The hallway outside the lockers smells like floor cleaner and wet denim, that sharp, sterile tang Hawkins High never quite shakes. It’s loud—lockers slamming, sneakers squeaking, voices stacking over one another—but the words you hear cut clean through the noise.

“He’s got no future,” a girl laughs, careless, cruel in the way people get when they think they’re untouchable. “Like, what—death or jail? That’s Eddie Munson’s whole deal.”

Your steps slow.

Not because you’re scared. Because something in your chest goes tight and hot all at once.

At the far end of the hall, Eddie’s crouched by Carmen’s locker, a dungeon master even in daylight—hands moving, voice animated as he explains something about saving throws and probability like it’s sacred knowledge. Carmen’s grinning up at him, utterly locked in. He’s trying. Really trying. Summer school paperwork. Meetings with the guidance counselor. Wayne’s quiet, careful pride.

And this girl reduces him to a joke.

You turn.

Cross the hall in three strides.

The girl barely registers you before your fingers are buried in her hair, rooted tight the way your brother Gino taught you years ago—commit or don’t start. Her yelp cuts off as you swing her sideways into the lockers. Metal rattles. The impact rings out like a bell.

You go down with her, knees skidding on linoleum, momentum carrying you both to the floor.

Gasps ripple through the hallway.

She thrashes beneath you, nails scraping at your wrists, but you straddle her hips, weight planted, forearm braced across her collarbone just enough to keep her pinned.

“I heard what you said,” you snap, breath sharp, heart hammering. “Say it again.”

She spits something ugly, half-formed and furious, trying to buck you off—

—and then a body slams in from the side.

“HEY!”

Carmen.

She doesn’t hesitate. Doesn’t ask why. She drops to her knees and grabs the girl’s arms, trying to pin them down with all the righteous fury of a younger sister who knows exactly who she’s defending. “Don’t touch my sister!” she yells, voice cracking, wild-eyed but determined.

That’s when Eddie sees it.

He’s on his feet instantly. “Carmen—!” His voice snaps, panic cutting through disbelief as he takes in the sight of you straddling the girl, Carmen wrestling to restrain her. For a split second, he looks like his heart might actually give out.

Then—movement behind him.

“Holy shit,” Dustin breathes, skidding to a halt. “Is that—?”

Lucas is already there, instincts firing faster than his thoughts. He takes in the scene in one sharp glance: you on top, Carmen clinging, the girl snarling and kicking, the crowd swelling around you.

“Okay,” Lucas says, hands up, voice calm but tight. “Okay. Everybody needs to slow down right now.”

The girl beneath you bucks hard, nearly catching Carmen in the face with an elbow. Carmen yelps but tightens her grip, stubborn as hell.

“HEY—HEY!” Dustin darts forward, grabbing Carmen’s shoulder. “Carmen, buddy—okay—okay—this is officially getting very bad!”

“She started it!” Carmen shouts, not letting go. “She said stuff about Eddie!”

That lands.

Lucas’ jaw tightens. He looks at Eddie—really looks—and something settles cold and heavy in his expression. “Yeah,” he mutters. “I figured.”

Eddie drops to his knees beside you, hands hovering uselessly, eyes blown wide. “Baby—” he starts, then stops himself, swallowing hard. “You hurt?”

You don’t look away from the girl beneath you. “No.”

She finally rips one arm free and swings—

—and Lucas lunges, catching her wrist mid-strike. “Nope,” he snaps. “Absolutely not.”

The hallway has fully erupted now. Phones are out. Someone’s yelling for a teacher. Footsteps thunder closer—fast, heavy, inevitable.

Dustin winces. “Guys. Guys. We are seconds away from this becoming a whole thing.”

The girl under you is still trying to twist free. Her hand shoots out grabbing Carmen by the hair.