501. Daddy's Home

501 / daddy's home 😏

"Shit," she muttered, after a glance at the clock sitting by her bedside; "Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit—"

Her mouth kept running a steady stream of curses as she flung the covers off of herself, practically flying out of bed; she took virtually no time in changing out of her pajamas and into a long, striped dress with a cardigan overtop. She slipped into her sandals and grabbed her bag from the hook on the back of her door, and came barreling down the hallway into the kitchen of her father's house.

"Oh, good morning, sweetheart." Jessy, his girlfriend—fiancée, now—sat at the breakfast table, wearing her pink plaid robe and bunny slippers, her hair pinned up in tight curlers. She sipped coffee from the mug Lucy always used for her hot cocoa and folded the paper to set on the table before her. "Your father's gone to work already, but he picked up donuts for us—I nearly ate them all, you took so long to get out of bed this morning!"

"Yeah, running late this morning," Lucy said over her shoulder, not paying much mind to Jessy. "Um, I have a double shift after school, so I won't be home until late. You don't need to wait up, or anything—"

"Of course I will!" said Jessy, her chirpy voice echoing through the entire house. "You're my daughter now, Lucy-Loo!"

Facing the fridge, Lucy rolled her eyes so Jessy did not see. She grabbed random things from the fridge to stuff into her bag for lunch later, not entirely sure of what she took; then she swung around and picked up the last donut Jessy had nearly eaten in her absence.

"Thanks," said Lucy, holding the glazed donut in her mouth so she could grab her car keys from the counter. She opened the front door and left without another word to Jessy, which Lucy knew would be appreciated by either party.

She threw her bag into the passenger's seat of her car and turned the key in the ignition in what felt like record speed at leaving her house for work; she glanced down at the clock on her dashboard and read 8:02. Five minutes from bed to car, a significant downgrade from her usual thirty. Still she had twenty-eight minutes until the bell rang at Hawkins Elementary.

Not bad.

It was not her ideal gig, for the record, working in an elementary school. Well, it was, but not just as a teacher's aide, stapling worksheets and handing out bathroom passes and wiping runny noses. She wanted to be a real teacher, have a real classroom, have an impact on young lives—for real.

But she never quite made it out of Hawkins for college before the military shut them under lock and key, so she never got the chance to earn a degree "for real."

Last year, after the earthquake had struck and Lucy's life was recovering from complete ruin, she had tried to keep her promise to Leo: She would make it out of their shitty little town and go out into the real world, where she could go to school, find a job, live her life free from the worry of the supernatural—but then the supernatural had swallowed Hawkins whole, and the government sent hundreds and hundreds of armed guards to keep Hawkins in quarantine.

No one got in, and, more importantly, no one got out. Including Lucy.

She had tried everything, from crying and begging to showing the border patrols her acceptance letter from the University of Michigan. She had once even tried to threaten them into letting her out of Hawkins, but that had ended in her detainment and being returned to her dad's house in handcuffs (which, apparently, was the most scandalizing thing Jessy had ever seen in her entire life—it had taken her three months to quit talking about it).

So Lucy was stuck, just like the rest of Hawkins. She could not get to Michigan, despite their twenty-percent acceptance rate and the fact that she had somehow squeezed herself into that tiny little number. No college meant no degree, and even worse, no job prospects besides the same ones she had been dealing with since she was fourteen and would have taken four cents as an hourly wage.

Now, she needed real money, especially if she wanted to get out of that goddamn house—and, Jesus, did she want to get out of there. Living with Jessy was like living with a housewife from the 1940's, and every day Lucy felt like she was living inside a Father Knows Best episode, only if it was the mother who knew best instead.

It was hell. Every second of it. So she had returned to her job as a waitress at Main Street Diner, and for a while, spent every hour of every day bussing tables, carrying trays full of greasy food to customers, and washing more dishes than she could count. It was miserable work, but it paid well and she didn't have to spend much time at home, so she put up with it.

Until the end of summer '86, that was all she did: Spend her days up to her elbows in fat and grease. Then the start of another school year rolled around and Lucy found herself deep in conversation with a customer—Mrs. Birdie, the wisened old front desk attendant at Hawkins Elementary—who spent the entire chat dropping hints that they had an abundance of teachers who were in search of aides for the year.

The next day, Lucy walked into Hawkins Elementary and asked if there were any openings. Twenty minutes later, she was in a fourth grade classroom, learning the lay of the land from the teacher, Miss Harris, a slim, middle-aged woman with glasses frames about as large as her face.

In the classroom, Lucy did not have much of a job—she mostly watched the kids, entertained them, got onto them if there was too much nagging going on. And typically, there was; she learned very early on into the year that nine and ten year olds were mouthy. But by now, if students were acting up, Lucy could just give them her patented "Miss Lucy does not appreciate what you're doing" look, and they'd get back on track.

Still, having two jobs was hard work. Lucy wouldn't get back from the diner until eleven or twelve each night, then have to be up at seven thirty the next morning to get to school and watch twenty-something kids learn how to add fractions.

Worst of all, there was now only one radio station playing in Hawkins—due to the shutdown and all—so there was only one vice Lucy could play on her drive to Hawkins Elementary.

"Goooood morning, Hawkins!" Robin's cheery voice announced from Lucy's stereo. "This is WSQK The Squawk!"

What followed was something that sounded like a rubber chicken's honk—Steve's contribution to the radio show was the practical effects.

"It's looking like a pretty regular day in Hawkins. Fifty-five degrees, low chance of rain, medium chance of arrest, and high chance of helicopters. But—general banality aside, it's an exciting day for me, your friend, entertainer, and DJ, Robin Buckley—nice to meet ya—A.K.A. Rockin' Robin!"

No sooner had she introduced herself to her listeners than Rockin' Robin by Michael Jackson picked up in the background. Lucy twisted her lips in a fond smile.

"And why is it a big day for me, you ask? Well, it's my five hundredth broadcast! Yeah, you heard that right, folks: Five double-o! Which means it's been even longer since you've heard the sultry voice of Jimmy "Fast Hands" Lee. But while Jimmy was fleeing Hawkins even faster than he moves those hands, yours truly was watching slack-jawed as the earth split open beneath her feet and coughed up that tsunami of mysterious dandruff."

Lucy cleared her throat, glancing out her window; she never did well when facing reminders of the day Hawkins fell apart.

"And now," said Robin, "I'm stuck here with you, my fellow quarantine compatriots. And—if I'm being brutally honest—I couldn't be happier. Because when you really think about it, why would you wanna live anywhere else? I mean, what town on earth can match our impressive military-to-civilian ratio? And those free mandatory medical checkups? I mean, very cool! 'Cause after we inhaled those springtime snowflakes, who knows what's wrong with us? Maybe we're fine. Maybe not. No one knows for sure. After all, this was a 'natural phenomenon never before seen by man'."

Lucy rolled her eyes as Robin launched into her usual spiel, one that Lucy could have guessed was something the military had forced her to say each morning: No sledding on the metal sheets they slapped over the gate all throughout Hawkins, no entering the Military Access Control Zone, no leaving. It was the same every day, to the point where Lucy could nearly recite it herself by now.

"But hey," said Robin brightly, "the rest of Hawkins is still there for you to enjoy. Someday soon, they're gonna let us out of here. In the meantime, be thankful this is your home. Study for that test, enjoy that TV dinner, and go on that date! Which, by the way, is exactly what yours truly is doing tonight. That's right, Rockin' Robin has a date, ladies and gentlemen! And, uh, who is this lucky someone? Well, don't be so nosy, kids. They know who they are."

"Nice one, Robin," whispered Lucy, nodding in approval; she knew there was only one person Robin ever had her eye on, and if the tone of her voice was any indication, she had finally won Vickie over.

"Which reminds me," continued Robin, speaking happily and spritely, "I've got a song request on this early morning, my friends. This one comes from a dear friend of mine here in Hawkins—because where else would they be?—and is dedicated to a loved one, though I won't say who. Requested by my good friend Joel, here's Dancing in the Dark by Bruce Springsteen."

Lucy's face fell blank, and she only heard the first chord to the song before she shut off her stereo entirely.

The first time Steve had secretly requested a song under the moniker, Lucy had wondered who Joel was and how he was good enough friends with Robin yet Robin had never so much as mentioned him before. The first song Joel played had been that stupid "I would walk five hundred miles, and I would walk five hundred more!" song, which Lucy hated more than anything in the world; Steve always played it on his stereo whenever they would bicker just so she would forget what they were fighting about in the first place and go on a rant about how stupid the song was.

After this mysterious Joel requested a few more songs to start off The Squawk each morning, and each song was one of Lucy's least favorite songs ever—Fight For Your Right To Party, Manic Monday, Bette Davis Eyes, and, worst of all, literally any Springsteen song—she began to grow suspicious; and then, with a large pit of dread forming in her stomach, she remembered Steve's favorite Halloween costume.

Joel Goodsen from Risky Business. He and Lucy had dressed as the same character the year they were broken up in high school.

Once the realization hit her, she wondered how she ever could have thought Joel to be anyone but Steve. He was the only other person working at the Squawk with Robin, the one adding all the extra background noises like chicken squawks or audience applause—and he, better than anyone, knew Lucy's music taste.

He was using the radio station to talk to her, since they had not actually spoken to each other in God knew how long. He was playing every one of her least favorite songs because he knew she was listening to The Squawk, and he knew she would rather drive in silence than listen to goddamn Springsteen.

So she did. She didn't know why she was so upset anymore, anyway; it was the same story every goddamn day. She would get in her car, smile at Robin's morning announcements, wave at the military patrol stationed at the top of her street—and then Joel would request the first song of the day, and it would be something Lucy could not even bear to listen to, even for the sake of Steve.

He must have hated her. There was truly no other explanation. The thought made her heart clench and stomach churn and eyes well with tears, and she sniffed, wiping at them, wishing to God that she could just move on as quickly as he apparently had. Why else would he be dropping the most direct hints every morning that he had no interest in her? He was literally chasing her off of his radio station.

She pulled into the Hawkins Elementary parking lot with two minutes until the morning bell rang, so she sat in her car for a minute and a half and stared at nothing in particular, listening to nothing in particular. For the last thirty seconds she tried to flip back on The Squawk, but Springsteen was still on, so she sighed and turned off her car entirely and climbed out of it.

"Mornin', Lucy," said Mrs. Birdie, the same front desk attendant who had offered Lucy the job in the first place. She dressed more eccentrically every day, Lucy had come to learn, and today she wore a pink feather blouse that practically made her look identical to the flamingo portrait hanging in the art room. "Havin' a good day, sweetie?"

Lucy could not remember the last time she had had a "good day," but she just gave Mrs. Birdie a smile and vague nod as she picked up her badge. "Alright. You?"

"Oh, you know," scoffed Mrs. Birdie, waving her hand dismissively, "woke up to a knock on my door from the government, sayin' they heard something suspicious from my house last night... I had to tell 'em there was nothing suspicious in there except my husband's bowels!"

Lucy laughed with her, though the image made her rather disgusted to think about; she picked up her pace and left the front office quickly, heading off toward the fourth grade wing.

Miss Harris stood at the door to their classroom, welcoming students with a warm smile on her face; Lucy skirted through the crowd of four-foot-tall children and made her way through the threshold.

"Hi, Miss Harris," she said over her shoulder, dumping her bag onto the floor behind Harris's desk. "Pretty day outside, isn't it?"

"Too cold," said Miss Harris—who, though always wore a bright smile and laughed loudly at apparently everything, was actually remarkably cynical and not very appreciative of many things; especially being stuck in Hawkins. She had a son who lived in Florida with his wife and newborn baby, and because of the quarantine she could not go meet her new granddaughter.

"Well, I think it's just right," said Lucy, smiling down at the students as they entered the classroom and took their seats.

In her class—just by random chance—she had Nancy and Mike's little sister, Holly. On the first day of school Lucy had tried to re-introduce herself to Holly since she had not seen her in over a year, but Holly just scrunched up her nose in an amused way and shook her head.

"I know who you are!" she said, like the idea was outrageous. Then she grinned and hugged Lucy. "I'm soooo glad we have a normal teacher aide this year. Last year, she was so mean."

Lucy had laughed and promised not to be mean this year, and from there, Holly had apparently grown fond of her; she walked into the classroom each day and gave Lucy a hug before taking her seat. Today was no exception.

"Good morning, Holly," said Lucy, squeezing her around the shoulders and looking down to her with a grin.

"Hi, Lucy," she replied; she kept her arms around Lucy's waist and lifted her head to meet her eyes, looking entirely unamused. "Did you listen to the morning Squawk?"

"Sure did," said Lucy distastefully, and then two of them shared a roll of their eyes and a fake gag—it had been well established that neither of them liked Springsteen and they both despised when Robin played it in the morning.

"I mean, seriously," said Holly, throwing her arms in the air, exasperated. "I would even listen to Duran Duran before I listened to Bruce Springsteen. Ugh."

"I'm so with you, kid," said Lucy, putting on her serious face so Holly knew she was not playing; Holly smiled and laughed and headed off to take her seat for the day.

From there, it was a usual day in fourth grade: Miss Harris welcomed the students, they started the math lesson for the day (today was multiplying fractions, which Lucy herself did not even know how to do and could offer no help when asked for it), give Randy L. a bandaid for his pinky finger that always seemed to start to bleed just when Miss Harris handed out the math packets. Lucy only had to get onto Derek Turnbow once today for pulling Ashley Klein's ponytail so hard she started crying.

When lunch rolled around and the students hurried off down the hallway toward the cafeteria, followed by a half-ass attempt of Miss Harris to corral them, Lucy had the classroom to herself for her lunch break. Harris enjoyed eating her meals in her car so she could have peace and quiet, and even this far into the school year Lucy was nervous to enter the teacher's lounge—so she sat in Harris's chair and unpacked her lunch from this morning.

An untoasted bagel, a bag of chips, and a banana. She sighed and nodded. No time to get ready in the morning meant this for lunch.

At least she had The Squawk to listen to, she thought. And now that it was no longer the morning, Joel's song request had passed and Lucy could listen freely—she switched on the radio on Harris's desk and turned up the volume as she bit into her bagel.

"Hey there, friends, it's Rockin' Robin. We had some annoying technical difficulties this morning, but I hope you survived without me."

A baby cried in the background. Lucy scoffed a laugh.

"But to make it up to you, we have a very special treat that is sure to turn your day upside... down."

She clicked play on the next song: Upside Down by Diana Ross. Lucy stopped chewing her too-chewy bagel, intrigued; it could not have just been a figment of her imagination that Robin's voice grew implicit when she said the title of the song.

She knew—or rather, figured—that the entire crew of theirs had been defying the military ever since last year, or at least been trying to. The specific details, Lucy did not know—in fact she hardly talked to any of them anymore, and her closest friend out of them now was Holly Wheeler, if she even counted. But there was no erasing Lucy's encounters with the Upside Down—with Vecna—from her mind, and there was no way she could ignore the signs that Robin was sending a secret message to the rest of their team regarding... something.

"Before you start bumping," said Robin, "a few fun facts about the Boss. She was born Diane in the North End of Detroit. Berry Gordy—that's Gordy with a G—signed her to Motown in 1961. And one is the key number here, because between 1964 and '67, the Supremes had ten songs at the top of the charts. That's right, ten. Then in '78, she tried to make it big in the movies with The Wiz, which was a colossal flop-a-roonie—but, in my personal opinion, I still dig it. I mean, Michael Jackson as a scarecrow? Give it a chance. But make sure you bring your supersized popcorn, because this movie has a run time of over two hours. All right, class dismissed. I hope you were taking notes."

Lucy had abandoned her sorry attempt at a meal and sat back in Harris's chair, staring at the radio as though Robin could talk to her directly through it.

It would have been a great code, the likelihood of any regular person cracking it slim to none. Unfortunately, Lucy was no longer any regular person, no matter how hard she tried to be; and she had experience cracking secret codes, ones significantly harder than this—in Russian, to be exact. She was able to cling onto the slight details Robin was dropping for her team to catch onto.

Lucy's stomach churned. Did that make her, she supposed, still part of the team?

Before she could turn off the radio, Robin added, "And for those of you who may hate Diane Ross—well, don't forget to call our station and let us know how you feel. We pick up on the first ring. Alright, take it away, Diane!"

Sighing, Lucy shut off the radio as Robin turned up the song. She could not deny that she was even the slightest bit curious as to what these numbers meant to her old friends. Perhaps something to do with El, she thought, who had not shown face in Hawkins in over a year—not since the military were on her ass trying to find her.

She tried to erase the thought of the code from her mind but simply couldn't, and, even as she aimlessly watched the kids run around screaming during recess, she could only put half her mind into it. She chewed her nail and stared at nothing in particular, lost in thought.

"Oh, Lucy, get Derek, would you?" said Harris, exasperated: Lucy raised her eyes and came back to herself at the sight of Derek roughhousing with Holly and Anna—Lucy sighed and called after him, walking toward the merry-go-round.

"She doesn't appreciate that, Derek," said Lucy, though she was still unable to put her full attention on the situation. Derek gave the merry-go-round on which Holly was laying one last forceful push, and Holly's face twisted with fear.

"Bite me!" said Derek sourly, and Lucy couldn't tell if he was talking to her or Anna as he ran away from the scene.

"I'm sorry, Holly," said Anna, and she and Lucy helped her to her feet; Holly, dizzy from her ride on the merry-go-round, nearly stumbled over, then laughed at herself when Anna put a hand on her shoulder to stabilize her.

"That's the bell," said Lucy, nodding toward Miss Harris as she came out to gather the kids inside from recess. "Come on, you two, it's time for art class."

She and Anna followed the rest of the fourth grade back inside, and Lucy, were she a better teacher, would have likely noticed Holly drifting off in the opposite direction, walking over to the fence and waving at no one in particular... but Lucy was not a good teacher, not at all, and she was beginning to understand this.

Her doubts were confirmed for herself when Harris grabbed her arm, staring off toward the end of the playground; Lucy stopped and, confused, followed her eyes—Holly stood by the fence, facing away from the two of them, gesturing around with her arms as though talking to an invisible third party.

"Cute," said Lucy vaguely. "It's her imaginary friend. She does it all the time."

Miss Harris pressed her lips together, looking like she disagreed. She shook her head slightly. "I'm not sure it's so cute. Holly, dear," she added in a louder voice, "it's time to come in!"

Holly gave no indication that she heard Miss Harris. Lucy furrowed her brow, watching curiously as Harris walked over to gently grab Holly and direct her inside. Lucy strayed behind for a moment, staring back toward the space where Holly's invisible friend had stood—she could not tell if it was her imagination, but a chill ran down her back at the empty space, as though something stood there that she knew was out of place.

"Holly?" came Mike's impatient voice, and Lucy heard the faint noise of doors slamming shut as his footsteps grew closer. Finally he rounded the corner and came into sight.

Lucy looked over to him, but Holly kept her nose in her book, looking upset. Lucy could not blame her. Miss Harris had called Mrs. Wheeler to come pick up Holly at the end of the day, but pulled her in for a chat about Holly's imaginary friend. They sat inside now, talking animatedly; Mrs. Wheeler looked concerned, nodding along with whatever Harris was telling her.

"Holly, what are you doing?" said Mike, coming closer to join Lucy and Holly on the bench outside Miss Harris's room. "Come on, I really have to get going. Hey, Lucy," he added, giving her an avoidant half-smile.

She nodded and gave him a fake one in response.

"Sorry," said Holly, slowly putting away her copy of A Wrinkle In Time. "They told me to wait."

Mike glanced inside the classroom and immediately understood the situation, if the look on his face was any indication. He sighed and took the seat on the other side of Holly.

"Is this about your imaginary friend again?" he said, speaking softer now. "Mr. ...Whatsit?"

Holly kept her eyes down, staring at the floor. When she spoke, her voice wavered. "He's only trying to help."

"Help?" repeated Mike, furrowing his brow. "How?"

"By protecting me," said Holly, finally looking up. She glanced between the both of them like trying to get them to see her perspective of things. "He says that there are monsters in Hawkins... And they like to eat kids like me."

Immediately, Mike shook his head, looking as though he did not approve. "Monsters aren't real, Holly."

He caught Lucy's eye as he said it, and behind Holly's head, she gave him a flat stare; but Holly turned around to look at Lucy now and she wiped her face to replace it with a smile.

"He's right," she said, nodding to Mike. "They're fantasy, just like that book of yours."

Holly shook her head slightly, looking between them again. "I don't believe you. Either of you."

Mike sighed and leaned his elbows onto his knees, nodding. "I know you're scared because of everything that's happened. With the crazy stories people tell, I mean, I get scared sometimes too."

Holly scoffed a laugh. "No, you don't."

"He does," promised Lucy, smiling faintly. "I've seen it."

"Yeah, are you kidding?" laughed Mike. "Everyone in Hawkins is scared shitless, and anyone who says they aren't are full of it. Like that mouth-breather in your class, what's his name again?"

"Derek?" Holly and Lucy said at the same time—Lucy swiftly put a hand over her mouth as she remembered it was probably not right to call her students mouth-breathers.

"Yeah!" said Mike. "Yeah, Derek. He probably wets his bed every night."

Holly laughed at this—actually laughed—and the sadness in her eye shifted to warmth at Mike's uplifting words. She hung her head.

"Do you know who I turn into when I get scared?" said Mike. Holly shook her head, so he pulled off his backpack and reached into it to pull out his Dungeons and Dragons figure. He held it up for Holly to see. "Mike the Brave. He goes on these adventures called dungeon crawls."

"What's a dungeon crawl?" said Holly, gazing at Mike the Brave.

"Basically, he explores these underground worlds where he fights monsters, and evil wizards, and sorcerers and stuff. But Mike the Brave is never scared. So whenever I'm feeling frightened, or nervous, I just imagine that he's at my side, and I feel better. So maybe next time you get scared, you don't need this Mr. Whatsit. Maybe you just need... Holly the Heroic."

"Holly the Heroic?" she repeated in a breath voice, raising her eyebrows.

Mike nodded, watching her with a fond expression on his face; he thought for a moment, then said, "I was gonna wait a few more years, but..."

He reached back into his backpack and pulled from it a blue velvet sack no larger than his hand. Inside, he revealed another Dungeons and Dragons figure. This one had blonde pigtails and wore a sea-blue dress, her yellow cape billowing in the wind. He held it up for Holly.

"She's a cleric," he explained, as she took it with a wondrous expression on her face, "which means she has divine powers. She can cast spells of protection to ward against evil spirits, and—even cooler—she can cast a dimension door, which can teleport you to anywhere you visualize. I mean, come on. Can this lame-o, Mr. Whatsit, do any of this?"

Holly laughed again, gazing at her figure. "No."

"She'll keep you safe," Mike told her.  "I promise. But if you're ever in a pinch at school, I know Lucy has your back, too."

Lucy smiled as Holly turned back toward her. "It's true. I'm not supposed to have favorites, but you're, like, ten times better than any of the other students. And you hate Springsteen, which means you're alright in my book."

Holly and Mike laughed, and the door to Miss Harris's room swung open; she stepped out with Mrs. Wheeler in tow, clutching her purse, looking upset but in a way that she was attempting to hide. She smiled at Holly.

"Ready, sweetie?"

Holly nodded and tucked Holly the Heroic into the front pocket of her overalls. She, Mike, and Lucy stood, and Holly took Mrs. Wheeler's hand.

"We miss you around our house, Lucy," she said, offering her a kind smile. "You know you're welcome whenever. I know Nancy was excited about that new Fleetwood Mac album that came out this spring, if you'd ever want to come over to listen."

Lucy smiled and crossed her arms over herself, nodding along with the suggestion. "Yeah, that would be fun, Mrs. Wheeler, but I've been working so much. I'm just swamped. Um.. thank you for the offer."

Mrs. Wheeler's smile turned down at the corners slightly and she nodded, looking over Lucy with a sort of sadness to her gaze that Lucy was familiar with by now: It was the sadness people regarded her with when they remember that her brother was dead.

Miss Harris gathered her things and began to lock the door to her classroom, muttering how excited she was about the new season of Miami Vice that was coming on tonight; Mrs. Wheeler and Holly, hand in hand, started off down the hallway after her. Lucy grabbed her bag and made to follow them, but the sound of Mike's voice stopped her.

"Wait," he said, in a quiet enough tone that his mom and sister did not hear; when Lucy turned back around to face him, he gave her a look that she needed to join him back at the other end of the hallway.

"What? Mike," she said, exasperated, as she followed him the opposite direction from his family, "I've got a shift at Main Street in—twenty minutes," she said, checking her wristwatch. "What is it?"

"We need your car tonight," he said, his voice low, head bowed so he could look down at her (since when was he so tall?), "at The Squawk. I can't tell you why, so don't ask, but it would be, like, great if you could come give us a ride—"

"I'm sure Nancy can drive you," she said, brow furrowed, shaking her head in confusion. "Why me?"

"Nancy's... busy. Can you—?"

"Steve?"

"Also busy. We just—"

"Joyce? Hopper? Surely Robin has her license by now?"

"No, no, and no," said Mike, who seemed to be growing annoyed with her insistant denial. "We need you. Your car, I mean. Just—meet us at The Squawk at ten. It won't take more than two hours, I promise."

"I have work, Mike, I can't just—"

"This is important," he told her, raising his eyebrows to emphasize his point. "And it's just one time. I promise."

Lucy sighed. Vaguely, in the very, far back reaches of her mind, she remembered the numbers Mike had just recited to her as the ones Robin had hinted at on her radio show; she squinted at the thought of these things being connected but knew—or rather, hoped—that their group had enough senses not to go under the military's nose to sneak into the Upside Down. Perhaps Mike really just needed a ride tonight, she thought.

"Fine, yeah," she said, shrugging in relent. "Sure. But you're gonna have to pay me however much I would've made at work tonight, 'kay?"

Mike grinned so big Lucy would have thought he hadn't heard the second half of her condition at all. He nodded, beaming. "Deal.

Via SPEAKS 💜

Already I have so much to say

Steve playing the songs Lucy hates more than anything in this world may SEEM petty now but give me a minute.Stay with me now

Holly Wheeler & Lucy Andrews would look just like you with a temper like you run around like you jumping in the pool like you Or alternatively you remind me of a younger me I saw potential etc etc

Anyway LEO MENTION AT WHAT COST 🫤 my little baby boy is gone for good seriously this isn't funny which one of yall wrote that Leo died. It wasn't me. It must have been the wind I guess

Also hello. Mike and Lucy friendship. Thank you for gracing our screens today. Anyway that's all for now this was 5700 words and I didn't even get halfway through episode 1 so expect slower updates for season 5 I apologize in advance