— CHAPTER 3 —
THE PHOTOGRAPHS

TUESDAY 30th OCTOBER,
1984

THOMAS Delaney is not a person of conflict. He has been that way since he was a quiet young boy, trying his best to keep his head low and keep the peace. So when there was a knocking on the door at an outrageous hour in the morning, it could have been easy to simply turn them away.

     But it would have been cruel to refuse his little sister at the door — well, not little anymore, since Peggy had turned thirty-five in March. Although his half-sleeping brain had had a billion questions crackling inside it as she pleaded to stay for the night, he asked none of them then. It was a simple case of ushering her in quietly so she didn't wake his daughters. As he walked back upstairs, though, he found that might be too futile of a request as he spotted Daphne and Cath peeking through the banisters on the stairs as he talked with Peggy.

However, this morning was different. Things could be observed under the scrutiny of daylight. Thomas stood making two cups of coffee, peering out of the kitchen window onto the front porch where Peggy was sat. It was still fairly early, both of them giving up on catching up sleep, but the sun was rising steadily over Hawkins. His challenge now was to extract any information he could from Peggy — his sister had a famously ambiguous life, which had become even more hidden since she failed to visit for Christmas last year. This was the first time he'd seen her for a good year or two.

With a sigh, Thomas brings the two mugs outside onto the porch, where Peggy has just lit herself a cigarette from a pack of Marlboros. Although no stranger to the scent of cigarette smoke, its proximity still makes him want to hold in a cough since he more or less quit a few years back. He sits himself down in one of the wooden rocking chairs and passes a mug to her.

"Oh, thanks..." Peggy takes the cup, holding it under her nose and smelling it. "God, that smells good."

"You'll want to drink up after last night," Thomas says responsibly. "You know, to make up for the lost sleep. I don't know how you got here in one piece."

"I didn't. I almost got into three car crashes on my way here."

"Peggy—"

"Come on, I'm kidding! Kind of..."

Riding on the pang of worry he just felt, Thomas shifts himself in his chair so his body is facing towards her more. "So, what's all of this about? Why are you here?"

"Can't a girl drink her coffee before she gets in the hot seat?" Peggy retorts with a nervous laugh, taking a quick slurp of coffee.

"Peg..." Thomas's tone is soft, but just firm enough that his concern comes across. He knows this behaviour of hers, when she is trying to direct the conversation away from herself; when she was younger, it was to not talk about the detention she got, or something of the like. "You can't just keep avoiding the subject. I really want to help if you need it, Peg, but... I can't really let you camp out here unless I know why. I don't even know if you're in trouble, or—"

"Okay, okay..."

Peggy sets her mug down on the porch floorboards next to her seat, and sits back to take a long drag of her cigarette. She contemplatively stares out at the road while exhaling a tendril of smoke.

"You know my boyfriend? The one you don't like? I didn't tell you, but... we actually broke up about seven months ago. It turns out he was a dirty cheater, going behind my back with a lady at his work. Honestly I should've left earlier, since he was turning into a drunk, lazy slob who paid fuck-all for the rent. I told him to get out, and he wouldn't, so I left instead. Then I found this small apartment in Cincinnati, pretty cheap and not far from the salon. Managed to keep things up there a few months, and things seemed to be going okay until about two weeks ago when I got made redundant... I couldn't pay to live where I was anymore, so here I am. That's the basic story."

Basic? Thomas thinks, leaning back in his chair feeling slightly dumbfounded by this overloading of information. He had no idea all of this was going on. Part of him is hurt that she didn't come to see him sooner — although they butt heads most of the time, he is her big brother and therefore feels responsible.

"I'm so sorry, Tom, I didn't know where else to go," Peggy adds, almost sounding self-conscious. "I know Mom would've let me stay, but you know how she gets; last time I went back to live there, she treated me like I was still in school wearing pigtails, and I just don't think I can cope with that right now."

"Yeah, I know," he murmurs.

A long silence stretches out between them. Only the singing of birds and the sounds of neighbours waking up fills the air, until Peggy breaks the quiet.

"You're not saying anything. Look, if you don't want me to stay—"

"Of course you're staying. I'm just thinking."

"Oh..." Peggy takes another quick puff and a gulp of coffee. "Could you think a little bit quicker?"

Thomas drags out a sigh, ignoring her impatience. "If you don't mind sleeping on the floor, I think we could arrange something. I'm sure we've got an old camping bed in the attic somewhere. Then from there, we can figure out the other ins-and-outs about this whole situation."

"Oh, thank you!" she rejoices, jumping into his arms for a hug; Thomas makes sure to keep his head away from being singed by the butt of her cigarette. "Did I ever tell you you're my favourite brother?"

"I'm your only brother," he deadpans.

"Exactly," Peggy grins, stubbing out her cigarette. "So can I get a quick tour of the living arrangements?"

"Sure. Just try and be quiet, the girls might still be sleeping."

The siblings cautiously enter the house, the only other occupant downstairs being Ringo as he stretches out on his cat bed. Peggy crouches down to stroke him, as Thomas gestures to a patch of floor in the living room.

"I was thinking we could set you up in here," he suggests. "It's pretty warm by the fireplace, so that's a plus. Then we can just fold up your bed during the day."

"Mhm," Peggy nods, almost seeming to agree. "But where am I going to put my stuff?"

"... Your stuff?"

"I've got a trunk full of my things from the apartment," she reminds him. "I told you, I walked out on him. Then I've basically been living in my car for the past few days 'til I came here."

Once again, Thomas finds himself filled with pity for his sister, and guilt that he didn't know about any of it. But maybe the fact she decided to come here of all places is a good sign — perhaps she really does trust him that much. He still isn't sure how this arrangement will work out long-term, should it evolve into that, but for now he forces himself to think only about the short-term before he totally panics.

He leads her quietly upstairs to look for more storage space, intending to direct her to another cupboard somewhere until she stops in front of a small room.

"Hey, isn't this Martha's old study?" she asks inquisitively.

Thomas freezes. "Oh, uh, yeah..."

"You haven't changed it around? It almost looks like she never left..." Peggy says, poking her head inside. Thomas now joins her at the doorway and sees it for himself. When his wife was alive, this was where she did her marking and other things in work, as well as doing the art she loved. After she died, Thomas has felt reluctant to touch most of it ever since, apart from cleaning up the odd things.

Sometimes he can't decide whether this room is comforting or haunting.

"Hey! There's an idea," Peggy exclaims, before he shushes her and points to the girls' bedrooms down the hall. "We could just set up my bed in here. There's plenty of floor space, and we could put some of my stuff in here too — not unpack them or anything, they're just boxes. That way, I'm not a nuisance by blocking the living room, because realistically when do you guys use this room anymore?"

"I don't—"

"This will only be temporary. I promise. I'll be out of your hair before you know it."

Thomas considers this for a few moments. Peering into Martha's old study, his gaze falls across the wooden desk where she used to sit, the upright piano in the corner, the old closet where he knows boxes of her things are that he still struggles to look through. But then he looks at his sister, who has just emerged from a somewhat turbulent year and needs as much structure as possible.

This is only short-term, he tells himself. It'll be fine. He will talk to his daughters and explain everything, and it will be fine.

"... Okay. You can stay in here. But you'll still have to fold up your bed during the day. Cath sometimes comes in here to play the piano."

"I didn't know she played," she remarks.

"It's a recent thing."

Peggy smiles slowly at him then, an earnest look in her eyes. "Like mother like daughter, right?"

"Yeah," Thomas manages to smile back. He gazes at the morning sunlight trickling in through the window, falling onto the piano and bringing warmth to the keys.

━━━━━━

     CATH can't remember if they have ever had someone sleep over like this before. At least in her lifetime, Aunt Peggy may very well be the first — there is something exciting about having her here, and part of her wants to ask what brought her so randomly in the night, since Cath usually prefers to know in advance about these kinds of things. But her father had insisted to she and Daphne that they don't pry about her situation. So of course she intends to keep that promise.

It isn't until she walks into the old study with the piano that she realises Peggy is certainly staying overnight — new boxes are stacked around the room, and it appears to be an obstacle course just to reach the piano at the back. She can see exactly what she meant to get, her pencil case balanced atop the piano from last night.

"Cath, time to go to school!" her Dad calls from downstairs.

"I'll be one second!" Cath yells back, one leg already craned over a cardboard box. This feels like an obscure game of Twister. With a bit of effort, she manages to retrieve her pencil case and hop back over, but not before her leg catches a box and topples it over.

Grimacing at the clatter, she freezes in her spot to see if anyone heard. When there is a lack of response, she sighs in relief and crouches down, putting the box back upright and placing things back in there. There are various little tidbits, ones which Cath has never seen before. She is just thinking about how they must be ones that were stored away until Peggy came when she spots it:

A small journal on the floor, with a black-and-white photograph sticking out of it.

Slowly, she reaches down and opens to the page which the photograph has bookmarked. It takes her a moment to realise, but the photograph is of her mother — a little bit younger, but still recognisably her. The same twinkling gaze and bright smile as in the photograph on the mantelpiece. She flips it over on the other side and sees it to be dated as a Middle School photograph, when she was around Cath's age. Her curiosity piqued further, she flicks back a few pages to the front of the journal, and sees her maiden name written on the inside page: Martha Olsen-Scott.

"Cath! I'm ready to go!" Daphne calls upstairs.

"Coming!" Cath shouts back. With haste, she runs along the landing and into her bedroom, slipping the journal under her pillow to look at later, before running downstairs to meet her sister.

She says nothing of the journal to Daphne on the drive to school, instead keeps it to herself. Cath doesn't know why she decided to take the book. Maybe because it felt like a little secret, a connection between her and this angel woman she knows is her mother but never met. She wants time to look at her properly, every little detail.

As they pull up in the car park outside school, they bid their usual goodbyes and part ways. Andrea is by the entrance to Hawkins Middle as usual, currently kicking pebbles across the pavement. She sees her wave and smile, only beats before her face changes to dread and she yells, "Look out!"

Cath is already instinctively leaping back before Andrea finishes her sentence, and she feels a stream of air brush her skin as a car with thumping loud rock music skids past her into a parking spot. She rejoins Andrea to catch her breath on the sidewalk and watches the passengers emerge — on second glance, she realises it is the same car that almost rammed into Daphne yesterday.

"Who the heck is that?" Andrea asks curiously.

The first to get out is a young girl, who looks around Cath's age. Dressed in a jacket, jeans and sneakers with her deep red hair loose, she seems as desperate to put distance between the driver as possible. She slams the door before the engine has even stopped and takes out a skateboard from underneath her arm. Transfixed in curiosity, Cath and Andrea watch the girl glide with complete ease of balance on her skateboard until she reaches the curb, hopping off and picking it up again to walk inside Hawkins Middle.

The other one is an older guy, presumably meaning to go to the High School. He carries himself with an aggressive swagger, sporting tight jeans and a denim jacket. His mullet also confirms to Cath that it was him who they encountered yesterday morning in the car. Sauntering into Hawkins High with a cigarette dangling from his lips, he seems to magnetise the admiring gazes of all the High School girls in the courtyard.

Whoever these two are, Cath certainly has to wonder what would possibly bring them to Hawkins.

Walking into school reminds Cath of not only Daphne's impending birthday, but also Halloween — bunting of pumpkins and ghosts are being strung up across the hall in preparation for tomorrow, and people already chatter about their costumes. Andrea herself has started rambling to Cath about her own plans.

"Everything's suddenly coming together," she excitedly details. "My dad is getting us a pumpkin this afternoon when he comes back from work, and then I've just got to add the finishing touches to my outfit. It's a surprise though, so no guessing until tomorrow night. I can't believe it's almost here: my first Hawkins Halloween..."

"When you say it like that, it sounds like a big occasion," says Cath.

"That's because it is! I've trick-or-treated all across the country as we've moved around, and every new place has something different. You'll have to show me all the best hotspots for the best candy in town."

"I'm not an expert, but I think the boys know the ins and outs of it better. Are you still up for trick-or-treating with them?"

"Hey, I'm easy. Your friends are my friends."

"They said they have this route planned, and they keep insisting they'll tell us tomorrow. Honestly..."

Andrea suddenly seems restless, and her expression grows earnest. Once she realises that Cath has noticed this, she sighs and stops in the middle of the hallway.

"Hey, was Will alright last night?" she asks, concern in her eyes. "He just seemed really off."

"He's alright, thanks for asking," Cath says quickly, "Just felt a little bit queasy all of a sudden. If he's quiet today, that's why."

This answer doesn't quite seem to satisfy Andrea, and a trickle of guilt starts in Cath's mind. This is the one thing in their friendship that is bothersome — this whole contract of secrecy. It might be alright if Andrea didn't ask so many questions, but the vagueness and lack of clarity clearly preys on her friend. She wishes she could reassure her somehow, in a way that wouldn't give anything away or put her in danger, but that feels impossible to do.

"You know, you can tell me about these things," Andrea insists, for probably the third time this month. "About what happened last year. We're friends, right? Friends tell each other things. And I promise, I can keep a secret! Cross my heart and hope to die."

"Thanks... that's really nice," is all Cath can manage in response. This ambiguous response clearly isn't enough, as Andrea tries to hide the way her face sinks with slight disappointment. I want to tell you, she internally thinks in anguish. I wish I could tell you everything.

Over Andrea's shoulder, she catches Will going up to his locker and searching inside it. A perfect opportunity to avoid this conversation again. Meandering past Andrea, Cath speed-walks over to him and is just about to greet him when a piece of paper flutters from his hands and onto the floor. Out of simple politeness, Cath bends down to pick it up for him before he scrambles to get it himself; but as she goes to hand it back, she notices the contents of the paper:

It is a snippet of the news article from when Will was found, titled 'The Boy Who Lived'. Only on this vandalised bit of paper, the picture of a smiling Will has his eyes scribbled out, and next to it in envious green marker is scribbled 'ZOMBIE BOY'.

Before she can stare at it longer, Will snatches the paper from her and tosses it into his locker, slamming the door shut. "Hey, my Mom gave me the OK for this afternoon!" he says, in a cheery tone that sounds much too forced. "We can meet after school in Melvald's, if you don't mind waiting that long. I can't stay out after dark though."

Cath simply nods at his words, the image of 'ZOMBIE BOY' still tattooed in her memory. As the bell goes for first period she still stares at Will, knowing he can sense what she wants to ask him about.

"Will—"

"Please," he whispers to her, "I don't want to talk about it now."

The trio head to Mr. Clarke's class, the subject lingering like an uncomfortable stone in the shoe. Will and Andrea head in first, and Cath is about to follow in with them when she bumps shoulders with a taller boy in the doorway. When she looks up and catches his eyes, she finds herself holding her breath self-consciously.

"Oh, sorry! You can go first," he says, stepping back for her. Cath can only manage an appreciative nod before she rushes to her seat behind Will, head held low to hide her blushing.

Richard Mills. She can tease the boys in the Party all she likes about hitting puberty and having crushes, but Cath herself has found an object of affection herself. Richard was always a nice boy, she knew that. But it wasn't until they came back from the summer this year that she saw him... differently. She didn't know what it was — maybe he had grown a little. All she knew was when they got seated together in Mr. Clarke's class, she got butterflies every time he said her name and she paid more attention than ever when eavesdropping on his conversations. Not to mention he looked perfect, with his friendly blue eyes and nicely trimmed hair that couldn't decide if it was brown or blonde...

Noticing Cath freeze up next to him, Andrea winks cheekily at her before finding her seat at the front. Cath tries to ignore her teasing over Richard, so she can recover from literally having touched his shoulder—

"Alright, class!" Mr. Clarke starts the lesson jovially. With a loud thunk, he places a model of the human brain on the table. "Meet... the human brain. I know, I know, it doesn't look like much. A little gross even, right? But consider this: there are a hundred billion cells inside this miracle of evolution, all working one."

Yeah, Cath thinks to herself, and right now about ninety billion of them are still screaming about Richard Mills.

"No, I did not misspeak. One hundred billion!"

Mindy Novak's bubble gum pops, and the classroom door suddenly clicks open — two things in a row making Cath jump. Inside walks Principal Coleman, with the new girl on the skateboard in tow.

"Ah, this must be our new student!" says Mr. Clarke. As the Principal leaves, the girl tries to rush to her seat but is stopped. "Ah, not so fast, you don't get away that easy. Don't be shy... Dustin, drumroll please."

From the front of the classroom, Dustin shuts his textbook and starts patting his hands on it to create a drumroll. (Cath swears she vaguely sees Andrea squint at him and murmur, "How come I didn't get a drumroll?")

"Class, please welcome all the way from sunny California, the latest passenger to join us on our curiosity voyage... Maxine!"

"It's Max," the girl deadpans quietly.

"I'm sorry?" Mr. Clarke asks.

"Nobody calls me Maxine. It's Max."

As she meanders past tables to the last seat available, toward the back and diagonally behind Cath, the heads of Lucas, Dustin, Mike and Will follow her as if magnetically attracted. Understandably, Max seems somewhat unnerved by their attention, and reverts to staring out of the window with her arms folded across her chest.

     Cath thinks little of this until at recess, she sees the boys stood behind a fence ogling Max as she glides around on her skateboard. They seem to be debating something, so she and Andrea walk up to them to find out more.

     "Is there any particular reason you guys have been staring at Max all morning?" Cath asks, joining them behind the fence.

     "We're trying to decide whether she is MADMAX or not," Lucas replies.

     "MADMAX? From the arcade? You're still obsessing over this?"

     "There's no way she's MADMAX," says Mike defiantly.

     "Yeah, girls don't play video games," Will adds.

     "That's a pretty big stereotype," Andrea argues. "Just because Cath is useless at video games—"

     "Look, even if they did, could they get that many points on 'Dig Dug'?" Mike asks Andrea. "I mean, that's impossible."

     "Who knows? At least Max isn't obsessing over it like a saddo."

     "But her name is Max. How many Max's do you know?" Lucas insists, his gaze trained intently on the skating girl. In the silence that follows, everyone realises he has a point.

     "Plus, she skateboards, which makes her pretty awesome," Dustin grins.

     "Awesome?" Mike retorts. "You haven't even spoken a word to her!"

     "Very true. Look, if you're all so curious, why don't you just talk to her?" Andrea suggests.

     Almost immediately, the boys break into outcries of "Talk to her?!" and "Are you kidding me?", mainly from Dustin and Lucas, which seem to make Andrea feel instant regret for even bothering to ask. Before the bickering can continue, they spot Max drop a crumpled piece of paper into a trash can after writing something on it. Instantaneously, most of the boys run after the trash can, Mike and the girls lagging a little less enthusiastically behind. They try their best to look as normal as possible as Dustin fishes through the trash, waving casually at a group of girls who shoot them suspicious looks.

     As Dustin flattens out the paper, he reads aloud the message just as Cath reads it over his shoulder:

     'STOP SPYING ON ME, CREEPS!'

     Cath and Mike exchange an amused grin. She barely knows this Max girl, but she thinks she may already like her. Max appears to have a confidence that she could only dream of.

     "William Byers?" Principal Coleman's voice comes from behind suddenly. They all turn around to face him. "Your mother is here," he adds.

     The smile is stripped like a band-aid from Will's face, as he becomes more downcast in an instant. He looks to Cath for reassurance, and she strokes his arm gently. "I'll see you afterwards in Melvald's, okay?" she tells him softly. "Good luck."

     Will nods queasily. The gang follow him as he walks out to the sidewalk, where Joyce Byers is leaning against her parked car. Upon seeing her son, she perks up and waves at him, kissing him atop his head before he gets in the car. Cath knows Joyce has been much more paranoid about Will's safety since the incident last year. They all are.

     "He seems quiet today," Mike remarks, concern filling his voice.

     "He's always quiet," Lucas counters, although even he sounds somewhat worried.

     The truth is there is a part of Will Byers that seems forever changed. Perhaps part of him was left in the Upside Down, because sometimes he seems a little... faded. That is the best way Cath can describe him.

━━━━━━

     THE library at Hawkins High is quiet enough for Daphne to get her head down for her short story entry. In the last twenty four hours she has obsessed over it, to the point where she thinks she understands why so many artists in history turned out the way they did. But it isn't over yet — with this being her only quiet spot after Aunt Peggy suddenly arrived, she is ready to crack it. Surely inspiration is just what she needs.

     Her opening for her current draft sits written in a medium-sized notebook, almost filling up the first page. For the past ten minutes she has been staring at it, only envisioning ideas but not writing them. Either side of her are people doing their homework or cramming for tests.

     Daphne sets out to the bookshelves to consult some ideas for the setting. In the enclosed but not claustrophobic space, her thoughts are able to be narrowed down. She traces her fingertips along the spines of books, taking ones out and flicking through them until she finds the perfect one — and it has pictures. She can already put together poetic descriptions of the scenery in her mind, match it to her characters... this is perfect.

     Raring to go, Daphne tucks the book under her arm and meanders back through the library to the table she was sat at. However, when she gets there, there is someone else already standing next to her seat...

     And he is reading her work.

     In a panic of horrified self-consciousness, Daphne slaps her hand onto the page to cover her writing, making him jump.

     "What the hell are you doing?!" she whisper-yells.

     Steve Harrington raises his hands in the air defensively. "I was just having a little read, that's all."

     "I could see that. Do you just read everyone's private stuff or what?"

     "No, but you had it lying out, so..."

     "So you read it?"

     "Look, I'm sorry, okay?" Steve whispers in exasperation, as if he had no idea this would blow up in his face so much. "Is it even that important?"

     "... I'm trying to enter the short story competition Mr. Hauser mentioned in class," Daphne finally decides to tell him. When Steve simply stares at her blankly, she sighs. Of course he wasn't listening. "Anyway, the deadline is the end of November, but I wanted to try doing some rough drafts and see which idea I like best."

     Steve looks down at the book in her hands, then back at her. "Is that why you have a book on... Ancient Egypt?"

     Daphne self-consciously hides the book behind her back. With the progress this conversation is making so far, she decides that she shouldn't waste breath trying to explain to Steve about needing it for her protagonist; currently a retired Egyptologist who unknowingly brought home a curse from an archaeological trip... again, a speck in her mass of unfinished ideas.

     "Did you need me for something?" she asks quietly, noticing the librarian giving them a death glare.

     "Yeah, um... I was just going to ask if you'd seen Nancy," Steve asks.

     "Well, if that's you asking, then I think she's in class right now." After Daphne answers this, it suddenly occurs to her that surely Steve should know his girlfriend's own timetable? But then again, things have appeared strange with them lately. They seemed to make amends and get back together at the end of last year, and yet when she sees them together, there is a slight awkwardness underneath it all.

     But then again, who is she to judge?

     Saved by the bell, Daphne gathers her things and firmly shuts her notebook before any other nosy people can read it. Brushing past Steve, she makes her way to meet Felix and Amy for lunch. It isn't until she is halfway down the hall that she realises he is following her. Steve eventually falls into step with her.

     "Hey, I have a question to ask—"

     "I haven't seen Nancy, and I don't think she went far since you asked me about two minutes ago."

     "No, not that. Are you free after school?"

     Daphne stops abruptly in her tracks, making Steve have to take a few steps back to meet her again. Meeting Steve Harrington after school? Since when did that kind of invitation become a real thing? "... Why?" she asks sceptically.

     "I was— I was wondering if you could read this." Out of his pocket, Steve pulls a crumpled piece of paper and tries to smooth it out as much as possible. He lets Daphne take it from his hands and she can sense him waiting for her judgement, as she skin-reads over the title.

     Then she finally clocks it. "Is this your college application?"

     "Yeah, why?" he shoots back.

     "Why are you asking me to read it? I barely know you."

     "It's not like anyone else wants to read it. I mean, I tried Nancy earlier, but she seemed kind of... occupied. So you're the next best thing."

     With a small shrug, Daphne goes back to reading a few lines. Slowly she starts getting muddled, mostly over basketball anecdotes being used as metaphors to somehow link to Steve's grandfather in the Second World War — in brutal honesty, it gives her a headache, but she can't help but feel bad. Meanwhile, Steve is still waiting for her reaction, but also stares at those around him, as if he is conscious of being seen with Daphne.

     "Okay, I had a little skim-read, and..." Daphne pauses, trying to find kinder words to phrase it.

     "It's bad, isn't it?" Steve interjects.

     "Well, it just... needs some work."

     "Forget it," he says, grabbing the paper from her and scrunching it into a ball. "Thanks for reading it, anyway."

     He crosses over to the nearest trash can in the hall and tosses the ball of paper into it. Steve seems just about ready to walk away and out it behind him, when he stops and watches in confusion as Daphne jogs over to fish it out of the trash. She unfolds it and reads just to make sure, recognises the bizarre basketball metaphor and returns to him.

     "Okay, first of all if you're throwing this out, it goes in the recycling," she prefaces to him in spite, "And second of all, it isn't that... bad. Technically there is no such thing. But it definitely needs work, so maybe if—"

     "You could help me!" Steve suddenly interjects with a snap of his fingers.

     Daphne blinks at him, still processing what he just said. "I'm sorry, help you?"

     "Yeah," he smiles, as if this is a genius idea. "I mean, if you're entering a writing competition you can't be that bad, and I'll need someone good to help me out with what to say. We can find some time to do it, and then once that's done you will never have to see me again. So what do you think? Are you in?"

Pinching the bridge of her nose, Daphne ponders what on Earth she is doing with her life. But at the same time, she tells herself, what would be so bad about offering a helping hand?

"Okay, fine, I will help you," she grudgingly agrees.

"Great! Let me know when you're done with it," Steve says, shoving his application in her hands and spinning on his heel to walk away.

"Whoa, hold on a second," she retorts. "You mean when we are done with this?" Now Daphne is the one chasing after him, waving the piece of paper madly in the air as she tries to catch up to him. Eventually she stops in front of him to blockade his path, looking unimpressed.

"You're not gonna write it?" he asks, confused and disappointed.

"I'm not writing it for you, if that's what you're asking. I don't know anything about you, and more importantly that is totally against the rules and if anyone found out, we would both be done for! No, if you really want my help... we're going to sit down together and go through it. I know it's painful as hell, but that is what I've been doing with my dad, and it is worth the pain."

Gently, Daphne hands him back the piece of crumpled paper and watches as he flattens it out again. Steve almost holds it an an arm's distance, as if he himself is slightly questioning what he wrote before.

"Are you... are you still free after school?" she asks, in a low murmur; it feels weird to be asking this to Steve Harrington of all people.

"No, I'm not today."

"... Then why'd you ask me if I'm free when you weren't even— oh, never mind."

"Nancy and I are going to dinner with Barb's parents tonight," Steve adds on a solemn note, folding up the paper and meeting Daphne's eyes. "It's kind of become a weekly thing."

Daphne nods understandingly, swallowing thickly. Nancy has been rather occupied, understandably, with Barb's death for the past year and clearly this must be a part of it. But Daphne wouldn't really know. In all honesty, the two of them haven't talked as much as she hoped they would after everything they went through.

Considering tomorrow is her birthday and Halloween, Daphne makes a proposal. "Maybe we can look later this week, on Thursday or Friday," she suggests to him. "Uh, good luck tonight. At Barb's."

"Thanks..." Steve nods, then perks up as he looks over her shoulder.

     Brushing past Daphne, she sees he has spotted Nancy at her locker talking to Jonathan, and without her knowing Steve wraps his arms around her waist and lifts her in the air. Nancy squeals at the gesture and soon, they are caught in a loving embrace and locking lips.

     Jonathan, on the other hand, can only choose to awkwardly walk away as the couple dote on each other. Daphne joins him for the sake of having someone to walk with, and she looks back behind her at the couple by the lockers. They are already engaged in conversation, Steve still having his arm wrapped around her as she rummages in her locker, seemingly moving on from both of their prior moments.

     But no one could miss Nancy's lingering gaze on Jonathan as he walks away — except maybe for Steve.

━━━━━━

A/N;

surprise! bet you weren't expecting another update this quickly. i just had a really uneventful day today, so i thought "why not write another chapter?" — after the first thomas/peggy interaction, the rest of it was mostly normal stranger things scenes which are pretty easy to write. i'm just trying to update stuff in my holidays as much as possible before exam season kicks off for me, because then there will be no chance!

speaking of which, we also got our first thomas pov! there will be a number of these throughout the book, so we can see what goes on inside his mind i suppose 👀 and now we have aunt peggy as well to shake things up in the lives of the delaneys... on top of that we have met max and billy, as well as had the first proper scraps of staphne (steve & daphne) content. this ended being a pretty packed chapter, actually.

thank you for reading, and hope you have a lovely day/evening!

— Imogen

[ Published: April 11th, 2022 ]