𝚆𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚊𝚖 𝙸, 𝚋𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚍?

𝚆𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚘𝚘𝚔 𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚐?

𝙲𝚊𝚗'𝚝 𝚠𝚎 𝚑𝚒𝚝 𝚛𝚎𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚍

𝙾𝚗 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚋𝚘𝚍𝚢'𝚜 𝚖𝚊𝚐𝚒𝚌 𝚋𝚘𝚗𝚐?

𝙲𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚘𝚞𝚌𝚑 𝚖𝚢 𝚏𝚊𝚌𝚎.

𝙵𝚎𝚎𝚕 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚏𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝.

𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚢 𝚎𝚢𝚎𝚜

𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚝 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚘𝚐𝚗𝚒𝚣𝚎 𝚖𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎.

𝙿𝚊𝚜𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚙𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚕𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚢𝚎𝚊𝚛

𝙵𝚘𝚊𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚞𝚝𝚑.

𝙸 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚖𝚢 𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚜 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚞𝚙

𝙰𝚗𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚜 𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚞𝚝,

𝙸 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝙸'𝚟𝚎 𝚛𝚞𝚗 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚕𝚞𝚌𝚔.

𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚏𝚎𝚊𝚛 𝚒𝚜 𝚊 𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚛𝚒𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚍𝚛𝚞𝚐.

𝙸𝚏 𝚘𝚗𝚕𝚢 𝙸 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚜𝚎 𝚎𝚗𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑

𝚃𝚘 𝚕𝚎𝚝 𝚒𝚝 𝚐𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚢 𝚝𝚘 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎.

Lennon and Eddie probably would have talked the entire period if it weren't for Nancy who had emerged from the inside of the school with Jonathan by her side.

They were walking around classrooms and taking photos for the paper before deciding to aimlessly make conversation. But when Nancy noticed the new girl sitting with the freak of Hawkins High, she couldn't ignore the pair.

"Lennon!" she called out, making a beeline straight for her as she shot Eddie a protective and suspicious look of comprehension.

Lennon froze. She held her breath and quickly whipped up the journal in front of her.

"Hey," she smiled down at the girl. "What uh... What are you doing out here?" Nancy placed her hand on Lennon's shoulder as she faced Eddie preventatively.

Jonathan was trailing after her but he seemed slightly less concerned about protecting Lennon and more concerned with the fact he was about to expose himself to being bullied by Eddie.

"I thought some fresh air would do some good," Lennon looked up and saw how Nancy kept her stare on Eddie. "I was just clearing my head..."

Lennon followed Nancy's line of sight and saw Eddie staring at her instead of countering the more threatening girl looming above her.

He wasn't interested in defending himself in front of Nancy, he was more interested in Lennon's reaction.

What would the new base cheerleader say to her popular friends when confronted about hanging out with the freak of the town?

He watched her intently, seeing how she ran the tip of her finger over the edge of her journal nervously.

"It's a bit cold though," Lennon kept on looking up at Nancy, then back at Eddie. It wasn't. It was actually quite comfortable. "So... I was just going," she got to her feet and shivered.

"Right... That's probably for the best..." Nancy offered her a sympathetic glance before turning back to Eddie one last time, then toward Jonathan for support.

He only stood near, holding his camera between his palms like he didn't know what else to do. After all, he didn't know Lennon. Nancy knew her, but he didn't. However, if she was friends with Nancy, maybe he should try to befriend Lennon.

"You alright?" he asked Lennon as she took a step back from the table.

She turned to Jonathan and shot him a forced smile. "Fine," she sighed, nodding her head as a way to both convince them and assure herself. "Why wouldn't I be?" she giggled forcefully and clung to her journal for dear life.

"Listen," Nancy got close and whispered. "This guy isn't someone you want to be hanging around with, Lenny. He might not be what everyone thinks he is, but... trust me," she was staring into Lennon's evergreen eyes like she was warning her of a bomb. "You don't want to be caught with him again. People will start to assume things. Believe me."

She knew Nancy was only trying to be supportive and helpful unlike those on the cheer team but she still didn't like it. She was caring and intelligent, not at all trying to serve some selfish fantasy that was conjured up by her peers but Lennon didn't want to believe it. Nancy seemed genuinely concerned for Lennon's well-being and even admitted to not falling for the falsity's strung out about Eddie.

Nancy knew he wasn't a murderer. She knew he did drugs and that's why she wanted to warn Lennon. He wasn't a good person to be around and he was an even worse person to be seen with because of it. It didn't matter if she was innocent. People would affiliate her with his wrongdoings and Nancy just wanted to protect her.

"I'm fine," she promised, nodding her head and giving one of her only real friends a gentle nod before taking another step back.

Lennon then turned back towards Eddie and found him sitting in isolation. He had his elbow on the table and his head in his hand as his eyes followed Lennon. He reminded her of a lion hiding between the tall grasses of Africa, staring intently and ready to pounce on an innocent gazelle whenever it least expected.

He was mellow in how he watched her with a darkening look on his face. It was quite the contrast to how he acted a few minutes ago.

"Bye, Eddie," she lifted her hand and gave him a small, shy wave.

"Later, Lennon."

***

She ran faster than everyone on the track team that day. She even lapped them during warmups. She raced over hurdles a lot quicker than some of the girls and she recovered from the sprinting surprisingly fast.

By the end, she didn't have time to shower in the locker room because she had to be considerate of Brontë's time. She hurried to put on a zip-up hoodie so her sweaty clothes and damp skin didn't taint her black denim jacket before jogging outside.

Her bag swung behind her but she managed to meet Brontë in his black, 1971 Chevy Camaro which he got from his mother when he graduated high school.

He was wearing a white button-up with the top two buttons unclasped with black slacks. He always managed to look casual and comfortable in his work uniform. Lennon never understood it.

"Can I just chill with you tonight? I'm too tired to walk home after that practice..." she sighed, leaning into the car door so she could look at Brontë without having to turn her head too much.

"If you decide to stick around, as far as my coworkers are concerned, you're eighteen," he grumbled as he drove out of the parking lot. "I don't know how long you think this is gonna last because my boss is just looking for a reason to fire me and I will not lose my job because of one of your reckless and dumb decisions..."

"Yeah, yeah, I know," she rolled her eyes. "I promise my self-sabotaging coping mechanisms won't get in the way of your promotion. I'll just be doing homework."

Brontë looked over at her and felt sympathetic. He had lost a brother and a stepmom, but he didn't know them the same way she did.

He mourned that little boy who used to come running up to him to engulf him in a rib-achingly tight hug despite the seven-year age gap and nine-hundred-mile difference. The last time he remembered seeing him was at his high school graduation and Rion was only ten.

It didn't matter that they only shared half their DNA, or that they were raised by different women. Rion still treated him like a brother and Brontë couldn't have been more thankful. So losing him had changed his outlook on life.

But he couldn't even begin to imagine what Lennon was feeling.

It didn't matter that Brontë treated them both like they were full siblings, he knew it was different for her. To lose him was different. He would never understand but he empathized.

"Don't hurt yourself," his tone went melancholic and Lennon couldn't understand why. He was never the most sentimental when it came to her and he didn't come off as the 'motherly' kind of guy.

After all, he was the Steve Harrington of 1982. He was the cool guy who drove the cool car, had the perfect grades, the perfect girls, the perfect, shiny, brown hair, dazzling blue eyes, and perfect tawny-brown skin.

He was the same dude who smoked weed instead of pill-popping after a pretty severe injury to, quote-unquote, "take down diplomatic conformity and free the oppressed."

He always wore vintage clothes, looked sharp but comfortably so, and Lennon couldn't remember a time when this man ever had acne. People loved him. Brontë was carefree, adventurous, snarky, sarcastic, smart... What was there not to like? The only thing Brontë didn't come off as was sentimental.

He only ever showed those kinds of emotions towards his mother. So for Lennon to be faced with such a caring tone, she grew curious.

"Sometimes having time to be alone with your head is more harmful than the actual exhaustion, brother," she admitted, watching as he let her words sink in for a minute or two.

They had driven up onto the main road and once Brontë crossed over the intersection, he was parking the car in the back of the local bar in Hawkins.

"You can always talk to me... If you need someone... I'm sorry I'm not the best but you're all I've got and I'm all you've got," he sighed, unbuckling his seatbelt and turning to his little sister sorrowfully.

"Yeah," Lennon scoffed. "So you can accuse me like the cops did? Or laugh at me when I explain myself? No thanks."

Brontë always joked but he didn't think dwelling on it was going to help. He thought that maybe if he made it all seem less scary and a little more funny, then maybe she would be feel better. But he saw that his approach wasn't helping.

"You can talk to me or I can work a few extra shifts and you can talk to a professional if you want-"

"Fuck off," she chuckled.

Brontë was taken back by her abrupt refusal but he was eased into the light-heartedness of it all once she continued to assure him.

"I've seen enough psychologists..." she shook her head with an amused smile. "I've said the same things a thousand times to a thousand people in a thousand different ways," she sighed. "There's no erasing it... I have to live with it... I don't need to fill your head with the images," she gathered her bag from her feet and acted like she was about to exit the car but didn't immediately. "Just let me stay busy. Okay?"

Brontë sighed, seeing how upset she was and how she tried to hide her obvious pain with humor. He hated it but he knew he was powerless. He couldn't turn back time and prevent it all from happening. He couldn't even comfort his damn sister...

"Yeah..." he drew out with a frown. "Whatever I can do to help... I'll support you."

***

On Tuesday, Lennon tutored Max and got to know the girl a little better. But what she couldn't help but linger on was the fact she was Billy Hargrove's sister. As it turns out, her mom married his dad in September. That's why she and Billy did start school on time. They were with their parents on their honeymoon in Mexico for an entire month. In October is when they permanently resided in Hawkins. Moving to Indiana was supposed to be a fresh start for them too.

Lennon wished she had come to Hawkins for a reason like that. Instead, she was jumping at every sudden sound and hiding her fear and pain in being active and social. She was having nightmares every other night and exhausted herself without recouping.

However, like Lennon, Max's story wasn't as simple as it seemed. Mr. Hargrove and Max's mom got engaged when Max was only nine. The pair have been on again and off again for five years. All the way up until the wedding. Max and Billy moved in together with their parents after realizing that sharing a home might bring them closer but Max's mom got cold feet in the summer when they were supposed to get married and took some time to think.

They got married somewhere in between and Lennon and Max were able to grow closer.

Her envy came to a halt when Max expressed her relationship with Billy in a very vague and careful manner, which Lennon knew was a way of hiding the severity of her situation.

Max didn't have the best relationship with her family and the move wasn't the easiest thing. They shared that. They understood how hard it was to move and start going to a new school where everyone seemed overly comfortable in their preexisting friend groups. You had to fight to be included and even then you would feel like the underdog, the unwanted, the imposter...

Lennon had become friends with Max from there on out. She appreciated the girl's humor and they had an understanding of being the foreigner at Hawkins High. And, as a plus, she studied the girl's mannerisms and behaviors to try and be a little more like the brother all the seniors knew and loved.

By lunch, she expected to eat with Nancy, Barb, and Jonathan, and maybe even invite Max and Jane to sit with them but as soon as she got her tray of food, a pair of hands were placed on her bent elbows and she was being steered towards the jocks table again.

She flinched and turned to see Steve with his eyes staring at his destination without even meeting her eye first. He was just leading her towards his table like she needed help finding her way.

"Why were you hanging with that freak, Munson?" Steve asked directly, obviously wasting no time before he sat Lennon down between him and Jason.

Lennon wasn't sure what Steve was implying but the nickname he decided to use gave her a hint.

"Who?" she pondered, trying not to let her eyes wander towards the table she knew Eddie sat at with the other metal-headed dorks.

"Eddie Munson," Steve harshly named, sliding in beside her and lowering his head to meet her distracted eyes. "That cultist freak who hangs with Dustin..." Steve turned jealous and Lennon couldn't help but smile at his disappointment.

Eddie Munson.

That's who he was.

"Oh," Lennon smirked. "You mean your little protege, Henderson?"

She knew why he was there that weekend after seeing Dustin and Steve talking in the halls like they were best friends. They were in a secret, Romeo and Juliet kind of friendship. But just because Steve was made fun of for hanging out with a kid four years younger than him, he didn't mind it.

After all, that was what happened with him and Brontë and that man never let it get to him.

"Well maybe if you'd act like his friend, which you suck at, then maybe he'd sit with you instead since it means so much to you..." she whined sarcastically, only ever willing to mess with Steve and Brontë like that.

"I- That's not- No," Steve retorted. "I wanna know why Nancy found you sitting with him all alone the other day?" he pressed.

"Steve," she rolled her eyes and popped a fry into her mouth. "He was being nice. And when you don't know anyone, and when you need a friend, you don't take someone's kindness and toss it into the streets," she giggled.

"Munson is not a friend. He's anything but nice," Jason butted in. "Whatever you think is kindness coming from him, I can tell you it doesn't come without a price," he glowered.

"What do you mean?"

"He wouldn't be talking to you if he didn't want something from you," Jason quickly added, seeing that Chrissy was coming to sit down beside him which was bound to shut him up.

Chrissy was soft-spoken and innocent. She didn't like talking badly about people. So she often corrected Jason whenever he bullied people like Eddie.

"You do know he drains people's blood into the lake in your backyard, right? That he cuts people open..." Steve squinted judgmentally.

"Prove it," she groaned, turning her head and meeting Steve's irritated stare.

"What?" he shot back incredulously.

"Prove it," Lennon happily repeated herself more nonchalantly. "Because I find it quite hard to believe that some guy can just 'drain people of blood' without someone pressing charges," she pointed out, silencing Steve as he tried to come up with a good reason to counter her.

"Maybe not if there were consent forms," Steve blurted out, pinching his lips together with contempt as Lennon refused to even consider his warning. "People will even pay to be used in sacrificial cult meetings. The police can't charge consenting adults, especially under the freedom of religion."

"Oh, that's a load of bullshit," she leered. "It doesn't work like that, Steve. Did you fail your civics final all those years ago?" she ridiculed him.

"He's a drug dealer, Lenny!" he used his hands to show his sincerity. "He's a low life. Nobody knows where the dude lives but he's always by that trailer park across the lake from you. The one where people are constantly finding all those dirty needles during those volunteer cleanups..."

"And?" she shot back with furrowed brows. "That reefer dude that does deals with my brother lives around there. And besides, I don't see you giving your little Dusty-wusty-woo a lecture about hanging out with Eddie," she giggled, taking a swig of her water.

"That's-" Steve groaned, pressing his forehead into his hands and taking a moment to collect his thoughts. "Brontë is a grown-ass man who can take care of himself. And Dustin has people to look out for him. He's got Will and Mike and Susie. It's different. Who do you have, Lenny? Huh? Tell me. Who do you have to talk to when shit gets hard or when you need protection from sadistic cultists like him?"

Lennon stopped smiling and turned down towards her tray self-consciously. "Protection..." she mumbled under her breath, clicking her tongue with disappointment, and shook her head in disbelief. Her eyes were focused on her half-eaten hamburger because she couldn't believe Steve would say things like that to his best friend's sister.

No, she wasn't his friend. But they knew each other. He should know better.

"I'm just a victim in your eyes, aren't I?" she grimaced in disgust. "Always in need of protection and just... I'm incapable of standing up for myself, aren't I?" she choked on a sputtering laugh that came out almost cry-like.

Steve had furrowed his perfect eyebrows in concern, racing his eyes from Lennon's left eye to her right like he couldn't understand how she came to that conclusion because that wasn't his conscious insinuation.

"You're making a deal out of something that isn't important," she shook her head and swallowed harshly on the throbbing in her throat. "Eddie was being nice and you're making it into a lecture. Don't make this into something it's not because the idea of losing another one of your 'friends' to him is just too painful to your ego," she derided, getting to her feet, and throwing her food out before walking out into the bathroom.

She groaned and raced her fingers through her hair before walking further inside to look for feet underneath the stalls. Once she saw nobody occupied the room, she turned on the facet to one of the sinks and clenched her hands around the ring of porcelain.

She watched as the water flowed from the sink, feeling slightly welcomed by the fulfilling sound of its rushing water which seemed to block out any other ambient noise around her. The consumption of it calmed some of her agitated nerves, easing the anger inside her but failing to cure her of the pain that came with Steve's disbelief and lack of support.

It shouldn't have felt as disappointing as it was. It was just her brother's friend. The one who was only pretending to be her friend as a favor to Brontë. But he was acting like he actually did care, just a little, and he didn't think she was capable of protecting herself.

Maybe it hurt because she believed it too.

She could swallow the feeling of being powerless if her own mind marinated in it, but it was an entirely different realization when someone else thought it too. It made that feeling reality and there was no ignoring it then. And for someone like Steve to say it, someone who had his life together and barely even spoke to her, it had to be obvious that she couldn't take care of herself.

She started to wonder if that was what people saw when they looked at her: insecurity, weakness, powerlessness, loneliness...