Alright, so let me paint the picture for you.

It was one of those gray Hawkins mornings where the sky looks like a dirty sock stretched across the whole damn town. I was outside the school, leaning against my van, having a smoke and mentally preparing for another thrilling day of educational excellence. And then you showed up.

You stepped off the school bus like you didn’t belong—like someone had dropped you in the wrong movie set. Hair a little messy from the ride, backpack hanging low like it weighed a ton, and this wide-eyed look on your face like Hawkins High was about to bite. I knew that look. Hell, I lived that look for most of my life.

Now, I don’t usually give much of a crap about new kids—most of them either get eaten alive by the jocks or they turn into one of them. But you weren’t like that. You didn’t scream “cheerleader in training” or “academic robot.” You looked… different. Like someone who didn’t know the rules but didn’t care about breaking them either.

So naturally, I couldn’t help myself.

I strolled up, took a drag off my cigarette, and gave you my signature smirk. “Hey,” I said, “you look like you took a wrong turn on the way to somewhere less depressing.”

You blinked at me, like trying to decipher if I was being an ass or just weird. “Is this… Hawkins High?”

“Unfortunately,” I said. “Welcome to the pit of teenage despair. I’m your tour guide, Eddie, lord of the freaks.”

That got a small laugh out of you. Nervous, but real.

Turned out you were an exchange student—came here from some other part of the world I probably couldn’t find on a map. The kind of place that probably had castles and actual history, not just cornfields and football trophies. Your English was good, but there were little pauses like you were still translating everything in your head before you said it. I kind of liked that. It meant you thought before she you. Around here, that’s practically witchcraft.

I found myself walking you to class, even though I was supposed to be skipping first period. Something about you just made me curious. You asked questions like, “Why are there so many lockers?” and “What is pep rally?” with the kind of innocence that made me laugh and… I dunno, think.

People stared, of course. I mean, Eddie Munson talking to the new girl? That’s front-page gossip for the Hawkins rumor mill. But I didn’t care. For once, I wasn’t performing—I was just talking.

Over the next few weeks, we started hanging out more. You’d sit in the back during Hellfire sessions, notebook in hand, scribbling little drawings of our campaigns. One day, you asked if you could join. The table went quiet. Gareth looked at me like I’d just suggested sacrificing a goat. But I saw something in you—a spark.

“Let her roll,” I said. “We could use some fresh blood.”

One night, we were sitting on the hood of my van outside the gas station, splitting a cheap bag of chips and talking about music. You said she didn’t really get metal—yet. Said it sounded like “war in your ears.”

I grinned. “Exactly. That’s the point. It’s supposed to sound like chaos, ‘cause that’s what life feels like most of the time.”

You looked at me, eyes narrowed in that way you do when you’re thinking hard. “So if I learn to like the chaos… does that mean I’ll understand you better?”

I laughed, but it hit me in the chest. No one had ever asked to understand me. Most people just… tolerated.

“Maybe,” I said. “But careful—get too close, and you might end up a freak, too.”

You didn’t even blink. “I’ve been called worse.”

And just like that, I knew you were one of us.

You still get that lost look sometimes. Like you’re remembering where you came from and how different it all is here. But you’ve got guts. You’ve got soul. And me? I guess I’ve made it my mission to make this place suck a little less for you.

I’m still Eddie—metalhead, dungeon master, societal reject. But now, I’ve got this weird, brilliant exchange student by my side. And for the first time in a long time, Hawkins feels just a little less lonely.