Chapter Text
Robin clicked on the microphone and a small, warm light blinked red.
“This is insane,” Robin whispered. “This is actually insane.”
“Yep.” Steve replied, letting the door click shut behind them.
“And we’re actually doing this,” Robin looked around the small, dusty radio studio that she was going to call her home the next, and hopefully last stretch of their town-wide quarantine. Not that she had any plans to move beyond the towns borders just yet. But the option itself had been nice.
“We actually are.” Steve replied with a grin on his lips as he handed her the headphones.
Robin took a breath, slid the headphones on, flicked the ON-AIR switch and moved closer to the microphone.
“Good morning, Hawkins,” she said, and her voice filled her ears, warm and real. “This is Rockin’ Robin coming to you live from this brand-spanking-new radio station. Someone apparently thinks I’m qualified for this. That I might, I don’t know, spread hope or something. Which means either they’ve never met me or this is a grave administrative error and they’re already on their way to drag me out.”
Steve gave her a thumbs-up.
Robin continued, “In any case, we’re here to raise morale. Which is wild, considering morale died somewhere around last October and I haven’t seen it since. It has been a rough couple of months for Hawkins. I mean, the mall burned down in that, what do the official reports call it again? ‘INSANE FREAK ACCIDENT.’ Mhm, yup. And with Starcourt went, like, half the town’s entertainment options. No mall. No movie theatre. Not even a semi-okay ice-cream store.”
Steve fake coughed to get Robin’s attention, but she didn’t notice.
“And entire businesses closed. Stores that had been here since the sixties, the fifties, GONE. Split in half just like that.” She snapped her fingers next to the mic. “And don’t even get me started on - OUCH, what-…”
A plastic bottle hit Robin square on the back of her head, cutting her off mid-sentence. She spun around in her chair to see Steve aggressively shaking his head and holding up a sign saying: POSITIVITY!!!!!!
Robin grimaced and cleared her throat before she continued.
“RIGHT. But I guess we’re trying, aren’t we? Keepin’ our heads up and all of that. Making the most of things. So let’s see if we can start this morning on a bit of a brighter note… uh…” She shuffled frantically through index cards, before discarding them aside.
“Alright,” Robin said, clearing her throat before continuing, “here’s how this works. I’ll be keeping you company for the next four hours or so with some carefully selected bangers, possible unpopular opinions in-between…, and something I’m personally very excited about: Robin’s Magic Eight-Ball Hotline!”
A brief, slightly awkward, pause followed before the faint airhorn sound erupted from Steve’s hurriedly inserted cassette.
“Yeah, you heard that right, folks. You can call in from 10 til 11 to ask me life questions. Yes or no questions only, though, because we are a very fancy, very legit show featuring a genuine enchanted eight-ball.”
She lifted the cheap magic eight ball she’d found at a thrift store and shook it aggressively.
“It’s basically an oracle. Just don’t ask it anything existential, because last night it told me ‘outlook not so good’ after I asked if I should attempt any social interaction today. And I’m still figuring out if talking into a microphone counts as being social…”
She trailed off, signalling towards Steve behind her back with her free hand.
“Anyhoo, enough yapping for now. I hope your morning has been great so far, despite literally everything, I hope it’s been perfect even. And if it hasn’t, it’s bound to be with this next song. Here’s Deep One Perfect Morning by The Jesus and Mary Chain.”
Robin turned her mic off with a flick and Steve slammed the right cassette in. They both waited in quiet anticipation for the music to fill the studio. And when it did, Steve fist-bumped the air between them.
“Holy shit. Holy shit, dude.” Robin’s raspy voice sounded over the song. “We’re actually doing this.”
And then she was off, quick-tongued, witty, and sometimes surprisingly insightful in a slightly scattered way that somehow worked brilliantly. She played songs, some popular ones, some more underground, some she’d found herself at the local music store, ranted about Hawkins potholes and malfunctioning streetlights, then pivoted to something else entirely. Her brain ping-ponged live on air and it worked?
Steve watched her with crooked affection.
He’d never admit it to her face, but the girl was literally built for this.
After a good twenty minutes of rambling commentary, Steve pointed to the blinking call light.
“Uh, Robin? First caller.”
Robin lit up. “Ooh! Okay! It’s that time already, Let’s see how we-.”
She pressed the button. “You’re on air with Rockin’ Robin. What’s on your mind?”
A nervous male voice asked if his girlfriend would forgive him for forgetting their anniversary.
Robin made a sympathetic noise and shook the magic eight ball theatrically. “It says… ‘Don’t count on it.’ Wow. That’s brutal. But scientifically accurate. Apologize immediately. Go get some flowers. Make a mixtape, but only a really really special one. You gotta give it your all, dude. Slap some songs on there that mean something to the both of you. And well, best of luck to you.”
She hung up, spinning in her chair.
And then, as her first shift wound to a close, Robin tapped her pencil against a cassette tape already waiting in the deck.
“Alright, Hawkins. Speaking of mixtapes, as it happens, I’ve been working on one myself.” Robin cleared her throat.
“Every day,” she continued, “I’ll pick a song for, well… someone. A person of great… uh… distinction.” Her voice wavered uncharacteristically, but she pushed through. “And to those now itching to pick up the phone and ask me about the identity of said.. person, I say: don’t be so damn nosy, kids. Anyway. Today’s pick is one that’s been stuck in my head ever since I woke up this morning. Makes me think of that someone who probably doesn’t think of me at all.”
Robin pressed PLAY.
The tape clicked, releasing the warm opening sound to The Cure’s Just Like Heaven. Robin leaned back, heart thudding in the irregular, painful way it always did when she thought about her.
The girl she absolutely shouldn’t be dedicating radio songs to. But hey, who one earth was really listening to this anyways. Nancy Wheeler certainly wasn’t.
Robin exhaled and let the music fill the space.
You're just like a dream
You're just like a dream
However, somewhere across town, unbeknownst to her, Nancy Wheeler paused mid-scribbling at her desk, curiously tilting her head toward the static-filled radio beside her. Robin has a crush?