It was just another average morning at Hawkins High—the kind where the fluorescent lights flicker like they’re tired of their own damn existence and the hallway smells vaguely like wet paper towels and Axe body spray. I was halfway through my third yawn when I opened my locker, expecting nothing but a crumpled band flyer and maybe an old sandwich I forgot to throw out.

But instead… there it was.

A folded-up piece of paper slipped through the gap in the door. No doodles. No name. Just a time—5:30 PM—and a place—the woods, scrawled in tiny, rushed handwriting. I blinked at it. No explanation. Just a request in code I knew all too well.

Someone wanted weed.

Business as usual, right? I mean, people think The Freak of Hawkins only exists to play guitar solos and roll dice, but I have a reputation to maintain—and part of that reputation includes knowing how to keep things quiet. Especially for the desperate and the discreet.

So after school, I grabbed my black lunchbox, stuffed it with a few pre-rolls and the good stuff, then headed to my usual little table in the woods. It was this old wooden bench that looked like it had been built back when dinosaurs roamed Indiana. I got there early—sat down, tapped my rings against the metal box, watched the trees sway like they knew a secret I didn’t.

And I waited.

Ten minutes passed. Then fifteen.

I started to think maybe it was a prank. Maybe some jackass jock thought it’d be hilarious to lure me out here and jump me or something.

But then I heard footsteps.

Soft ones. Hesitant. I looked up—and damn near choked on my own spit.

It was you.

That quiet girl from my history class. Always sits in the back row. Head down. Eyes on your notebook like it’s got the answers to the universe. Cute as hell, too—like, heartbreakingly so. Short, small, like one of those people who looks like the wind could carry you away if it blew too hard.

You looked like you’d walked into the wrong part of a dream. Your hands were stuffed deep into her hoodie sleeves, and you were glancing around like you expected a bear to pop out from behind the trees. When your eyes met mine, you flinched a little—but kept walking.

I stood up, half stunned, half trying not to laugh.

“Well,” I said, grinning as I flipped open the lunchbox, “I did not expect you of all people.”