30...29...28...27...26...

Birdie versus the buzzer, a tale as old as time. The board taunted a tied score as her scuffed sneaker toed the three-point line, her knees bent and the leather ball gripped firmly in her hands. She blocked out the cheering crowds roaring from one side of the bleachers and the booing coming from the other as she took a deep breath and focused on her target.

25...24...23...22..21...

Her eyes traced the arc the ball would take before it even left her fingers. Birdie pushed off the balls of her feet, her eyeline rising above the head of the defender blocking her. Her left hand guided the ball as her right hand pushed forward, her wrist snapping down to the ground.

20...19...18...17...16...

The ball flew through the air over hovering hands. It seemed to be in perfect trajectory with the net but Birdie's calculations were just a bit short. It hit the rim and bounced off the backboard before returning to the chaotic court awaiting it.

15...14...13...12...11...

But Birdie was ready. Faking left, she side-stepped the defender's right, her arms stretched outwards as she rushed towards the ball.

10...9...8...7...6...

Birdie caught the ball and pulled it tightly towards her body. The only way it would leave her was after it was pried out of her cold, dead hands. Taking two long strides, she dribbled the ball twice towards the net before launching herself off her left foot and releasing the ball.

5...4...3...2...1...

The ball hit the corner of the red square painted on the backboard before dropping through the hoop. The swish of the net echoed in Birdie's ears long after the ball had dropped to the ground, louder even than the roaring audience screaming her name.

"PHILIPPE! PHILIPPE! PHILIPPE!"

Birdie's teammates rushed her, jostling her from side to side as they jumped up and down in excitement. A hollow smile instinctively stretched across Birdie's face but mentally she was trapped in the last thirty seconds. Sure, she had scored the winning basket but she had missed the three-pointer.

"Birdie, you always make the game your bitch!" her teammate and best friend, Valeria Jones practically shouted in her ear as she leapt on Birdie in a hug.

"Hey now, the game is a beautiful lady," Birdie corrected her with a smile. "I just took her on a nice date and showed her the respect she deserves."

Valeria gave Birdie a playful shove, causing her to stumble backwards into her other teammate/best friend, Morgan Foster. "You know, I was wide open," Morgan said, her lips pressed into a tight line and her brows furrowed.

Birdie's breath hitched in her chest, her bright brown eyes widening until the corner of Morgan's mouth tugged into a thin smile. Morgan wrapped Birdie in a hug and the two broke out into a fit of laughter.

"Nice job, Philippe," Coach MacLeod congratulated Birdie as she approached the throng of players huddled under the hoop. She tucked the clipboard in her hands under her arm and clapped twice to catch everyone's attention. "Alright team, another great start to the season. Winchester is a tough competitor but we handed them their ass like it was a twenty they accidentally dropped on the sidewalk."

"Coach!" one of the players shouted, pointing to a glass jar on the bench half-full with quarters.

"We agreed that I get one swear if we win," Coach MacLeod retorted, eliciting a series of snickers from the team. "Back on track. Just because you all won the first game of the season doesn't mean you don't still need practice so I better see each and every one of you on the court after school every day this week. The Muncie game is this Friday and if we want to kick fucking ass twice in a row--"

"Coach!"

Coach MacLeod waved them away with a huff before turning and heading back towards the bench.

"You coming to Benny's?" Valeria asked Birdie after the commotion had died down. This was Birdie's least favorite part; when the crowds filtered out of the bleachers and the energy that had consumed the gym only moments before dissipated.

"I don't know..." Birdie answered. She glanced down at her trusty sneakers, which she had worn since she first started playing basketball in the sixth grade. "I've got homework and I should really work on perfecting that three-pointer..."

"Come on," Valeria nagged, shaking Birdie's shoulders. Morgan joined at her side, her imploring stare piercing through Birdie's skin. "The whole team is going and Kelly is bringing her flask to celebrate."

"I--" Birdie began when Morgan cut her off.

"'am coming'," Morgan finished for her. "There, answered for you. Was that so hard?"

Unable to think of a proper retort, Birdie smiled and shook her head as she followed her friends into the locker room. But the missed three-pointer was still in the back of her mind.

"Who wants rum?" Louisa, one of the freshmen on the team, announced to the group of girls sitting around the table. They had had to push together three tables just to accommodate everybody, much to the annoyance of another group of high schoolers watching from the corner. Flipping burgers in the kitchen, Benny rolled his eyes and muttered something under his breath about teenagers.

"Keep it down!" Kelly hissed, grabbing the ornate silver flask she had stolen from her grandpa's basement out of Louisa's hands. She glanced over her shoulder before unscrewing the cap and pouring a couple drops into her glass of Coke.

"Pass it over this way," Valeria called down the table but as quickly as Kelly had regained control of the flask, it had been ripped from her hands. When it finally made it's way to Valeria, she was quick to covet it before anybody else could steal the last few drops.

"To Birdie, for winning us the first game of the season," Valeria cheered, holding the flask out towards Birdie and Morgan before swigging it back. She passed it to Morgan who immediately followed suit. Next was Birdie.

"I'm okay, thanks," Birdie replied, putting out a hand to decline the offer. Valeria shrugged before taking the last few sips for herself.

"Jones!" Kelly scolded when the empty flask made its way back to her.

Birdie picked at the fries on her plate, her brain tuning out the chaotic din around her. Now that the rum was gone, Valeria and Morgan had begun a lively debate about whether or not Coach MacLeod and Coach MacDonald, the coach of the boys basketball team, were secretly dating, which Birdie was not keen to join. Valeria claimed that she had seen Coach MacLeod exiting Coach MacDonald's car Friday morning before school started and Morgan argued that it couldn't be true because Coach MacLeod had the sexual energy of a feral alley cat and there's no way that Coach MacDonald could survive such an encounter.

Birdie had been waiting for basketball season to start since the last season had ended, nearly aimless in the time between. As she grew older and the standard depression of impending adulthood bore down over her, basketball was one of the few things that still brought her true joy. But it also brought her insurmountable stress and self-consciousness. She was in her junior year, which meant that college scouts would be bouncing from high school to high school in search of fresh talent and Birdie needed to be sure that she stood out.

Birdie was brought back to her present reality when an outlying conversation caught her ear. It was coming from the table in the corner, where the infamous trio of Tommy Hagan, Carol Perkins, and Steve the-self-proclaimed-King Harrington were sitting.

"Wanna hear a funny joke?" Tommy asked the other two, his eyes gleaming as he glanced over to the table of basketball players. His voice was louder than needed for a conversation between three people. He wanted to be heard.

"Let's hear it," Carol smiled maliciously, her eyes also flickering towards Birdie and her teammates.

"Women's basketball," Tommy answered with an obnoxious laugh, which was soon heartily joined by an even more obnoxious Carol. A few chuckles erupted from Steve but they didn't sound genuine and Steve was careful to look anywhere but the basketball team. Tommy, on the other hand, was glaring directly at Birdie.

Birdie rolled her eyes in frustration as she turned back towards Valeria and Morgan, biting the inside of her cheek to prevent herself from saying anything. Tommy had spear-headed a campaign against Birdie ever since she out-shot Steve in the Hawkins Middle free-throw contest. Birdie couldn't deny that Steve was a talented basketball player, but the moment she watched him silently stand by as Tommy and Carol threw water balloons filled with piss at her teammates during their championship game in the eighth grade, their rivalry had been cemented. And it was only strengthened by the curse of sharing a gym class every year following after.

"I'm just saying," Valeria began as Birdie tuned back in. "Violets would really bring out Coach MacLeod's eyes."

"Yeah, but they can't do an outdoor venue," Morgan replied. "Coach MacDonald is allergic to everything outside. I once saw him at a football game and he was sneezing so hard that somebody called an ambulance because they thought he was having a seizure."

"Fine. But you know the one thing we can agree on?"

"What?"

"Open bar," Valeria answered.

"Open bar," Morgan repeated with a nod of her head.

"Holy shit, have you guys planned out a whole wedding for them?" Birdie asked in disbelief.

"Yup," Morgan replied with a straight face. "Instead of going the traditional route, they're going to combine both their last names into MacLeodDonald."

"I think the world might end if they got married," Birdie replied, trying not to picture the devastating imagery. Hysteria. Mass floods. Flying bears.

"Yeah, but think about how angry and moderately talented at basketball their kids would be," Valeria pointed out.

Birdie laughed and rolled her eyes, which landed on the clock on the wall: 7:32. "Shit," she muttered. "I should probably get home. See you guys tomorrow." After exchanging goodbyes with Valeria, Morgan, and the rest of the team, Birdie stood from the table and collected her empty plate and glass.

"Thanks, Benny," Birdie called through the kitchen window as she deposited her dishware in the bin on the bus cart.

"Congrats on the win," Benny called back with a wave. "Can't wait for the game on Friday!"

The tinkle of the bell above the door announced Birdie's departure as she headed towards her car in the parking lot. Not even a minute later, it announced another departure. Glancing over her shoulder, Birdie sighed when she spotted Tommy, Carol, and Steve following behind her. Birdie shoved her hands into her jacket pockets and kept her head pointed forward, trying her hardest to ignore whatever asinine conversation they were having.

"Hey Philippe!" Tommy called out behind her, making Birdie's skin crawl. "Heard you missed the three-pointer tonight."

Birdie's stride stuttered and her face flushed bright red. She hadn't forgotten the three-pointer, it had been on her mind all night.

"Miss Pro Athlete missed a three-pointer?" Carol asked in mock disbelief. "Can't imagine too many colleges want a player that can't even make a three-pointer."

Birdie fumbled with the keys in her pocket, inserting them into her car door. She reminded herself that she could make a three-pointer, in fact she had made several that night, but the doubt still crept in. That last three-pointer should have been the game-winning shot. Sure, she made the lay-up, but if she hadn't been able to outstep her defender or another player had gotten their hands on the ball before it returned to her off the bank shot, the game would have ended very differently.

"Steve wouldn't have missed the three-pointer," Tommy continued. They were right behind her now. "Isn't that right, Steve?"

"Come on, man," Steve mumbled. "Let's just go back to my place."

"No, admit it, Steve," Tommy pushed. "You're a much better player than Dirty Birdie."

Birdie was nearly boiling. That nickname had followed her since middle school when Tommy started the rumor that Birdie only did so well at basketball because she cheated.

"Yeah, fine, sure," Steve answered, shuffling from foot to foot and glancing up at the sky. "Can we go now?"

Birdie had the door open and was about to get in when she stopped. Tommy and Carol were shitty people, she knew that and there was nothing she could do to change it. But there was something about Steve's indifference, about his inability to stand up to his shitty friends that set her off.

"Really?" Birdie snapped, turning on her heel to face Steve head-on. "Wanna tell me why you were riding the bench at the end of the opening game on Friday, then?"

"I hurt my ankle," Steve argued, his brows furrowed and his cheeks red.

Birdie made a point of glancing down at his feet, which he had been shuffling his weight from with no problem, before meeting his eyes again. Unblinking, she said, "Yeah, sure." Before Steve could respond, Birdie dropped into the driver's seat and slammed the door shut between them. She tried her hardest not to look as she pulled out of the parking spot and headed home but she got some joy out of catching Steve shove Tommy in her rearview mirror.

Her satisfaction was short-lived, however, when she glanced at the dashboard and noticed that her gas tank was nearly empty. She'd have to make a stop at the gas station on the way home if she wanted to have enough gas to get to school the next day. Birdie groaned. She still needed to finish a history paper and she wanted as much time as she could to practice her three-pointers in the driveway.

Birdie pulled into the Gas-N-Go and parked her car at the first pump. Flipping open her wallet, she pulled out a lone twenty and sighed when she realized it was all the cash she had left. She needed a job but between school and practice, she barely had the time.

"Hey Jonathan," she greeted the cashier as she stepped inside and approached the counter. She had been a little surprised to see him because he didn't usually work Sunday's, her reason for knowing this being that they were neighbors and had been since they were both in diapers. "Ten bucks on pump one, please."

Jonathan was a year younger than Birdie and while he was more interested in photography than sports, the two had always gotten along quite well. They'd started to grow apart in the last couple years as Birdie fell farther in with the basketball team but they were still friendly whenever they saw each other.

"Hey Birdie," Jonathan greeted back, taking the cash from Birdie's hand. "How'd the game go?"

"Good," Birdie answered, forcing her face to press on a smile. "We won."

"Congrats," Jonathan returned the smile and Birdie's change after ringing it through the till. "Sorry, I was planning on going but then Eric asked if I could cover for him."

"No worries," Birdie assured him. "We've got another game on Friday. Muncie."

"Cool, as long as nobody dies or anything, I should be there," Jonathan joked.

"Sounds good, see you at school tomorrow." Birdie waved goodbye to Jonathan as she rushed back to her car, filled up, and headed home.

The first thing she noticed when she pulled up to her house was a police truck sitting in the driveway and a squad car parked on the street. For anyone else, this might have caused alarm, but Birdie wasn't worried. It was poker night.

She was met at the door by Chief Jim Hopper, who had stepped out for a smoke.

"My dad clean you out again?" Birdie teased.

Hopper put a cigarette to his mouth and lit it. "Can't clean out a broke man," he answered, letting the cigarette dangle from his lips.

Birdie chuckled as she made her way inside. Sitting around the table in the dining room was Officer Powell, Officer Callahan, and her dad, John Philippe. She didn't have to ask to know how the game was going; there was a towering pile of chips sitting before her dad and a matching look of frustration on both Powell's and Callahan's faces.

"Alright, fellas, show 'em," her dad announced once everyone had checked. The river included a Queen of Hearts, a Seven of Hearts, a Six of Hearts, a Queen of Spades, and a Four of Clubs, and the pot included most of Powell's chips and all of Callahan's.

"Three of a kind," Callahan announced proudly, setting a Queen of Diamonds and a Five of Clubs on the table.

"Nice try," Powell chuckled, setting down his cards: a King of Hearts and a Ten of Hearts. "Flush, King high."

Birdie watched her father closely, studying his face for any tells. John remained straight-faced until he placed his cards down on the table: an Ace of Hearts and a Jack of Hearts. "Flush, Ace high," he smiled as he swept the pile of chips towards him.

"Fuck," Callahan cursed as he stood up from his seat in frustration. But when he caught Birdie's eyes he blushed in embarrassment. "Sorry, didn't see you, kid."

"Speaking of, I think that's the end of the night, gentlemen," John announced as he began to usher Callahan and Powell to the door.

"I'll get you next week," Powell threatened John playfully as he put his coat on. To Birdie he said, "Congrats on the win."

"Congrats on the win," Callahan repeated as he followed Powell out the door and to the squad car.

Hopper was still smoking a cigarette on the front porch so John joined him outside. Birdie decided to remain inside, swiping aside the chips and stealing the table to work on her history paper. The dining room window was open to let in the air so Birdie was able to hear John and Hopper's conversation.

"Those things will kill you, you know," John told Hopper as he stood beside him with his hands in his pockets and watched Callahan and Powell drive off.

Hopper took a long drag before answering. "Didn't you know? I'm dead already, you killed me at the table."

John laughed, a deep belly laugh that warmed Birdie every time she heard it. "Same time next week? Next time we can play for donuts."

"Ha-ha." The laugh that came out of Hopper's mouth was fake but the crinkle in his eyes showed a different story.

Hopper and John had been friends for a long time despite starting as rivals first. And while that rivalry remained part of their professional relationship, their personal relationship had become a lot more cordial over the years. John worked as a public defender for the Roane County courthouse, which often put him up against Hopper when Hopper had to testify. Hopper and John had gotten into their fair share of arguments regarding some of the clients that John represented but they always kept these bouts within work hours. John respected the work that Hopper did to protect and defend the citizens of their town and Hopper respected John for the same reason.

When Hopper had finished his cigarette he snubbed it out in the ash tray on the railing. John didn't smoke but he kept one there for Hopper. "See ya, Philippe," Hopper said with a wave as he headed towards his truck.

"See ya, White Chief," John called back with the nickname he had given Hopper when they first met before heading inside.

"So how much did you win for my college fund?" Birdie joked as John pulled out a seat at the table and sat down.

"College fund?" John feigned confusion, rubbing his chin and glancing up towards the ceiling as if in thought. "That money is going to a new car. I'm thinking a cherry red 1969 Corvette Stingray with leather interior and chrome rims."

"Very funny."

"You're not going to need a college fund anyways," John continued with a smile. "After the scouts come see you play, you're going to get a full-ride to any college you want. They're going to be begging to have Birdie Philippe play for their team."

"I don't know about that..." Birdie mumbled, her eyeline falling to the table and remaining there.

"What are you talking about?" John noted the change in Birdie's tone and sat up in his seat. "You played like a champ today."

"You were there?" Birdie asked in surprise, her eyes finally able to lift upwards again. She didn't recall seeing him but that didn't mean much. She always got tunnel vision when she was playing, only able to focus on the game. The President could have been there and she would have never known.

"Of course I was. I wouldn't miss the first game of the season. You didn't see me? I was waving my hands and cheering like crazy. The people sitting around me had to give me a six feet radius."

Birdie smiled as the image came to mind but the smile didn't last long. "So you saw the three-pointer I missed, then?"

John sighed, a tired smile spreading across his face. He knew how hard his daughter could be on herself but no matter how many conversations they had about it, there was only one thing that seemed to help. John had tried to talk to her about seeing a therapist but Birdie had told him that the only therapist she'd talk to was tall with a square head and a net for a face. "How much of that paper do you have left?" he asked, glancing down at the pages spread out on the table.

"Another page," Birdie answered.

Birdie followed John's eyes through the window to the basketball hoop standing in the driveway. "Will it help?" he asked.

Birdie nodded her head eagerly.

"Fine," John conceded. "It's eight o'clock. Shoot around for half an hour, then finish your paper and lights out at ten. Fair?"

"Fair."

Like always, thirty minutes had passed by in the blink of an eye the second Birdie had her hands on the basketball. Birdie had mostly worked on three-pointers, although she had to give up and move to free-throws and lay-ups when she got too frustrated. The driveway wasn't the same as the court; for one, it wasn't entirely smooth, for two, there was an incline, and for three, it was much smaller than the court so she had to stand on the lawn in order to recreate the proper distance.

She contemplated getting to school early to practice in the gym but the last time she had done that the custodian had yelled at her with a rage that was usually reserved for epic fantasy heroes swearing vengeance on their enemies after she had stepped foot on the freshly-scrubbed court with her dirty shoes. Needless to say, she avoided the custodian at all costs now.

Birdie had just made her tenth lay-up in a row and was about to call it a night and head inside when something strange happened. The Byers' lived on the same side of the street as the Philippe's but their house was about 10 yards away. Through the sparse trees dividing them, Birdie could see lights flickering on and off all around the Byers' house. She had seen Jonathan at work and she knew Joyce must still be working too since her car was also missing from the driveway. Her next thought was that Will was home and screwing around with the lights but there were so many of them, it didn't seem possible that one person alone could do it and Will didn't seem like the type to anyways.

She was about to settle upon the solution that it was just some weird electrical anomaly when a noise caught her ears. It was a noise she had never heard before but one she wouldn't easily forget. It sounded animalistic, but no animal in Hawkins sounded like that. It echoed in the air from the Byers' house causing Birdie to freeze to the spot, the basketball gripped so firmly in her arms that it dug into her ribcage. She remained like that, trying to sort through her racing thought to determine a next course of action when another sound startled her.

"Birdie!" her dad called from the front porch. "You're five minutes over. You need to finish your paper."

Finally able to move again, Birdie turned to face her dad, but she did so too quickly and the ball dropped from her hands and began rolling down the driveway.

"Come on, grab the ball and head inside," John instructed her as he turned back into the house.

Birdie rushed to collect the ball, which had now made it to the middle of the street, but she paused when she reached it, her eyes once more drawn to the Byers' house and the flickering lights.

What should happen next?

Go inside

Go investigate

AUTHOR'S NOTE !
IT'S BEGUN! Thanks so much to everyone who's been participating, I hope you're enjoying what I've put together so far based on the decisions made. I'm really excited about this story and I'm eager to see where it goes! The general plan for this story is to follow the events of season one and then onwards, although there may be some deviations/changes to canon based on how voting turns out. I have some fun ideas but nothing is set in stone yet because I want you guys to lead the story!

As you've seen, there's two options to decide between for this chapter that will determine the events of the next chapter. Voting for every chapter will be formatted the same way (at the end of the chapter) although the number of options may vary. Like with everything else, please only vote once. Voting for this chapter will close a week from today, on Saturday, March 25th.

(Also please forgive me if I get any basketball terminology/rules wrong, it's been a very long time since I've played the sport and Google is only so helpful lol)

Thanks for reading and hope you all have a great weekend! ♥