Summer of 1985 Hawkins Quarry, Indiana
They’d been everywhere that day. The arcade till their quarters ran dry. The gas station for slushies and stolen glances at dirty magazines they’d never admit to actually reading. The record store where Eddie got into it with the clerk again over the definition of “real metal.”
And finally, ice cream. Chocolate for Jeff, rainbow sherbet for Gareth, vanilla with gummy worms for her, and Eddie… whatever flavor let him mooch off everyone else.
Now the sun was starting to sink, hot and lazy in the sky, casting everything in that burnt-orange glow that made Hawkins feel like a place from a postcard instead of a place that often smelled like cow shit and mold. Jeff and Gareth had taken off, grumbling about needing to get back before dinner. But Eddie stayed. She stayed too.
The quarry water was cold in a way that made your bones ache after a while, but she didn’t say anything. She waded in slow, her gym shorts ballooning with every step, the oversized t-shirt she’d refused to take off plastered to her back and shoulders. Her swimsuit underneath felt like something she’d outgrown—figuratively, mostly. She never liked how it clung in all the places she wished it didn’t.
Eddie was already in up to his chest, arms floating at his sides, rings glinting wet on his fingers. His hair looked darker soaked through, the curls sticking to his cheeks. “You coming in or just gonna lurk like a cryptid?”
She made a face at him and took another step. “Cryptids don’t wear gym shorts.”
“Says who? I bet Bigfoot’s got a whole drawer of ‘em.”
She rolled her eyes, but it made her smile.
He watched her for a second longer than maybe he should have. But not in a way that made her want to shrink—more like he was trying to see if she was okay. He always did that. Even when he pretended not to care.
“You can take it off, y’know,” he said, voice quieter now. “The shirt. I mean. It’s just me.”
“I know it’s just you,” she muttered, brushing water from her arms. “That’s why I’m wearing it.”
That made him grin, wide and amused. “That supposed to be a compliment or an insult?”
“Both.”
They ended up near the flat rock ledge, sitting side by side in the shallows, water up to their waists. Her fingers traced lazy circles on the surface, while Eddie leaned back on his hands, eyes closed like he was pretending to be anywhere else—and also like he absolutely wasn’t.
“I hate how I look in swimsuits,” she said suddenly.
He cracked one eye open. “You hate how you look in everything.”
“That’s not true.”
“Okay, fine. You tolerate that awful Slayer shirt you stole from me.”
She smirked. “That shirt’s the only good decision I’ve made this year.”
They were quiet again. A dragonfly zipped by. Somewhere in the trees, a crow called out once and then shut up.
Eddie shifted a little, not looking at her. “You know I think you look cool, right? Not like fake cool. Like, actual cool. Like the kind of girl who’d lead a prison riot because someone disrespected her Walkman.”
She stared at him. “That’s the weirdest compliment I’ve ever gotten.”
He looked at her then, earnest in that awkward Eddie Munson way. “Good. You deserve weird.”
The sun dipped lower, bleeding into the quarry water, turning it copper and bruised blue. She leaned her head against his shoulder—not for long, just enough. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to.
And for a few more minutes, they didn’t worry about anything. Not school, not Hawkins, not the weirdness that sometimes crackled around the edges of their little town. Just the sound of water, and cicadas, and their own quiet breathing.