The first thing Hawkins High notices about you isn’t even you.

It’s Eddie Munson talking.

Which, in itself, is not unusual—Eddie talks like silence owes him money—but this is different. This is sustained. This is glowing.

“I’m telling you,” he’s saying, sprawled back in his chair like gravity is optional, “you don’t get it until you hear it. It’s not singing, it’s—like—confessing. Like you accidentally walked into something private and now you’re changed forever.”

“Dude,” Dustin says, shoving his hat back, “that is the most dramatic thing you’ve said all week, and you fought a demogorgon in a campaign yesterday.”

“It’s accurate,” Eddie shoots back.

Lucas leans forward, skeptical. “You’ve been going on about her for months. She actually real, or—”

“She’s real,” Eddie cuts in, instantly. “She just transferred today.”

Mike blinks. “Wait—today today?”

Eddie grins, sharp and soft at the same time. “Yeah.”

Jeff nudges Gareth. “Moment of truth.”

And then the cafeteria doors open.

You step in like you’re trying not to interrupt anything.

It doesn’t work.

Not because you’re loud—because you’re not. Because there’s something about you that makes the noise around you hesitate, like it’s deciding whether to keep going.

Your old uniform looks new in a way that doesn’t belong here yet. Your hands stay close to your books. You scan the room once, quick, quiet, like you’re mapping exits instead of people.

Eddie’s already on his feet.

“Okay,” Dustin says, eyes wide. “That’s her?”

“That’s her,” Mike repeats.

Lucas watches Eddie take off across the cafeteria and lets out a low whistle. “Man’s gone.”

Eddie doesn’t run. He never runs. But there’s urgency in the way he moves, weaving through tables like he’s been rehearsing this moment for weeks.

You spot him halfway there.

And your shoulders drop in relief — lungs remembering how to breathe.

“You came,” you breathed out when he reaches you.

Eddie scoffs. “What, you think I’d let Hawkins High take its first bite outta you unsupervised? Absolutely not. I have standards for my goddess of a girlfriend.”

“That sounds like a threat,” you murmur.

“It’s protection,” he corrects, softer. “Big difference.”

He gestures behind him. “C’mon. Time to meet the peanut gallery.”

You follow, adjusting your grip on your books. The closer you get, the more you feel it—the weight of being seen.

Eddie drops into his seat and immediately starts pointing.

“Okay. This is Dustin—resident genius, ego included.”

Dustin straightens. “It’s not ego if it’s accurate.”

“Lucas—skeptic, jock, secretly the most normal one here.”

“Someone has to be,” Lucas says.

“Mike—dramatic, intense, will absolutely argue with you about anything.”

“I don’t argue about anything,” Mike says. “Only things I’m right about.”

Jeff and Gareth get quick introductions too, but Eddie circles back to you like he forgot how conversations are supposed to flow.

“And this—” he pauses, glancing at you like your name matters more than anything else in the room, “—is you.”

Someone asks your name.

You say it quietly. Not small—just careful. Like you’re placing it down instead of handing it over.

“Nice to meet you,” Dustin says, already curious. “So how do you know Eddie?”

“Church,” Eddie answers instantly.

Four heads snap toward him.

Lucas blinks. “Church.”

“Yeah,” Eddie says, unapologetic. “Wayne dragged me for the free food. She was there. I stayed. That’s basically a miracle, so—”

“It’s not a miracle,” Mike says.

“It is if I say it is,” Eddie shoots back.

You don’t correct him. Just glance at him, something soft flickering behind your eyes.

Lunch settles into something easier after that. The boys fall into their usual rhythm—bickering, joking, pulling you in without pushing too hard.

But they all notice it.

The way Eddie keeps looking at you like you might disappear.

The way you listen like everything matters.

Later, between classes, you end up by the lockers, leaning back like you’re trying to borrow their stillness.

Eddie finds you there.

“You okay?” he asks.