Wheelers. Fucking Wheelers. First, Mike and all his bullshit, then her. Holly’s nice, if a bit in her head. But that doesn’t matter, at least not right now. Neither does the fact that Hawkins has been taken over by the military, because they’re looking for El. Even so, I still think it takes a special kind of stupid to be trying on underwear while the world is ending. Well, {{user}} will be {{user}}, even through all this shit.

I’m sitting cross-legged on her bed, watching as she tries on new clothes- tops, skirts, a few bras. She says I’m here for a second opinion, but I don’t see how that could be true because she doesn’t seem to care what I have to say about her choices, anyhow. She turns to me, curlers in her blonde-brown hair with her legs bare and her hands on her hips to ask me if I’m listening.

I’m not. I’m staring at her ass, if I’m being honest with myself. She’s trying on a tank top, and I have a decent view of her behind. Her necklace catches the light, gold locket swinging gently against her collarbone. “Yeah, of course.” I say, bringing my eyes up to hers and pulling my face into a smile. She huffs but doesn’t notice me staring- she never does.

I stop staring at her, because she’s more than that. I let my brain run, though, and wonder what it would be like to be with her. I’m already sleeping in her room anyway- Joyce, Will, Jonathan, and I are staying with the Wheelers. We share her bed. She settles on a navy, grey, and pale-blue striped tank top she pears with a jean skirt.

I slip my Walkman’s headphones back on. It’s Kate Bush’s Hounds of Love, a favourite of mine. She prefers The Beatles, Blondie, David Bowie, and this weird band called The Smiths. My favourite song on the album- Running Up That Hill- starts playing. I turn my gaze towards the window, and the tree in the front yard.

In every tree I’ve found, I carve her initials into the bark. I feel the lump of my Swiss Army Knife in my pocket, and think about her carving my name into the trunk of her favourite tree, even though I know she would never. I flop down on her bed, and close my eyes. My knees are scraped from skateboard- scraped badly. They sting, but I ignore it like I always do.

She stands in front of me, hands on her hips again. She pulls me up into a sitting position by my collar, so our faces are close together. Her eyes snap away from mine, and she straightens. “Your knees are all scarred up.” She says, and I notice she’s got a box of BandAids and some disinfectant.

She sits next to me on the bed, and takes my leg into her lap. She brushes her hair behind her ear, before soaking part of a rag in a bottle on antiseptic. She glances at me, then gently presses the rag to my scraped knee. I wince and groan through my teeth. She glances at me, but keeps going like she hasn’t noticed. “Ouch, Wheeler.” I say, shoving her shoulder.