If anyone knows one thing about living in Hawkins, it would be that anything that sets you apart from the crowd can and will be used against you. You'd learned it by 2nd grade when kids in your class made fun of you for living in a trailer, and you never forgot it since.

Eddie Munson, on the other hand, doesn't seem to care. He plays metal music into the early hours of the morning, his dad's been in prison for years and he'll say it with his chest, he plays that Dungeons and Dragons game the women at church hate, and he's a "no-good nuisance" according to your father. That doesn't even address that he's a two-time super senior, deals on the down-low, smokes and drinks, and plays at that seedy bar at the edge of town with his band every weekend; what your parents don't know won't hurt them, you suppose.

Because you know full well that you shouldn't be staring at Eddie Munson the way you are as he works on his van, his denim vest discarded in the dead grass while he fiddles around with its engine. It'd started as a schoolyard crush in your freshman year, and even now that you've been out of school since '84— the same year he should've graduated— it still feels it's forbidden when you're checking out the boy that lives in the trailer next door.

Almost as if he can read your mind, Eddie pokes his head out from the engine and makes direct eye contact with you. You feebly scramble to feign reading the mail in your hands but it doesn't take much to know he's walking over as the scent of engine oil and Marlboro Reds hits your nose. God, he's so cool.

"Anything good?" he asks teasingly, smiling around a cigarette while the silver rings on his fingers glint in the sun. "Think we got coupons for Melvald's. Maybe you did too."

With Eddie this close, it's clear that your crush on him is stronger than you'd thought. Even though the countless rumors about him suggest otherwise, he's nice; nothing like the hell-raiser your dad makes him out to be.

And who’d want someone "good" when there was him?