ONE THE DEVERELL WITCHES

💀

november 4th, 1983

       THE FIRST TIME ESME DEVERELL noticed she was strange was the day Chief Jim Hopper brought her and her two sisters home after they had been missing for a month. The reactions of their parents said everything — they had changed, and everyone could see it. When Esme looked into the mirror for the first time, she almost didn't recognize herself... Her skin was too pale, white, and her eyes were too dark — in fact, her eyes were pitch black, not the hazel brown they were supposed to be...

       Esme had trouble accepting that that was her, that that was how she looked now. Not because she was vain and she no longer found herself pretty (she had never thought of herself as pretty; India was the pretty one), but because she looked ... different. Different than everyone else. And she knew, even at the age of 13, that people who looked different were considered outcasts, freaks.

       And she was right. The people of Hawkins, Indiana were quick to turn on them, labeling them the Deverell Witches. Esme hated it. But she had to live with it. After learning that her skin wasn't going to get tanner, no matter how many hours she spent in the sun, and her eyes weren't going to turn back to their original color, she had no choice but to accept it — had to endure the constant name-calling, the deprecating looks, and the rumors about satanism and witchcraft surrounding them.

       Esme pulled a dark green jumper over her head, smoothed it out over her stomach, and tucked at the sleeves until it hung comfortably from her shoulders. The sleeves reached past her hands and she clutched the fabric, finding comfort in the soft material. The jumper was too big on her, like almost all the clothes she owned — the blue jeans she wore were loose and had to be held up by a belt. She grabbed her school bag and, bracing herself for another day at Hawkins High, left her room.

       With her feet clad in thick socks, Esme walked down the stairs, rubbing the last bits of sleep from her eyes. She needed coffee, she thought, already feeling her fingers twitch at the thought of caffeine. So, reaching the kitchen, she went straight for the coffee machine, grabbed her favorite mug, the one with the stars, and filled it to the brim with the bitter beverage.

       "You really need to tone it down with the coffee."

       Esme whirled around, startled. She hadn't noticed anyone sitting at the kitchen counter as her tunnel vision was solely focused on the coffee machine. India smirked at her, amused by her reaction, as she put a spoonful of yogurt into her mouth, her other hand caressing her own cup of coffee that was adjusted — ruined, Esme would say — with lots of milk and sugar.

       Esme huffed, annoyed. "Good morning to you too," she said sarcastically.

       India chuckled, but didn't say good morning, like any normal person would.

       India was one year older than Esme and she was, you could say, everything that Esme wasn't. While Esme wished to be invisible most of the time, wished she could hide the fact that she was different, India had used her strangeness to claw her way up the food chain, stealing the spot of the most popular girl in high school, and claiming her throne as the Queen of Hawkins High. (Esme had no idea how she managed that, but she assumed that India hadn't reached her goal by playing nice.) She looked the part, too. Her straight brown hair was as shiny as it could be, her eyes were accentuated with subtle makeup, and she was dressed in a black turtle neck and a red plaid skirt, a few pieces of gold jewelry spicing it up.

       India Deverell was beautiful, ethereal, admired, and desired. Every boy wanted to be with her, and every girl wanted to be her.

       "Too much coffee isn't healthy, y'know," India said, pointing her spoon at Esme who jumped up on the counter opposite her sister, sitting cross-legged next to the fridge.

       "You drink coffee too."

       "Yeah, but not five cups a day."

       Esme tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, staring into her coffee. "It's only four...," she defended weekly, shrinking in on herself. She could feel the judgemental look of her older sister burning into her.

       All right, maybe the amount of coffee she consumed in a day wasn't necessarily healthy, especially for a 16-year-old, but she needed it, OK? She needed the caffeine to get her through the day, without it she acted more like a zombie than a human being — and she already looked like a walking corpse, she couldn't act like one too. Just imagine the insults thrown her way at school...

       "By the way," India started, dropping the subject, "Dad brought donuts before he left for work. They're in the oven."

       Esme's eyes widened, a smile stretching across her pale rosy lips. She leaned over to the oven, opened it, and as she saw the donuts, her mouth watered. Usually, Esme didn't eat breakfast, she didn't have an appetite that early in the morning, but donuts were the exception. She grabbed one with chocolate frosting and rainbow sprinkles and took a large bite, the flavor meeting her taste buds. She hummed contently, "Heaven."

       India chuckled.

       Thundering footsteps echoed through the house, disturbing the quietness. Esme and India turned toward the kitchen entrance, waiting for Anita to storm in. And, as expected, their little sister came in, the usual spring in her step, and went straight for the fridge. Esme opened it for her from her seat next to it so Anita could take out the orange juice. She poured herself a glass and then sat down next to India, her gaze wandering from India's cup of coffee to Esme's. "Can I get one too?"

       "No," Esme and India said in unison.

       Every day, Anita would ask if she could get a cup of coffee as well, and every day, Esme and India would say no. Anita wouldn't give up, though, that wasn't in her blood.

       Anita rolled her eyes at them. "Whatever."

       "You know I don't like that word, Anita." Opal Deverell, their mother, entered the kitchen, dressed in her usual business attire. Her dark hair hung in waves over her shoulders, her lips coated in pale red lipstick. She looked equal part attractive and professional, perfect for her job as the secretary in the mayor's office.

       Again, Anita rolled her eyes. "Whatever."

       Opal sighed but didn't say anything else, knowing it was no use, while India suppressed a laugh at their mom's facial expression and Esme covered up her grin by taking a sip of coffee. Nothing could get past the eyes of Opal Deverell, though, so she eyed them with disapproving looks.

       "Get down from the counter," Opal said to Esme.

       Sighing, she slid down onto the floor.

       "Thank you."

       "Hm," Esme hummed, displeased.

       Then, Esme fetched the toast and strawberry jam and handed them to Anita so she could eat breakfast and they could get to school — on time. (They already had been late once this week, Esme didn't want that to happen again.) Anita took the food out of her hands without a thank you.

       Out of the three sisters, Anita had changed the most over the past three years, after ... what had happened. They had all changed, sure, but not that drastically — maybe because Anita was the youngest and her personality hadn't been so deeply rooted yet. She was temperamental, always ready for a fight, and it didn't take much provocation for her to lash out. She wanted to prove that she was strong, not weak and scared like she had been that night. No one was allowed to see that she was just a 12-year-old girl who had experienced something no one should ever experience.

       In short, Anita was a hurricane of bottled-up emotions, mostly anger, always on the verge of snapping.

       ... And Esme wanted nothing more than to protect her from all the bad things in the world.

       "You should get going, girls," their mom said. "You don't want to be late — again."

       They could all hear the accusatory tone in her voice.

       At that, Anita shoved the last piece of toast into her mouth, a little bit of jam getting stuck on her cheek which caused Esme to reach over and wipe it away with her thumb. Anita squirmed away from her touch.

       "Don't move," Esme laughed, shaking her head. Anita groaned but did as she was told and let Esme clean her up. "There." Anita smiled at her big sister before leaving the kitchen — that was the closest to a thank you as it could get.

       Esme gulped down the rest of her coffee while India put her empty yogurt bowl into the sink. They hurried into the hall and slipped on their shoes. India put on her Mary Janes, Anita her combat boots, and Esme her sneakers. They left the house after India who twirled her car keys around her index finger, waved their mom goodbye, and got into the car. India's Madonna cassette played on the car stereo as she drove to school.

       In front of the Middle School, they let Anita out who, after waving at her sisters, immediately ran over to her friends, the four boys — Will Byers, Mike Wheeler, Dustin Henderson, and Lucas Sinclair — already waiting for her.

       Esme thought that was cute.

       Then India parked in front of the high school and they both got out of the car.

       "Am I giving you a ride home today, or Tatum?" India asked.

       "You. Tatum's gotta babysit." Some days, Esme would get a ride with her best friend Tatum Rhodes and they would go for an after-school-snack or a milkshake at Benny's Burgers, but not today — she was on babysitting duty, the kids in question being Lucas Sinclair, one of Anita's friends, and his little sister Erica. (Tatum needed the money because her father was a single parent and couldn't seem to keep a job for long.)

       India nodded, pursing her lips. "... Right," she said, disdainfully. India didn't like children. Except for Anita, obviously. And she tolerated Anita's friends. "Well, then..." India flashed her a radiant smile, then went over to her friends — almost all the students that were in the parking lot turned to look at her.

       Esme watched her for a moment, how she greeted Steve Harrington and Carol Perkins with a hug and nodded at Tommy Hagan. Those four were the most popular kids at school, and Esme had no idea why. They (India excluded) were arrogant and superficial and bullies, and couldn't even get one good grade. Sure, Steve Harrington was hot, everyone could see that, but he was an asshole, just like Tommy and Carol. She never understood why India was friends with them. (Especially because they were the very ones that called her a freak and a witch the most.)

       (Popularity by association did not apply in their case.)

       Esme sighed, turning away from them, and crossed the parking lot, entering the building. She kept her head down, trying to get past the students without being seen. She did her best to hide in her jumper, her pin-straight hair covered most of her face, and yet she still heard people whispering about her. Phrases like "Here comes the witch" filled her ears. She tried to block them out, but the gnawing feeling in the pit of her stomach made that very difficult.

       Reaching her locker, she wished she could crawl into the small space and lock herself in if she could avoid all the stares and comments that way. Sadly, she didn't fit in it, so she simply sorted out which books she would need for her classes today. She couldn't wait for the bell to ring so she could flee into a classroom and immerse herself in schoolwork.

       Esme wasn't popular like India, or a fighter like Anita. No. She was the bright, quiet one who loved science and geography and had a natural flair for mathematics, always happy to solve equations or analyze graphs to distract herself from the rest of the world. There was a reason why she was top of her class in almost every subject, sharing that spot with Nancy Wheeler, the sweet and smart girl that was the older sister of one of Anita's friends.

       "You won't believe what I just heard," an excited voice sounded from behind her, and Esme turned around, raising an eyebrow at Tatum. "Nancy Wheeler is dating Steve Harrington."

       That was not what Esme had expected. "What?"

       "Yes! I just heard a group of girls talking about it. They're jealous of Nancy because King Steve is interested in her and not them. It's pathetic, really," Tatum said, rolling her eyes. "I mean, Steve Harringon. Of all people."

       "You have to admit, he's not bad-looking. An asshole, and I hate him, but not ugly," Esme said, shrugging her shoulders.

       Tatum scoffed. "Speak for yourself."

       Esme shook her head at her, amused by her dramatic nature. "I didn't think he was Nancy's type, though," she admitted. Nancy was one of the nicest and friendliest people Esme had ever met, she was never mean to people. So, why was she interested in Steve Harrington? And why was he interested in her, she wasn't like those other girls he was always chasing after — shallow and dumb as a doornail.

       "Me neither," Tatum sighed, brushing a strand of her pink hair out of her face.

       Tatum was one of the only black kids at school which automatically made her an outcast — like Esme already mentioned, people who look different didn't fit in in a town like Hawkins. But Tatum didn't want to hide like Esme did, she embraced her status as a freak and dyed her hair pink to underline that fact. Her clothes screamed confidence, and she never held back when it came to stating her opinion or insulting people when they insulted her or her friends first.

       "You're on babysitting duty today, right?" Esme asked her.

       "Yep." Tatum sounded tired just thinking about her job. "Those little shits will be the death of me, I'm telling you. If you don't hear from me tomorrow, you know who's to blame."

       Esme chuckled. "Admit it, Tatum, you actually really care about those kids." Tatum shook her head vehemently. "Yes, you do, deep down."

       Loud laughter caught their attention and they turned to see India, Steve, Carol, and Tommy passing them. They shot ridiculing glances at Esme and Tatum, then laughed once again. "The witch and the freak," Tommy said, loud enough for them to hear. Steve snickered.

       "She thinks the pink hair makes her cool," Carol giggled, "but, if you ask me, she just looks like a clown."

       Esme shrunk in on herself, pressed the books she held in her hands close to her body, holding onto them tightly. She just wanted to ignore them, to wait until they were gone, but Tatum had other plans.

       "Well, Carol, no one asked you," Tatum said, rolling her eyes. She turned back to Esme. "I can't believe your sister is friends with ugly assholes like them!"

       "Tatum," Esme hissed. Did she lose her mind?

       "What?" Tatum shrugged her shoulders like it wasn't a big deal.

       "You want something, Rhodes?" Tommy asked, a pissed-off expression on his face as he put his arm around Carol's shoulders.

       Tatum sent him a sickeningly sweet smile. "No, I'm all good."

       Tommy smirked like he won the fight and turned to leave, dragging his girlfriend with him. "Don't mind them, they're freaks," Carol said. India and Steve followed suit. As soon as they couldn't see her anymore, Tatum pulled a mocking grimace and showed them the middle finger.

       Esme's gaze was glued to her sister, though, how she sent Carol a death glare so intense that it was a surprise she didn't burst into flames right then and there. It's something, Esme thought — at least India didn't approve of her friends insulting her little sister, even though she never actually did anything against it.

       A light shove against her shoulder brought her attention back to Tatum who was looking at her with concerned eyes. "Ignore them," Tatum said.

       Esme raised an eyebrow. "I was. You weren't." She closed her locker with a bang, startling Tatum.

       Tatum furrowed her brows, not expecting that reaction. "I defended myself." Esme didn't look at her. Tatum huffed. "You should try that someday. You can't hide in your sweaters forever."

       "Can you blame me?" Esme tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "Look at me." Her white skin wasn't something she liked to present to everyone. Although that wasn't the main reason why she always wore clothes that covered most of her skin — she didn't want to accidentally touch anyone, skin on skin. Her friends thought she just simply didn't like physical contact, but there was a different story behind it...

       "You're beautiful, Esme," Tatum said earnestly. "It's time you realize that."

       Esme looked at her best friend, insecurities and secrets swarming her mind, but still, she smiled, even though she didn't believe a word Tatum said.

       The school bell rang, and they went to their first period. They sat down next to each other in the front half of the geography classroom, observing the people that entered the room, all the students looking less than pleased to be here. Nancy and her best friend Barb Holland walked in and took their seats in front of Esme and Tatum after smiling at them. (They got along.) The teacher, a short man with glasses and about three hairs on his head, arrived and closed the classroom door behind him, wishing everyone a good morning. But Esme couldn't focus on the teacher's words. Instead, her eyes were glued to the empty seat beside her.

       "Where is he?" Tatum whispered, leaning over to Esme.

       Esme turned to look at Tatum, mirroring her confused expression. "I don't know. Vinnie never misses school..." She trailed off, a thought popping into her head, one that she didn't like. Tatum seemed to reach the same conclusion because her expression changed from confused to concerned. "Something must've happened with his dad."

       "Yeah, I haven't seen Eddie yet either," Tatum realized.

       "We should try calling them after class," Esme said, worried.

       Tatum reached over to Esme and gave her arm a light squeeze. "I'm sure they're fine."

       Esme forced herself to nod and pulled her arm out of Tatum's grasp, growing uncomfortable. (She really didn't like physical touch, even through a thick layer of clothing.) Yet she grew more and more worried with every minute she didn't know why Vinnie and Eddie Munson didn't show up at school.

💀

       THEY HAD CALLED THE MUNSON HOUSEHOLD right after first period, from one of the phones that hung next to the school entrance. And, thankfully, Eddie had answered. He told them that everything was fine, that their father was just drunk again and they had to make sure he didn't die. "The usual, y'know, no biggie," he had said, but that didn't ease Esme's concerns, or Tatum's, for that matter. Especially the fact that he wouldn't let her talk to Vinnie made her alarms go haywire; apparently, Vinnie was in the bathroom and that was why he couldn't talk, but she knew Eddie, and she was pretty good at sensing when someone was lying to her.

       Something had happened with their dad, something they wouldn't tell her, and that worried her even more.

       "You worry too much," Tatum said as she grabbed her tray of food and joined Esme's side, who was already waiting for her with her own tray.

       "No, they're keeping something from us," Esme insisted, her brows furrowed, and her thoughts spiraling to the worst-case scenarios.

       Tatum sighed, scouring the cafeteria for a free table, preferably far away from the popular kids so they could enjoy their lunch break in peace. "I'd stop by their place, but I have to babysit today," she said before pointing to a table at the other end of the room.

       Esme nodded and they started walking over there. "Yeah, and India doesn't like detours so I can't either."

       "You really need your license."

       "I know—"

       Someone bumped against her shoulder from behind, shoving her, hard. She let out a surprised shriek as she stumbled forward, almost losing her balance. The food on her tray was catapulted onto her jumper, covering her in tomato sauce. Startled, she dropped the tray to the ground.

       The many conversations filling the room ceased as everyone's attention landed on her. Then laughter erupted. Deafening laughter. All around her. It echoed in Esme's head, making her dizzy. She stared down at herself, at the red sauce on her green jumper. Her hands were shaking, and she felt her heart racing in her chest. Her breathing was ragged. The laughter made it impossible for her to think.

       The guy who pushed her, one of the basketball players, started hollering like he was proud of himself, like he just accomplished the greatest task in history by humiliating her in front of the whole school. Esme lifted her head slowly, not wanting to face all the taunting grins of the people laughing at her. First, her gaze landed on the jock, on the big, sardonic, clown-like grin on his face. Tears welled up in Esme's eyes but she fought to hold them back — she wouldn't cry now, not in front of the whole student body, no, never.

       As if her eyes were pulled to hers, she caught India's gaze. She wasn't laughing, of course not, she stared at her, and she looked ready to murder someone. Her friends were laughing, Carol and Tommy didn't even hide it in front of India. Steve Harrington was trying to be discreet with it, but Esme could still see it, the amusement in his eyes, the laugh he was covering up with his hand. India slapped the back of his head as she noticed it too, which caused him to sober up. Then he just stared.

       "Watch where you're going, Freak!" The jock taunted her, arrogantly. Esme's gaze snapped back to him, to his disgusting grin. He just kept laughing. Everyone just kept laughing.

       Then he started walking away.

       She felt someone — Tatum! — grab her arm, wanting to pull her away, but before she could, the high-pitched voice of Carol Perkins yelled, "Come on, Witch! Do something!"

       The jock turned around again, his eyes landing on her, expectantly. The laughing died down a little bit, everyone curious about what would happen next. Esme met his gaze, overwhelmed. She just wanted to run, to get out of there, but she was stuck in place, frozen. She couldn't move. She felt paralyzed, her feet were as heavy as lead.

       "Curse me, Witch!" He spread out his arms as if he wanted to give her a bigger target.

       What was she supposed to do?

       "I dare you!"

       What do I do, what do I do, what do I do—

       All of a sudden, the grin on the jock's face vanished. He looked down at the floor, stumbling back, panicked. And Esme realized he looked ... terrified. "What are you doing?!" he yelled at her, the fear obvious in his voice as he backed away from something only he could see. Then he started to scream.

       Esme flinched, watching with big, horrified eyes as the boy started to slap himself, his arms, his legs, his chest... He kept screaming, terror-stricken screams echoing through the room. Then, he ran, out of the room. His screams quieter the farther away he ran, until they finally ceased.

       Everyone in the room turned to Esme once again. But this time, they didn't laugh. They just stared, mute, too stunned to speak.

       Esme was breathing heavily, tears in her eyes that wouldn't fall. She knew she hadn't done anything. But everyone else did. She was the Deverell Witch. She cursed him.

       Once again, her gaze traveled to her sister. India, however, wasn't staring at her like she just witnessed something unexplainable. No. India looked at her with her lips pursed into a small, almost unnoticeable, smirk. And then, she winked.

       India knew exactly what had just happened, Esme realized. It wasn't Esme who cursed him.

       It was India.

       Tatum tugged at her arm. "Come on."

       Esme let Tatum drag her out of the cafeteria and down the hallway, into an empty classroom (Mr. Hauser's classroom, Esme recognized — he was their English teacher and had offered once that they could come here if they needed a break from ... well, everything), before she stopped to look at Esme with wide eyes. "What the hell was that?" Tatum asked, her voice higher than usual.

       Esme shook her head. "I— I don't know."

       That was only half the truth. Generally speaking, she knew what had just happened...

       Three years ago, the Deverell sisters had gone missing for a month, and when they came back, they were different. Everyone could see it — the snow-white skin and the pitch-black eyes. But that wasn't the only thing that had changed, the only thing that was strange about them. They couldn't remember what had happened to them in the month they were gone, or where they were. They only knew that whatever they had gone through had done something to them...

       The bond between the sisters had gotten stronger, had evolved to something ... otherworldly, something they couldn't explain... They could feel each other, they could feel when one of them was hurt, or when they needed each other. It was like they were connected, like their hearts were one organ split into three pieces.

       They were puzzle pieces, and when one of them was missing, the puzzle was incomplete.

       But there was something else, too. Something about their touch. Not only was their skin ice-cold, always, but their touch also had ... peculiar effects on people. Bad, terrifying effects. When the sisters would touch someone's skin, that person was forced to see their worst fears, their most horrifying nightmares, come to life.

       And that was exactly what had happened to the jock in the cafeteria. The thing that baffled her, however, was the fact that neither she nor India had touched him. India had simply looked at him. She didn't know that that was even possible. Esme couldn't even control her touch, which was why she didn't touch people, always avoiding physical contact. She never learned to control it, not like her sisters did; they could touch people without having to be afraid that they would torture them with their worst nightmares.

       And now, India could do that by simply looking at someone...

       "Esme?" Tatum snapped her fingers in front of Esme's face, bringing her back to reality.

       "Hm? What?"

       "I was just wondering why ... why strange shit always seems to happen around you. And your sisters, for that matter," Tatum said. It was true, Esme thought, this wasn't the first time something like this had happened. But the last time was long ago... "Are you sure you're OK?" Tatum looked at Esme, concerned.

       "Yeah," Esme said quietly, smiling at her. "Yeah. Not like that was the first time I was humiliated in front of the whole school." She tried to laugh about it, but the smile on her face vanished only a few seconds after she said those words. Once again, tears were welling up in her eyes. She looked down at her hands, picking at her sleeve.

       "Hey, you can talk to me—" Tatum reached for Esme's hands, wanted to squeeze them to give her some comfort, but before she could touch them, Esme backed away, immediately pulling her sleeves over her hands, covering her skin. Tatum frowned. "Sorry, I—"

       "Don't worry about me," Esme interrupted her, forcing a smile onto her lips. Tatum could see right through it, though. "Seriously."

       Tatum sighed, reluctantly nodding.

       Esme wanted to think about something else. Yes, maybe it wasn't the first time something like this had happened, but that didn't mean she had gotten used to it.

       "Come on, I think I have a shirt for you in my car."

       Esme took a deep breath, smothering the urge to cry, before following Tatum outside.

💀

       THIS DAY WAS A HORROR SHOW.

       Sure, Esme was prepared for the name-calling and the comments thrown her way, she always was. But what had happened today, in the cafeteria, that was ... scarring. That was something she wouldn't forget for a while, and neither would the school. It would be part of the school's gossip for God knew how long. "The witch cursed someone," they would say. Esme could practically hear Carol's voice in her head, taunting her.

       Tatum said that maybe they would be scared of her now, maybe they wouldn't dare insult her anymore, scared that Esme would do to them the same thing she had done to the basketball player. But she seriously doubted that.

       She leaned her head against the cool window pane of India's car, dressed in a tight long-sleeved shirt of Tatum's that had dragons printed onto the front. It wasn't necessarily something she felt comfortable in, but it was better than walking around in a jumper with red stains on it that looked scarily similar to blood. The voice of David Bowie filled the silence between India and Esme while they waited for Anita in front of Hawkins Middle — India had put Esme's mixtape on to cheer her up. It worked a little bit, but not very much.

       Pulling her feet onto the seat, her knees against her chest, she curled up and closed her eyes. She was tired, so tired. This day was too much, and she just wanted to get home and crawl into bed and not come out again until tomorrow.

       "I'm sorry," India suddenly said, quietly. "About what happened today."

       Esme sat up straighter and turned to look at her, surprised. She expected a lot from her sister, but not an apology. Never an apology. She was too proud for that. Some people (Tatum) would say that India was too self-absorbed to ever even consider apologizing to someone.

       "It wasn't your fault." Esme shrugged her shoulders.

       "I know it wasn't, but..." India trailed off, unsure of what she actually wanted to say.

       "But you could use your popularity to get people to stop bullying me?" Esme continued her sentence, her tone dripping with bitterness. "Is that what you wanted to say, maybe?"

       Esme knew that India would never do that. She wouldn't risk her hard-won popularity, her spot at the very top of the social hierarchy, by telling people to leave her alone because then they could turn on her and she would be the one getting bullied, and that was the very thing she had worked so hard against. Esme knew that. Yet it still hurt. And she wanted India to know that it hurt.

       India simply shook her head, not responding to Esme's words. Esme nodded, pressing her lips together. She had expected nothing else. "Yeah, that's what I thought."

       Once again, her thoughts went back to what happened in the cafeteria. How that jock was terrified of what he saw, how he was screaming... "How did you do that, anyway?"

       "Do what?" India asked, acting like she didn't know what Esme was talking about.

       "Making that guy see his worst fear without touching him," Esme elaborated impatiently.

       India shrugged, a small smirk creeping up on her face. "Practice." Esme raised an eyebrow. Practice? How did she practice that? India moved in her seat so that she was facing Esme. "You could control it too, if you really wanted to. You wouldn't have to be so careful all the time."

       Esme averted her gaze, hanging her head. "I—" She sighed. "I don't like doing that."

       "I know you don't, but you can't live like this forever, never touching a soul." India's eyes bore into the side of her face.

       Of course, she wanted to be able to control this herself, she wanted to hug Tatum, she wanted to be able to take her hand if she wanted to, without having to fear that she would throw her into her worst nightmare. But she couldn't.

       She was scared.

       "Esme—" Esme shook her head, cutting off India. She didn't want to talk about this right now. Not with India. Not like this. India was always so quick to judge, and Esme couldn't take that.

       She lifted her head, biting down on her lip. She looked over to the entrance of Hawkins Middle, spotting Anita leaving the building. "There's Anita."

       A girl ran out of the school right after Anita, accidentally running into her as she passed her. Anita stumbled forward before she whirled around to the girl, who seemed to be apologizing, and shoved her. The girl fell onto the floor.

       Shocked, Esme hurriedly got out of the car. Sure, it wasn't unusual for Anita to lose her temper but she had never seen her get violent. Or, at least, not over something so small.

       Will Byers came running out of the school and grabbed Anita's arm. He dragged her away from the girl that still sat on the floor, looking up at Anita with a stunned expression on her face. Will spotted Esme standing at the car and pulled Anita toward her. Anita wasn't happy about that, she could see that.

       "What was that?" Esme asked as soon as the two kids reached her.

       Anita rolled her eyes, pulling her arm free from Will's grasp. She shot him a pissed-off glance but Will ignored that, quietly saying "Hello" to Esme, which she reciprocated.

       "She pushed me," Anita said, crossing her arms.

       Esme raised an eyebrow. "It looked like she apologized," she pointed out.

       Anita avoided her gaze.

       "Did she apologize?"

       Anita shrugged. "Maybe." And before Esme could say anything else, Anita climbed into the backseat of the car.

       Esme huffed before turning back to Will. She was about to ask him if he needed a ride home because that was the least they could do after he made sure Anita wouldn't get into trouble, but India beat her to it, "You want a ride home, Will?" She leaned over in the car so she could look at the boy, a friendly expression on her face to make sure she didn't scare him away. (India sometimes had that effect on people.)

       Will's gaze lit up and a big smile formed on his lips. "Yes, please," he said softly. But then he seemed to remember something. "If it's not a problem..."

       "Of course not," India assured him. "Get your bike, Esme will put it in the trunk for you."

       Happily, Will rushed back to the bike rack, getting his bike. Meanwhile, Esme turned back to India, pinning her with a deadpan expression. "So, you get to play nice and I have to do the heavy lifting?"

       India grinned. "Exactly."

       Esme shook her head but didn't say anything else, she just watched Will come back, pushing his bike along beside him. She took the bike from him and put it in the trunk with only minimal struggling and then she got back into the passenger seat. She turned around to see if both kids were buckled in before India drove off.

       Anita's mood had improved again because Esme could hear her and Will whispering and giggling. Anita could never be mad at Will for long — he was her best friend and just too sweet for that. She smiled at them.

       Esme listened to David Bowie's voice while staring out the window. She tried not to let her thoughts wander back to what had happened in school so she focused on the familiar streets they were driving down that led to the Byers' house. That was when an idea popped into her head.

       "Hey, uh, I think I'm going to visit Vinnie," she said. India glanced at her for a second, confused, which Esme took as her sign to elaborate, "He wasn't at school today. I just wanna check up on him. And since we're going in that direction anyway..." This way she could ease her worries about Vinnie, and Eddie too.

       "Sure," India said.

       "Cool," Esme said.

       The Munsons didn't live far from the Byers; it only took about two minutes to get from one house to the other, by foot, so this was the perfect opportunity — India didn't take the detour because Esme asked her to do it, but because she offered it herself.

       A moment of silence followed.

       And it was India who broke it. "What happened at school, Anita?" she asked— no, more like, demanded to know. India looked at Anita through the rearview mirror, an expression on her face that reminded Esme and Anita strongly of Opal Deverell.

       Anita swallowed. "I got detention. For all of next week," she admitted, fidgeting with her fingers.

       "What did you do?" India inquired.

       "I might've, possibly, maybe ... mouthed off to a teacher," Anita rushed out the last part.

       Will snorted.

       India sighed but couldn't hide her amusement when she said, "Oh, Mom's gonna love that, y'know?"

       "Yeah, yeah." Anita rolled her eyes. "I know."

       Will grinned at her, quietly laughing. In response, Anita shoved his shoulder playfully.

       The kids' banter continued for the rest of the drive, and Esme was grateful for that. It kept her thoughts from going back to what had happened in the cafeteria, and it kept her from worrying about Vinnie. It even made her feel normal, even when she was anything but.

       Anita laughed; and, for once, Esme didn't feel so strange...

meet esme deverell!! my best girl! i hope you love her as much as i do 🫶

i hope you enjoyed! pls let me know what you thought!

(also: i think I'm gonna post a chapter every friday)