MARCH 2020 — CHARLESTON, SC

Theadora hadn't meant to end up in charleston again. she was supposed to fly to atlanta after wrapping the yellowjackets pilot—just in time to start filming stranger things season four—but the world was already closing in before she even boarded the plane. that winter passed slowly, like the silent flutter of snowfall against windowpane. everything had paused, gone quiet. news alerts, rumors, rising cases. by the time her flight landed production offices were already shutting their doors. and then came the call: stay put.

instead of going home she found herself back in the apartment complex where most of the outer banks cast had settled during season one. by some unspoken agreement, they stayed. it started out just as a precaution, but soon became a comfort; theadora slept on chases's couch for the first week, then a futon in jds spare room. eventually she claimed the sun-faded air mattress in madelyn's guest room and stopped re-packing her bag. no one called it what it was—a temporary refuge, a second set, a weird hybrid of found family and forced retreat. but it worked.

day bled into day. they baked things they never ate, watched movies in blanket forts, played card games that devolved into shouting matches and ended in someone throwing their stack across the room. there was nowhere to be, so they were here.

zoom interviews took over their mornings. press tours continued, awkward and glitchy. they were coached on how to answer questions about their "off-set bond" while sitting on opposite sides of the same apartment complex, pretending not to hear each other's voices through the walls.

they'd made a game out of it; one morning thea and madelyn used the same throw pillow as a background prop for different interviews. another time, rudy and chase swapped hoodies mid-call just to see if anyone would notice. (no one did.)

"it's wild," theadora said once when a reporter asked how it felt to keep bouncing from the face of one netflix hit to another. "but i'm so lucky to be surrounded by people who keep me grounded."

bailey snorted from the kitchen. "that's code for chase threw a lime at her face yesterday."

"twice," jd added unhelpfully.

theadora didn't laugh, not right away. but later that night, curled up on the couch with the others watching reruns of survivor, she realized her cheeks hurt from smiling.

⸻

APRIL 15, 2020 — CHARLESTON, SC
APARTMENT 3B

The night of the premiere everybody piled into chases apartment like it was the super bowl; someone brought chips, someone else mini bottles of champagne. rudy wore a ridiculous hat and sunglasses indoors for no reason other than it made thea laugh. jd hooked his laptop to the tv and hit refresh on netflix until the title screen flickered to life.

theadora saw herself before anyone else did—maxine pierce, onscreen for less than thirty seconds in the cold open air, wide-eyed and barefoot on the bow of a boat. her heart stutters. no one says anything.

then, bailey lets out a gasp. "oh my god, it's starting."

for two hours they watch in near silence, broken only by the occasional shriek or pause for commentary. jd offers a running list of all the scenes he improvised and rudy points out every continuity error. madelyn tears up during the second-to-last scene, wiping at her eyes with the sleeve of chases hoodie. thea just watches herself disappear into max's bones. she doesn't speak during the credits, isn't sure she can.

when it ends, no one says you were amazing, or you're the star, or that scene was everything. but theadoras heart swells so full of pride she thinks it might just burst.

⸻

In the days following the release, their phones exploded with dms, fan edits, emails, offers. thea's agent sent three messages in a row with nothing but exclamation points. netflix emailed her directly — something about playlist curation, twitter q&a's, an "if-you-like-max-you'll-love-this" promo spot.

she handles it the way she handles everything: quietly. no new posts, no public statements. just one story repost—a fan account who wrote, max pierce is the most human character i've ever seen on my screen. i want to wrap her in bubble wrap and keep her in my pocket. thea reposts it and logged off.

madelyn finds her on the balcony later, curled up with a hoodie over her knees, eyes dry but far away. "hey," she says, nudging her shoulder. "you good?"

thea nods. "yeah. just...remembering." she didn't say what exactly, but maddie doesn't ask.

⸻

JUNE 30, 2020 — THEADORAS 15TH BIRTHDAY

Theadora had never liked her birthday.

it wasn't that she hated getting older—she'd been aging far too fast for years now—it was the day itself, the way it always passed unnoticed. no candles, no streamers. no messily frosted cake from a grocery store bakery with her name scrawled in pink icing. just the same question every year: would her mother remember? maybe she would, maybe she wouldn't. but most years didn't matter.

this one was different. thea could tell the moment she first opened her eyes; she woke to the smell of something sweet. maybe pancakes, maybe waffles. or whatever it was that jd had found the energy to make at seven in the morning.

theadora blinks in the half-light of the charleston apartment, her corner of the guest room still draped in twilight shadows. someone had spelt out happy birthday, thee! on the wall in string lights, sloppily and crooked. she smiled before she could stop herself.

when she came out, still wrapped in a hoodie two sizes too big, chase and madelyn were whisper-arguing over the playlist and madison stood on a  chair trying to hang up a streamer that refused to stay taped. rudy sat in a corner attempting balloon animals and jd had already managed to spill syrup  on the counter. they all pause when she appears, turning with large grins.

"she lives!" bailey cheers, hopping from the chair and tossing a handful of confetti she'd clearly just found in a drawer. "happy birthday, baby james."

chase sets down a plate of still-steaming waffles. "fifteen, huh?"

"i still say she's lying about her age." jd says with mock suspicion. "she's clearly forty seven."

"i'm thirty six." theadora deadpans, accepting a paper crown from madelyn as she slips into the kitchen table. "hollywoods aged me."

everyone laughs, crowding around the table. it's not glamorous, not extravagant. but it feels real, honest in the way only found family can be. they had no red carpet, no guest list, just each other. and waffles with too much whipped cream.

sometime around noon thea's phone begins to vibrate with a incoming call from taylor facetiming from her kitchen in nashville. "look who's all grown up," she smiles when the call connects. her hair is pulled back, no makeup, sunlight washing across her face in soft gold. "happy birthday, bug."

theadoras feels something unspool in her chest. "i miss you." 

taylors eyes go soft. "miss you too." her voice turns gentle, "i sent you something. check the front door."

thea pads barefoot down the hallway, opening the door to find a single box. inside sits a vintage polaroid camera, a box of film, and a handwritten card. start documenting joy, it reads. you deserve to remember it this time.

taylor smiles softly through the screen. "you've come so far, thee, and you did it yourself. i hope
you feel that today. i'm so, so proud of you." thea blushes, warmth flooding through her.

later comes more calls—a video from the stranger things cast, edited humorously by gaten and noah and ending with finn shouting, "make a wish, dumbass!" one from dove, blowing kisses and saying she missed her. even a voice note from ella, complete with a rendition of happy birthday and a message that read next one we'll celebrate together, pinky swear.

that night, after everyone else had passed out or gone home, theadora sits on the balcony alone, legs pulled to her chest, crown askew on her head.

this had been the first birthday she'd ever celebrated. it wasn't perfect—there was cheap cake and spilled cider and a candle that refused to light—but it was hers. for once, she didn't feel like a background extra in someone else's party. she felt seen, known. she felt fifteen.