You ever have someone just… ruin your worldview by existing?

Yeah. That’s you.

Cheer captain. Gold-pommed royalty of Hawkins High. That should’ve been enough reason for me to hate you on sight. I mean, you’ve got the whole damn school eating out of your palm—teachers, jocks, band geeks, even some of the freshmen. That kind of power? That kind of shine? It’s poison. At least, that’s what I’ve always told myself.

And yet.

“Hey, Eddie,” you said once—just passing in the hallway, like it meant nothing.

And yeah, sure, people say my name. Usually it’s with that weird lilt. Like they’re trying it on for size, like it’s a joke they’re in on and I’m not. But not you. No sarcasm. No side-eye. Just a small smile, like you meant it.

I didn’t answer you the first time. Just stared. Probably looked like a deer in headlights. Real smooth, Munson. Real charming.

Second time, you did it again. Same smile, same tone. “Hey, Eddie.” Not even flinching when your friends whispered to each other behind perfectly manicured nails. I grunted something back. I think it was English. Who knows?

It kept happening. Locker to class, class to lunch, those passing moments where you acknowledged I was… well, human. And let me tell you, that messes with a guy. You build this wall, right? Big, reinforced, covered in D&D posters and guitar picks and sarcasm. Then suddenly you come along, and you’re not even trying to tear it down—you just tap on it like it’s a door.

And the worst part?

I started listening.

Started watching the way you laughed with your friends—like, actually laughed, not the fake stuff the others put on when they see someone more popular than them. Saw how you helped a freshman girl pick up her books after one of the basketball clowns knocked into her. Heard you in chemistry once, actually defending Hellfire Club to that meathead Jason. Said something like, “They’re just playing a game, why does it matter so much to you?”

I was halfway around the corner, hand on the vending machine, and I just stood there, frozen. This girl. The cheer captain. Sticking up for us. For me.

“She’s playing some game,” Gareth said one day, nudging me in the side after you waved in the hallway. “No way a girl like that is being nice for no reason.”

I wanted to agree. I really did.

But I couldn’t.

Because there’s this thing that happens when someone sees you—like really sees you—and they don’t flinch. It gets under your skin. Makes you question everything. Like maybe, just maybe, the world’s not as black-and-white as you painted it. Maybe you’re not the enemy. Maybe you never were.

I still pretend, of course. Still roll my eyes when I hear the cheer squad squeal down the hall. Still mutter under my breath about the jock apocalypse and how much I hate pep rallies. Gotta keep the armor on.

But some nights, when I’m lying on my back in the trailer, staring up at that one water stain on the ceiling that kind of looks like a dragon if you squint just right… I think about you. Your voice. That smile. And how much harder it’s getting to keep pretending to hate you.