[ERIN KELLYMAN, CIS WOMAN, SHE/HER] who’s that? oh it’s MAX MAYFIELD. i hear they’re EIGHTEEN and are known as THE RUNAWAY around ELMORE SKATE PARK. they’re also a SENIOR at HAWKINS HIGH SCHOOL they’re known to be ASSERTIVE, INDEPENDENT and ALOOF, STUBBORN. some people say they remind them of empty refrigerators with flickering lights, scraped knees, elbows, and knuckles, the prominence of freckles in the summer time, Joan Jett, and buried grief...
WHAT: Eddie, Jonathan, and Max watch the news together
WHERE: Byers-Munson Residence
WHO: @eddietheexiled , @thetapehead , and Max Mayfield
continued from here
"Yeah I'll take a coffee." Max nodded idly at Jonathan's appearance, focusing in on the TV. Didn't releasing a name this soon potentially impact the investigation as a whole? She snickered to herself as Eddie began ranting and raving. Despite that being totally in character for him, he was right, Hawkins PD were stupid.
She crossed to the breadbox on the counter at Jonathan's explanation of toast but no butter, "So you have bread?" Max corrected, pulling out the loaf and lobbing six pieces into the toaster all the same. Jonathan's reaction made her feel like she should be more nervous, worried about the path Mrs.Wheeler was about to face. It all seemed so ridiculous, she was having difficulty even acknowledging it as real.
As she was tending the toast, Eddie confessed to Jonathan about Nancy and Max whipped her head around as if this were a soap opera she just so happened to be dropped into, "I'm not looking at you like anything." She shrugged, pinching the toast out and stacking it on a plate, "I think Jonathan should supervise someone going through your room, next." She began to mediate like she knew anything about living with someone other than her Mom. A bite of dry toast crunched into Max's mouth, still chewing as she elaborated, "For fairness."
Even in the face of murder and what Max deemed baseless accusations flung against Karen Wheeler, some things still never changed. She rifled through the kitchen of Eddie and Jonathan's finding herself there out of necessity. She felt a little...complicated going to the Byers house like she normally did when the air conditioning in the trailer went out. Not bad complicated, just the kind of complicated that she didn't feel up to dealing with right now. The complicated that came with whatever she had going on with El.
Max's focus fell on Eddie and the TV newscast droning on across from him, "What did you expect? Cops to do their jobs?" She scoffed at the idea, there was no such possibility in her world. She shuffled out of the kitchen, hands on her hips, "Do you and Jonathan have anything, not frozen?"
𝐖𝐇𝐎: @runawayymax & tommy.
𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄: forest hills trailer park
𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓: we all love a good confrontation and reality check
he doesn’t really know what he’s doing out here.
maybe it started as a drive - just a way to kill time, clear his head, stop pacing around the house like a dog too wired to sleep. he told himself he was going to maeve’s, maybe grab a coffee, sit at the counter until the sky started turning grey. but somewhere along the way he ended up turning down streets he hadn’t driven in months, letting muscle memory take the wheel until he was pulling off the main road into forest hills, creeping past dark trailers with his headlights off and the engine humming low like a secret.
the box was already in the car. he didn’t pack it tonight, didn’t even mean to bring it - it’s just been there, riding around in the backseat like some kind of passenger he doesn’t want to claim. billy’s things, or what’s left of them. a few old t-shirts that still smell like sweat and cheap beer, a broken watch, a handful of cassette tapes that barely play anymore, a cracked bottle of that godawful cologne he used to wear like armour. stuff that never belonged to tommy in the first place, even if it ended up in his closet, his garage, the back of his car. things that should’ve gone to neil maybe, or the dump, or nowhere at all.
but he couldn’t throw it out. not really. not when it all felt like evidence - proof that billy had existed, and that tommy had stood too close to him for too long to come away clean.
he kills the engine outside her place, doesn’t bother locking the doors, and walks the last stretch with his hood up, shoulders hunched like he’s bracing for something even though there’s no one around to see him. the box is heavier than it should be - not physically, but in the way things get when they’ve been carried around too long. he steps lightly, careful on the trailer steps, and sets it down beside the door like it might wake something if he drops it too fast.
there’s a note taped to the top. just a scrap of paper with the corner torn off and a line scrawled in his rushed, slanting handwriting: if you don’t want it, that’s fine. just figured you should have the choice. TH.
he’s halfway down the steps again when the porch light snaps on, bright and sharp and immediate, and his whole body reacts before his brain catches up - flinching not like someone new to getting caught, but like someone who’s been caught enough to know when it’s about to go bad.
“shit - sorry,” tommy blurts, voice low and rough and too loud in the quiet night. he glances down at his wrist out of habit, the cracked face of his watch catching the porch light just enough to tell him it’s nearly three in the goddamn morning, like that somehow makes any of this more explainable, like being caught lurking outside a teenager’s trailer isn’t already bad enough. “didn’t mean to wake you, i thought—i thought i was being quiet.”
he doesn't step closer. doesn’t even look directly at her, just keeps his eyes fixed somewhere around her knees like that’ll make it easier to stand there and not fall apart.
“i was just - leaving that,” he says, nodding toward the box, and the way he says it makes it sound like he still doesn’t know if it was a good idea or just another in a long line of things he’ll regret in the morning. they’ve never been close - never shared anything more than awkward glances and whatever scraps of conversation billy left between them and he knows whatever comes next is going to be sharp-edged and hard, maybe deserved, maybe overdue. but he doesn’t run. not yet.
When darkness seeped across Forest Hills trailer park, if Max was even home, she could usually be found following the same routine. Mom would get home from her shift, Max would keep smoking a joint in her room either listening to local radio babble or favorite tapes depending on her energy levels. She wouldn't appear from her room until Mom was certainly passed out. Max would then gather spoiled scraps from the fridge to feed the strays, then toss and turn for a few hours until sleep so kindly took her.
She was solidly in the tossing and turning phase, squeezing her eyes tightly like it would ease images of the grotesque puncture in Billy's chest. Or maybe it would vanquish guilt manifested in Lucas' face, blinking at her with confusion. Some nights, like tonight, she recalled fuzzy memories of her father's face that she didn't care to see either. Here, alone in her bed, in the dark, Max Mayfield wasn't so tough. Her eyes closed tighter as she turned to press her pillow to ears.
That's when she heard the car pull up, the clattering at the front door. After everything she'd seen, no way was she going out via trailer burglar. Who robbed a trailer park anyway? She moved quickly, careful to stay down as she tossed her blankets and pillows aside. The fibers of the rug scraped against Max's knees as she plunged a hand into the darkness beneath her bed, gingerly feeling around until her fingers curled around the cold, rusted metal of a crowbar. She held it in front of her, examining the even more rusted barbed wire coiled around the top third.
Max had found all the materials at the dump, but was heavily influenced by Steve's nail bat-- the only line of defense between herself and Billy once upon a time. Her re-creation was assembled that winter, travelling with her from home, to trailer, for instances like this, where Max needed to keep herself safe.
Mom must have dragged herself to bed at some point, because she was no longer passed out on the couch when Max exited her room with the crowbar gripped tightly in hand. She padded cautiously to the door, removing one hand to unlock the door and throw it open, immediately screaming, "GET OFF MY PROPERTY!!!" Her face fell, but the crowbar remained raised, "Tommy?" For a horrifying moment, it's like Billy's still alive and Tommy's bringing him home drunk. The life drains from Max's face, her throat closes, and sweaty palms adjust their grasp on the crowbar.
Before Max could collect herself enough to ask Tommy Hagan why he was on her porch, he pointed out the box. Her eyes travelled in that direction, immediately identifying her step-brother's cologne, shirts, God know what else. Where her eyes were wide, her chest was tight, her entire body felt like it was floating, but she just stood there.
Whatever Tommy said after that, if he said anything, fell on deaf ears. The trailer had it's problems, but at least it was untouched by Billy and Neil. There were no cracks where bodies collided into wall's, there were no features Max felt stupid for liking (like the color of the countertops) because Billy had said something contradictory. It was Max and Mom, no matter how messed up it was.
Tears began to burn their way down Max's cheek without her permission, or her knowledge. As soon as she felt the wetness on her cheek, she was flooded with embarrassment, rage. Why would Tommy bring that stuff here? She charged past Tommy and at the box, bringing the crowbar down into the center of it, like it would erase Billy, every cruel act, from her life. The cologne shattered instantly as Max repeatedly battered the carboard, trying to beat away the pain. Anything she could come into contact with was destroyed with a fit of flailing arms and aggressive grunting. It wasn't enough. The box fell off the porch and Max chased it, kicking it until it was well off the property and she could safely return.
Max stomped back up to the trailer, crowbar now at her side as she hissed at Tommy, "Why the fuck would you bring that here? You think I want that stuff?!"
El didn’t let go of Max’s hand when she finally took it. She looked down at it for a moment, like the shape of their fingers laced together might somehow explain what she was supposed to say. Maybe it was stupid to have done it in public, but was El ever known for thinking? She couldn't recall ever seeing girls hold hands like that. It was always a boy and a girl, and as Max laid it out for her, she began to realize that.
But, just because she realized it didn't mean she understood it.
When El finally spoke, it came out meek - quiet. Almost like if she spoke too loud, somebody would hear them. "You don’t have to be sorry," and she meant it. Max was rarely wrong, in El's experience. The world was full of people who didn’t understand. People who looked at difference like it was something dangerous. El had spent most of her whole life being called strange. Being told to hide. And maybe that was the comfortability in Max - she never made El feel like she had to.
"I wasn’t upset," she added after a beat. "Just... confused, I guess," and that wasn't even just from the looks of people on main or because Max had pulled away. It was because it was still hard sometimes to tell the difference between what she felt or what she was expected to feel. What people called love, or friendship, or something in between. There were so many rules and regulations to something that she didn't think had to have much thought.
She thought about Mike. About how they used to hold hands all the time and kiss because that's what boyfriends and girlfriends did. About how she thought she loved him. And she did love Mike, but as time unfolded, she realized that it was less than romantic. So, maybe her way of looking at relationships were a little skewed. And, El didn't know if she wanted Max to be her girlfriend. If she was, would that make her like Mike? El didn't want Max to be like Mike.
She looked at Max again then, her red hair catching in the streetlight like copper wire. El offered her a small smile. "We’re not a couple," she said with a tentative nod. "I know that."
Honesty was something that made El feel like she was standing on the edge of a cliff, but she still added, "but I like being close to you. You make me feel... normal." El didn’t know if that was friendship or something else, but she didn’t need it to be more than what it was. Max had always seen her clearly, even before El could see it herself.
"I just don't get it. Don't friends hold hands? It doesn't have to be strange," El tried to explain, squeezing Max's hand. Not to make Max stay, or change anything, just to let her know she was still there despite it. "Why would people think it's so strange? Even if we were..." she let her words trail off, knowing Max could fill in that blank.
El was different. Anyone who was close to her knew that. It had nothing to do with where she came from, the darkness she'd endured, or the fact that she once possessed power beyond belief. Max liked that El was honest, supportive, her outlook was one of a kind. It helped that she had pretty eyes too.
Max wished the world worked the way El saw it. Happy to hold hands now, she nodded, breathing a little easier to learn her best friend hadn't been hurt, or had her time ruined by anything Max had done. That was new. Typically, she tended to feel at fault for things...everything. "Okay," She continued nodding, faster now, "Good. I just wanted to make sure we were all good, you know."
Even more so, Max was relieved to hear the boundary of a serious relationship had been clearly and El was fine with that. There was less pressure and tension with El, than there was with a certain ex boyfriend of hers. Gratefully, she squeezed the other's hand.
There was no effort to conceal the smile spreading across her face as El described her feelings. It seeped somewhere deep within Max. Without a doubt, she understood El, even in so few words. Max swung their arms a little, agreeing, "Yeah, I feel normal with you, too. Like, not stressed." She let out a breath, knowing that sentiment weighed a lot more coming from El than it did from her. But still, she hoped it meant something to the other girl.
"It a Hawkins thing." Max insisted, digits entwined steady with Eleven's even as she turned to walk backwards. "People here just see things and assume the worst. Whoever started the stereotype about midwesterners being nice were liars. Sure, they'll help you in the grocery store, but they'll talk about you around there $400 grill when you aren't there to defend yourself---" Max paused mid-ranting and raving, reminding herself to return the point, "I don't agree with it, but that's just how they are." Max couldn't help but point out, "It would be totally different if we were in California. Or like, some parts."
He glanced down at the bar of soap for a second, brows raised. "Whatever that means", no further questions asked, Steve scanned the barcode but showed no interest in ringing her up. Store was practically empty, and he'd be damned if he was going to let an opportunity to talk with Max go to waste. It was hard to remember the last time he'd had an actual proper talk with her, the last time she hadn't successfully escaped his attempts to reach out or evaded chitchat going deeper than 'how's it going'.
Truth be told, Steve was out of his depth here. Truth be told, Steve didn't even know why he cared so much. Guilt, maybe? Or something that ran deeper, that had Steve curse himself out because while he'd been unwillingly thrust into the role of babysitter, he had taken to it liek a fish to water. Somehow, Max had become his responsibility just much as Dustin was, and Lucas, and the rest of the kids.
On top of that, she'd witnessed her step-brother die one of the most horrifically violent deaths Steve could think of. And while he still had Russian doctors haunt him in his nightmares, he couldn't begin to imagine how the immediate aftermath must have been for her. And what it was like now.
Steve rolled his eyes. "Ha-ha. I'll have you know someone really special made that mix for me." They had, before Steve had taped over it when their ill-fated situationship had come to an end - she's moved away for college, how predictable - and he'd been left with a tape full of Anita Baker and 10cc. A sudden glint of mischief in his eyes, Steve turned around to fiddle with the stereo. The music suddenly ceased, replaced by the umistakeable sound of fast-forwarding through a tape. "And they knew me so well they made sure to include my favourite song!" His words were drawn out, coloured with a smug grin. His fingers released the button, pressed another one and a new song began to echo through the store.
He pretended not to hear her snarky comments, singing along to Raf Ravenscroft's 'Maxine' instead, swaying back and forth behind the register, theatrically clutching at his heart and wiping an imaginary tear from the corner of his eye.
All fun and games until his car was mentioned and Steve sprung back into action, fixing her with a look that meant business. "You stay away from my car, Mayfield, you hear me?" The memory of Max's joyride to Hawkins Lab still made him queasy and he squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, dispelled the feeling by waving both hands before him in a criss-cross motion. The day Max would drive his car again was the day of his funeral. Hey, she could drive the hearse for all he cared, long as he wasn't around to witness it.
"No, I just wanted to ... Well. You know." And the gesturing continued, Steve shrugged. "Just. You know." Did she? And did he, know? Why was this so uncomfortable to admit? Another shrug, he decided to go for the defense and placed his hands on his hips. "I wanted to check in on you, see how you're doing. What, is that a crime now or something? This country's going to the dogs, you know."
Max didn't care to indulge Steve by explaining more about fixing up her board than she already had, and opted to staring at the register, waiting for her total. Once she realized Steve wasn't ringing her up, she shifted her blazing stare to him.
Her glare didn't waver until Steve put on that stupid song. Max hung her head, wild curls draping over her expression of disbelief. "Turn this shit off." She crossed her arms, peering over the counter to see how far of a jump it would be to just turn the tape off, "Which girl gave you this?" She asked, unimpressed at Steve's attempts to be subtle. More importantly, Max prodded, "Did she dump you? Or did you dump her?"
Much to her relief, his reaction to her invasive questions and comments about his car were enough retribution for the terrible song, which passed quickly as she watched Steve attempt to be stern.
She groaned louder than whatever song was playing now at the inevitable how are you. Max despised that question. Even more than that, she was determined to evade it on the principle of it being useless. In most ways, Steve actually was better than the general population, but when it came to the guilt stitched into his actions, his words, he was no better than everyone else. Max was tired of being the girl with a dead brother. By now, she'd concluded that label would probably follow her forever. How discouraging.
"The dogs have always run the country, Steve." Max rolled her eyes and snatched up her soap, making her feelings about what he'd asked loud and clear, "You really don't need to check in on me. But I'm good."
CUE THE FAMILY FEUD MUSIC, HERE COMES MADMAX TO FEUD WITH THE LOCAL POLICE DEPARTMENT ... !!!
MANDATORY PROCEDURAL QUESTIONS
STATE YOUR FULL LEGAL NAME FOR THE RECORD.
“Max Mayfield.” She settled into the hair chair back, lips pursed, arms crossed. Callahan scooted his chair with an agonizing screech against the floor so he could be closer to the table between them. He cast her a look, grasping for more. Max shook her head without missing a beat, treating the officers as if they'd never stepped foot in a classroom their whole lives. They probably hadn't. “Do you need help spelling it? It’s Mayfield. That’s ie, not ei.”
Callahan and Powell exchanged a look before Powell tried again, "Full legal name, please. We're trying to get you out of here as quickly as possible, but we can't do that if you don't answer the question."
Max answered, but not without an eye roll, "Maxine Susan Mayfield."
WHAT IS YOUR CURRENT ADDRESS?
"Forest Hills Trailer Park, third shitty double wide to the left."
WHAT IS YOUR DATE OF BIRTH?
"November 30th, 1971. When are yours?" She pointed to Callahan, "100 AD?" Then Powell, "2000 BCE?"
WHAT IS YOUR PLACE OF EMPLOYMENT AND JOB TITLE?
"Uh, I'm a student at the only high school in town. I also work at the Hawk Theater." "Job title?" "I don't have one. I just work there."
WHAT IS YOUR RELATIONSHIP TO THE WHEELER FAMILY?
"Are these serious questions? I don't know. I kind of know Mike." Much to her misfortune.
WERE YOU FORMALLY INVITED TO THE BBQ?
"Sure. Mrs.Wheeler is always going out of her way to like, include me in stuff." "Really?" "...Yeah? She's a nice, suburban mom?"
WHAT TIME DID YOU ARRIVE AT THE BBQ?
"Sometime after it started?" "Can you give us an approximation?" "No. I wasn't looking at the time. It was before dark." "Is it common for you to not keep track of time?" "Is it common for you to ask dumb questions?"
HOW DID YOU GET TO THE BBQ?
"In a car." "Who's car?" "A friend's." "Which friend?" "I don't recall."
CAN ANYONE VERIFY YOUR LOCATION THROUGHOUT THE BBQ?
"Yeah, my friends." "Again, what friends are you referring to?" Max blinked at them, shrugging, "Not sure. There were a lot of us." Under no circumstances would her friend's names be leaving her mouth. Who knew how the cops would twist what she was saying?
HOW LONG WERE YOU AT THE WHEELER BBQ, APPROXIMATELY?
"Until it ended." Callahan stood up, leaving Powell slumped and sighing.
HOW DID YOU LEAVE THE BBQ? WITH WHOM?
"On my skateboard." "Alone?" "No." "Who did you leave with?" "A couple people."
ARE YOU CURRENTLY UNDER THE INFLUENCE OF ANY SUBSTANCES THAT MAY AFFECT YOUR MEMORY OR BEHAVIOUR DURING THE COURSE OF THIS WITNESS INTERROGATION?
"I don't think you can ask me that."
INVESTIGATION QUESTIONS
THERE ARE REPORTS OF “ACAB” GRAFFITI AT ELMORE SKATE PARK. DO YOU KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT THAT?
Max had to bite down on her tongue so she didn't immediately erupt with laughter. She'd scribbled it around the park at least twice. Adamantly, she shook her head no, curls flying around her, "I think those are someone's initials."
WHOSE KEYS DID WE FIND IN YOUR BACK POCKET?
"Mine? Those are the keys to my trailer and my place of work. I'm still pretty sure you weren't allowed to take those off me, so really, you should feel lucky I didn't bring my lawyer with me."
Max did not have a lawyer.
DID YOU FEEL UNCOMFORTABLE OR UNSAFE AT ANY POINT DURING THE BBQ?
"Sure. I felt pretty uncomfortable when your department ignored a perfectly reputable threat. Fifty percent of women are murdered by their lovers or ex lovers!"
who: steve + @runawayymax
where: melvald's general store
what: it's the back-to-school sale and steve is wearing a silly apron
Steve's long-standing theory of Melvald's being a front for a money laundering scheme, or international opium trade, seemed especially plausible during the annual back-to-school sale. Left virtually alone, no manager in sight (had Steve accidentally been promoted?) and no helping hands save for his own. Sometimes one of his co-workers would show up out of the blue, assist him for a couple of hours during the rush, and then disappear into the back to perform unknown tasks. How was this store staying afloat? And hadn't Steve been hired as a stock boy originally? He'd have to consult his contract once he got home.
By late afternoon the crowd storming Melvald's had luckily dispersed, and Steve was more than happy to ring up the last customer in line. Another couple of hours and he was out of here. Another couple hours of minding the store which would soon be deserted again, a symptom of the death of small-town America, slipping out the back for a cigarette, maybe. Getting a headstart on some ... stocking up.
Really, Mr. or Mrs. Melvald could count themselves lucky that Starcourt had burned to the ground, underground Russian base and all. Investors looking to build their shopping palaces tended to shy away from towns rumoured to be cursed.
He'd attended to some business behind the counter, namely switching from in-store radio to a couple of tapes he'd brought in with him (one of the perks of being left alone for a job you never actually signed up to do, not to this extent at least), his back turned to the store as he heard the bells jingle. "One second, be right with you." Just one jingle, he figured he'd have a moment before being bombarded with questions about the speifics of the sale, or the make and model of whatever pencils they had in store. Another moment - the store's speakers switched from Milli Vanilli's 'Girl You Know It's True' to Luther Vandross.
Pleased with his work, Steve spun around on his heel with a smile. "Wh- Max?" He blinked, perplexed, and had answered the question in his head before it left his lips: "What're you doing here?" Beginner's mistake, never give her the power to flatten you with a witty quip. Let's try this again - albeit glad to see her, he cleared his throat, forced his smile into a frown. "You know, it's actually considered pretty rude not to call someone back when they've left you, like, twenty messages on your machine."
Max revealed what she was there for when she slammed a box of bar soap on the counter, "My wheels are squeaking." Soap could clean and lubricate, which one of the two should solve the problem. She didn't anticipate Steve knowing or caring enough about skateboards to need to know that. She left him with no further explanation.
Her eyes drifted away from Steve's face and to the ceiling where the store speakers emitted his music. She made a face. Wait, and Steve was leaving messages on her machine? "Did you know it's pretty rude to play bad music in front of me?" She looked back down at him. "Seriously, Steve, what is this shit?" Max tended not to care for the stylings of Milli Vanilli and other pop groups. And Luther? Well, some Vandross reminded her of her Mom.
"I didn't get your messages." It wasn't a lie, Mom was either on the phone all of the time talking to some new skeeze from The Hideaway or deleting messages when she was too drunk to remember she even did it. Rather than explain that, she snarked at Steve, "I was out. Busy doing drugs and having unprotected sex. You know, the usual."
More seriously, she did ask "Did you...need something?" Max couldn't imagine what a phone call between herself and Steve would look like other than more annoying fretting. She had a lot of respect for Steve though, and the least she could do was try a belated follow up. Four years ago, Steve was the first semi-adult in her life who dared to stand up to Billy. She hadn't forgotten. Steve Harrington was a certified bozo, but he'd shown time and time again he was a good person.
Her knuckles tapped against the hard top of the checkout counter as she pretended to think about it, "Let me guess..." Max baited Steve, "You're going to let me borrow your car for the first day of school?"
𝐖𝐇𝐎: max mayfield & @m0uthbreather
𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄: whatever street you take from mainstreet to mike's house
𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓: el is the founding force of the hawkins pride parade
Eleven was her best friend. Figures her first girl best friend would be some formerly powered, strange girl from a lab. The world might've been new to El in more ways than most people could understand, but she always got what Max was feeling. Or trying to say. She was pretty sure they called that emotional intelligence, and El certainly made up where she was lacking. She was a one of kind person, the best humanity had to offer amongst all it's bleakness.
They had moved through monsters and loss together, spent weekend after weekend in each other's bedrooms, if there was something Max wanted to share, El would be the first to know. Sure the nature of their relationship had changed, but none of those things had. Just because Max was helping El, like, explore and learn more about herself, didn't make them not friends.
Max did worry sometimes if she was letting lines between curiosity and pleasure blur. She liked kissing El in those secret late night moments, or cuddling during a movie, or whatever. She'd talked with El over and over about self-discovery and exploration, so surely it'd registered with her. Or at least Max hoped it had.
So today, when Eleven grabbed her hand, lacing their fingers together and all, in the middle of the block party, Max kind of panicked. While she'd never kissed a girl before El, it wasn't all that hard for her to quietly accept that she liked engaging physically with guys and girls like that. Emotional engagement was another story. Max held it for a while, like it was just some friend thing they did, and made a mental note to bring it up later.
It was later.
"Hey? El?" Max broke the silence of the darkening street, extending her hand between them. She waited for the other to take it. "I'm sorry about earlier, when...you know." Last thing she ever wanted was to make El feel bad. Max had long worked through issues with her identity, coming to accept who she was with a badge of honor. But she wasn't ignorant, or naive, she knew the world they lived in. "It's just like, there are some assholes out in the world who don't like girls and girls together. Or guys and guys. Especially in Hawkins." Max lamented, "I wish it wasn't like that, but it is. So I guess I just got worried that it wasn't safe."
Max's grip on El's hand tightened. Vulnerability and honesty didn't come easily to her, not in the slightest, but Eleven deserved that from her, so she would do her best to give it. Despite her discomfort, she clarified, "We're not like....a couple or anything, right?"
he wasn't sure if that was meant to be kind or not, but knowing max it probably was. he knew her well enough to know that her soft side could easily be mistaken for her gruff one, and it all depended on the context of the conversation. the fact that they were having a conversation at all without trying to bite each other's heads off was, in itself, rather incredible.
as she continued, he felt his outward demeanor change. he didn't find himself all that interesting, considering himself so average that his personality bordered on dull, but he could always talk his friends up. he was consistently their biggest hype man, forever seeing the best in all of them (present company excluded), and he hoped they knew that.
"oh, i'm so psyched," he answered, a genuine smile plastered onto his face as he thought of how their last schoolyear would go. "will has pretty much seen hawkins high already, but i plan to show him the best spots to hang out. spare me your disbelief, we definitely have different ideas on what the best spots are," he said before she could even scoff at him. "and as for el, i'm hoping i can get her in on hellfire too but i think that's a long shot. i'm still excited to show her all around the school. i hope she can find some friends besides the party that can protect her. other than you, of course."
he knew they were close and that max would keep her safe, but they wouldn't be able to stick by each other all day, every day. there would be times when el was alone, and he hated to think of her getting picked on or pushed around. something max had said caught his ear, though, and he looked back over at her.
"why would it be weird for me?" he asked, eyebrows furrowed as though he really didn't know what she was talking about. which he didn't, to be fair. "i think it's gonna be awesome."
Mike? Excited? About both of them? Noted. Wheeler had preempted her protest which made Max frown. She seriously doubted whatever spots he had picked out constituted as cool. Curious now, she asked, "What spots?" And as she continued, she watched Mike's expression carefully, "I just gave Will a similar offer, don't want to accidentally take him to the same places, you know."
'Other than you.' Mike's words flung at her like a ball to the face. It wasn't all that unfair granted her extended absence, but it was another reminder that Mike still considered her as different, other, separate from them. His opinion rarely held so much weight, but it made Max wonder if he was right at all, if she didn't belong with the party.
She retaliated loudly, "I think if El wanted to join Hellfire she would tell you. Let her make her own choices about things before you say anything, Mike. Like, have you ever even tried asking her if she likes Dungeons and Dragons?" Max's ranting didn't end there, and she continued, "I was planning on showing her around, actually. So you can just focus on Will." She wasn't having a discussion about it!
"Seriously? Why would it be weird for you?" Leave it to Mike to be so obtuse she had to literally spell it out. "You're always weird about Will." Smiley around him, nicer to him than anyone else, and extremely protective. Yeah. Max had noticed. She didn't want Mike to feel too backed into a corner though, not about something like that. She amended her sentence, "And El." He was protective of her too. It seemed everyone, other than Max, had that luxury. It was only when he got righteous about El it pissed her off. "What? It's a fair question."
Despite her natural slip into sisterly scolding, it was hard to keep a small smile off her lips around Max, who always seemed to find the humor in even the bleakest of moments. Nancy stepped in the line of sight between her and the vendor, if for no other reason than to avoid the trouble of having to apologize for being a passive witness to petty theft.
With a shrug, Nancy nodded her head for Max to follow as she continued her walk toward the end of the block. "Honestly? Not much. The most noteworthy comment I received was that the pool was so crowded, they stopped letting people in, which explains why it's impossible to find a parking spot at this hour." It certainly wasn't newsworthy, not even as exciting as there being a new janitor like Max had fictionalized.
But, it was better than what they were both used to. They should've been glad there was nothing more threatening than finding parking on Main Street nowadays. Still, it served as the reminder why Nancy had wanted to get out in the first place, and had her wondering why she'd ever come back. "Speaking of togetherness, you're not here alone, are you?"
The thought of an overcrowded pool by itself made Max's expression curl up. She loved the sun, and swimming, but no amount of chlorine could disinfect people's sweat and sunscreen leeching into the water. Not to mention the dead bugs floating in the water. Yuck. She preferred going out to Lover's Lake, or even better, a real beach. Which Hawkins, of course, didn't have. Plus there were also a handful of memories backdropped by the Hawkins Community Pool Max didn't care to revisit. The masses could have closing day at the pool all to themselves.
"Nothing like getting overcharged at the snack shack and dunking your head in piss water, am I right?" Whoever was in charge of planning city events should maybe start spacing them out.
She didn't know if she believed Nancy that was all she had to report on, but she didn't care enough to pry further. Hawkins had gone back to being a normal, quaint town. And maybe that was for the best. Something Max could be thankful for or whatever.
Max always thought Nancy was cool. First with her guns, then with getting out of Hawkins for college, seeing the world. But some of these questions? Not cool. She would have to poke at Jonathan to see if Nancy had a history of being tone deaf like her brother. "I'm here alone." For now she was, but she had a point to make! "Is that a problem?" She narrowed her eyes at Nancy Wheeler, "Something worth reporting about?"
"They're... both, I guess?" Lucas attempted to answer her question. He furrowed his brow, informing her, "They're basketball shoes but, like, cool ones." Lucas suddenly felt embarrassed about his shoes, like he'd just admitted to Max that he cared what he looked like-- which he did, but he didn't want to seem like a try-hard. That was the thing about popularity. As far as Lucas could tell, nobody was naturally cool-- but it was decidedly uncool to seem like you were trying. It was all so... confusing. Thank God his real friends didn't seem to care about any of it.
Lucas laughed at Max's impression, tilting his head back and wondering for a moment if things were settling between them-- if they were inching towards that first August. "That wasn't half bad," he promised. Lucas grinned at her and preemptively ducked out of the way so she couldn't smack him as he laid it on thick, "I'm serious, all you need is the uniform!" He shrugged at her question, meeting her gaze and earnestly asking, "What? The cheerleaders?"
He understood they weren't exactly Max's speed, but Lucas didn't see a problem with them. He honestly didn't pay them much mind at all-- it was best to leave that to the rest of the team. Lucas was more concerned with getting his free-throw percentage up.
"You're going to Mike's after, right?" he asked, tone bordering precariously between hopeful and nonchalant. He'd learned in the last three years of relative radio silence from Max that there was a fine line between what she considered stalking and inviting. The trick was to not apply too much pressure, but still make it clear she was welcome. Lucas was never very good at achieving that balance-- he didn't like how close it was to lying. If he wanted Max there, which he almost always did, he'd say that.
A frown tugged at his smile, but Lucas was nothing if not dedicated to finding some kind of silver lining-- even if it wasn't one he was fully convinced of, himself. "All we can do is enjoy it now, right?" he flashed Max a brave smile, promising her, "This year will be different. Good different." He'd do everything in his power to make sure of it.
To say Max was skeptical was an understatement. It read clearly on her face, "I don't know if i trust your definition of cool." Again she asked him, "What shoe is it? C'mon, I won't laugh." Max might. She was partial to vans for herself, but she'd had the same pair since freshman year, because as Lucas was demonstrating cool shoes were expensive. But vans, no matter how beat up, were better than some generic, canvas, shoe. "As long as they're not like, Nike Cortez's, everyone has those." Lucas had conformed enough, hadn't he? Last thing Max wanted was to see him in a shoe every other boy owned. "I heard the Court Forces are cool. Good for fashion and basketball." She teased.
From her spot on her board, she did try to shove Lucas, but he ducked out of reach. Their playful bickering was short lived with Lucas' 'What? The Cheerleaders?' God, he was the densest boy alive. "Being popular. A Hawkins Tiger Golden Boy." It seemed insufferable from the outside perspective, and rather than asking 'Do you like it?' Max had settled on 'How can you stand it?!'
Max wasn't sure she was going to like whatever answer Lucas had to offer. He'd changed and so had she. Missing the metamorphosis was her own doing, could she really be mad at his answer? She probably still would be.
She pushed off the ground twice, zooming in front of Lucas, but still looking back at him every once and a while to make conversation, "Mike's?" Her first thought was Is El going? But she wasn't going to straight up ask that. "I mean, probably. Will is holding some school supplies for me, so i have to get those at some point." She couldn't show a whole lot of enthusiasm for hanging at Mike's but at least they'd all be together. She'd spent so many years saying sure to Lucas' invites while knowing she wouldn't show up, the least she could give him in this instance was honesty.
"You're so cheesy." Max shook her head in disapproval, though a smile silently crept up her cheeks, "I think this year is going to be exactly the same."
Chrissy took the hit without flinching. She wasn't sure what reaction she was supposed to give. Did Max want to see Chrissy's eye twitch? See if she'd back off?So, she just met Max's sarcasm with a soft, patient look that could’ve come straight from the therapy books she’d been devouring all summer.
Unfortunately for the two of them, it would take a lot more than to run Chrissy off.
“Okay,” she said after a moment, nodding once. “That was fair.” Not defensive. Not snarky. She adjusted the journal under her arm again, fingers smoothing the frayed ribbon like it was a nervous tic. “For what it’s worth, no, I didn’t think you were off committing crimes. I just…” Her voice trailed for a second, eyes flicking to the row of booths ahead, then back to Max. “I never even liked it when my parents would drag me there. It wasn't an insult."
When Max dismissed the school year, Chrissy almost smiled. Not because she found it funny, but because that casual shrug said more than Max probably realized. That same instinct to downplay the hard stuff, to act like it was fine because saying it wasn’t felt like weakness. Chrissy knew that game. And then, blessedly, Max gave her an opening with the kickflip comment.
Chrissy’s face broke into something warmer. Something close to an actual laugh. “Only if it’s sloppy,” she quipped back at her. "Otherwise, I’ll pretend I didn’t see it. Might even earn you a clap or two.”
Maybe it was too much, too forceful, but if Chrissy had found a semblance of an in, she was going to use it. So, she couldn't help when the next words tumbled out of her mouth. "I think you should come see me sometime." It's not like Max had much an option, Chrissy assumed. Her record had proved to be more extensive than a good chunk of the kids in Hawkins, but maybe if it seemed like Max's idea, there would be more of a breakthrough. "Seriously. I mean, you can literally get away with ditching class," which shouldn't be the standard, but honestly? Chrissy couldn't remember much that Hawkins High had taught her academically. "Just - you didn't hear that from me."
Max was seeing Chrissy Cunningham in an entirely new light. Sure, she'd heard stories about her when she was in middle school, popular and kind, like some fairytale princess. Outside of that, her only context for Chrissy were gross comments from Billy. But this? This was something else. Max didn't know if she should consider the calculating calm from her guidance counselor as impressive, or threatening. Maybe both.
Chrissy's eyes wandered like she was keeping guard of something, off in the distance. It made Max wonder what and what had happened in Chrissy's past that led her to land on guidance counselor for the rest of her life.
Max didn't know how to respond about the Barbeque. On principal, she thought things like that were stupid. But in the quietest parts of herself, she liked the togetherness of being with her friends, even if it was at Mike's house. She couldn't just say that though. Still, being in the Wheeler Household was stability in her eyes. Even without Ted, Karen had it all together. Max wished her Mom was like that. Without realizing, her gaze began to drift off to the booths, just like Chrissy's had.
"Well I know people who are going, so that will be nice." Max began to spin a wheel on her board. One of the last school counselors was always prodding about Max's friendships, encouraging her to like, open up or whatever. Naturally, she stuck her heels in the sand more. Telling Chrissy now that she was meeting up with people got all of that out of the way, establishing the fact she did have friends, sooner rather than later.
She softened slightly as they talked about skateboarding. Max was actively aware whatever tactic Chrissy used was working. She kind of hated that. Her nose scrunched in disapproval, and a shake of the head, "No, definitely don't clap."
A singular moment of peace was abruptly ended by the spiel Max knew too well. She made no effort to mask her disdain and groaned, "Can this step into my office bull wait until the school year actually starts?" It made Max feel like such a freak, to be that kid, perpetually hounded by the nicely dressed woman with a checklist. Classmates noticed that stuff and immediately made assumptions. It was the worst. Max wasn't eager to go back to that seeing as Chrissy didn't seem she would be all that different. She exhaled deeply, trying to shove a final nail in the coffin, "If I needed something, I would ask. Thanks."
Jonathan blinked at the pin in her hand, then at Max’s face. All sharp edges and bright defiance. If Max was expecting him to call her out again, he didn’t. He just scratched the side of his nose. “Yeah, okay.” He tried not to smile. Failed a little. Jonathan has, in fact, done worse. No one was counting the number of laws he’d broken while trying to save his brother from, well, literal death.
When Max clocked the state of him, Jonathan glanced down at himself too, like he hadn’t realized what he looked like until she said it. “Wedding gig,” Jonathan said simply, gesturing vaguely in the direction of the church. “Hired me for some portraits, reception stuff…” He scratched his jaw, the corner of his mouth twitched faintly. “I got paid cash, though”
He shrugged. Something quiet and fond in the gesture. Casual, but not careless. “You hungry?” There was a diner close by. Probably better than lukewarm funnel cake and whatever mystery meat was still hanging around some of these heat lamps at this time of day. “I hear there’s good burgers at one of the new joints.” He added, then looked at her sidelong. A bit of restrained teasing now. “If you promise not to steal the napkin holder.”
Jonathan's lack of further resistance allowed relief to flood her body. Her plan for the button was a-go, and guilt free! Max would take that win. Once again, the conversation proved that, like always, she was right! Most people she called friends didn't have clean records, not with all they'd seen. So her the button pin? Small potatoes. She rubbed it in, just a little, "That's what I thought." Max smiled to herself, faint, satisfied.
Her eyes followed Jonathan's raised hand to the church where he'd photographed for a wedding that was probably full of stuffy, boring people, who likely weren't even in love with each other. Once she'd gotten her fill of the church she looked back up at the other, "Rough. Was it good pay at least?" It would be so awesome if Jonathan whipped out a thick wad of cash in that moment. Wasn't likely, but she could only hope he had the much. For the sake of him being a good person.
Max was hungry. And while it felt like ripping off a cuticle to accept what she called a pity meal, it was better than staring at an empty fridge with a growling stomach. She'd learned by now to take offers when she could get them. Plus, it was just Jonathan. "Yeah, I could eat." Her eyes wandered up the street, "I think my Mom's working a shift right now, she could probably get us a discount." As much as she didn't want to pop in and chat with her Mom, Max wouldn't contribute nothing either and a family discount was better than the $1.50 she had in her pocket. And even if she did offer it, she also learned by now that Jonathan wouldn't take it. She set her board down and hopped on, gesturing after the older boy, "C'mon!"
if their entire interaction had ended right there, mike wouldn't have been too broken up about it. he had acquired the keychain he wanted, she had proven once again that she was definitely cooler than he was, and finally they could go their separate ways and continue pretending like the other didn't exist. he was fairly certain that he was the only one pretending in that scenario, however, and he realized that the second that she went on to walk and talk.
she must have known that she could get a rise out of him easily, her teasing tone seeping into his bones like the heat of the late summer sun. was it her fault for being purposely annoying, or was it his own fault for allowing her to get under his skin like it was nothing? probably a healthy mix of the two, if he had to guess. all he had to do was turn around and walk the other way; let her talk to herself until she noticed he wasn't even with her.
he wasn't that big of an asshole, though. usually.
"is that your way of saying you think i could make it onto the cheerleading squad?" he asked, falling into step beside her as he gave her a grin that was far too cocky to be taken seriously. "i think i have the height to play basketball, but that's about all i have. i'm as graceful as a baby giraffe so i don't think they'd want me to even try out," he admitted. among other reasons, he was sure. the nerdy kid didn't typically do a heel turn and become a star jock overnight. he would leave stunts like that to lucas.
his grin faded and silence followed. sometimes, rarely, he wondered what his gripe with max really was. being the new kid all those years ago wasn't a crime, but he'd acted like it was. perhaps it was how quickly his friends had taken to her, even will. she had quite literally zoomed her way into their hearts, but apparently his had an impenetrable wall surrounding it for reasons he didn't want to think too hard about.
"and for the record, yeah, kinda. i do have school spirit in the sense that this is my last year and i can't wait to get it over with," he said, answering seriously for a moment. "any keychain would have worked, but i guess i felt drawn to the lion this time. let's not look into it too closely."
"Jeez, Mike, ever hear of a joke?" Max scoffed. Mike Wheeler was far from cheerleader material and she even agreed that he was as uncoordinated as a giraffe. On principal alone though, Max couldn't simply take the easy route with him. It was the age old clicking in her bones telling her she had to argue with Mike, coming to her as naturally as floating on her back in a swimming pool, "You know if you and your school spirit really wanted to, you could get Lucas to pull some strings and get you on the team. Like, as a benchwarmer at least." She'd shell out $100 to see Michael Wheeler as a basketball player.
Seriously? Even Mike was excited in some twisted sense. She was just waiting for someone to come along and agree that the last week or so had been chalk full of impending dread. Merely stepping into school made Max's stomach twist and turn. Then the thought of what followed when the year came to it's end sent her into a spiral, deep and dark like a well. Lose lose.
She adjusted her skateboard beneath her arm and gripped it tighter as they walked, "Good for you." She forced a pleasantry, then balanced it out with another jab, "What classes are you taking? AP D&D? Whining 311?" It was uncalled for, but Mike's reluctant gratitude about the keychain shrouded her with a lingering sense of spite.
Plus, it was difficult to make nice with Mike when Max had spent the last however many years hearing the good, the bad, and the ugly from Eleven. El, who Max cherished. El, who's bed Max spent night after night in. What kind of...friend would she be if she didn't hold a little bit of resentment for his best friend's ex?
Mike didn't make it easier on himself by having Fort Knox built up around him and his friendship. Then again, Max wasn't all that different. Still, it made her feel thirteen again.
Max cleared her throat, boldly continuing, "So are you excited about Will and El starting school with us?" If there was anything she was looking forward to, it was that. But more importantly, Max was dying to get something out of Mike in regards to their respective best friends. She had a hunch he wasn't going to be honest, so she tried to preempt it by intentionally riling him up, "Or is it gonna be weird for you?"
Either way, Max was going to get a reaction! Or she was trying to.
"Yeah, definitely," Will nodded, tucking the coins into the money bag he'd ben left in charge of. He already knew he was going to slip her some of the nice gel pens too, and if she asked, he'd say his mom insisted. "Uh.. any color preference?" Will asked, glancing at the notebooks. It didn't seem like the kind of thing Max would particularly care about, but sometimes her and Mike's opinionated streaks reared in the places Will least expected. Better to be safe than sorry!
"I guess that's fair," Will compromised, gleam in his eye at this distinctly Max version of tenderness. He doubted the offer extended to the rest of the party except El. Maybe Lucas, if they weren't fighting. "You know my mom's working there now? At school?" Will asked. "I hope your spot's really good."
That was the other thing about Max-- as quick as she was to poke fun at everybody else, he'd never once felt like she was making fun of him, not even now. Will threw his hands out in a shrug, "I know. I don't know what I'm supposed to tell this poor kid-- join a club? What clubs? I don't know any clubs other than Hellfire." He huffed, half-laughing, and shook his head in agreement with Max, "You're lucky."
Will turned his attention back to the table, sorting pens this time as he considered Max's question. They had a sort of unspoken mutual agreement not to pry-- Will had seen how the Hawkins moms descend on Max like a wild horde, desperate to help that poor girl-- and Max had likely seen the same with him. "I guess just seeing everyone every day. And like... getting all the jokes. Not having to be told stuff after the fact, you know?"
"Green." Max answered instantly, then after some thought, added, "Or black. Whatever you have really." She didn't want to make too much of a stink about it, as long as she didn't end up with some flashy Mead Critter Sitter folder, she'd be fine. "Thanks again." For hooking her up with the supplies, and for storing them. If she were to carry them around the block party, they'd inevitably get smacked out of her hands like they did to nerds in some corny teen romcom.
She had to make a concerted effort not to allow her jaw to drop at the revelation. Joyce got a job at Hawkins High? Sure, it made sense or whatever. However Max anticipated it being a problem for her. Other staff, she could write off, but Joyce catching her ditching? That seemed almost impossible to wriggle out of. She stayed nonchalant, propping a hand on the table and asking, "Oh really? What's she doing?" She cast Will another look, one that privately asked And how do we feel about that?
"Give yourself more credit than that, Will." Surely, he knew there was more than the stupid Hellfire Club. Maybe not? "Orrr, take a look at one of your brother's yearbooks. You'll be fine. You're friendly and get good grades, that's probably why they picked you." She assured sincerely. Max rarely felt lucky, more the opposite if anything. But in this instance, yeah, she was. She shrugged in agreement.
Max had hoped maybe Will's excitement would rub off on her, but no luck. She wasn't going to dunk on him for it though, "Yeah. It'll be nice to have you and El at lunch and stuff. I don't know if I can take another six months of Dustin groaning about student council by myself." Still, she was unconvinced. It seemed everyone was excited about senior year, except her. "Hey, speaking of, are you gonna join any clubs? Other than Hellfire."
there was nothing, absolutely nothing, that mike hated more than price gouging in the name of an event. well, alright, that wasn't entirely true. he could think of about a hundred other things that were probably worse, but in the context of the situation, this was the worst. as if the heat of the day and the looming reality that school was starting all too soon wasn't bad enough, there he was attempting to spend the last of his hard-earned allowance on nonsense at the block party.
it really was nonsense, too. he wanted an interesting little keychain to hang on the zipper of his backpack this year. nothing crazy, but something to emit that he was cool and of-age for the first time in his life. he'd spotted the wood-carved lion at the vendor's booth and had made a beeline for it. it was exactly what he had been looking for, and it was even in the image of their beloved mascot. what could be more fitting?
twenty dollars, apparently. that was insane. he knew it was carved by hand rather than being something mass-produced, but that was a ridiculous request in his eyes. plus, he only had fifteen. he didn't think that dropping the price down by five dollars was too much, but they were making a real big stink about how it was one of a kind (despite the fact that it clearly wasn't) and how not many other people in town would have one.
yeah, no shit, 'cause no one else in their right mind would pay twenty bucks for it either, he thought.
that was when max came up and instantly made him feel like an idiot for even bothering. she was good at doing that. he watched as she took charge of the situation, the vendor heading off to look for someone that definitely hadn't stolen from them...only for her to steal from them. he held in the eyeroll he felt coming on as she returned with the keychain, additionally holding back the smile he wanted to portray at getting his trinket. that did not scream cool.
"i would've talked him down eventually," he muttered, pocketing the lion and looking up at her with obvious annoyance in his eyes. something like gratefulness managed to mix itself into the look as well, though he'd tried (and failed) to fight it. "but thanks. that was not entirely terrible of you."
Max would've assumed Mrs.Wheeler gave Mike some spending money, but the way he was attempting to barter said otherwise. But divorce was bitch, she knew firsthand and twice over, she wasn't going to pry about his inability to purchase. And even if most days Mike Wheeler quite literally boiled her brain down into goo with his...everything, this particular situation was one she could lend a hand with.
Plus, maybe, just for a day, it would motivate Mike to treat her like an actual person. A friend.
She debated withholding the tiger keychain for leverage, but ultimately coughed it up. "Sure you would have, Mike. You totally had him on the ropes." Max jeered. "Oh wow, not entirely terrible, I'm flattered." She made no effort to mask her rolling eyes and continued walking in the opposite direction of the booth.
They were supposed to be friends, but even before that haunting Summer, hell, during it, the two of them struggled to categorize each other as such. Max didn't joke around with him like Lucas and Dustin. And she didn't confide in him like Eleven or Will. Now, she was trying to pick back up a relationship with Mike she'd never had in the first place. One he seemed completely uninterested in maintaining. Mike Wheeler was the most difficult person in the world.
But still, she tried.
"So you have like, school spirit now?" Max referenced the tiger she'd stolen, but that was about as far as her small talk skills extended. She was much more comfortable poking and jabbing. And Mike? He made it so easy to do. With mock excitement, she gasped, asking, "No way. You joined the cheerleading squad? No, let me try again, the basketball team?"
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