep breath as a pot on the stove starts to boil loudly.

“Chrissy, who’s jacket is that?”

“My friend Eddie’s,” she answers, sneering and raising her eyebrows to herself. (Her mom hates when she does that – “fix your face,” she can almost hear her saying.) The pot on the stove hisses like a living thing, rocking loudly on the burner; there’s probably only an inch or two of water in there, just enough to steam the broccoli, and it rattles angrily. “The pot’s boiling, Mom.”

“Who’s Eddie?” It’s a question loaded with landmines.

Eddie is sweet, and he has a nice laugh and a killer smile, and he’s funny and smart and fearless. But he’s also rough with tattoos and tangled hair and ripped jeans and sharp-edged rings. He carries a guitar named Maria in a coffin case, and he sings pop songs just to make her happy. She knows he’d do anything just to make her happy.

He’s everything her mother would hate, and Chrissy feels fiercely, violently protective.

“He’s a friend.” Chrissy tells her, as the pot spits and sputters, “I was cold, so he let me borrow his jacket. That’s all.”

- - -

“I’m thinking roses,” Eddie says the next day at lunch, hands spread wide to express his grandiose vision. She’s perched on the picnic table, and he sits on the bench between her legs. He tips his head back so he can peer up at her with a cheeky grin on his face. “Big ones. Bright red.” He looks positively vulpine – eyes narrowed into crescent slits and canines flashing in the sun.

“Absolutely not,” she counters, shutting him down smoothly as she pecks a kiss to the middle of his forehead, “I have veto power, remember?”

“Awe, you never let me have any fun,” he complains, and she scoffs. “Oh, what about a rubber ducky?” He asks, flicking his tongue on his lower lip, and she gasps. “Just a little one. Right on your –”

“Eddie!” She shouts, scandalized, as she giggles and blushes. She’s never going to live down her choice in undergarments.

“I was gonna say ankle, jeez Chrissy. Get your mind out of the gutter.” He wraps a hand around said ankle, slipping his fingers up the hem of her jeans so he can rub over her bare skin. The weather has officially turned, bleeding into true winter, and she’s dressed accordingly in jeans and a cozy, pink sweater. “Really no roses?” He twists around to pout up at her.

“Are they, like, your favorite flower or something?”

“You know, I haven’t really thought about it before.” he tilts his head, squinting his eyes. “No one’s ever asked me. I guess, yeah, they kinda are. I’m a romantic guy.” He insists, and she agrees with a nod, “fuck it. Yeah, roses are my favorite. I’ll own that – but, no. They’re also just like, classic. And, like, super sexy. You’d look so good with one on like,” he reaches up with one hand to indicate a spot his own back, “on your shoulder? Right here? So hot.”

“Nothing big,” she reminds him in a whine, because it’s only the tenth time she’s had to tell him. She doesn’t even feel bad for ruining his fantasy anymore. “My mom would kill me.”

“Not your dad?” He asks, curious – she doesn’t talk about her parents a whole lot. Doesn’t really know how to tell him how stifled she feels at home. Jason was one thing, but her folks? That’s something else entirely.

“I genuinely don’t think he would notice. Like at all. But my mom?” She shakes her head, “she would flip.”

“Okay, so, something smaller then. And hidden,” he presses his tongue against his lower lip as he thinks. “You deserve something iconic for your first tattoo. Gotta make it count.”

“Which one did you get first?” She asks, and he holds his arms out straight in front of him – he finally allowed her to return his jacket, and he’s wearing it now, so none of his tattoos are actually visible. (Still missing his vest though, because he hasn’t gotten a chance to do laundry. She doesn’t think she’ll ever be able to look at it without blushing to the tip of her ponytail.)

“The bats,” he says, rubbing his right elbow thoughtfully. “No special reason, really. I just like spooky shit,” he shrugs. “Thought they looked cool.”

“They do look cool,” she reassures him, and he dips his head to press a kiss to her denim covered knee.

“I have a jack-o'-lantern right here,” he points to his left bicep, “real gnarly lookin’ dude. Like I said,” he shrugs again, “spooky shit. I love it. Halloween. Monsters. Scary movies. Can’t get enough.”

“Oh no,” she shakes her head, eyes wide. “I’m such a wimp – I can’t stand scary movies. Even Ghostbusters was too much for me.”

“Ghostbusters!” He barks out a laugh and twists around to straddle the bench so he can face her better. He presses the strong, sturdy line of his back against her leg and crosses his arms over her thigh – he rests his chin on his wrists and gazes up at her adoringly. “You’re too cute, Chrissy Cunningham.” She rolls her eyes and pokes him in the forehead.

“Don’t be a jerk, Eddie Munson.” She pouts, and he raises his hands in surrender.

“All right then, lay it on me. Top three faves.”

“Okay, um, don’t make fun of me though.” He inclines his head wordlessly, eyes shut a solemn vow, and she flicks her gaze to the sky in momentary disbelief. “Okay, Valley Girl for sure.” She counts slowly on her fingers as she lists them off – he hums but saves his commentary for after she’s done. “Um, 9 to 5, and Footloose. I love Footloose. My cousin and I saw it, like, three times when it came out.”

“Valley Girl, 9 to 5, and Footloose,” Eddie repeats to himself in a hushed voice, “all right, okay. I’m sensing a theme here. Valley Girl, really?” He asks, scrunching his noise as his eyebrows shoot up in teasing disdain.

“You said you wouldn’t make fun of me!” She laughs, leaning forward to burying her face in his hair. He smells fresh and clean, like lemon and mint. “It’s romantic! Like Romeo and Juliet, you know?”

“Only at the mall. And no one dies at the end,” he reminds with a laugh, peering up at her through the shag of his bangs.

“No one dies at the end,” she repeats and kisses the crown of his head. “Plus, it’s got a great soundtrack. I’ll stop the world and melt with you…”

“You’ve seen the difference, and it’s getting better all the time.” He finishes, taking her hand in his so he can kiss her knuckles. “So you like bad boys, huh?” He muses thoughtfully, linking their fingers together. His rings are cold against her skin, and she shivers.

“What can I say,” she says, looping her arm around his shoulder and leaning forward to kiss his cheek. “I’m a sucker for leather jackets.”

“Lucky me,” he comments dryly, “you only like me for my fashion sense.”

“That and cause you’re pretty,” she admits with a straight face, and he groans. “Okay, your turn. Top three movies. Give me your scariest.”

“All right, um. Nightmare on Elm Street,” she holds up one finger. “Texas Chainsaw Massacre,” she holds up a second as he thinks, rubbing his chin. “And, Halloween. You wanna talk about soundtracks – Halloween has a legendary soundtrack. John Carpenter is a fucking genius.”

“Too scary,” she complains, and he laughs. “We should go to the movies sometime,” she says without thinking, and he freezes. “If you want, I mean. Just, you know, I thought it would be fun if we went out and, like, did something together.”

“You askin’ me on a date, Chrissy Cunningham?” He purrs at her, voice raspy and teasing, and she smiles, blushing. “Wanna go steady?”

“I mean,” she presses her lips together, feels daring and silly as he peers up at her face in adoration. “You still my underwear, so that’s as good as a letterman, right?”

“Better than,” he assures her, “shit, I’ll be your girl any day of the week, Cunningham. Let’s get shakes. We could go to the drive-in after. Who knows?” He waggles his eyebrows at her, “you might even get lucky.”

“Oh yeah?” She smirks, ducking her head down so she can nudge her nose against his. “You saying you’d get in the backseat with me? Eddie Munson, you tart.”

“I’m whatever you want me to be, sweetheart.” They smile into each other’s mouths as they kiss, light and teasing. Chrissy likes being able to flirt with him, likes being able to curl up in his warmth and be happy. She sighs against his lips, and he hums. He pulls back with one last peck and rubs his thumb over her knuckles. “Yeah, let’s go on a date. Whatever you wanna do.”

“We’ll start small. Take the car to Chicago,” she muses, tossing her head and flicking her ponytail over her shoulder. He laughs, and she quirks her mouth into a grin. “An early dinner at the Sears Tower and then perhaps the opera? I know how you love Puccini.”

“Madame Butterfly always makes me cry,” Eddie points out, with a self-deprecating smile, and she nods.

“Yes, how could I forget? Maybe not the opera then. How about –” The sound of a branch snapping echoes through the trees – loud and sourceless – and she jerks her head. In the weeks that they’ve been coming out here, they haven’t heard or seen anyone else, save for a few disinterested squirrels. But whatever made that noise is way bigger than a squirrel.

Eddie lays a hand on her knee and carefully pulls himself out of his feline slouch. She sits up straight and he stands. They’re both looking around, trying to find the source of the sound, but they don’t see anything moving. Everything is still, including the two of them. It’s quiet now, and he glances back at her, shrugging his shoulders. She smiles reassuringly, almost convinced (wanting to be convinced) that it’s nothing, when –

“Chrissy! Are you out here?” She sucks in a noisy breath, and the blood drains from her face in a sudden rush of chilling panic, and Eddie’s eyes go wide. “Chrissy, where are you?”

“Is that –” he starts to whisper to her.

“Jason, yeah,” she nods, and he cautiously returns to her side.

“What is he doing out here?” He asks in a low hiss, and she frantically shakes her head.

“I don’t know! Looking for me? I guess?” She grabs for him, squeezing his wrist as she scans the trees around them, “it’s not like I invited him.”

“You wanna go back?” He looks in the direction of Hawkins High. Based on the sound of his voice, Jason is directly between them and the school, but they really only need a few minutes to get around him. They can totally make it. She has absolutely no desire to deal with Jason Carver out here with only the squirrels as witnesses.

Chrissy nods, but before they can start gathering their things, Jason comes stumbling out of the underbrush. He dusts himself off, rubbing his hands on his jeans, and flicking his bangs out of his eyes with a twitch. His face lights up at the sight of them, but there’s something twisted and mean about his grin.

Calculating.

Eddie tenses next to her, spine going rigid, and Chrissy has the sudden urge to tell him to run. Make a break for the school. Because Jason won’t hurt her – she’s still holding onto the thought that he’s not that kind of guy. Doesn’t backhand girls. Hold them down. Hurt them.

But Eddie?

She glances at him out of the corner of her eye – he’s pressing one fist into an open palm, cracking his knuckles nervously as he watches Jason stalk towards them. Jason will absolutely hurt Eddie. He needs to get out of here now. As if sensing her thoughts, he shifts closer, reaching for her and changing his mind at the last second so his arms fall to his sides.

“Look who we have here,” Jason shouts to them, voice bright with venom. “My girlfriend. And the freak,” he narrows in on Eddie, drags his gaze up and down his lean frame. “You know, the whole school has been buzzing about the two of you.”

“Jason,” Chrissy swallows a flinch at being called his girlfriend and takes a step towards him. Eddie makes a half-aborted noise of panic, but she doesn’t look back, doesn’t take her eyes off the predator in their midst. “What are you doing out here?”

“Looking for you,” he says, jaw ticking. “People have been talking and, frankly? Not loving what I’ve been hearing, babe. So, let me ask you – what are you doing out here? Alone. With him,” he jerks his chin in Eddie’s direction, and Eddie balls his hands into fists.

“Look, man, just get outta here.” He crosses his arms over his chest.

“Wish I could, man,” Jason spits back, mirroring his pose and folding his arms across his chest. “But, like I said. I’ve been hearing a lot of shit about you and my girlfriend, and I just had to come and see for myself.”

“I’m not your girlfriend,” Chrissy interrupts firmly, shaking her head. She meets Jason’s glare head-on; his eyes are flecks of ice, like the quarry lake frozen over in January, and she represses a shiver.

“You know, you keep saying that,” he nods, mostly to himself with a disbelieving sneer, “but I just don’t get it. We had plans, Chrissy. Real plans. And you’re throwing it away for… him?” He cuts a glance in Eddie’s direction and snorts.

“I already told you, Jason,” she feels herself slipping into her old role, because if she makes herself smaller and stands very, very still, then he won’t hurt her. “I wasn’t happy with you. And I didn’t leave you for Eddie or anyone else. I broke up with you because I wanted to. Because I want to be happy.” She very intentionally does not look at Eddie – refuses to break eye contact with Jason. She has the survival instincts of a prey animal, honed by years of practice.

“And this asshole makes you happy? Gotta say, I’m questioning your taste, here.” Eddie scoffs, rolling his eyes, and Jason smiles his game winning grin. “I mean, no offense. But, you did steal my girl.”

“She’s not your girl, dude,” Eddie reminds him, incredulous. “And I didn’t steal her. Chrissy’s, like, her own person, okay? She doesn’t belong to anyone. Jesus Christ, do you even hear yourself? You’re such a fucking stereotype.”

Chrissy sucks in a breath between her teeth as Jason’s scowl darkens into something thunderous. If she is a rabbit, then Eddie is a coyote – rangy and mean, a scavenger snapping at larger animals until it eats its fair share of the kill. There’s blood splattered across the snow, and he’s not running away before he’s had his fill.

But Jason? Jason is a wolf.

“All right, I’ve had enough of this shit,” Jason stalks towards them and catches her roughly by the elbow. “We’re going to go talk this out. Just you and me, babe.” She pulls against him, twisting in his grasp, and Eddie shouts as he grabs at his shoulder.

“What the hell, man? Let her go!”

And he does – his loosens his grip enough for her to wrench free, but only so he can turn around and deck Eddie in the face. Chrissy gasps, heart stuttering to a standstill, as her chest seizes with panic. Jason catches him on the mouth, cuts his knuckles open on his teeth, and Eddie staggers back into the picnic table with a rough grunt.

“Motherfucker,” Jason hisses, shaking out his fist. “Stay down,” he orders as Eddie wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes narrowed into dangerous slits.

“Yeah, I don’t think so.” He pushes himself up, catching Chrissy’s panicked stare over Jason’s shoulder. She’s never seen him like this – he’s angry, electric, mouth twisted into a vicious smirk. This is the boy who applauds her cheer stunts, who gets on his knees for her because he wants to, who makes her laugh like it’s his favorite thing in the world to do. But this is also the man who raised himself, who grew up sneaking into dive bars, who learned how to fight in rain slick, gravel raw parking lots, who throws punches with his rings on.

“Know what your problem is, Carver?” He asks, spitting out a mouthful of blood. His lip is already swollen, and there’s a bruise purpling his chin. “You just don’t know how to listen. I mean,” he tests his jaw, opening and closing his mouth with a sardonic eyebrow raise, “it’s not really your fault. The world’s basically tailormade for raging douchebags such as yourself. I get it. No one’s ever told you no.” He glances at her again, and his eyes soften a little. “Until recently, that is.”

“Get to the fucking point, Munson.” Jason sighs, like he’s bored.

“My point,” he nods to himself, rolling his shoulders back and bouncing on his feet a little. “Okay, yeah, my point is that Chrissy’s moved on, dude. And you should too. Because, frankly?” He quirks his lips into a mocking, blood smeared smile. “It’s embarrassing. You are embarrassing.”

He dodges Jason’s next hit, sidestepping with a mad hatter’s laugh, and his rings glint in the sunlight. Brenda called him feral. Jillian called him unhinged. Chrissy sees it now. He doesn’t even try to throw a punch, just makes a show of avoiding Jason’s fists. He’s baiting him, feinting left and right as he ducks out of reach. Her heart is in her throat, pushing up against her teeth, and she tastes blood in the back of her mouth.

“You fight like a bitch,” Jason seethes, and Eddie laughs again.

“Maybe. But you fight like you’re boring. Dunno about you,” he ponders with a shrug, “but I’d rather be a bitch than be boring.” He catches Chrissy’s eye again and winks.

It’s the opening that Jason needs – he grabs a fistful of Eddie’s shirt, twisting the fabric in his fingers and reeling him in close. Eddie barely twitches, rolling his eyes, as Jason snarls in his face.

“You’re fucking dead, man.”

Jason shoves him hard, gets him on the dirt, and just starts hitting him, and Chrissy’s eyes well up with tears as she watches. Eddie grunts and brings his arms up to protect his face. He knows how to fight when he’s down, knows better than to give up his softest parts. He fights like he knows how much it hurts to lose.

“Jason, stop it!”

She digs her nails into his skin as she grabs his arm. He shakes her off like she’s nothing, and she stumbles, landing hard on the dead grass. She pushes her hair out of her face and grits her teeth. She is so goddamn tired of being treated like she’s nothing – like she’s only allowed to exist when it’s convenient for everyone else.

The week before she started high school, her cousin Julie took her to the pool. They wore matching swimsuits and matching pedicures. She remembers sitting in the lounge chair, admiring the bright red polish (so mature!) as she wiggled her toes. Julie laughed at her antics, looking at her over the tops of her Ray-Bans.

“Hey Chrissy,” she’d said, casting her gaze out to the pool, where a group of boys is doing their best to drown each other with varying degrees of success. “You know how if two dogs get into a fight, you’re not supposed to get between them? Cause of tunnel vision or whatever?”

She’d frowned in confusion, and Julie raised her eyebrows pointedly.

“Uh, yeah? I guess?”

“Well,” she sighed, letting her head drop back against the chair. “It’s the same thing with boys. Chances are, you’re the one who’s gonna get hit.”

It’s okay, though.

She can take it.

Chrissy Cunningham, they’ll never see you coming.

She wipes her mouth off on the back of her hand and drags herself up out of the dirt – Eddie has one knee digging into Jason’s chest as he tries to shove himself free. Jason is relentless, swinging wild and wide, like he wants to do real damage. Like he wants to kill him.

But, Chrissy’s an athlete. She knows exactly how to plant her feet, how to anchor herself, knows how to make her body do exactly what it needs to. She can execute a perfect full twist layout in less than four seconds. Chrissy throws herself on his back, locking her arms around his neck as she yanks him back.

Eddie scrambles up, chest heaving as he pushes his hair out of his face and tongues roughly at his busted lip. His mouth is a savage mess, and his right eyebrow is split, angry and raw. He spits out a bloody mouthful of saliva, and he’s the sexiest thing she’s ever seen in her entire life.

He glows in the sunlight – all feral, unhinged, and beautiful – and she feels the briefest moment of triumph where their eyes meet before Jason throws her off his back again. He catches her in the temple with his elbow, and she goes down with a staggering moan. Pain rocks through her, sends her spiraling, as she squeezes her eyes shut against the searing agony. Shocked, he jerks around to look at her, sprawled on the ground, covering her face with her hands.

Like he didn’t even realize she was there.

She sucks in a loud breath, stomach jumping with dizzying nausea as she groans.

“Jesus fucking Christ, man! What is wrong with you?” Eddie pushes past him to crouch beside her, and Jason lets him. “Holy shit, are you okay?” He takes a gentle hold of her wrists and peers at her face with solemn, searching eyes.

“I’m fine,” she says reflexively, and she’s almost surprised that she’s not lying. She’s taken harder hits in cheer practice – there are elbows and tennis shoes flying all over the place at any given moment. This isn’t the first time she’s been clocked in the head. The shock’s already wearing off. “Really, I’m okay – are you okay?”

She reaches for him carefully, fingers hovering in the air, and he rewards her with a stricken, crooked grin.

“M’okay.” He cups her face, rubbing her cheek with his thumb – his callouses drag over her soft skin, and she leans into the touch with a wobbly smile.

“Help me up?” He pulls her to her feet carefully, and she takes a steadying breath. She feels a little shaky, but the ground is solid under her feet, and she leans into Eddie gratefully. He looks an arm around her shoulders, and she rests a hand on his lower back under his jacket. Jason watches them angrily, his fists clenched with brutally restrained rage.

“This is all your fault, Munson,” he spits, and Eddie turns to him with an incredulous laugh.

“Me? You have got to be kidding, man. Just accept it – it’s over, all right? We’re done.”

“The hell we are!” He spreads his arms wide, “you really think I’m going –”

“Jason,” Chrissy cuts him off, injects some steel into her voice as turns to him. He stops, eyes wide with determined disbelief, as he shakes his head.

“Babe, please. It was an accident – I didn’t mean to.” She steps out from under Eddie’s embrace, and Jason smiles desperately as he begs. “I just – listen, I’m sorry. I got out of control. I know that, but I just got so angry at the thought of you and that freak –” he gestures angrily at Eddie as he rambles, red faced, “and I just. I lost it. But it won’t happen again. Just, come back –”

“Jason,” she says his name again, and he falls silent. She licks over her dry lips, tastes blood from where she’s bitten them, and sighs as she looks down at her hands.

The thing is.

People tell stories all the time. And they usually go like this: Jillian Piccoli caught her boyfriend cheating on her at Tommy H.’s spring break rager, and he smacked her in the mouth for it. Michael Stanton took Bethany Nichols to the quarry for their first date and tried to trap her in the backseat of his car.

Beginning. Middle. End.

Except Jillian Piccoli’s story didn’t end there. She wiped the blood off her chin, pushed her tongue against her lower lip, and then clocked him so hard in the face that she dislocated his jaw and knocked a tooth loose. And Bethany Nichols scratched Michael Stanton’s face so bad he needed stitches, kicked her way out of his car, then walked the eight miles back to her house alone in the dark.

Girls rescue themselves all the time.

People just never talk about it.

Chrissy Cunningham stands across from Jason Carver and stares down at her hands. He takes her quiet as an excuse to start talking again – she takes a deep breath, fixes her face, and tightens her fingers into a fist.

The sound it makes against his cheek is triumphant.

- - -

By mutual, unspoken agreement, they don’t go to the rest of their classes – they cut through the woods to the parking lot, fingers tangled together. Chrissy’s reminded of the first time they walked to the picnic table together, how she kept her eyes glued to Eddie’s back, fixed on the steady line of his lean shoulders. She swallows, throat full of shattered glass, and squeezes his hand until her knuckles are white.

Eddie holds the passenger side door of his van open for her, and she buckles her seat belt with trembling hands. He studies her for a moment, eyes serious, like he wants to say something, but instead jams his key into the ignition. She presses her tongue against the roof of her mouth as he rolls the windows down and starts driving. The air is frigid, bracing, and it rolls over her with invigorating waves; she tips her head back and closes her eyes. Eddie turns on the radio, cranks the volume up loud as the trees blur around them.

“It’s not bothering you, is it?” He shouts, gesturing to the radio and pointing to his temple. “Like, you’re really not hurt?”

“Nuh uh,” she shakes her head, peeking at him through her eyelashes. The music rattles through her, until she feels it in the meat of her ribs. “What about you? Are you okay?” He laughs, tossing his hair back with a devilish grin, but it’s forced. He’s wild, fraying at the edges, blood smudged black over his mouth and bruises slurred purple over his jaw.

“I’m stellar, dollface,” he assures her, but she doesn’t smile. Exhaling slowly, he tightens his grip on the steering wheel until the leather squeaks.

“Eddie,” she wants to reach for him but can’t bring herself to, so she settles for twisting her fingers together in her lap. He sighs again, and she gnaws on her lower lip. “Eddie, I’m sorry.”

“I’m not,” he counters smoothly, flicking his blinker and turning left to head deeper into the woods. It’s the middle of the afternoon, and they’re the only ones driving out here. “I’m okay, Chrissy, I swear.”

“He hit you because of me. He hurt you because of me.” she points out, voice thin, and he turns down the volume on the radio, until it’s just a low thrum in the background. “How is that okay?”

“Jason hit me because he’s an idiot who doesn’t know how to listen. If this,” he takes one hand off the wheel once more to gesture at his face, “is what it takes for him to back off? Then sure, I’ll take it. I knew what I was getting into with you – I’m honestly shocked it didn’t happen sooner.”

“You knew? You knew he was going to –” Chrissy furrows her brow in shocked sadness.

“Beat my face in?” He shrugs, mouth twisting into a thoughtful grimace (which quickly morphs into a genuine wince of pain when the cuts on his face pull). “Maybe not exactly like this, but yeah. You know, he’s a possessive dude. So, when his girl ditches him for the school freak...” He shrugs again, eyes fixed on the road. “Yeah, I saw this coming.”

Chrissy sits beside him in the van, gazed fixed firmly on her lap, as she chews on her lower lip, if only to keep herself from crying. Her chest feels tight, lungs pinched in the corset of her ribs, and her eyes burn. She turns to look out the window, and the trees smear together in the wet blur of her tears.

“I’m sorry,” she says again, in a mournful keen. “I’m so sorry – I never wanted… I didn’t think,” she sniffs, bringing her hands up to wipe at her face. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry –” she gets lost in the litany as she gags, sobbing, and his eyes go wide with unexpected panic.

“Shit, shit, okay. Hold on. Hold – oh fuck, fuck, fuck,” he curses under his breath as he pulls over, gravel crunching under the tires as he gets them off the main road. The van lurches as he throws it into park, and he unbuckles his seat belt, twisting in his seat to face her. “Chrissy,” Eddie says her name quietly, but she shakes her head furiously. “Chrissy, it’s okay.”

“It’s not okay,” she insists, and he moves slowly – he stretches his hand out to her without reaching, without touching. Just letting her know that he’s there if she needs him.

And she does.

She grabs for him, takes his hand in hers, and squeezes desperately around his knuckles. His rings bite into the tender flesh of his fingers, but he doesn’t even blink. He keeps his eyes on her face as she trembles and gasps for breath. The van is too small and too big, and she feels overheated, sticky with pain, and Eddie rubs his thumb over the back of her hand.

“You’re right,” he admits at length, “it’s not okay. But it’s not your fault that he did this. Jason is a dick of the highest caliber.” She chokes around a laugh, and he smiles at her – it’s wobbly and quiet, unlike any of his smiles that he’s given her before, but it’s still beautiful. She sniffs, rubbing at her face with the sleeves of her sweater. Her cheeks are tacky with tears and her eyes are swollen and red.

“He’s such a dick,” she agrees, voice clogged, and he barks out a laugh.

“Chrissy Cunningham! Watch your language.”

“It’s your fault. You’ve corrupted me,” she reminds him, and he snickers. “I hate Jason. I hate who I was around him – who I let myself become to be with him. I never want to feel like that ever again.”

“I know,” Eddie says, and she turns to look at him. His hair is a tangled, curly halo around his battered face – his right eyebrow is split with a raw, bloody welt, and his chin is angry, scraped, and scabbed, and Chrissy leans across the center console to press a kiss to his cheek.

“I like who I am with you. You make me happy.”

“You make me happy too,” he whispers, eyes luminous and lit from within. “And I like who I am with you. In case that wasn’t clear with the… you know. Everything.” He shrugs, gesturing awkwardly to himself, and she smiles.

“You are too good, Eddie Munson.”

“Only for you,” he blushes, pushing his tongue against the inside of his bottom lip. She can’t help herself – she kisses him gently on the mouth, tastes his blood, and her heart flips over in her chest. He reaches for her and gently tucks a stray piece of hair behind her ears. She leans into the touch, and he rubs his thumb across the bruise at her temple. “Are your folks gonna be pissed?” He asks with a wince, and she shrugs.

“I’ll tell them it was a cheer accident.” He tilts his head, frowning in confusion, and she nods. “It happens sometimes. I got kicked in the face once. That hurt – I thought I was gonna die.” His eyes go wide, and his mouth drops open in shock.

“You got kicked in the face? Jesus Christ!” He whistles under his breath, shaking his head in wonder. “You’re my hero, Chrissy Cunningham.” She likes the sound of that – likes the idea that she’s strong enough to take care of him, to protect him. She knows that isn’t really what he meant, but she enjoys the thrill that unfurls in her belly at the thought.

“What about you? Is your uncle going to be upset?” He squints, thinking of a moment before shaking his head.

“Nah. I mean, he’ll like care that I was hurt, but he won’t be angry or anything. Wayne’s pretty cool like that. Besides, he’s sorta used to it. This is, like, a regular night at the Hideout.”

“Ah yes,” she muses, settling back in her seat as she keeps a hold of his hand. “The Hideout. Take me sometime? I hear they have a great band that plays on Tuesdays.”

“Oh yeah?” He plays with the rings on his free hand, spinning them idly with his thumb, as his face goes pink. “You a fan?”

“You could say that,” she says slowly. “I’m actually dating the lead singer.” He laughs, running his tongue over his teeth with a wicked smirk.

“Lucky guy,” he remarks and she huffs under her breath.

“Actually,” she cocks her head to one side, trailing her eyes over his face, busted and beautiful as it is. “I’m pretty sure I’m the lucky one.”

- - -

Melvald’s is quiet, save for the humming lights and tinny radio playing overhead. Chrissy purses her lips to herself as she ponders the craft aisle. The offerings are meager, but that’s not unusual for Hawkins – they don’t even have a hobby store. She tightens her hands around her dad’s car keys and sucks on her teeth. She knows they have what she needs, because she’s seen it here before. It’s just taking her a minute to actually find it.

Her parents were already home when she walked in the front door – she’d paused in the foyer and bounced on her toes as she listened to them talk quietly to each other in the kitchen. Her dad’s keys were hanging on a hook on the wall, and she’d taken a long moment to study them.

She can drive – has the skills and the license and everything. They just only have the two cars (one for her dad and one for her mom), so Chrissy made do with rides from Jason. Now, of course, Brenda is happy to pick her up and drop her off. And Eddie, too, is very keen on having her in his van.

“Daddy,” she’d called as she reached for them, “I’m taking the car for a bit.”

“Where are you going?” Her mom asked before her dad could even answer.

“Just running to Melvald’s – I won’t be late!”

“Drive safe, kiddo,” her dad said, and the metal of his keys bit into her hand as she grabbed them, and she smiled.

“Always do!”

Sighing to herself, Chrissy scuffs the toe of her sneakers against the linoleum floor. Her head aches in a distant, unattached sort of way, and she squints in discomfort.

“Need any help, sweetie?”

Chrissy blinks and turns to find Joyce Byers peering at her from she’s stocking a display of candles. Chrissy smiles at her, and her brown, doe eyes go wide when she catches sight of the bruise on her temple.

“Oh, no – are you okay?” She winces, reaching for her in that instinctive mom way before clenching her hand into a fist. “That looks like it hurts. Do you need an ice pack or anything?”

“I’m okay,” Chrissy assures her, bobbing her head with a rehearsed laugh. “Just had an accident at practice.” Joyce tilts her head, frowning in confusion, and Chrissy blushes at her own assumption. “Sorry! Cheer practice. I’m on the cheer team for Hawkins High.” Joyce blinks, as if she suddenly recognizes her, and nods.

“That’s right! Christy Cunningham, right?”

“Chrissy,” she corrects awkwardly, rubbing her elbow and cringing through a smile, and Joyce rolls her eyes.

“Chrissy! Sorry – the number of times people’ve called me Joy… ugh, I’m sorry. I’m Jonathan's mom. I think he’s in your grade.”

Chrissy knows Jonathan Byers. She’s seen him at their games, taking photos for the school’s paper. He always looks cagey – an uncertain mix of bored and nervous, like he’s half expecting someone to kick him out, even though he doesn’t want to be there in the first place – but his pictures are amazing.

“Yeah, I’ve seen him around school for sure. He’s nice,” she says, almost automatically, because she doesn’t actually think that they’ve ever spoken a word to each other.

“He’s a good boy,” Joyce agrees, “takes real good care of Will – my youngest, he’s a freshman now.”

Chrissy knows of Will too. Eddie’s told her about how he and some of his friends have joined his D&D Club at school – Will’s by far the quietest of the group, but he’s a thoughtful player, takes the game seriously. Which, coming from Eddie, is high praise.

“I think I’ve seen Will around,” Chrissy nods again, and Joyce’s face softens. Her eyes are still lingering on the welt at her temple, and Chrissy lifts a hand to her head self-consciously. Joyce tuts, and Chrissy feels her face heat up with an embarrassed flush.

“Come with me,” Joyce takes a hold of her hand and starts leading her to a back room labeled ‘Employees Only’. Chrissy lets herself be tugged along, feeling a little out of place as Joyce sits her down at a wobbly table in the Melvald’s break room. “That looks pretty fresh – you haven’t cleaned it yet, have you?”

“No ma’am,” Chrissy says quietly, and Joyce laughs as she stands on her tiptoes to reach the first aid kit on top of the dingy refrigerator. “Do you need help or…?”

“I got it,” she says, barely managing to grasp it with just the tips of her fingers. “Cheer practice, you said?” She narrows her eyes, a shrewd look on her face, like she can see right through her flimsy lies where her own mother never could, and Chrissy gnaws on her lower lip.

She knows Joyce is dating the Police Chief now. It had been quite the scandal when Chief Hopper showed up to the 4^th of July Picnic with Joyce Byers on his arm. But Chrissy remembers how they were lost in their own little world – laughing and teasing each other, totally oblivious to the gossip storm brewing around them. They looked happy.

She also knows about Jonathan and Will’s dad, and how Joyce all but ran him out of their house for drinking too much and putting his hands on her.

“Yeah,” Chrissy shrugs twisting her fingers in her lap, “I mean. It was something like that.”

“Something like that,” Joyce repeats to herself, sitting across from her and digging through gauze pads and aspirin tablet packs. “You’re dating that basketball player, aren’t you?”

“I was,” Chrissy confirms, and Joyce rips open a disinfectant wipe. “Not anymore, though.”

“Good for you,” she says and reaches for her. “This is going to sting a bit.”

Jillian Piccoli punched her ex in the mouth. Bethany Nichols scratched Michael Stanton’s eyes out. Joyce Byers broke a bottle over her husband’s head.

And, Chrissy Cunningham decked Jason Carver in the face.

Just one more in the long line of Hawkins women who have had to save themselves because no one was going to do it for them.

At least she’s in good company.

- - -

After patching her up, Joyce helps her find exactly what she needs: red iron-on felt letters in a traditional, blocky varsity font. She grabs two packs, plus an iron-on patch of a skull, because its smile reminds her of the one on Eddie’s t-shirt. And some ribbon, in the same shade as the letters.

Joyce watches as she collects her loot with an indulgent grin and walks her back to the registers at the front of the store. The gash on her temple stings, but she feels better – like she’s suddenly waking up from a long dream. She has a purpose, and she bounces happily on her toes as Joyce rings her up.

“Last minute craft project?” She asks in a droll voice.

“Something like that,” Chrissy confirms with a perky smile. “Thanks for your help, Mrs. Byers.”

“Anytime, sweetie. I’ll see you later, okay?” Chrissy waves as she walks out the door, plastic bag swinging on her arm, and she hops into her dad’s car.

The trip home passes quickly, and she drives with the windows down and the radio on – she has it set to the station she now thinks of as ‘Eddie’s’, and the music has her bones rattling. It wakes her up, like the bite of the alcohol on her open wound. She chases that energy, holds it close to her heart, and lets it carry her through til morning.

She has a long night ahead of her. She’s going to need it.

- - -

Her mother’s face is carved from stone the next morning. They sit across from each other at the kitchen table, and Chrissy works her way through a bowl of fruit and yogurt, very deliberately ignoring her burning stare. Her father, as expected, is oblivious, flicking through the newspaper and grumbling to himself.

“What happened here?” Her mom asks, deceptively bright, and she scratches at her temple pointedly. Chrissy tightens her grip on her spoon – she had made it a point to stay up her room all last night, saving herself from any confrontations or conversations, and she prepares herself now with a manufactured cheer.

“Oh, there was an accident at practice yesterday. It’s not big deal,” she smiles with all of her teeth.

“Hmm,” her mom hums under her breath. She is not Joyce Byers – suspicious of bruises where there should not be bruises, all too aware of the violence the world can bring to a teenage girl. Her mother is tired, unwilling to see things she doesn’t want to see. She turns back to her own breakfast (a grapefruit, sliced in half) without saying anything else. (The “fix your face” is only heavily implied. Chrissy barely hears it.)

Her dad looks up, eyebrows raised, as he squints at her.

“You all right there, kiddo? Must’ve been a hell of a wallop.”

“Yeah, Daddy,” she gentles her smile into something sweeter. “Coach took care of me – I’m okay. Don’t worry. I’m pretty tough.” He studies her for a moment longer, eyes searching, but he nods to himself.

“As long as you’re okay. Need a ride to school?”

“Yes please,” she chirps, nodding so her ponytail swings merrily.

Her mother doesn’t say good bye, and Chrissy doesn’t look at her as she follows her dad out to the car. The morning air is cold on her bare legs, and she tips her head back to look up at the crisp, blue sky. She’s energized, despite the lack of sleep. She definitely stayed up way too late working on her project and ended up crashing a few hours after midnight, but it was worth it.

Exhaling loudly, she smooths her black skirt down over her thighs and climbs into the car.

The drive passes in silence. Her dad has the radio tuned to a news station, and she lets the anchor’s voice wash over her as she stares out the window. The houses and trees smudge together into a monolithic, suburban blur, and she props her face up on her fist as she watches.

“Classes going okay?” He asks her suddenly as he pulls up to the curb outside the high school. She turns to him, brow furrowed in confusion, and he clears his throat. “Your grades and homework? They’re all good?”

She realizes, as he frowns seriously at her, that this is his way of checking in – saying the things he can’t figure out how to say otherwise. He’s always been comfortable on the sidelines, letting her mom manage her life, because that was just easier for him. She can see on his face that maybe he’s regretting that now.

“Yeah, Daddy,” she promises, tilting her head as her heart clenches. “Everything’s fine. We had a test in Chem on Monday. We’re supposed to get it back today, but I think I did all right.”

“That’s my girl,” he nods, mostly to himself, and she laughs. “Have a good day, kiddo. I’ll see you tonight.”

“Bye, Daddy,” she leans over to brush a kiss to his cheek and breathes in his aftershave – he’s worn the same brand all her life, and she takes comfort in the familiarity. “Love you.”

“Love you too.”

She stands on the sidewalk, watching as he drives away, and wraps her arms around herself. Maybe she can convince him to go to the movies with her this weekend. They used to go together all the time when she was little. It’s about time they started back up again.

Smiling to herself, she turns on her heel and makes her way up to the high school. Kids are milling around, their voices blending together into the cacophonous background noise of teenagehood. She sees Jason standing in a cluster of his basketball buddies – his face is bruised and thunderous, and when their eyes meet, she quirks a brow and says nothing.

He breaks first, scoffing and turning back to his friends with an obnoxious sneer on his face.

She rolls her eyes, flicking her ponytail over her shoulder, and crosses the parking lot. A few of her cheer friends shout her name, and she waves without stopping. She refuses to be waylaid. The twin tails of her red ribbon flutter behind her, and she leaves a trail of vanilla perfume in her wake as she searches for him. She breaks into a jog as she heads around to the front of the school.

She knows he usually loiters on the benches out by the school entrance, where he holds court with his D&D group. The winter, morning air catches up with her as she pauses, gnawing on her lower lip. He’s here – he has to be here. She saw his van in the parking lot and everything!

Branch told them yesterday that he had their tests ready, and Eddie had raised his eyebrows, making her blush.

“Roses,” he had whispered under his breath, “big ones.” She had balled her hands into fists, nails digging into her palms, so she wouldn’t laugh out loud.

She knows he’s here – he better not be hiding somewhere. Twisting her mouth in a pout, she makes a loose lap of the front courtyard. She’s scanning the crowd for a familiar mess of curls, or a pair of shining brown eyes, or a sharp coyote smile.

“Cunningham!”

She startles, rabbit heart beating hard against her ribs, and spins around to see him loping up the sidewalk towards her. He’s wearing his Hellfire Club shirt under his usual leather jacket and vest combo. (God, she hopes he washed the vest before he put it on – he swore he would!) His heavy, black boot scrape against the concrete as he walks, and his rings glint in the early morning sun as he runs his hand through his tousled hair.

“You lookin’ for me?” He asks and jerks his chin with faux bravado, though his face is flushed with pink.

She wants to taste him.

Instead of answering, she spreads her arms wide and raises her eyebrows. His face breaks into a huge grin when he realizes what she’s wearing – what she spent almost all night working on, what she almost burned her fingers off for, what she’s hoping will make him as happy as he makes her.

A pure white sweater decorated with a ghoulish, grinning skull patch and the words CORRODED COFFIN spelled out in red iron-on felt letters in a traditional, blocky varsity font.

He shakes his head, speechless, as he clasps both hands to his chest, right over his heart and rocks back on his heels. She drops her arms with a bashful shrug, giggling, and he sighs dreamily.

“Holy fucking shit, Chrissy Cunningham,” he breathes, sounding stupid and besotted as he takes her in. She scuffs the toe of her sneaker against the concrete, and he flings his arms open wide. “Well, get over here!”

Laughing, she launches herself at him and throws her arms around his neck as he catches her around the waist. He stumbles under the force of her attack, and she squeals as he spins them around, her legs kicking up behind her. They smile against each other’s lips and kiss; his tongue slicks over hers as he licks into her mouth. She tangles her fingers in his hair, and he tightens his arms around her middle with a pleased hum.

They separate slowly, and he sets her back down on her feet. She doesn’t let go of him, stretches onto her tiptoes to brush their noses together. He smirks and drops a quick kiss to her cheek.

“So,” she says shyly, “do you like it? I made it myself.”

“Chrissy, it is,” he licks over his teeth, tongue catching on a canine with a devious grin, “the sexiest thing I have ever seen in my entire life.” She giggles, cups his face in her hands, and pulls him down for another kiss. He’s laughing against her mouth, and she chases the taste of his happiness with her tongue until she’s drowning in him.

(He ends up getting a 91 on the Chem test. She ends up getting a tiny rose bud on her hip.)