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”Mike?”
A voice echoes in his mind. Loud and rough, male. He could feel the tips of his ears moving, straining to make sense of the voice.
“Michael.”
The voice calls out to him once more, more stern and annoyed this time. Mike’s brows furrow together. His eyes squeeze tighter together, creating a mirage of color behind the lids.
Mike attempts to roll over, to pull the sheets on his bed up and over his head to block out the grating voice calling his name. Only to find that his body feels like it’s been thrown off the top floor of the Empire State Building.
“Michael, Mike, dude,” the voice repeats, closer to his ear this time, “you’re safe now, but you gotta get up, man.”
Mike releases a deep breath of air through his mouth, knowing he’s no longer able to get anymore sleep. He slowly peels his eyes open, light rushing through, making him squint. Once he’s adjusted to the light, Mike finally realizes that he isn’t in his room.
In fact, he has no idea where he actually is.
Off of pure fear and adrenaline, Mike’s body moves. He shoots up in the (surprisingly soft and comfortable) bed, ignoring the ache in his abdomen and spine. His hands are resting in his lap, his legs outstretched in front of him underneath the thin sheets of the bed. He looks down at his shirt, noticing that…this isn’t a shirt he owns?
Where are his clothes? Did someone change him?
Oh, God, was he kidnapped?
Mike’s breathing starts quickening, his heart is thundering in his chest. His hands are shaking as his eyes scope out the room before landing on a burly, old (around his dad’s age) man sitting on a plush armchair in the far corner of the room. The red tip of a cigarette alight in the darkness of the room, the window open to let the smoke out.
Mike’s eyes dart to his right, to where he’d heard the voice speaking directly into his ear. His eyes land on a short teen, around his age, maybe a year or two younger. The teenage boy has curly, light brown hair that frames his face. His skin is tan, and his teeth are braced with metal braces. The boy smiles brightly at him with ocean-blue eyes and waves.
A deep clearing of the throat makes Mike turn his head back to the man. The man was balding, the remains of hair slicked back at the sides. He has a mustache and a scraggly beard. He had a thick belly that hung over the button of his pants. “You’re awake,” the man says, “that’s good.”
“Where,” Mike pauses, swallowing, “where am I? Who, who are you?”
The man narrows his eyes, “figures,” he says below his breath.
“‘Figures?’ What the hell do you mean by ‘figures?’” Mike questions, eyes widening in panic. “Who are you? Where am I? And…” He gestures to all of him, “where the hell are my clothes? Did you kidnap me? Am I kidnapped?”
The man blinks slowly, watching as Mike asks his questions. He raises a brow when Mike’s shoulders slump forehead, his chest rising and falling with each deep breath taken.
“You done now?” The man asks. Mike doesn’t respond. “Okay, listen up, kid. My name is Jim Hopper, you’re in my house.” When Mike opens his mouth to question why the fuck he was in some random man’s house, he holds up a massive hand, halting the words in Mike’s throat. “Shut up and listen. Can you do that?”
Mike nods his head sporadically, a bit afraid of the man, now named as Jim Hopper, in front of him and the situation he’s in. The solace he has at the moment is the random teen standing at his bedside, whom the man hasn’t acknowledged, which Mike finds a bit off, but doesn’t have the time to worry about.
“Good,” Jim Hopper says, leaning back in his chair. He takes a drag of his cigarette, inhaling deeply and blowing out the smoke through the window. He turns his attention back to Mike. His beady eyes staring holes into Mike’s face, making him shift a bit on the bed.
“You aren’t kidnapped,” Jim says. “You’re safe here. I just need you to answer a couple of questions and then I’ll answer all of yours, understand?” Mike nods again. “Good, question one, do you know your name?”
“Mike,” Jim raises a brow at Mike’s answer, clearly unsatisfied. Mike clears his throat, “Michael James Wheeler.”
The gruff man nods his head, “age?”
”Seventeen.”
”Birthday?”
“April 7th.”
Mike answers every question quickly and clearly, not wanting to face what will happen if Jim gets angry at him. With each question answered, the man seems more satisfied, nodding his head along as Mike speaks.
“Date?”
”Um,” Mike pauses and blinks. He can’t recall the exact date, but he’s pretty sure yesterday was Friday, so, “Saturday? November 3rd.”
“Hm,” Jim hums, corners of his mouth pinching. He slowly leans forward in his chair, elbows resting on his knees as his hand rubs the gruff of his beard, “and, what is the last thing you remember?”
Mike’s brows pinch together, his teeth worrying at his bottom lip. Truthfully, he can barely remember what he had for breakfast on a good day. So to ask him this, when he’s sitting in a random bed, in a random house, in clothes that are definitely not his? Well…
”Uh,” Mike mumbles, “I don’t know.”
”Try, kid,” Jim says, urging him to speak.
Mike sighs, “I guess, walking home from school? It was a bad day, had a trig test…which I totally bombed…” Mike licks his bottom lip, “um, forgot my lunch at home and didn’t have any money to buy any food at the cafeteria, so..” Mike tilts his head, trying to recall the rest of the day, “I was leaving school…I think I tripped on my shoelace? After that…”
Jim nods his head at Mike’s silence as though he was expecting it, “right.” He claps his hands on his knees, pushing himself to stand. With the man now standing, Mike can take in his full body structure, and he can’t lie, he's a bit more terrified than before. Jim Hopper is a very heavy set man with the height to match. There’s no way Mike could make a break for it. He wouldn’t even be able to get to the door if he was in top condition.
“Memory loss is common for this kind of thing,” Jim says.
“What kind of thing?” Mike questions.
Jim tilts his head, “possession.” Jim answers plainly. Mike’s jaw drops, but the man continues talking, not taking notice, or not caring to stop. “Memory loss is common in possessed victims and exorcism survivors.”
”Excuse me?” Mike breathes out meekly.
“You, technically, weren’t in control of your body. Another entity was. A demon. You were possessed, kid.” Jim says like he didn’t just drop the biggest bomb ever onto Mike.
Because possession isn’t real. Exorcisms aren’t real. They’re all just made up things for scary movies. People can’t really get possessed by demons.
Mike squints his eyes and shakes his head, “you’re full of shit.”
The adult raises his brows, clearly shocked by what the teen in front of him said. He sucks in a deep breath while closing his eyes, clearly trying to keep his cool. His lips pinch together and he nods to himself before opening his eyes.
“Look, kid,” Jim starts, “believe what you want. But the truth of the matter is, you were possessed.”
”Possession isn’t real,” Mike insists.
“Really?” Jim’s brows raise, “so you don’t recall having sudden rage? The urge to smash things or break things?” He takes a step forward, inching closer to the foot of the bed. “What about hearing voices that aren’t there? Constantly looking around and trying to find who’s speaking?”
”Well…I mean…” Mike trails off, thinking back to the week prior, recalling his jacket getting stuck on the doorknob and him punching the door (which didn’t do anything other than leave his knuckles bruised). He remembers the sensation of someone constantly breathing down his neck, sitting in his room late at night and hearing his name being called when he knows everyone else in the house is asleep.
“Emotional or sensitive people are the most common to get possessed,” Jim explains. “You could be the coldest person ever, but if something goes wrong in your life and that ice cracks…open access for demons and shit to take control.”
“Demons?” Mike crows.
“Mhm,” Jim nods, rubbing the stubble under his chin, “demons, spirits, sometimes jinn. Depends.”
“So,” Mike tries to wrap his head around everything the man is saying, “if you’re telling the truth-“
”I am.”
”And I really was possessed-“
”You were.”
”Then, you exorcised me?” Mike questions.
“I did, good job, you pick things up quick,” Jim says sarcastically. Mike would usually retort something sarcastic back, but his brain is still trying its hardest to believe what he was just told. “This was your first time.” Jim mutters the next line, “hopefully last.”
He pinches the bridge of his nose before continuing, “Being possessed and exorcised can cause immense strain on the body, especially for virgins such as yourself.”
”I’m not- what the fuck?” Mike stutters out in shock. How the fuck did this old man know Mike was a virgin?! That’s none of his business! That’s no one’s business but Mike’s and Mike’s alone!
Jim squints his eyes at the teen, lips curling to the side. Mike looks to his right, jaw slack and the kid next to him just shrugs his shoulders, giving him an awkward smile, “you were a virgin, technically speaking. Possession virgin. Hopper just has a bad way of explaining things. Uses weird metaphors.”
“You had a demon inside of you, playing double-dutch with your insides, making your physical body more vulnerable than it was before,” Jim Hopper explains. “You’re susceptible to possession. Everyone exorcised usually has a place to go, a place to get sent to.” Hopper tilts his head to his side, folding his hands in front of him, “you got sent here. On average, especially for first timers, people tend to stay for twenty to thirty days.”
”I have to stay here for a month?!” Mike exclaims, eyes wide, “what about my family? What about school?”
Hopper holds up a hand, stopping his questions. “Your family knows that you’re here, you’re a minor, someone had to sign the paperwork. They’ve already been told everything I’m telling you. You’ll be able to talk to them with the landline, unfortunately we don’t allow personal cellphones for temporary residents. Your school is also aware of your…circumstances. Took a bit of convincing, but since it’s your first time they’ve allowed you to do online schooling until you can get back.”
Mike sits a bit straighter, “temporary residents?”
”Mhm,” Hopper’s demeanor suddenly changes into something more (if that was even possible) closed off, shoulders tightening, and jaw clenching a haunted look flashing in his eyes. “Some people don’t come back from being possessed; they are permanently changed. They stay here indefinitely, or at least until they reach the age of eighteen, then they can decide whether or not they want to stay or go.”
“Shit,” Mike breathes out, “I’ll only be here a month, though, right?”
”We’ll see,” Hopper tilts his head. “All right,” he claps his hands together, giving Mike a stern look, “some ground rules. First, breakfast and dinner are served at seven, if you’re late, make your own meal.” He walks to the door, “lunch is served around noon, but most people here make their own lunches.” He pulls open the door, shooting a cursory glance at the navy blue duffel bag sitting by the door that Mike hadn’t noticed before.
“Get changed, or don’t, I don’t care,” he shrugs, “dinner is being served as we speak, if you don’t come down within the hour, you get nothing. Your choice.” And with that, he taps the door with his massive hand and walks out. He shuts the door firmly behind him.
Mike breathes out a deep breath, shoulders falling forehead. His hands catch his head and he closes his eyes, “this is insane,” he mumbles to no one.
“Yeah, Hopper’s pretty blunt about everything,” a voice speaks up, making Mike look up from his hands. He’d forgotten about the other teen in the room. Mike raises a brow in question, which seems to prompt the teen to introduce himself. “Oh, right, I’m Dustin.”
“Pleasure,” Mike tries for a smile but it comes out as more of a grimace. He swings his legs over the bed with maximum effort. His abdomen still hurts so he uses an arm to cup his stomach, as if that will help, while he stands and walks over to the duffel.
He opens it and takes note of everything in there. There’s a couple comics inside that he’s yet to read, his own clothes are packed neatly, a single pair of black jeans, and one blue button up shirt. The rest are sweats, shorts, t-shirts, long-sleeved shirts, and underwear. He looks around, before his eyes land on the table next to the bed, where his sky blue zip-up jacket lays. He releases a breath, that was a gift for his sixteenth birthday from his sisters. It’s his favorite jacket.
He turns back to the bag, pulling out the sets of clothes. He notices his laptop buried at the bottom of the bag, the charger tucked over at the side underneath a pair of socks. He pulls it out and sets it next to the comic books. He’s glad they (Nancy, most likely) remembered his laptop. It has all his writings and short stories he’s written on it, not to mention his class work. At least he won’t be bored.
He opened the laptop, turning it on to see the date and time. 7:07 p.m. November 6th. It’s Tuesday! It’s been three days. Three days of his life that he can’t remember. His heart pounds in his chest and he inhales a deep breath through his nose, trying to calm his rushing heart.
“At least you only missed the weekend,” Dustin says, making Mike jump at his spot. He sends him an unimpressed glare to which he just lines his lips in a small smile and looks away. But at least, with Dustin’s words, his heart has slowed back to its normal pace.
Mike’s stomach rumbles. It has been three days since he can remember eating anything, and who knows how long he was asleep for without actually getting solid food. He decides he doesn’t need to change out of the black-crew neck sweatshirt and gray straight-legged sweat pants. They’re comfortable enough. And his feet are clothed in lime green socks with white sticky rubber on the bottom of them to keep him from slipping. The color is horrendous, teetering on the edge of a puke green.
Mike sighs and straightens up, standing. He turns to Dustin, “show me where the dining room is?” He suggests.
Dustin immediately brightens, lips forming into a massive smile and he nods his head, “of course! Come on,” he walks to the door but hesitates, not opening it. He gives a strange laugh and turns back, “after you.”
Mike’s brows crease at the strangeness from the teen, but he shrugs it off, walking to the door and opening it. He steps into the hall, Dustin follows behind him, and he shut the door back. The hallway has wooden flooring and wooden walls that stop halfway before changing into white plaster. There’s no pictures on the walls, but a small table with flowers is stowed outside a door at the very end.
“This is the bathroom,” Dustin says, pointing to the door across the hall from where Mike’s room is. “And this way,” he throws a thumb over his shoulder, “is where the stairs are, come on.”
“What about down there?” Mike questions, throwing a glance back to where the purple tulips sit in the vase.
“Uh,” Dustin looks to the vase, then to the door. A solemn look crosses his eyes, a fogginess through them like he’s remembering something. He shakes his head and offers a small smile, “nothing, just a storage area.” He walks a few steps away, towards the stairs, “come on, you don’t want to miss dinner.”
Mike nods, turning away from the dark and quiet hallway. He follows Dustin down the stairs, not a creek to be heard. Mike assumes this place must be well-kept if the stairs don’t even creek. As they reach the bottom of the stairs, Dustin perks up.
“Hey, Will!” He says with a cheery voice.
Mike looks to his side, seeing a short and slim boy walking in the hallway, clearly late for dinner. He’s wearing a white long-sleeved shirt with a brown flannel and black sweatpants. His hair is cut into a shaggy cut with blunt bangs, almost giving a bowl cut look if not for the longer layers that cover his ears and the base of his neck.
The shorter teen, Will, looks at Dustin with wide and alarmed eyes. Mike notices that one eye is a vibrant green and the other is a dark brown, almost black. It’s a bit unnerving to Mike, he won’t lie. His mismatched eyes dart from Dustin to Mike, who offers a small wave, then back to Dustin. Will swallows, nods his head and turns, hastening his pace away from the two teens and disappearing deeper into the halls.
“That was…strange,” Mike comments.
Dustin shrugs as he starts walking at a leisurely pace, “Will’s strange.”
”Not everyone here is strange, though, right? Like there are some normal people here?” Mike questions.
Dustin chuckles, “that depends on your definition of normal.” He shakes his head, “but no, everyone here is pretty strange. We’ve all got our own demons.” He sends Mike a look out of the corner of his eye, “even you.”
“I don’t-“
”It’s why you’re here in the first place,” Dustin cuts him off, “you had a demon.”
“Oh, right,” Mike mumbles. The two continue walking. The flooring turns from wooden to tiled as they ended the massive kitchen. There’s an island in the center of it, a bar to the right with tall and sleek black stools. And to the left, the sink, dishwasher, over, refrigerator adn everything else a kitchen needs.
“So, um,” Mike tries, “you live here?”
Dustin nods, “yeah.”
”Are you a permanent resident or…” Mike questions.
Dustin shoots him a small smile, “something like that,” he says in a whisper. He stops at a doorway, where two sliding wooden doors stand tall. “Well, this is the dining room. Breakfast and dinner are served here every day.”
Mike takes a step forward and reaches for the door to slide it open, only to notice Dustin turning around. He pauses, “aren’t you coming?”
“Hm?” Dustin raises his brow. Mike motions to the doors, but Dustin shakes his head. “Oh, no, I already ate earlier, before you woke up.”
“Oh, okay,” Mike says, nodding his head, “I’ll see you later? Maybe you can give me a tour of the house?”
Dustin laughs, “nah, that job’s for Steve. You’ll meet him there,” he points to the sliding doors, “he’s great. A bit strict at times, but overall a great guy.”
“Oh,” Mike nods again, “then, maybe we could hang out sometime?”
”Really?” Dustin perks up, “yeah! Yeah, that’d be awesome!”
“Cool,” Mike smiles, “so, I’ll see you later?”
”Yeah, totally!” Dustin cheers. Mike nods once before turning back to the door as Dustin spins on his heels after waving by to him and walking away.
Mike inhales a deep breath. He can hear loud laughter coming from inside the room. The sound of cutlery scraping against plates and people talking over one another. Mike straightens his back, a determined look set on his face, and he slides the doors open.
The sound immediately cuts off, and Mike can feel the eyes of everyone on him. His hands are starting to sweat, so he wipes them quickly against his pants. He clears his throat as his eyes trail over everyone in the room.
They’re sitting at a long, round table. Mike takes special note of the lack of Jim Hopper. A breath, he didn’t know he was holding, of relief escapes his lips and a bit of tension seeps out of his spine.
Two people are sitting next to each other on one side of the table. One is a girl with long ginger hair tied into two braids. She raises a brow at Mike. He notices that she has a scar on the right side of her face, going from her hairline, through her eye and stopping at the center of her nose. Her right eye is a milky white, the iris and pupil completely gone. She narrows her one good sky-blue eye at him, so he shoots his gaze to the person sitting next to him.
Mike immediately recognizes him as Lucas Sinclair. They go to the same school. Where Mike is a nerd and loner, Lucas is popular, on the basketball team, and has a ton of friends. Both his brows raise, surprised to see the well-known Sinclair is a victim of demonic possession. Lucas offers him a nod of the head as a greeting.
One person is at the head of the table. He’s clearly older than everyone here, with thick brown hair styled up and out of his face. He’s got a sharp square jaw and big brown eyes and pale skin. “Well, look who’s finally up! Sleeping Beauty over here decided to grace us with his presence.”
The man stands from his seat, walking to greet Mike with an outstretched hand. Mike takes it firmly, shaking it. “I’m Steve,” he introduces himself. “While you’re here, I’m the one honored with taking care of you.”
“What about Jim Hopper?” Mike questions.
Steve chuckles, clapping Mike on the shoulder, “Hopper? No, no,” he shakes his head. He pushes Mike to an empty seat at the table before lifting his hand. “Hopper just owns the place, he actually lives right down the street. But he isn’t the guardian. That’s my job, caretaker or whatever,” He rounds the table taking his spot back at the head. “Sit, eat.” He motions with his fork to the array of food at the table.
Mike nods his head, sending a tight-lipped smile to the others. He pulls out a chair next to the brown haired teen, who has his back facing the entryway. Mike glances over, realizing that it’s the strange teen Dustin called to earlier. Will, he thinks his name was.
Steve shovels a piece of broccoli in his mouth, eyes looking around the quiet table. He swallows, “well, Michael-“
”I go by Mike, just Mike,” he interrupts, not liking the way his full name was used.
Steve nods his head. “Okay, Mike.” He points to the two across the table, “that’s Maxine, she goes by Max.”
”If you call me Maxine, I’ll shove this fork in your eye,” she sends him a sweet smile, contradicting her words with her facial expression. Mike swallows tightly, nodding his head before looking at Lucas.
“And the lovely, young man next to her is-“
”Lucas Sinclair,” Lucas says with a kind smile. Mike’s never really had a full conversation with the basketball player, but from everything he's heard, Lucas sounds like a nice guy. He wasn’t like Andy or Jason, who went around bullying people under the guise of spreading Christianity.
“You’re…” Lucas squints his eyes, pointing at Mike, “Mike Wheeler? You’re Nancy’s brother, right?”
Mike raises his brows, “uh, yeah, you know Nancy?”
Lucas shrugs, “yeah, I mean, I met her a couple of times my Freshman year.” Lucas’s eyes take on a reminiscent look, “she’s really cool.”
“Yeah,” Mike mutters. It’s been like this since Mike entered Junior High. Always asked if he was related to Nancy, and when answered yes, it was like the expectations for him rose, especially with the teachers. The students learned soon enough that he’s nothing like his sister. But the teachers? They would just shake their heads letting their disappointment be shown, especially when he joined the Hellfire Club.
Mike swallows a bite of the mashed potatoes he was eating, turning to the quiet teen next to him, “you’re Will right?” Will shifts his eyes from his barely eaten food towards Mike. “Dustin mentioned your name earlier.”
The atmosphere suddenly changed in the dining room. Gone was the carefree easiness, sucked away by an imposing vacuum. Will’s grip tightens on his fork, knuckles and fingers turning white from how hard he’s holding onto the metal. His jaw tightens and his fog up, like his mind is no longer present.
Mike looks around the room, noticing Steve looking at him with a peculiar expression, brows furrowed deeply together and mouth turned downwards into a frown. Max is looking at him with eyes hardened into a glare, and Lucas’s mouth has dropped completely open.
“Is something-“
A screeching sound of a chair being pushed backwards cuts Mike off. He looks to his right, seeing Will rising from his seat. “I’m not hungry,” the small teen mutters with a surprisingly deep voice. He steps away from the table and walks straight out of the dining room, sliding doors slapping together with a force so strong they bounce apart.
Silence ensues within the room. Max looks back down at her food, mixing the vegetables around with the mash. Lucas looks all around the room, trying to avoid making eye contact with anyone. Steve watches the door closely, as if he’s expecting Will to come back. When it’s clear he isn’t, Steve clears his throat, setting his fork down on his plate and resting his elbows on the table.
“What’s going on?” Mike questions, breaking the silence. He looks around the table at each person, before his eyes stop on Steve.
“You said Dustin talked to you?” Steve questions with a stern voice and brows pinched. Mike nods dumbly, not understanding. “When did you speak with Dustin, exactly?”
”When I woke up?” Mike responds, “he was at my bedside, talking to me. He even showed me where this room was…I don’t understand, what’s the big deal?”
Steve swallows, blinking and looking down at the table. He sighs deeply before looking back up at Mike.
“He’s dead,” a new voice says. Mike turns looking at the person who spoke, Max.
“What?” Mike questions out of confusion. “What do you mean he’s dead?”
“I mean just that, Michael,” Max snarks, “Dustin’s dead. He’s been dead for a year.” When Mike opens his mouth to respond, Max rolls her eyes at him. She throws her napkin cloth on the table and pushes her chair back roughly, standing, “I’m going to talk to Will.”
Lucas and Mike’s eyes follow her out of the room. Lucas with concern in his eyes and Mike with his jaw dropped and confusion etched onto his face. He doesn’t understand how Dustin is dead, because if he’s dead how was he talking to him? How was Will able to see and hear him? Mike’s head feels like it’s about to explode with all the information he’s been given today.
Steve looks at Mike with a bit of sympathy mixed with pity in his eyes, “sometimes,” he starts, voice taking on a softer cadence, “when people get exorcised, there can be lasting effects.”
“Yeah,” Mike nods, “Hopper said that’s why I had to stay for twenty to thirty days, because my body is weak, mentally and physically.”
“Yes,” Steve nods, shooting a sideways look to Lucas who just diverts his attention quickly to his plate of food. “But also because there can be side effects. Lingering…abilities of the demon possessing you. Or side effects of the exorcism.”
“Side effects?” Mike questions slowly.
“Yeah,” Steve picks his fork back up, “like seeing dead people, for an example.” Steve says in a chipper tone, trying to lighten the mood back up. He takes a bite of his food, swallowing before continuing, “it’s a rarer side effect, but, you know, it happens. Now telepathy? That’s the most common one.”
“I’ve never had telepathy,” Lucas chimes in, munching on a vegetable.
“No,” Steve shakes his head, “you’re our perfect little patient, who just so happens to be a beacon for possession.”
Lucas must notice the confusion on Mike’s face because he looks at him and says, “this is my third time being here in the last four years.” Mike opens his mouth in shock and nods his head slowly. “Yeah, sucks, but hey, got me out of school for three months.” Lucas says with a shrug.
“Yeah,” Steve says slowly, making Lucas turn to him with narrowed eyes.
“What ‘yeah’? Why’d you drag that out? What?” Lucas questions. Steve lines his lips and raises his brows, to which Lucas shakes his head. “No, no, no,” Lucas mumbles, “No! I was supposed to have the month off! You know, focus on getting better. It’s only been a week!”
“Look, kid, I’m sorry, but it wasn’t my decision!” Steve pleads his case, “you’re in your senior year of high school, your parents don’t want you missing out on anything important! Especially since you’ll be back in school by exam time.”
Lucas lets out a loud agonizing groan, letting his head fall forehead and smack right into the table. The glasses filled with water and utensils bounced at the force, making a clinging sound echo around the room.
“Now, now,” Steve reaches over and pats the teen’s back, “don’t over exaggerate.” Steve looks over to Mike, “I take it Hop explained everything to you? About school?”
”Hm?” Mike blinks, “oh, yeah. I have my laptop, so I can take my lessons online. It’s fine.”
“Thank you,” Steve's brows raise as he looks back to Lucas, who still has his forehead resting on the table. “See, Sinclair? This is a reasonable reaction.” He gestures with his hand to Mike.
Mike busies himself with the plate of food in front of him. He’s got steamed vegetables, carrots, broccoli, and he thinks that’s squash, with mashed potatoes on the side and small steak pattie in the center of the plate. Mike focuses on eating as Steve and Lucas continue to talk about school.
“He’s a nerd!” Lucas says, voice muffled by the table, “he likes school!” Mike rolls his eyes at the remark, but doesn’t bother responding, too busy eating the surprisingly well-cooked food.
“Max and Will are in school too!” Steve exclaims, trying to ease Lucas.
Lucas finally sits up straight, lifting his head from the table. There’s a small indent in the center of his forehead from where it was resting on the edge of the table. He levels Steve with the most impressive glare Mike’s seen since he was twelve and he outed Nancy for having a boyfriend.
“Max and Will are perma-residents,” Lucas says with a dull voice, “they have to be in online school.”
Steve’s mouth drops and he flounders for a second, trying to find the right words to say after being caught. “Well, you know,” Steve says, not finishing his sentence. He nods his head, picking up his fork and using it to point at Lucas’s plate, “finish your food,” he finishes glumly.
Lucas snickers into his food-filled fork before shoving it into his mouth. For the first time since being here, Mike can feel his mouth quirk up, cheek muscles working to create a smile. While he didn’t appreciate the random stray at him being a nerd, he can say he finds Lucas and Steve quite entertaining. Maybe if he sticks around them, the month he’s here won’t be so bad after all.