Chapter Text
“Eddie, man, you’re out of the band.”
Jeff says this without looking at him, the fucking coward, hunched over a chair and making himself busy with putting his stuff away. The other two members of Corroded Coffin are standing as far away from him as their small rehearsing space allows, looking everywhere but at Eddie’s bewildered face.
Eddie freezes with his guitar halfway inside its case. Then, he cackles, throwing his head back and pointing at Jeff’s back, clutching at his stomach with his other hand, putting on a show.
“Nearly got me there, man,” he says, wiping tears of laughter from the corners of his eyes. “Good one, Jeff.”
Jeff’s shoulders tense up until he looks as stiff as a board. He turns around slowly and faces Eddie steady on. “I’m serious, Eddie,” he says.
“Jeff, dude, really, good joke, but it’s not that funny, so maybe quit while you’re ahead,” Eddie replies, nervousness prickling at the corners of his voice, which he notices getting higher without his permission. “Ha, ha, we got Eddie by joking about his biggest fear on this mortal plane; what a laugh!”
And he does jazz hands, for some reason. His heart is pounding, a loud thump, thump, thump that makes it feel as if it might break away from his chest and punch Jeff in the face.
“Eddie…” and Jeff lingers, tension still pulling his shoulders up to his ears and expression apologetic.
“But it’s my band!” Eddie exclaims, and then hates himself for how his tone immediately turns to pleading, “Jeff, come on, man, you know what this means to me. It’s my life, it got us through high school, didn’t it?”
“That’s just it, Eddie! You’re stuck in high school,” Jeff says. “It’s all 80’s metal and mullets and great guitar solos and like, that isn’t what music is anymore.”
“Oh, oh, ooohhh,” Eddie yells, hands about his head and back curving backwards, making all three other members of Corroded Coffin flinch simultaneously. “Conformity! That’s what this is about? Where was this when the basketball crowd bullied you to hell and I took you in, huh, Jeff? And you two!” He points at the other two, walking closer so they’ll dare look at him. “Who even were you before I gave you Corroded Coffin? Lost souls adrift in a sea of the grey boredom of everyday suburban life!”
“I’m sorry, Eddie, but you’re just too much,” Jeff tells him. “The band’s going nowhere with you in it.”
Eddie stops then, looks at Jeff, the only original member of Corroded Coffin left in the band. He thought they were allies in this endeavour, together in this for the long haul, buddies since high school had tried to crush their souls and they had come out alive and kicking out of the experience.
But even Jeff thinks he’s too much.
“You know what? Fine, fuck all of you! Good luck in the Battle of the Bands! I hope you choke on a drum stick and die in pain!”
Jeff yells after him, but Eddie is quick to get into dramatic exit mode, grabbing his guitar and throwing it at his back with a turn so sharp that he almost hits Jeff straight in the face. He kicks at the drummer’s stool on his way out and climbs into his van with a huff, closing the door so hard it rattles.
His tires make a screeching sound as he turns towards traffic, blind with rage and disappointment and filled with sadness so heavy that it feels like a brick has lodged itself somewhere in between his chest and his throat. He’s not going to cry over this. He refuses. He won’t. He. Will. Not.
It takes him two seconds after parking in front of his building before he’s sobbing like a five-year-old who’s lost his favourite toy. He throws his head back against the seat and keeps his hands on the steering wheel, and feels hysterical laughter bubble in between his sobs.
“How did you fuck this one up, Eddie?” he asks his empty van. “Eddie the Freak, Eddie the Banished, Eddie the… Too Much for People.”
He giggles. It’s not funny.
He’d founded Corroded Coffin back in middle school, after Uncle Wayne had gifted him his first ever guitar and with metal dreams powering his limbs. They’d lost Gareth and Tim somewhere along the way, but Jeff had stuck with him as members had come and gone. Many years later and they’ve amounted to nothing more than a dive bar experience, their usual crowd no bigger than when they’d started. It doesn’t matter, though – it’s about the music. It’s about the music, the thrill, the feeling of being on stage and, for the short minutes where the guitars are playing and the music is cursing through his very being, being a fucking metal god.
It’s all Eddie has.
“Had,” he tells himself. “It’s all I had.”
His apartment is small, depressing, dark and messier than a lion’s den, and only one of those is his fault. He usually doesn’t mind it, even pretends it goes with his careless rockstar persona. A couple of days after losing the band, though, he’s smoked all the weed he had left, drank all his beer, all that’s left in his fridge is a bottle of ketchup, and the depressing feeling has clawed its way into full blown anxiety. He considers bothering Uncle Wayne for a couple of nights at the trailer, but Wayne is going to look at him with that gentle gruff stare of his, and Eddie thinks it might break him. Instead, he decides to ask for a little sympathy from the one friend he still has left.
“Gare-bear! So good to see you,” he says when Gareth opens the door.
Eddie smiles wide, shoulders hunched to try to make himself look small, so he doesn’t stick out so much in the suburban neighbourhood where Gareth bought a sensible two-story a couple of years back. He’s almost a hundred percent sure that the next-door neighbour is spying through her kitchen window.
“Eddie, hey,” Gareth replies, and his voice is almost normal, but Eddie knows him too well to buy it.
“Jeff called you.”
“He didn’t know how to bring it up, he just wanted some advice, man.”
“Jesus,” Eddie whines, bunching his hair in his hands and covering the lower half of his face with it to prevent a scream. “He needed advice for that? He was as subtle as a kick in the balls, man.”
“I’m sorry, Eddie.”
“Yeah, yeah. Can I just crash here for a couple of days? I’m going insane back home.” Eddie sighs. He wants to be pissed that his friends have been talking about how to get rid of him behind his back, but he’s super tired, and he can’t afford to lose Gareth, too.
“Honey, who is it?” a disembodied voice comes from inside the house, followed immediately after by its owner appearing by Gareth’s side. “Oh, it’s your friend Eddie.”
“Heeeey, Linda.” Eddie waves awkwardly, feeling all the power of Linda’s disapproving stare like a punch to the gut. Man, he can’t catch a break.
“Eddie is gonna stay for a couple of days, honey, is that ok?”
Gareth and Linda have this whole conversation with their eyes while Eddie shuffles his feet by their front door. Maybe coming here was a bad idea after all. Linda’s never liked him, which probably has a lot to do with Eddie accusing Gareth of selling his soul to The Man when he’d married her, all because she had pretty eyes and bouncy breasts. Gareth hadn’t talked to him for months, and the amount of grovelling Eddie had done to get his friendship back hadn’t managed to convince Linda of his charms.
After a minute, a decision seems to be made between the silent partners, and Linda offers Eddie her most Stepford Wife smile and cheerily says, “You’re welcome to stay, of course! Hope you like meatloaf!”
Eddie shivers. He hopes he’s not going the end up buried in their backyard.
Dinner is a weird affair, with Gareth looking at Linda like she might explode at any second, and Linda passive-aggressively pretending that she’s interested in anything Eddie has to say, all while playing fifties’ housewife with somewhat destructive energy. The meatloaf is great, though, so small mercies.
“So, Eddie, how’s your little band going?” Linda wonders halfway through dessert, a peach cobbler that’s so good Eddie won’t even mind it if she murders him in his sleep.
“Linda, honey–”
“No, no, Gare-kins, I’m interested,” she singsongs.
The bitch knows about the band, and any other day, Eddie would gladly play this game with her, but he’s still fucking devastated and this blonde Yoko Ono that stole his best friend into a suburban lifestyle can’t bait him out of his funk.
Eddie shrugs. “I’m moving on to other projects.”
Linda narrows her eyes, looking like she’s going for the killing blow, no mercy left for Eddie. However, Gareth stops her silently with a soft hand on her wrist and a sweet pleading look. Linda relents and mouths a silent I’m sorry to Gareth, reminding Eddie that they love each other, and that Eddie isn’t fair to begrudge Gareth the happiness he’s found here with her. Even if the pastel colours on the walls make him want to puke.
“Dinner was fantastic,” Eddie offers after a while, hoping it’s a good enough apology for being too much and invading her peaceful life. “Thank you, Linda.”
Sunset finds him sitting down on the fanciest plastic chair he’s ever had under his butt, looking up at the sky from Gareth’s backyard, half-drunk beer in hand, and Gareth laughing beside him. They’re recounting old stories from their years as bandmates, and Eddie is filled with a giddy sort of melancholy when he looks at his friend, clad in a nice, pressed shirt and dress pants, hair short, shiny, and parted at the side, looking like the preppy kids had back in high school. Eddie’s seen this guy puke his guts out after drinking half a bottle of tequila from a cowboy boot, an ill-advised purchase that he’d gotten to try and impress Tammy Thompson. It’s hard to reconcile.
Maybe Jeff had been right when he’d said that he was stuck in high school. He tells Gareth as much.
“Eddie don’t take this the wrong way,” Gareth tells him.
Eddie lifts both arms up, leaves his chest unprotected. “Hit me with it, man; can’t be worse than losing Corroded Coffin.”
Gareth shrugs, and quietly says, “He’s kinda right? I mean, look at you.”
Eddies does, running his eyes over himself with an exaggerated shake of his head, theatrical until the end. He’s wearing skinny black jeans ripped at the knees, a faded band t-shirt, his favourite leather jacket. His three favourite rings are a comforting weight on his fingers, and the chain from his guitar pick necklace rests snugly at the back of his neck. His loose hair touches his forehead and the sides of his face, the frizzy tips fall on his shoulders. He’s Eddie. Good, old Eddie the Freak.
“I don’t have it in me to be anyone else, Gare-bear,” he says, shrugging one shoulder and taking a sip from his already warm bear.
“That’s bullshit, man. You don’t have to change, but you can grow or whatever. What have you even built since high school? It’s the same band, and the same songs and you get pissed when people decide they want something different. When I decide I want something different.”
“Sheesh, dude, how long has that been bottled up in there?” Eddie wonders, moving back just a bit to better see the angry flush touching Gareth’s cheeks.
Gareth rubs at his eyes with the back of his hands, groaning. “Sorry.”
“No, no, I deserved that,” he replies genuinely, putting his hand to Gareth’s shoulder and squeezing. Then, he crowds a little closer, and quietly confesses, “I love you, man, ok? No matter what.”
“Love you too, asshole.”
They hug, doing the manly dance of back patting and clearing their throats as an excuse not to look at each other as they settle back in their seats and look back up at the sky.
“We have a baby on the way,” Gareth says a moment later, looking at Eddie and grinning. “Linda and I, we have a baby on the way.”
“No shit! Congrats, man. Really, I’m happy for you.”
“Thanks, we’re so happy.”
“Promise you’ll let me do music appreciation with the munchkin.”
“I promise.” Gareth laughs, leaning closer and whispering, “Linda listens to the Spice Girls.”
Eddie snorts, cackles when he sees Gareth smile, and feels glad that he still has this one thing, that he hasn’t completely broken everything that means something to him.
Eddie ends up crashing on Gareth’s living room sofa. They have two spare bedrooms, but one is being outfitted for the new baby already, and the other Linda has claimed as her arts and crafts room, which apparently is a whole thing, and Eddie’s presence in there will disturb the energy. Linda’s clearly still not on his side, is what he gets from that.
It doesn’t matter to him, though. He’s slept in far worse places than their couch, and it might in fact be more comfortable than his bed back in his shitty apartment. Even so, sleep doesn’t come easy. Eddie finds himself plagued by Gareth’s question from earlier: What have you even built since high school? Nothing, he guesses.
People have moved on from childhood dreams, have bought houses and have had babies, they have amazing jobs they love, or shitty jobs they keep so they can pay for what they love, and all that adult shit like insurance and sensible cars and that one suit for special occasions. Even Gareth is going to have a baby; Gareth, who had spent high school stuttering whenever a girl even looked at him. Hell, Jeff only thought of the band as a second gig kind of deal, and worked as a mechanic for some actual money.
Eddie has none of that, and now he doesn’t even have the Battle of the Bands. He knows his fantasy of winning the contest, getting recognized and jumping to stardom had been a little silly, but it had been the thing keeping him running, the thing stopping him from thinking too long about the fact that there is very little else in his life.
His last serious relationship had ended two years ago, and Tony had strung him along for the last few months of it because he’d been too lazy to do the breakup song and dance. He hasn’t had sex in months, and he doesn’t remember the last time he rubbed one out that was mildly satisfying. His apartment is a shithole, and he’s not even sure how the hell he’s going to scrape enough money to pay for rent this month. He hasn’t read a good book in forever, feels like he’s still riding the high of being twelve and discovering Lord of the Rings. He hasn’t written a new song in at least a year.
When he eventually manages to fall asleep, he has weird dreams where he falls into a black void and chokes to death and his friends forget to go to his funeral and Linda is the only one there and she’s cheering.
Eddie wakes up with his hair plastered to the right side of his face, drool on the corner of his mouth and completely disoriented. The phone is ringing next to his ear, and Eddie turns to look at it as if it has personally offended him. It’s an old model, vintage he guesses, with a cord and a round dialer with big painted numbers, because of course it is.
Eddie lets the sound die, and then groans, dropping his head back against the pillow and feeling something papery creasing beneath him. He reaches out to find a post-it note stuck to his forehead, bright pink and reading: We went out for breakfast. Don’t touch anything! :)
“A smiley face, Linda, really?”
He stretches his limbs on the couch, but before he can decide whether to get up or not, the phone starts ringing again, loud and shrill. Eddie grunts and picks up the receiver.
“’lo?” he mumbles.
“Um. Hello?” The voice on the other side says. “Is anyone there?” Oh, the voice is dreamy.
“Of course, good sir. How may I help you?”
“… Right. I’m looking for Gareth Michaels? This is Steve Harrington, principal at Hawkins Preparatory School. I know it’s very last minute, but one of our teachers for the sixth grade had an accident and we need a substitute as soon as Monday. I wanted to know if Mr. Michaels would be available.”
Eddie blames his lack of brain-to-mouth filter for what comes out next. “You’re talking to him, Mr. uhm–”
“Harrington,” dreamy-voice supplies.
“Mr. Harrington, yes. I’m all yours.”
“Fantastic! You’re saving my life here, Mr. Michaels. Can we expect you on Monday?”
“Sure thing–” Eddie bites his tongue, forces himself to not finish the sentence with sweetheart.
“Classes start at 9, please come by my office a few minutes earlier.”
“See you then.”
“Goodbye, Mr. Michaels.”
Dreamy-voice, Principal Steve Harrington hangs up, the click of the call ending short-circuiting Eddie’s brain. He pulls the receiver away from his ear and looks at it, wondering what kind of magic spell it has cast on him that he’s just done the stupidest thing ever in his life, which is saying a lot.
“Fuck.”
No, no biggie. He’ll call back and tell dreamy voiced Mr. Harrington that he’s unavailable, which won’t even be a lie because Gareth is currently subbing at some school two towns over for the whole semester, and then that will be that.
Except. Except he could really do with the money, and how hard can it be teaching a few rich kids some math or whatever? He can totally pull off the rebellious teacher going for life lessons instead of academics thing without even thinking about it. He’s super good at carpe diem-ing shit, and there isn’t a table he hasn’t proudly stood on at some point or another. And what’s a little more illegal activity going to do to him, anyway? He already spent his wayward youth selling drugs to high school kids.
He’s going to do this. Fuck yeah, he’s going to ace this.
Eddie parks his van on the school’s parking lot, next to a shiny BMW, and smokes two cigarettes in quick succession to give himself the courage to walk into the building. He realizes this makes him the creepy dude in a van smoking in front of a preparatory school, which maybe should be enough of a sign that he shouldn’t do this after all.
He’s spent all weekend daydreaming about his high school days, remembering just how much he hated the years spent in those horrid hallways, surrounded by all that horrid people. And there were a whole lot of years – it had taken him three tries to finish senior year, and even then, he’d had to army crawl his way to his diploma. He’s the most unqualified person to be a teacher in the known universe.
“Courage, Munson,” he tells himself, shaking his hands to release tension. “That’s it, you’re cool, you’re the coole–”
Someone knocks on his window, and he nearly has a heart attack right then and there.
“Jesus Christ.” With his hand settled over his fast-beating heart, he turns towards the intruder, a smiley woman with pretty eyes and prettier freckles holding a hand up in an awkward salute.
“You ok in there?”
“Yeah, yeah!” Eddie exclaims, scrambling out of his van and fanning his hands about himself to blow away the smell of smoke before closing the door behind him.
“You’re not supposed to smoke in school grounds, you know? Also, it’s disgusting and it will kill you, and as a stranger my opinion probably doesn’t matter a super whole lot to you, but you need to quit.”
“Um. Ok?”
She lifts her eyebrows up at him, sunny smile just this side of scary. “And you are?”
“Oh, the new sub. I’m Eeee–Gareth Michaels, that’s me. Do you know where I can find the Principal’s office?” he asks, voice squeaking at end of his question.
“6B! You’re gonna love those kids, you’ll see. I’m Robin Buckley, 6A, we’re classroom neighbours,” she replies, offering her hand.
Eddie takes it and gives a good shake. “Nice to meet you, Robin Buckley.”
“Come on, I’ll walk you to the principal’s office.” She hooks her arm around his and pulls him towards the blocky white building, which suddenly looks like every nightmare he’s ever had in building form. Thankfully, Robin gives him little time to think when she keeps saying, “The principal’s office, don’t you hate that? It’s like the high school kid inside you never got rid of the anxiety of being sent there. The principal’s office, the principal’s office.”
Eddie shrugs. “I don’t mind it,” he tells her, smiling down at her as they walk together through the double doors, and begin a trek down a pristine hallway. “I spent so much time in there senior year I kinda thought it was cosy.”
Robin laughs, throwing her head backwards and startling a couple of students when she does. Eddie decides he likes her already.
“So, Robin Buckley, what should I know to survive around here?”
She hums, puts a finger to her chin and taps it as if thinking hard about his question. “Don’t try the mystery meat at the cafeteria, obviously.”
“Obviously.”
“Mrs. O’Donnell at the library will pinch your cheeks if she sees an opening, beware. Jason Carver! Oh my God, don’t ever look directly into Carver’s eyes–”
“Why? Is he like, Medusa, or a vampire? Is he going to put me under his thraaall?” He wiggles his free hand before Robin’s face, affecting an accent as he does so, smiling proudly when it makes her laugh.
“Did you know that slam dunking was banned from basketball games from 1967 to 1977?” she asks suddenly. Eddie lifts an eyebrow as an answer to her non-sequitur, and she says, “Ask me why I know that.”
“Why, Ms. Buckley, why do you know that?”
“Because I once looked directly into Carver’s eyes and then he talked to me about basketball for the longest, most excruciating thirty-four minutes and fifteen seconds of my life.”
“Wow, yes, we don’t look at Carver,” he agrees, nodding exaggeratedly. “What even is slam dunking?”
Robin laughs again. “I’m going to like you,” she says before exclaiming, “Here we are!”
She stops by a door labelled front office, reminding Eddie of his actual purpose in coming here. He breathes in, hoping his nerves aren’t apparent and holding in an awkward pearl of laughter. He’s already here, and he’s even made a friend, which makes this run through school already more successful than his first one.
Robin waves goodbye, and half walks, half runs backwards as she exclaims, “Good luck! Let’s do lunch later!”
Eddie lifts his hand and waves, smiling and then grimacing when he sees her crash into a curly-haired student that yelps but manages to hold himself up as well as her with the air of someone who has been through this before.
“Oh my God, Henderson! Super sorry!”
“It’s okay, Ms. Buckley.”
A dreamy voice comes from behind Eddie suddenly, exclaiming, “Robin, careful with the students! We’ve been through this before, for god’s sakes. Eyes forward!”
“Sorry! Come on Henderson, let’s get you to class.”
Robin disappears, student in tow and smile undeterred. Eddie can’t help but laugh as he turns around to face who he assumes is the principal. He finds him pressing his fingers into his eyes, as if already exasperated with the week at 9 a.m. on Monday, and yeah, Eddie can relate. He could still make a run for it, and while the guy takes a moment to compose himself, he carefully considers the idea.
Mr. Harrington recovers quickly, though, setting a pair of black-rimmed glasses over his eyes and looking at Eddie, effectively taking away his last chance at not committing a crime.
“You must be Mr. Michaels,” he says, offering a hand to shake.
Eddie takes it, mesmerized, because dreamy voice Steve Harrington has a dreamy face, and dreamy hair and possibly a dreamy body under the stiff suit and tie he’s wearing, and this is not how school principals are supposed to look. He swears internally, thinking of balding, sweaty Principal Higgins from his high school days.
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Harrington,” Eddie replies, schooling his features in his most serious expression and unwittingly lowering the timbre of his voice, which is something he usually does when playing a villain in D&D, and which his brain has apparently decided is also his Serious Teacher Voice.
“I, ah, prefer Steve, actually,” Steve replies, smiling goofy and sweet. “The school board will kill me if they find out, but it makes me think of my father, so–”
“Hey, just let me know when one of them is around and I’ll switch into formal tone in a second, Steve. I’m totally for sticking it to The Man.”
“Which is definitely what I want to hear from my new sub teacher,” Steve deadpans.
Eddie gulps, sure he’s screwed it up in the whole half a minute he’s been talking to the principal, but before he can even think about apologizing, Steve laughs, the sound ringing clear and amused.
“Your face,” Steve says.
Eddie breathes out harshly, relieved, and doesn’t stop his tongue from running fast and loose, “You asshole; that’s an irresponsible use of your power, Mr. Harrington. I’m going to have to keep an eye on you.”
“I wouldn’t mind it if you did.”
Eddie’s mouth drops open, and something warm flutters in his stomach when Steve rocks back on his heels and puts his hand to the back of his neck, pretty and shy like a wet dream. He thinks this is how it must feel to be hit on by the most popular kid in school.
“Right,” Steve says suddenly, clapping his hands together and startling Eddie. “Let me walk you to your classroom, Gareth. Can I call you Gareth?”
“Actually, since we’re talking names, I go by Eddie, if you don’t mind.”
Steve blinks at him, scrunches his nose adorably for a moment, but shrugs whatever thought he’s had away. “Sure then, Eddie.”
And yeah, that’s the nicest his name has ever sounded, and Eddie is going to have wet dreams about Steve holding his hand and saying his name with his lips pressed against his ear.
They walk together down immaculate-looking hallways, everything new and shiny and probably paid for thanks to exceedingly expensive fees. This is a rich kid school and looks about as close to his old high school as a luxury hotel. There isn’t a single graffiti in sight, and the halls are lined with glass cases filled with prizes, medals, and pictures of smiling kids holding them up proudly. It’s nice.
“Here, this is for you,” Steve tells him, offering him a thick black book. “It’s the school’s code of conduct, which I am obligated to share with you. Also, uh,” Steve pauses, flushes a bit when he says, “Also, I have to mention that there’s a section on the dress code.”
“Right.”
Eddie had tried with the look, but he guesses that the fact that his jeans don’t have a single rip is not a good enough defence for his outfit. He’s wearing his only button-up, a black one that he’d tried pressing with little success, tucked into his waistband. He’s also wearing only one ring, mostly for emotional support, and has tied his hair up into a decent-looking bun.
“This is one thick-looking manual,” he says, skimming through the pages. “You’d think you’re running a zoo here.”
Steve sighs, stopping before a classroom door and looking at him with a pained expression in his pretty brown eyes. He rubs them again, and when he lowers his hand, his glasses are left askew, which only manages to make him look more adorable.
“Some other things you’re obliged to tell me?” Eddie questions, grinning and trying for levity.
“Some other things I’m obliged to tell you.”
“Go for it, Mr. Principal extraordinaire, I’m ready.”
Steve smiles, straightens himself up, rights his glasses and clears his throat, crossing his hands behind his back in the most accurate show of a strict principal he can probably manage. “Mr. Michaels, remember that we strive for greatness in this institution. Our parents pay a great deal of money for the best education and expect nothing below perfection.”
“Wow, loved it, such a good performance,” Eddie tells him, clapping softly and smiling wide. “Worry not, good sir, for I shall strive for perfection and beyond.”
“Good. I have a whole other spiel about the bright future of what is bound to be the next generation of leaders of our country that you do not want to be subjected to.” He stops for a second, and then, “unless the Board ask. Then your heard it, loved it, and took it to heart.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Come on, let’s introduce you. 6B is a good one, you’ll have no trouble.”
They enter the classroom together, and immediately all the rugrats stand up and chorus a perfect, simultaneous, “Good morning, Mr. Harrington.”
Good god.
“Good morning, children. You can sit down.”
They all do, obediently and quietly but for the scrapping of chairs on the floor.
“This is your new teacher for the semester, Mr. Michaels.”
There’s a second chorus of, “Good morning, Mr. Michaels,” which is as adorable as it is creepy, and Eddie doesn’t know if he prefers his own chaotic experience of school, or this Village of the Damned scenario before him.
“Actually, kids,” he says, “I’d prefer it if you called me Eddie.”
“Oh great, he wants to be our friend,” a mean looking redhead sitting on the back row says, scowling like Eddie’s whole existence is an insult to her own. He likes her.
“Maxine, please,” Steve says, his words something of a sigh. “Is this how we talk to our teachers?”
Her scowl grows even deeper, and she crosses her arms, looking away as she replies, “I’m sorry, Mr. Harrington.”
She’s not sorry, she’s so not sorry.
“What does Eddie stand for?” another voice pipes up, coming from the first row this time, and from the curly-haired boy Robin nearly trampled this morning.
“It’s obviously Edward, why are you even asking that?” The boy next to him shoots back.
“I’m showing interest in our new teacher, asshole! And you don’t know that! Could be Edwin, or Edgar, or Eduardo!”
“Henderson, Sinclair, my god, you’re supposed to be the good ones, please,” Steve says, stopping both kids, who were clearly revving up for a long argument. “Also, please don’t swear.”
Curly hair, Henderson, replies, “Sorry Ste–I mean Mr. Harrington. Sorry, Mr. Harrington.”
“Yeah, sorry Mr. Harrington,” Sinclair repeats.
Steve throws the group of kids a sharp look, which doesn’t seem to impress them all that much, but they stay quiet and look at him attentively. Eddie thinks they like him, and more surprising yet, he’s pretty sure Steve Harrington might be the first principal in history to honestly care about his little rugrats.
“I’ll leave you to it. Please show your new teacher the respect I know you’re capable of, and make sure he has a first good day.”
“Yes, Mr. Harrington,” another chorus replies. Eddie is not getting over that any time soon.
Steve steps away, and with his back still to the door, says, “Good luck,” and gives him awkward finger guns. He seems to realize exactly what he’s done a second too late, and just stands there, looking at his own hands with a grimace.
“Did you just finger gun?” the girl sitting next to Sinclair questions immediately, and her tone alone is so funny that Eddie has to bite his lip not to laugh.
Steve sighs, dropping his head at the same time he drops his hands. “Yes, Miss Sinclair, thank you for pointing that out.” Then, “I’m leaving. Be good, children!”
Steve nearly runs out of there, closing the door behind him and leaving Eddie alone and with a bunch of kids looking up at him, expectantly. Right, this is the part where he teaches them. Because he has gotten himself into this mess and now there’s no turning back. Two days ago, he was ready to be a rockstar, but suddenly the idea of facing these kids is daunting.
“Ok, sixth grade,” he says, rocking back and forth for a moment and then realizing that’s not what teachers do and stopping immediately.
The kids are looking at him, judging him for sure. He feels flushed.
“Sixth grade,” he repeats. “That makes you like eleven, twelve? So… Math, sums, that kind of thing?”
Oh yeah. He’s acing this.
“Are you sure you’re a teacher?” Girl-Sinclair gives him a disbelieving look. “You don’t look like a teacher.”
“Erica!” Boy-Sinclair exclaims, wide-eyed.
“Facts are facts, Lucas.” She looks up at Eddie, and sasses, “There is a dress code, you know?”
“Wow, lady Erica, you are savage,” Eddie replies. He points at her, and smiles. “I like you, but let’s not put the teacher’s style in question again, ok?”
“She’s right, though, you don’t look like a teacher,” a pale boy in the second row agrees.
Eddie moves to point his fingers at him instead. “Right, and you are…”
“Mike Wheeler,” the kid replies with all the disdain one can possibly imbue such few syllables.
Before he can say anything, Henderson jumps in his defence. “Shut up, Mike. I think you look cool, Mr. Eddie.” He gives him a wide smile that slants his eyes and lights up his whole face. Adorable.
“Henderson, my man, you’re already my favourite,” Eddie says.
Eddie ignores a chorus of you can’t play favourites coming from both Sinclairs and Wheeler, and instead focuses on a girl sitting at the back, next to the scowling redhead. Her hand is up in the air, and she’s waiting her turn to be allowed to speak with the air of someone much older, her shy face settled in a serious expression. She looks nervous.
“Children, children!” he exclaims, quieting down the rowdy crowd at the front. “Please let’s listen to the only polite human being in this class. What’s your name, sweetie?”
The girl lowers her hand, and doesn’t look at him when she quietly replies, “Jane Hopper.”
“Hello, Jane Hopper. That’s a very serious little face you have there, Jane Hopper. Can I maybe see a smile, Jane Hopper?”
That gets her to look at him, but she doesn’t smile, only blinking like he’s the weirdest thing she’s ever seen in her life.
“Ok, no smile today, then. That’s ok,” he assures her. “What do you want to ask?”
Jane mutters, “Are you going to teach us something?”
Eddie groans, and in a sudden movement, presses his hands to his heart and drops to the floor. “Arg, a mortal wound, lady Jane.”
A gaggle of surprised laughter surrounds him as he stands up, and wow, yeah, this is a powerful feeling, all these kids having fun because of him.
“You kids are wild, huh?” he says. “But yes, schedule says you have math, so let’s do math. Pull out your books and choose whatever you want and go for it.”
“You call this teaching?” Erica asks even as she’s busy pulling out her textbook and riffling through it.
Eddie points at her, and says, “I call this the anarchy of knowledge. It’s more important than Math.”
Erica says, “No, it’s not,” at the same time that Henderson mutters, “He’s so cool,” which Eddie thinks is the best balance he can hope to achieve here.
The kids follow his instructions silently, which is a surprise after their initial rowdiness, and even more so when Eddie considers what he would have done had he ever had a teacher tell him to do whatever in class. He sits on the teacher’s desk and breathes out slowly, glad to have survived for longer than an hour already. Maybe he can do this after all. Maybe it’s not the worst idea he’s ever had.
Eddie survives the morning with a combination of silent study periods, a lecture on the literary mastery of Lord of the Rings, and a surprise show and tell of whatever is in the kids’ backpacks. Henderson (Dustin, he learns) makes the most of it with a presentation about his walkie talkie that Eddie finds award-worthy, and which makes Pigtails (Suzie, she’d pointedly informed him) sigh like a maiden in need of rescue. Wheeler frowns through the whole thing, and only perks up when Jane asks him a question, smiling this time around. The Sinclair twins offer a diametrically opposite description of Lucas’ wrist rocket (Erica calls him a nerd; Eddie tends to agree). A quiet kid named Will shows them a fantastic drawing of a dragon that has Eddie itching to talk D&D, and the scowly redhead (just Max, no last name) refuses to participate.
He leaves the classroom convinced that the kids are geniuses, and when Robin comes to pick him up for lunch, he can’t stop smiling.
They grab a couple of sandwiches and sodas from a small place outside schoolgrounds and then walk back to sit in a small bench hidden away behind the school’s gymnasium, which Robin makes him swear he won’t reveal to anyone. It’s nice, the weather only mildly warm, and Robin laughing next to him as she tells him about the time she faceplanted during a pep rally and flashed the whole student body.
“I was wearing the nice white panties, at least,” she informs him.
Eddie laughs with her, feeling full with something other than food.
“How did it go, then?” Robin asks, knocking their elbows together.
“Kind of awesome, actually. The kids are great.”
“Even Erica Sinclair?”
Eddie throws his head back, delighted. “What a savage, she’s gonna rule the world someday,” he says. Then, as an afterthought, “I didn’t know kids could be this awesome.”
Robin gives him a look as he sips from his soda, and then almost makes him choke on it when she says, “You’re a sub teacher.”
“Right, totally, yeah, I love kids, I’m super surrounded by kids all the time. I just–I mean…” He shrugs, not finishing the thought and letting the awkwardness linger.
Robin is looking at him funny, and Eddie has the impression that she’s onto him. She’d also given him a pointed stare when he’d asked her to call him Eddie instead of Gareth, telling him that he did look more like an Eddie with a funny little giggle in her tone. How could she know, though? No one’s mad enough to impersonate their best friend and pretend to be a sub, right?
“So,” he drags the word, and picking the first thing that comes to mind, he says, “So I met Steve.” Which, of course, of course Dreamy Principal is the first thing that comes to mind.
Robin raises an eyebrow at him. “And?”
He shrugs, nonchalant and taking another quick sip of soda. “He’s not what I expected from a principal.”
“Ah, you were waiting for the bald, stern guy who enjoys tormenting young souls, but Steve is…”
“… Steve is?”
Robin joins her hands together and brings them to her face, batting her eyelashes and sighing, “So dreamy.”
“You have a thing for the principal, Buckley?”
She immediately breaks the pose and sticks her tongue out. “For the dingus? Gross, no.” She sits back and then shows him her hand, where a thin gold band stands out against the pale skin of her ring finger. “I’m a taken woman and a raging lesbian, dude.”
“Congratulations to the lady that charmed the nice white panties off of you and put a ring on it, then.”
“Thank you, thank you,” she replies, jumping up from her seat and mock bowing before sitting back down to finish her sandwich. “Steve’s my best friend,” she explains. “Our souls are branded together by fire.”
“Dramatic, I’m into it.”
“And into Steve?” Robin does a weird eyebrow wiggle, smiling around her straw and looking at him as if she can see into his soul.
Eddie tries for a casual shrug, but heightened drama has always been more his thing than casual, so he knows it’s totally unconvincing. He grunts and throws his head back, so it’s resting on the bench.
“I’m way too old to be crushing on the straight guy,” he says, crossing his eyes so he can look at Robin from his position.
Robin chuckles and gives him a pointed look that he can’t decipher. “You have that Steve Harrington just floored me with his pretty eyes glow about you. It’s cute.”
“Jesus, that bad? I literally talked to the guy for like, five minutes.”
“It’s the Harrington magic, don’t question it,” Robin tells him nodding seriously and reaching out to pet his head as she would a good dog. It’s kind of nice. He’s always been the friend that gets too into people’s personal space, and he thinks he’s going to like being in the receiving end of Robin Buckley’s touchy-feely nature.
He groans after a moment, though, the position uncomfortable on his neck, and twists up and away, bringing both legs up into the bench and hugging his knees to keep them steady on the small space.
“What’s his deal anyway?” Eddie wonders. “He looked super stressed this morning.”
“Did he finger gun? He does that when he’s anxious.”
Eddie smiles, biting his lower lip and feeling fluttery all over. “It was cute.”
Robin laughs, slaps his arm, and then keeps her hand there. “You’re so gone, dude, oh my god.”
“No, I’m not,” he replies, reaching out and pulling at a strand of her hair, relishing her answering squawk. “Also, shut up.”
“Anyway, the Board’s been kicking his ass lately,” Robin says. “The whole young single dad situation, you know, they put a lot of pressure on him.”
“He’s single?” Eddie wonders immediately, because of course he’s that kind of pathetic at this stage of his life. Then, Robin’s full sentence registers, “Dad?”
Robin nods, but doesn’t offer up any more information, and Eddie doesn’t ask. He doesn’t want to pry, not when he’s here by a mere coincidence of destiny and his own delinquent tendencies and complete lack of impulse control, and not when the last thing he needs is for dreamy Steve Harrington to add to his dreamy status by very probably being an adorable father.
“Ok, Buckley, come on, enough about this,” he says, pointing at her dramatically then, “You are going to tell me all about the awesome lady that put that ring on your finger.”
Robin beams. “Oh, you are so on.”
Afternoon rolls around, giving Eddie some free time. He roams the hallways of the school, trying to commit the layout to memory so it won’t take him twenty minutes to find the staff room, like earlier today. Not that he’d found it himself. One Fred Benson (5A, runs the school’s newspaper) had found him wandering around and had taken pity on him. He’d talked about first page layouts the whole way they’d walked together, with as much enthusiasm as he had smugness, and Eddie had nodded and hummed in his best impersonation of Engaged Conversationalist.
He finds the school’s neatness just a sigh creepy, the hallways echoing when the kids are in class and the orderliness almost unnatural. He wonders if the bathroom stalls are covered in graffiti, and if there’s that one fuck up kid smoking a cigarette by the open window and trying to blow away the smoke so as not to activate the detectors. Maybe he should be glad this school is nothing like his own had been, and these kids too smart to throw their life down the drain the way Eddie had.
Eddie feels his shoulders sag under the invisible weight of the rollercoaster ride of the last few days, of being kicked out of his own band and realizing he has no future and then getting himself in the weird mess that had brought him to this school. He considers coming clean, even thinks of the mechanics of getting out of this with no consequences. Silly Eddie Munson, pretending to be a teacher, ha-ha, so funny. Yeah, that’s a bad idea.
He contemplates his choices and thinks he’s going to allow himself an overdramatic sigh, he’s going to finish this day, and then he’s going to go back home, get in his bed under his scratchy sheets and never come out again. However, before he can set his plan in motion, he hears music, at a distance, but coming from inside the building. He follows it, a moth to a flame.
He reaches a room labelled Music Studio, and looks through the open door to see Robin, baton in hand and leading his class through the motions of a classical music piece, and wow, these kids are great. Like, actually super talented, precise, and skilled, and Eddie is getting a terrible idea just by looking at them go. Which, at this point, what’s one more to add to the bag, really?
He leans against the doorframe to have a better view. Jane Hopper is playing a cello with a look so determined that Eddie can’t help but smile, the bow scratching the strings with casual ease. Lucas is at the piano, his sister and Dustin blowing their puffed cheeks into a trombone and a tuba respectively, and Will Byers is struggling with the strings of an ukulele, adjusting them and clearly unhappy with the tuning on the instrument. Mike Wheeler is being a general menace in the percussion section, using the same amount of pre-teen antipathy with the triangle than when smashing the cymbals together.
And then there’s Max. Scowly Red is strumming her fingers through her classical guitar with finesse and dexterity, barely paying attention yet so fucking good all the same. Eddie can’t wait to see what she can do with an electric in her hands.
Eddie feels so giddy he could whoop, but he stops the impulse and instead just watches the kids play, completely mesmerized. He only lifts his head briefly when he hears steps coming his way, and he catches sight of Steve, who gives him a silly little wave when their gazes cross. Steve stops by him and leans against the opposite side of the doorframe after peeking inside the classroom.
Steve looks tired as hell, tie loose around his neck, hair standing up in all directions as if he’s been combing his hand through the strands all day, a bit of sweat pooling at his brow, glasses falling down the bridge of his nose, and lips bitten red. He’s the prettiest thing Eddie’s ever seen, and wow, this is so going to be a problem.
“Music is an expected requisite for a school like this,” Steve tells him, speaking softly so as not to disturb the class. “I don’t think they enjoy it very much.”
Eddie motions towards the class, not containing his excitement. “What, these kids? They’re so good, they must love it. Look at Red over there,” he says. “All scowly and pretending she doesn’t care, but she’s a whiz, man, a future rockstar in the making.”
Steve gives him a blinding smile, soft crinkles lining the corners of his tired eyes, brown irises shining with something that could almost be tears. “You think so?”
“Yeah, definitely. I’m a guitar man myself.” He lifts a hand before Steve’s eyes and wiggles his fingers as proof, his callouses hardened enough that the pads are dry-looking and whitish. “She’s fabulous.”
Steve reaches out for his hand and Eddie almost yelps at the unexpectedly soft touch. Steve’s hands are not calloused, but smooth and warm, curious as his thumb presses carefully against Eddie’s fingers, feeling the roughness at the tip. Steve stops his exploration all too suddenly, as if only now realizing that he’s basically holding Eddie’s hand. He drops it. It takes all of Eddie’s effort not to whine at the loss.
Steve hides his hands inside his pockets, dusky pink painting his cheeks. He clears his throat, and only looks up to say, “she’s my kid; Max, she’s my daughter.”
Eddie nods. “Robin did mention something about young single dad.”
The look on Steve’s face turns a little wistful as he peers inside the classroom again, his expression sad even though he’s still smiling. Max catches them both looking through the open door, and pointedly glares down at the floor when Steve waves at her. Henderson waves back, and Eddie chuckles quietly.
Next to him, Steve exhales loudly, and explains, “she’s going through a phase. It’s called I hate you, and you’re not my real dad, and your hair is stupid.”
“Your hair isn’t stupid.” Which, fine, not Eddie’s best answer, but what’s a guy to do? He doesn’t really know what to say, so he goes for, “you could always keep Henderson instead.”
“He is my favourite,” Steve tells him, turning away from the classroom and looking at him with just a little less sadness than before. “Don’t tell him though, he doesn’t need the ego boost.”
“Agreed.”
“And I don’t know, he’s been telling me today how you’re the coolest teacher in the whole wide world. I’m a little jealous.”
Eddie presses a hand to his chest, mocking. “Jealous? Of lil’ old me?”
“The kids seem quite taken with you. I’m glad.”
Eddie smiles at him, then at the kids as they keep playing, then again at Steve. He feels funny, his stomach simulating a rollercoaster, all the excitement and puke-inducing dizziness unsettling him. He can’t believe the kids like him, and how talented they are.
“Anyway, I have to go,” Steve tells him, stepping back from the doorframe and tightening his tie around his neck, pretending to choke, because he’s a dork on top of everything and Eddie is going to explode with how perfect he is.
Steve walks away, but Eddie stays watching the kids for the rest of the hour, laughing when Robin throws an eraser at Wheeler’s head because he’s a total menace, and giving Jane a thumbs up when she catches him watching. He can’t get over how good they are, and by the end of the class, he’s already made up his mind about jumping without a harness into the pool of his own stupidity. He knows just how he’s going to win Battle of the Bands.