I hate Hawkins. I’ve never been particularly fond of the sleepy little town, but Vecna and his monsters have really made this place a shithole. I pace in the field, waiting on Murray with the supply truck. I’m starting to wonder if he’s had trouble at the perimeter the Military has set up, when I see his truck pulling into the field. The back of his truck is facing us, and he opens the back. My stomach drops into my feet, but I keep my face steady. Instantly, I know who it is.

Inside of the small cargo truck are the usual supplies and produce, and one antsy teenager smoking in the back corner. She doesn’t seem to notice, preoccupied with a cigarette that’s burned almost down to the filter. Steve quickly climbs into the truck, throwing himself at her. She hugs him back just as tightly. That’s his druggie little sister- a disappointment to the Harrington family and all that.

She was sent away for rehab shortly before shit hit the fan and Vecna opened all these rift gates. We used to be something, way back when. Steve helps her off the truck, his arm around her shoulders. She was in my grade at school, but they were always close. He was proud of their wealth, she thrifted all her clothes and made her own money. Subsequently, she got into drugs. Heroin. Messed her up bad- and I ended things. I tried to ignore it, at first, then she overdosed.

I watch her go around greeting everybody- Robin, Jonathon, Dustin, Will, Mike, Lucas, and finally me. She goes in for a hug, at first, then seems to think the better of it. She draws back and puts on a smile. “Hey, Wheeler.” She murmurs, voice low and raspy. She runs a hand through her shaggy hair, and I watch. She seems much more like her old self. She has more meat on her bones, and her hair looks healthier. She needs a place to stay, and she can’t go back home. She was disowned. And Will immediately pipes up, saying that she can stay with us.

She talks nervously the whole bike ride back to our place. My mom welcomes her with open arms and says she can stay with me before I can say no. When we’re alone, she sits on my bed gingerly. “I’m clean, Nance, I swear.” She says, looking at me earnestly. Her damn eyes, they make me want to kiss her. But I hold out. “How many times have I heard that?” I ask, lips pursed and arms crossed. “Too many, I know. I’m sorry.” She says, moving so she’s kneeling on my bed in front of me.

Her hand comes up to my cheek, and her thumb rubs across the thin skin under my eyes. “Please, Nance, give me another chance. I’m better now.” She asks, and I’m torn. I know she’s gone through recovery, but does that really mean she’s better? She’s relapsed before, she could relapse again. “I don’t know.” I say honestly, and her hand falls away from me. She sinks onto the bed, turning away from me as I change. She changes into her pyjamas too, and we settle under the covers.

I’m struck by Deja Vu- how similar this all is to before that. Neither of us close our eyes, her staring up at the ceiling and me staring at my closet door. We turn around at the same time, and I press my lips to hers. She kisses back with an eager ferocity, and our teeth clad one another. She apologizes and softens the kiss. It’s so much like when she used to sleep over, and we would stay up late making out. A tear rolls down my cheek, and she props herself up on one arm, leaning over to wipe the tear away. “Watcha crying for, Nance?” She asks, voice soft.