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Epigraph
I know he doesn’t love me. How could he love me? And yet something deep inside me can’t help trembling with fear to think that maybe, in spite of everything, he loves me.
Simone Weil, “Prologue” from La connaissance surnaturelle
June 27th, 1989 — Hawkins, Indiana
While Max had helped save the world a handful of times and had essentially got a demon exorcised out of her mind by the power of Kate Bush, this felt like the first real grown-up thing she did. Her younger self would argue with her; tell her solving clues with Dustin or kiss the boy she liked at a Winter Formal marked her as someone beyond a kid.
But somehow, sitting in the passenger seat of Lucas’ car with his hand on her leg made her feel mature. She owed Nancy an apology, she supposed, the girl rolling her eyes each time the Wheeler sister blushed about all the things Steve for her. Such as: placing his hand on her leg. Did Lucas learn that from Steve? It was likely. But Max couldn’t be bothered to care about the source, Lucas did that and it made her feel grown-up. A nice change of pace from the endless loop of helplessness during the last four years of her life.
His fingers caressed the soft skin of her pale leg, mindless, eyes on the road and chin bobbing to the musings of Bret Michaels. She had tried tanning prior to their trip, but with her job at the arcade and her tendency to burn instead of tan, her skin still resembled the colour of milk. Over her dead body before she tried a tanning bed.
Regardless, she felt jittery. After years, she’d finally cross the Indiana border and travel somewhere new — not the Upside Down. Sure, Milwaukee, Wisconsin wasn’t exactly a big cosmopolitan, but it did host Summerfest. As the world’s largest music festival, attracting close to a million visitors for eleven days straight, Max didn’t care about the location or that they had to drive five hours. It was Summerfest. She’s dreamed of attending ever since she found out about its existence!
And Kate fucking Bush was performing. Max’s soul was about ready to jump out and touch the clouds from pure excitement.
“You’re shaking,” Lucas noted, hand slipping to her knee and squeezing. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” she grinned. “I’m excited.” His brows raised. Her eyes rolled back in annoyance. “About Kate Bush, Lucas. Don’t think so highly of yourself.”
He smiled, amused, as her voice didn’t hold much bite and he knew she didn’t mean it. She never meant it. Even as she kept his ego in check, her affectionate actions were always louder than any of her snappy comebacks. Sometimes she hated it; how well he knew her. Then she thought of punching that knowing (or worse: understanding ) grin off his cute face to save her own ego and reputation, but figured that was the price for an intelligent, thoughtful boyfriend: he saw her, whether she liked it or not.
“I think you love Kate more than me,” he commented lightly.
“Of course.”
“Hm.”
Her hand covered his on her knee and intertwined their fingers. Lucas pulled the tangle to the middle console as he shifted gears, letting it hang there. The morning sun leisurely rose from behind the deciduous trees, warm lighting cascading through the windows and reflecting against the mirrors in his car. Whenever the car went over a bump in the road, she heard their luggage jiggle in the trunk. A knot of tension loosened in her shoulder when they passed the Hawkins sign. Finally.
Reading her mind, Lucas flashed her a cute grin and sped up, zooming from the gravelly asphalt onto a smoother highway. She wanted this moment of freedom to last forever.
He looked good today, Max noticed. Her boyfriend religiously watched Miami Vice during winter break and now sported breezy shirts with the first buttons open, emulating Ricardo Tubbs. His hair had grown out of its blocky shape and now moved more freely. He too seemed relaxed leaving Hawkins in his rearview mirror. Probably because he wouldn’t see or hear Erica for two weeks, she guessed, a smile tugging on her lips at the thought. At fourteen, the younger sister went through waves of terrorising her brother and acting deadly silent for hours without notice.
No Erica. No Dustin or Mike or Steve or Nancy or stupid high schoolers or parents, because they graduated and were eighteen now and Max felt mature and no one could take that feeling away from her.
Turning up the volume, ‘Fallen Angel’ by Poison blasted from the speakers. Lucas tapped against the steering wheel in approval while Max started humming the words, shaking her shoulders to the beat.
Lucas tagging along hadn’t been the original plan. Max often forgot to include people in her plans she crafted in her head, until said people pointed it out to her. He’d been hanging out in her room when he’d noticed her bulletin board filled with magazine scraps and pamphlets of Summerfest and asked — nay: begged — to join her. Though Lucas didn’t have the same relationship with music like she did, he still felt passionate about it in ways Mike or Dustin weren’t. Hell, had it not been Lucas following her to Wisconsin, Eddie for sure would’ve.
It was perfect though. She would’ve missed Lucas too much had she gone alone and then never admitted that to him, or even herself. Now she had someone to talk to whenever she felt excited. They spoke about during lunch, in hallways, hanging at his place, at the skatepark. For weeks, their lives revolved around Summerfest and Summerfest only. Their world opened up, not to the supernatural, but to an actually fun adventure. Max had felt honest to God excited about something.
When she threw her green grad cap in the air, all she thought about was the different sun that’d be hitting her face in Milwaukee. And now, the moment was finally here.
Nothing could ruin this.
They stopped at a gas station on the side of the highway, twenty minutes outside of Hawkins. With amused eyes, Max watched Lucas hurry across the car to open her door, like some gentleman from a 50s movie El adored watching. She reacted quick, however, swinging it open and nearly hitting his legs with it. He frowned while she shot an unimpressed look. What? Did he really think she’d change her demeanour for the summer? But then he grabbed her hand, gently as always, and pulled her into a kiss.
PDA was never Max’ thing. Never would be, either. And yet… she couldn’t these rare determined acts of his got her weak in the knees. Lucas overthought everything, but that kiss? She could tell he acted on impulse. When he drew her closer, she pushed back.
“Wow, Lucas,” Max exhaled, a lame attempt at aloofness. “What’re you trying to do here?”
His hand still wrapped around a lock of red hair, slowly unrolling it. He loved her hair; felt him raking through every lock while she fell asleep. She once zoned out during a movie night with the gang, because he made a French braid at the slowest pace imaginable. Lucas shrugged. “Kiss you.”
“I can see that.”
He nodded at the attached convenience store. “Get us Gatorade — the blue one.”
“Obviously.”
“And– oh! Sour Patch Kids! And BBQ chips!” He paused, seriously considering his options. “And maybe a pack of Cokes?”
Max smiled, a little endeared. “And maybe, like, actual food?”
His nose wrinkled. “You sound like Steve.”
Her finger jutted out in offence with a gasp. “You take that back!”
“Friends don’t lie, Max,” he smirked, grabbing the correct pump for his car. “Not gonna start now.”
“Boyfriends and girlfriends do,” she argued. “To spare each other’s feelings.”
Instead of replying, he laughed, head thrown back, and Max guessed the discussion ended there. With a turn of the heel, she faced the shop. As usual, the frontage was grubby and yellowish from years of sun exposure. The windows were tainted by dirt and graffiti, though the lights inside didn’t flicker. Modern enough, Max concluded, and braved her way forward.
The bell above the door jingled to announce her presence. The man behind the register nodded at her, quiet, and she took that as a sign to keep going. She grabbed the snacks Lucas asked for and scoped out the prepackaged sandwiches in the cooler bins. BLT’s, PB&J’s, 4-cheeses, … They all looked gross, but they couldn’t fuck up a turkey on rye sandwich, could they?
She then realised he kissed her to make her agree to buying blue Gatorade when the orange one was obviously better, and scoffed. That kiss wasn’t impulsive! He calculated it!
“C’mon, missy,” the man at the register bellowed. “I don’t have all day.”
Max blinked at him, a deadly silence following as no one else roamed the aisles. “I can tell.”
He scowled, but rang her stuff and put it in a plastic bag anyway. “That’ll be $10,99.” And then, just as Max slammed the dollars bills onto the counter, a slimy comment: “You’re a pretty little thing. Don’t let that kid outside touch ya, hm?”
His awful grimace and tone made her decide in a split second. Blame the rage. In a flash, she swiped the money back, plucked the groceries off the table and threw a packet of gum in his face before he could react.
“Get a life, shitface!” she yelled, throwing up her middle finger as she ran outside.
Lucas sprung up from his casual stance against the hood at her shouts and watched her sped towards him. “Uh—”
“We gotta go,” she smiled, hurried though firm, and tossed the bag into the car before hurling herself in the passenger seat.
“Uh—”
“Lucas! Go!”
“Okay!” he yelled back, running to the driver’s seat right as the glass door opened to show the enraged man, yelling more curse words their way. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered, rolling the car off the lot, onto the shoulder and back on the road. “What the fuck happened?”
Max shrugged, gingerly taking a sandwich from the bag. She preferred not to repeat what the old douche said. A girlfriend had to spare her boyfriend’s feelings. “He was an asshole.”
“Ok-ay,” Lucas drawled, eyes flitting from the road to her. “Did you get the blue Gatorade though?”
She chuckled. “Yeah. I got it.” When she handed him the drink, she couldn’t help but tease him a bit. “And I didn’t have to spend a buck.” All to see his eyes widen in panic. So worth it.
“Max!”
“He deserved it!”
Well then. An eventful start to their journey.
Somewhere in Indiana
Lucas hasn’t spoken to her since the Gas Station Incident. Granted, it was only twenty minutes ago and they’ve gone through longer periods of time without speaking, contently so, but this felt different as Max knew he was mad. Or at least, annoyed. Which fucking sucked. Having the tables turned on her never sat well with her. She didn’t have his soft-spoken quality and it took years for her to communicate with him in a non-destructive manner. The appearance of Vecna definitely stimulated that growth by hundredfold, though she’d argue her shrink at the time wouldn’t be amused by that.
Max pursed her lips, staring out her window, trying to figure out what she could say to make it better. She wasn’t going to apologise. Ever! The man for sure deserved it and she hoped his death included rotting away in the Upside Down. (Could El open that gate again for just a second?)
Slipping on her sunglasses, she rolled the window down a bit and cooled down her pensive face.
“So, let’s call it a little hick-up,” she finally blurted. His eyes stayed on the road. Her jaw clenched. “Getting the bad energy out of my system before Summerfest. Right?”
He lowered the volume of the music a little. “It’s not bad energy, Max. I’m sure you had a good reason.” Oh. “I’m upset, because ‘He deserved it’ just… why not give me the actual reason?”
At times it baffled her Lucas and Erica were related. Though Lucas had a fiery, determined side to him as well (otherwise he wouldn’t have made it out alive from all their adventures), he somehow adopted the traits of his zen father, too. And he balanced them perfectly. How was that possible? She wished to pick his brain a bit, locate the good traits and then try to find them in her own.
Rolling the window up, she picked his hand from the steering wheel and said, “He said something shitty about you and I– well, I don’t think you need to know what he said. So, yeah. That’s why.”
Lucas didn’t say anything for a minute after that, but Max knew it wasn’t because of her. It couldn’t be; she gave her explanation and kept her voice as even as possible, even if the grit at the end was undeniably there. Instead, she caressed the back of his hand and let her fingers follow the veins down his forearm. Flicking her gaze to his face, she found it troubled. Alarmed, she straightened up and gripped his arm more firmly.
“Lucas?”
“I love you,” he muttered, “but you don’t need to do that for me.”
She blinked. “I think that’s exactly what I should be doing when someone acts like that.” And then, jokingly, “As like, girlfriend law, or whatever.”
He nodded, terse, but not convinced. Maybe that was something he needed to work on: allowing himself to let go of rationale. Sure, rationally, she would’ve just scowled at the man and paid and the end result would’ve been the same with them on the road to Summerfest. But life didn’t work like that. Hell, one would think he figured that out by now; he was friends with a paranormal girl.
“I never heard of that law before,” he tried, tone marginally lighter.
“It’s super legit.”
His mouth twitched, pulling into a hesitant smile. Max placed a kiss on his wrist. His hand stretched and dabbled against her cheek. I love you, she thought, stupidly, annoyingly in love with you.
Then he amped up the volume of the music again and placed his hand back on the wheel; the fond smile stayed. She hoped he believed her though. That law was actually legit. Just like he pulled her out of demon limbo, she’d do the same for him if the situation occurred. Girlfriend law meant she’d throw her middle finger at anyone who dared being mean to him, to his face or otherwise. It was almost embarrassing how much she liked him, remembering sitting at the edge of her mom’s bed as she explained the plan for this trip with red cheeks. How her mom had been concerned the way only parents could, but brushed a red lock behind her ear to get a good look at her lovesick eyes.
“Two weeks is a long time to spend with one person,” she’d warned.
“I know,” Max had replied. “But I want to.”
Arguing with Lucas was nice, but hugging Lucas was something else entirely.
At the two hour mark, they stopped for a break at a pit stop. Cars lining a strip of grass beside the road with a trodden path ascending upwards, curling and disappearing between the bushes. Parents stretched their legs and kids played with their Transformers and Barbies on the ground. Max, however, crammed herself in Lucas’ space the second she jumped out the vehicle. Over the years, he’d gotten quite the growth spurt while she stayed at an average 5’3; which, in the face of world-dominating paranormal danger, made her feel helpless and unimportant. But between his arms, she felt safe and wanted and small, in a good way. Because it allowed her to be close to him.
‘Wrapped Around Your Finger’ by The Police chimed from the open car window and she hoped he felt a little better. His fingers pressed in her lower back, urging her to stay put. Most of their intimate moments happened in or around the car, as the trailer had paper thin walls and Lucas’ parents only allowed her to come over with the doors open, but this hug somehow felt better than the thousand others. No ticking clocks. Just them and the rushing highway and chatter of strangers.
A dazed Lucas pulled back slightly, foreheads and noses pressed together, him tracing the freckles up her arms. “Thanks,” he whispered.
“Should I drive the next part?”
“Yeah, my neck’s kinda sore.” Her hand lifted to the back of his neck and pressed on the knobbly spine. He sighed when she hit the right spot, head lolling back. “Oh, fuck. Yup.”
“You’re a dweeb,” she laughed, but kept going anyway. He turned around so she got better access. After she rubbed and pressed her digits into his back and neck for a minute, she finished it off by stretching on her tiptoes and kissing the massaged skin. They were okay again.
Another three hours to go, Max deduced, hoping that Lucas was as excellent of a navigator as she was. The crumpled map of the Midwest laid on top of the dashboard like a forgotten bubblegum wrapper, but he’d make due.
“Hey,” he said, nose pointed towards the path. “Do you wanna go up there?”
Max paused her train of thought to assess him with suspicion. His voice lilted upwards, like he was hiding something, but his expression stayed cool. Schooled to near indifference. Did Lucas ever even get away with a white lie? Regardless, she knew something was up.
“Why would you wanna go up a hill?” Max deadpanned.
“Cause the view’s gonna be nice up there,” Lucas shrugged. When she hesitated, he said, “Come on, Max. For me.”
“We graduated, Lucas. The point is that physical education isn’t mandatory anymore,” she replied, full of snark, but she already put a foot forward. Whatever. If she was right and there was nothing but dust, she’d tell him she told him so; if he was right, they’d enjoy a reprieve from being enclosed in a hot car for a bit. Win-win situation.
He grinned and followed suit, his long legs stretching and bending and using the muscles he grew from four years of basketball. Sometimes, she found he looked silly next to Mike and Dustin; the former tall and lanky, the latter short and stocky. And then there was her boyfriend: right in the middle, strong, somehow balancing the line of jock and geek all throughout their high school career.
(She knew what her peers whispered about her. About them. Why would he date her, and not someone that actually talked to people? Someone that didn’t listen to music almost 24/7. But they underestimated the power of silence, Max believed, those kids not knowing how loved she felt when Lucas was just there for her.)
The sun creeped up their necks, heating the skin. It would inevitably leave a red mark on hers. She shouldn’t have left her cap in the car.
But then Lucas pushed his own onto her head and fixed the brim. Max smiled. “Thanks.”
The dry grass on the hill didn't enliven her expectations, yet Lucas seemed more excited with each step. It got steeper by the end, the noise of trucks zooming across the highway fading and becoming a hum. Slippery rocks, weeds and wildflowers and then, the viewpoint.
Breath caught in Max’ throat. Shit. Lucas was right.
Somehow, he found the one spot that stretched beyond the landscape of highways and instead, oversaw lush terrain of meadows and woods and further, a glittering lake with rich houses flanking the shores. From the periphery of her eye, she noted his smug expression.
“How did you know?” she asked.
“I looked up spots before our trip,” he explained, as though that was normal. “My mom has a collection of travel guides for some reason.”
“That doesn’t surprise me,” she quipped, not unkind.
He chuckled. “Yeah. I guess.”
Max sat down, dust billowing around her as her legs bent akimbo. Lucas plopped down with a content sigh, hands flat behind him.
“At this rate, we’ll make it to Summerfest in ten hours instead of five,” Max pointed out in a lame mutter, not actually caring much.
Lucas knew that, as he tilted his head back and caught the summer sun with pleasure. His skin glowed. She felt envious of him sometimes. “Hmmm… yeah. Probably.” One eye peeked open. “You’re already forming more freckles.”
She puffed. “Gee. Thanks.”
“You know I love your freckles, Max.” A warm hand slid up her arm, to her cheek, to the brim of her hat pulling her closer to kiss.
He gave her time to push away, but she didn’t, because fuck, he went through his mom’s weird collection for her to find this one stupid hill in the middle of nowhere so she’d discover the beauty of Indiana. Only fools like Lucas would do that. She smiled into the kiss, her thumb pressing against his cheek until she felt it stretch into a smile as well.
“Shit. Forgot the camera,” he whispered.
“That’s okay.” She didn’t like her picture taken anyway. “Next time.”
“Yeah, but El’s gonna wanna know all about the trip.”
Max rolled her eyes as her smile widened despite herself. Even on a trip away from everyone, to focus on what they wanted, he still thought about his friends’ needs. “We’ll keep just this one to ourselves then.”
She knew that if she had to explain this moment to other people, to use words for an indescribable moment like this — Lucas’ borderline perfect expression trained on her, the sun in his eyes — they wouldn’t understand, or believe her; the magic of this one second would simply get lost. Some things didn’t need to be discussed. Some things just existed as it were, and Max trusted themselves to preserve it well. Not unlike a tin can of peas. Opening up that sucker on a bad day when all that could save it was a fond memory.
From her vantage point, this moment, this kiss, his perfect face; it was only for him and her.
“C’mon,” she uttered, “let’s see if you can use a map, Sinclair.”
Steve taught her how to drive in sophomore year. The dude went down the line of their friend group — passing Dustin, much to the boy’s dismay — and pointed at Max as the first person to teach how to properly use a stick-shift and ride around an empty parking lot on a Sunday afternoon. A privilege, really, one Max rolled her eyes at while it happened, but she now felt grateful for. Her mom wouldn’t have had time for it and she would’ve hated the nurturing tone of someone like Nancy; Steve’s snark kept things light.
She liked driving. A bike only brought her so far, her own legs even less. With a car, she had the ability to leave — a power fantasy she had replayed in her head for months and months and months while she counted down to graduation.
Leaving Hawkins. Leaving all the bullshit.
Rolling down the window and feeling the breeze graze her hair, balancing her head on her hand with her arm that leaned against the door, the other hand on the wheel, her eyes trained on a never-ending highway zooming by nature, cities, landmarks, people, with music as the soundtrack to her journey in the background. Had Lucas not offered to join her, she still would’ve enjoyed the trip all on her own.
It helped Lucas navigated though. It’d be a bitch of a task having to do that as well.
“Go left there,” he said, pointing at an upcoming street corner. She switched lanes.
Rolling her lips inwards, her eyes flicked from the road to him. He seemed intently focused on the map, index finger following the right direction.
“So…” she trailed. “Can you check the front pocket of my backpack?”
“Sure,” he said, bending over his seat to the back and scooping up her backpack. “What am I looking for?”
“A mixtape.”
Lucas paused in the motion. “Um. What?”
“You don’t know what a mixtape is?” she asked, sarcastic.
He sputtered: “I didn’t know you made them.”
Because she didn’t want that reaction; or any reaction at all. Really, it shouldn’t be surprising she crafted them considering everything. Cultivating music after it saved her from demonic mutilation seemed like a predictable response to her, especially since she would study Sound & Audio at the School of the Art Institute in Chicago. She was pretty sure SAIC only accepted her because of her sob story, but hey, she got a sweet scholarship out of it.
Anyway, Max made mixtapes. She bought a recorder deck from an AV kid, blank cassettes from the money she made from parttime jobs and huddled as often as she could around the car radio or Robin’s boombox to record her favourite tracks all on one tape. She didn’t tell him, because it felt intimate. The way she held her breath and the way it released in elation when it recorded correctly; the audio smooth. She didn’t want that tarnished. Not that Lucas tended to ruin things, but… Max liked that this was her thing. Her thing, that she perfected all on her own, that partially got her into SAIC. Not because of any of the guys, not Robin or Nancy or Steve. Not Lucas. Not her mom.
But she wanted to share it now. The right moment, with the right person.
“Why did you not tell me you made mixtapes?” he asked, aghast. “That’s so cool!”
“Because it’s not a big deal,” she lied, “and you’re making it a big deal.”
“‘Cause I know that’s bullshit. It is important to you,” he said, zipping open the backpack and, after a pause, carefully pulled out the mixtape. It was encased and doodled on with stars and skateboards. “And I’m a mega-fan of everything you do, Max.”
She hid her smile behind her hand. “Whatever.”
He rolled his eyes and pushed the tape into the stereo. For a beat, there was white noise for a beat, then her firm voice came through.
“Hello, SAIC. These are the songs that got me through the toughest moments of my life, so, uh, I added transitions between songs—” Lucas’ brows raised. “—and made a couple remixes with the ones that have a similar bpm. Anyway, here it goes!”
Kate Bush’ ‘Running Up That Hill’ started playing, but Lucas barely acknowledged the obvious choice (the pretentious deep cut didn’t interest Max) and instead stared at her.
“Transitions? Remixes?”
“I told you it’s not a big deal!” she exclaimed, but slight glee bled through her tone and made her lips quirk up in a pleased smile. She impressed him.
“You’re a fuckin’ producer, Max,” he rebutted, wildly gesturing at the stereo. She turned left and let out a laugh. “Yeah, let that sink in: you produced that.”
“I know, doofus,” she giggled. “What do you think got me into SAIC?”
“The sob story!” he yelled, matter-of-fact. “Like you told me!”
“It was for sure the sob story,” she hummed in agreement. “But this, too.”
Something about the way he angled his body prompted Max to delve into the details of creating the tape. She was self-taught, obviously, and didn’t know most of the technical jargon as she just figured shit out by trying, but he nodded as though he understood, asked questions he knew she could answer,
Her cheeks stretched into a silly smile with each compliment thrown her way — when she realised he was purposefully making her laugh. It didn’t dim her grin, but it brought a shy edge to her expression. He loved her laugh. He loved to make her laugh. An unspoken promise he hadn’t broken since Vecna’s curse.
Under Wilder’s ‘Break My Stride’ she added a new bass made in the music classroom she snuck into after she convinced a band geek to lend her the key. It sounded fresh, less Midwest and more West Coast: trendy yet timeless. She’d never been able to explain to her friends how frozen in place Hawksins felt, because they all only knew Hawkins. Their grandparents and parents have lived there. El understood a little, Max conceded, even though she never fully vocalised that feeling. Neither of them ever actually belonged. Music gave her reprieve of that feeling. It let her escape back to California and its progressive music. She hadn’t spoken to her old friends since she moved, but she believed they’d dance to something like this.
Lucas as well, much to her amusement. She kept still as he danced in his seat, however, anticipating another reaction. The last chorus clamoured, and then—
He gasped when it expertly crossed into Stetsasonic ’s ‘Talkin' All That Jazz’, a current favourite of his after a belligerent teacher mocked his taste. Lucas spoke endlessly about the importance of the rap group and Max had listened. It made her wonder if he believed she didn’t. How could she not? He listened to that 1988 album every chance he got. Or maybe he gasped, because he realised what it meant: the fact that she added it specifically to this mixtape.
When it first released on the radio, Lucas and her had been in the car with his dad going to a mall in a neighbouring town. He had choked out a breath (like now), turned the volume all the way up and then explained he had listened to their ‘86 album all throughout the second semester of freshman year. Him freaking out over new music was forever burned into her memory.
Max remembered that moment so well, as it was the first time a thought hurled through her mind like an absolute fact: I’m in love with this idiot.
She told him weeks later. Curled into him while watching a movie, she’d uttered: “I love you, Lucas. Like, I’m in love with you, if that makes sense.” An honestly non-revelatory confession, but Lucas had beamed from ear to ear and kissed her like she offered him gold.
“I’m in love with you, too, Max. But I think that was obvious.”
Now, he seemed to slowly put the pieces together; remembering the moment in the car, his impassioned discussions about ‘On Fire’ and ‘In Full Gear’, trying to marry the idea that his own tastes affected her music selection.
“This… helps you… when you’re feeling low?” he asked.
They spoke of her lingering trauma surrounding Billy from time to time, but she appreciated he called it ‘feeling low’, as that essentially visualised the sensation: anchors of grief and guilt pulling her down, deep into the ground, unable to move or function or think. Days like those were horrible. They weren’t as frequent as before, but… it happened. Still. Lucas knew that. He’d cleaned up her bedroom during those days. She didn’t need to hide from him anymore.
A street sign notified Winfield, Indiana was ten miles away, their next stop.
She didn’t know how to explain something so simple to her. “It’s your favourite song.”
He shook his head in disbelief. The gears in his head were turning.
(Yeah, she did bring her recording deck to Lucas’, gave him a stupid errand to get him out of the house for ten minutes, quickly recorded ‘Talkin’ All That Jazz’ as it played on his record player, and consequently had to blackmail Erica to not say anything when she found her peeking through the bedroom door like a little shit. A lot of work for one song, but hey: anything to get into college, right?)
Nothing came after that. They kept listening to the other tracks on the mixtape, but he kept quiet while his fingers drummed against his knee. A bemused Max rolled into the quiet fishing town of Winfield twenty minutes later, excited for whatever happened next.
Winfield, Indiana
The innocuous Winfield was an arguably beautiful town. If one looked beyond the wide gravel roads flanked on each side with fast food chain restaurants, they found spacious villas scattered around the Winfield lakes. Fishermen spent their days sitting in a chair, waiting. Max could see the charm in a town like this for rich hermits, or elderly people with asthmatic problems. The air was noticeably better here.
But air was not Max’ priority right now. Neither was Lucas’.
Turned out Lucas had been waiting for the car to be parked so he could pull her in a searing kiss. On the side of a dry meadow, Max was pressed between the door and his body. His cap fell off her head when he slid a hand in her hair.
She would’ve never guessed adding his song to her mixtape turned him on.
But she liked this side of him: a little inhibited, a little less calculated.
His warm hand slipped under her t-shirt and rested against her lower back. The sun hung right above them, the midday heat burning her scalp. She didn’t mind, not with her fingers curled around the lapels of his shirt, not with his tongue grazing hers.
But then his stomach rumbled against her chest and her lips puffed out an amused snort.
“You’ve been snacking all day and you’re still hungry?”
“BBQ chips and actual food isn’t the same thing,” he argued, but a glimmer of playfulness shone in his eyes. “Plus, I’m a jock, so—”
“Oh, God,” she gagged, gently pushing his chin away from her while he laughed. They didn’t separate though; both finding satisfaction in the touch. “Don’t say that word around me.”
“You’ve been dating a jock for three years, Max. Get over it,” he grinned, squeezing her sides. “And I’m gonna continue playing in Michigan.”
She wondered how seriously he could actually play once he inevitably drowned in Political Science handbooks, but she kept that to herself. There was no reason to crush him. Instead, she rolled her eyes and said: “A Poli-Sci major on the court? That’s probably new. UMich won’t know what hit them.”
They didn’t speak of college often. They both got into their preferred schools by some miracle, they celebrated, and kept it at that. Maybe because for others, it implied a break-up, or a pause, or whatever the hell people used as synonyms to separate, but neither of them saw the point. Or at least, she presumed Lucas didn’t see the point, because she didn’t either. It was a four hour drive between Michigan and Chicago. They could make that work, right?
They flagged down a passing car and asked for the best and most cheap fish restaurant in town. The driver suggested Mel’s Fish ‘n Chips, a shack owned by a Brit that moved to the US decades ago and reigned king as the superior cook. Hunks of fish deep-fried in golden batter, alongside a basket of chunky potato wedges with rock salt. The aroma made her mouth water the second she stepped inside. It wasn’t too busy for lunchtime in the summer. Men in thick, cotton overalls, boots and leathery skin, a family of four with the kids’ fingers waxy from crayons, and a few young and old couples.
Mel, a man with tanned skin, a bulbous nose and protruding stomach, eyed them from behind the kitchen window, motioning at them to sit down with his spatula. Their knees bumped beneath the table. The wood chipped and the blue paint has faded from sun and salt exposure, but neither minded.
The owner appeared around the corner and stopped at their table. His apron was greasy and smelled like fish, making Lucas’ stomach growl even more. He smirked. “Hi, I’m Melvin and you, fella, look like you need some food in that belly of yours.”
Lucas laughed, bashful. “Yeah.”
“We want your best but cheapest dish,” Max asked, unafraid.
Mel seemed to appreciate it though. “You got it. On a trip?”
“To Summerfest,” she replied.
He hummed. “Suspected that. You look like the typical folks.”
Max grinned at the backhanded compliment. Didn’t matter he called them scrappy teens; she already looked like she belonged to her dream festival! Lucas asked for two lemonades. The tip of his sneaker balanced on top of hers.
“Isn’t this great? He doesn’t care at all.” She practically sang the words. Some big, old man just wanted to serve them good food and didn’t ask more questions than necessary. No frenetic surveillance like in Hawkins, no bulletin board at the front door of missing or dead teens. She bet the milk cartons in their grocery stores were face-less. “We’re ‘typical folks’.”
“I’d live here,” Lucas said, staring out the window, “when I’m old.”
“Like forty.”
“Yeah.” He straightened up when a small boat passed by outside. “It must be sick to wakeboard on the lake here!”
Max raised her brows. She hadn’t thought of that before, only seen the sport in passing on the cover of sports magazines dads bought. It couldn’t be too difficult, right? It was just skateboarding on the water.
Melvin returned with large plates of fried fish, French fries and fresh lemonades. Max pointed at the boat. “Is wakeboarding a thing here?”
The man nodded, wiping his hands off his apron. “There’s a tourist desk in the city centre. It’s pretty cheap for thirty minutes. Are you guys interested?”
Max and Lucas looked at each other. They were only half-way to Milwaukee and already wasted a lot of time sitting around doing nothing. If they kept up this pace, they’d get to the motel by midnight. Then again, no third party forced them to hurry. Why wouldn’t they wakeboard in the middle of fucking nowhere? What was stopping them? They had towels and she had a bathing suit in her luggage.
Lucas smiled at Melvin. “We’ll check it out. Thanks.”
The first bite of the battered fish let a crunch resonate through her mouth, the warmth and saltiness mixing with a perfect piece of fried fish. Lucas looked ready to wolf it down, with his eyes as wide as the plate. Max took a content sip of the lemonade, enjoying the sting the sweetness gave. This was the good life, she concluded.
Wakeboarding, as it turned out, was not at all like skateboarding. She thought her feet would be free, but they were strapped to the board and the tiny handle was the only thing that kept her upright. The board was thin and oddly shaped. The life vest’s scratchy fabric pressed into her and her knees were already wet from kneeling down — goosebumps covering her legs — waiting for the boat to speed up.
Lucas sat at the edge of the boat, watching her with mild amusement.
“Are you okay, Max?”
She scowled. “Why aren’t you going first?”
“Because you wanted to go first and show me how it’s done,” he laughed. He looked like a comic book character in just his red swim trunks and yellow life vest, something she’d find endearing had she not been strapped to a death trap. “You’re gonna kill it.”
“It’s gonna kill me,” she snapped.
“You ready?” the coördinator asked from the steering wheel, his voice bellowing above the wind. She stuck her thumb in the air. She wasn't going to back down now. “Hold on tight!”
Revving up, the boat went from zero to one hundred in mere seconds, shooting forward like a slingshot and slicing through water. Max let out a yelp at the sharp pull of the handle, pushing her up on her feet and balancing onto the wakeboard. Her knees wobbled as if she never walked before and she reflexively tried moving her feet; a beat too late to remember that wasn’t possible.
“YOU GOTTA LEAN BACK!” Lucas yelled above the loud motor and splashing water. “LIKE YOU’RE SITTING ON A CHAIR!”
“HOW DO YOU KNOW THAT?!” she screamed.
“MY DAD READS THOSE SPORTS MAGAZINES!”
Max groaned. The wind made her scraggly braid whip in all directions. But she complied: carefully leaning back and trying to keep her knees steady. When the board went over a wave this time, it didn’t feel like her stomach jumped up to her throat.
Her arms were burning though from holding on so tight and she called it after five minutes. Soaked to the bone and with fingers red from gripping the handle, she unbuckled her feet and swam to the edge of the boat, letting Lucas hoist her up. Her arms snapped around him like a freakin’ baby, grounding herself with his warm chest against her wet cheek; no way she’d ever get on a stupid wakeboard again!
The coördinator grinned at them, his orange face and shiny white teeth a stark difference to the burly Melvin. “Wasn’t that fun?!”
“Super fun,” Max bit, her voice saccharine sweet to hide the venom of her sarcasm. The man didn’t pick up on it, or deliberately let it pass, as his head turned to address Lucas.
“Your turn?”
“Hey,” Lucas whispered, squeezing her shoulder. She looked up. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” she breathed. Her legs would be trembling for a few more minutes though. “Yeah, I’m fine. Remind me to never do this again.”
He smiled. “Sure.”
Finally, Max sat down, sighed in relief at the feeling of a steady surface, and quipped: “Your turn, jock.”
Curling into her towel to warm up, she watched as he jumped into the water and then expertly put on the foot straps like the coördinator had previously shown on land. He looked unsure of the stability of the board as well, but by far not as frightened as she was. Max wanted to kick herself. Nancy, Robin, Steve and Eddie all dove to the portal under Lover’s Lake years ago, unknowing that practical death laid below, but she couldn’t wakeboard on a lake in Winfield? Fucking great.
A pout wanted to jut out her lip, but she withheld it. Lucas did enjoy this. She wanted him to be happy.
The boat sped up again and Lucas stood up without much stumble. For a couple seconds, he sought his balance on the otherwise rowdy waves and then, as though pieces slotting together into a system, found the correct position to move with the motion of water. He screamed in delight, throwing up the ‘shaka’ hand in an almost ironic fashion had she not known he’s also wanted to surf for a while. It seemed like he wanted to do everything nowadays — why else would he join her on a trip to Milwaukee? — perhaps because finally, fear had become the exception in their life, not the rule.
“GO, LUCAS!” she yelled, sticking her fist in the air.
“He’s a damn natural,” the coördinator commented, fixing his cap. “Where are you guys from?”
Max knew judgement came with the town’s name, but she said it anyway. “Hawkins.”
He puffed out an incredulous laugh instead. “Hawkins? Ha! Welcome to paradise, kid!”
With her face propped on her fist, she watched Lucas have the time of his life for ten more minutes, experimenting with hand helds and jumps near the end. The coördinator was right: he was a natural. Had he not pursued basketball, he could’ve excelled at this. It made her wonder how many versions of them existed in the universe — in this vague, abstract idea of the universe, considering everything they knew and preferred not to lose their minds over the lack of limits the universe possessed — how many hobbies and aspirations and fears and dreams they harboured, how many versions of them met, how many of her died because of Vecna or any other evil; how many of him died in the same manner. How lucky she was to be right here, on this boat, with the sun on her freckled cheeks and lake water on her lips, watching the guy she loved taming the waves.
Max closed her eyes. There were worse ways to waste their time.
After they thanked the man and dried off, they walked back to the car and placed the towels on their seats just in case. Checking her appearance in the car sun visor mirror, she cringed. Her nose was sunburned. Her hair felt cork dry and ratty, so she knew that motel shower in a couple hours would be heaven. On the floor, she found their rumpled map. Lucas turned on the ignition.
“Um… about an hour to Chicago,” she muttered, squinting through the wrinkles. “Depending on traffic. We get to drive by Lake Michigan though.”
“I’m gonna be thinking about that fish for the rest of my life,” Lucas sighed, rolling onto the highway. “And Melvin. He looked like a comic book character.”
“ You looked like a comic book character,” she teased, “with those little red trunks.”
He gawked. “What?”
“All you needed was a catchphrase and you were set.” She undid her braid and dug for her comb in her backpack, praying it wouldn’t hurt like a bitch trying to get the tangles out. Had Lucas not been driving, she’d ask him to do it for her. “Three steps removed from Archie Comics.”
“You looked hot in yours,” he commented, sly.
“It was a green one-piece and I was eating shit.” The deadpan distracted her from the feeling of undoing the hair elastic from her scrunchy ends. She desperately needed to cut it.
He shrugged and patted her leg. “You were very cute eating shit.”
Rolling her eyes, she turned on the radio and they fell into a comfortable silence. A Tommy Mcgee song played while she combed and re-braided her hair, droplets splattering onto the bright blue towel. She felt drowsy from their trip on the water, nodding off and jerking awake every few minutes.
They drove by Merillville, Hobart, saw a tourist trap sign for Michael Jackson’s place of birth, and sped through Gary, East and South Chicago because of the lack of traffic despite the afternoon rush. Max sat up straighter, willing herself to focus when skyscrapers loomed in the distance like clouds diffusing for Alpine mountains. Chicago. The next four years of her life.
Chicago, Illinois
Mom and Max visited Chicago last summer. They made it a whole trip. Her mom didn’t drink at all and she prompted both to wear their nicest clothes and she bought them lunch from the best diner in Hawkins to eat during the drive. Normally, Max rolled her eyes at such behaviour, thinking it was stupid and awkward, but this was about Chicago. A far stretch from California, but a bustling, modern city nonetheless.
The weather reports had called for an uncharacteristically cold day, so Max had bundled up in her corduroy jacket and pants and a thick turtleneck. The latter helped to hide her cheesy grin once they entered the city and she gazed up through the window of their station wagon at the high-rise buildings and glossy warehouses. Her mother had murmured about how busy and kinetic the city felt, meanwhile Max yearned to find the SAIC campus as soon as possible. 36 S Wabash Avenue had been staring at her from her bulletin board for months and she finally got to see it in person. She hadn’t applied yet, but she seriously considered it.
Though she had kept to herself, she’d listened to the guide’s every word and her mom wrote a couple things down, much to her appreciation.
In the sound department, she’d peeked into one of the rooms to see what was up, expecting a lecture of some sorts, except all she found was a young woman behind a large sound board as a psychedelic tune played from the speakers. Max had been transfixed, frozen by the threshold as the others passed her by without a second glance. Even her mom, too busy notetaking, shuffled away.
All of a sudden, the girl had turned in her desk chair, unsurprised and unbothered by her presence, and before Max could apologise, she asked: “You’re here on the tour?”
“Y-yeah,” Max had sputtered, taking a step back. “Sorry, I shouldn’t– um–”
“It’s cool,” she’d dismissed. “You wanna check it out? Those tour guides never let you touch the stuff. Is it Randy?”
Max’d smiled, careful. “Yeah.”
“Yeah, Randy’s a stickler.” She’d gestured at her. “Come here, I’m just finishing up anyway.”
Looking over her shoulder, she’d seen the group rounding the corner and disappearing from sight. No reason to catch up to them anyway. Closing the door behind her, Max said: “It sounded really cool, by the way. I love the— was it a cajón at the end?”
The woman’s lips perked up, pleased. “It was. You have a good ear. I’m assuming you’re applying for the Sound Program?”
“I— yeah, I mean maybe.” Her eyes had averted, shrugging. “I’m not sure yet.”
“No need to play it cool. Two years ago I snuck in here just like you,” she laughed. “We need more girls in the program, so let this—” she’d nudged Max onto a free chair “—be the winning speech.”
And then she’d played the music again, from the start. It felt grand like a Star Wars theme song, but intimate and old-school like a blues track from the 50s, mixed with a sample from a 60s psychedelic tune. It was a lot and yet, it made sense. She hadn’t caught the name of the girl after she left, she had just grabbed her mom by the elbow and told her — begged her — that this was it. A new purpose.
“What’re you thinking about?” Lucas asked. The radio quieted a bit, his hand on the knob.
Max blinked out of the reverie and tore her gaze away from a glittering building to him, smiling. “How much I’m going to love it here.”
Lucas stared at her for a beat. Only a beat, something anyone other than Max’ keen eye wouldn’t notice. But she did.
“Yeah.” He smiled back, dimmed. “You’re gonna be awesome.”
Her eyes narrowed. Should she… no. She shouldn’t. She refused to get into an argument right now about a slightly less enthusiastic smile. She didn’t wanna be that person. Pursing her lips, she let it go and instead nodded at the steering wheel. “Do I need to take over?”
“Nah,” he dismissed. “It’s only an hour and a half now.”
“Exactly.”
“Max—”
“Lucas, you’ve been driving a lot. Let me at least drive the next hour.” She hadn’t meant to sound so biting, but the dimmed smile frankly did piss her off and she didn’t know why he had to act like that. Was she overreacting? (Was it a mistake to never talk about their inevitable future?)
He sighed. It came off clipped. “Alright.”
They were just tired, Max reasoned. They’ve been driving since this morning and did a whole-ass detour in Winfield and they were tired. Tomorrow would be better. But why couldn’t he be as excited for her as she was for him about UMich? The Poli-Sci negging was all in good fun. He knew that. She turned the music back up; her thoughts too dreadful to focus on right now.
They stopped at a parking space in Downtown Chicago by a big park. The afternoon called for inhabitants to sit outside and sunbathe in the green, away from the clamour of the inner-city. It looked peaceful. If they hadn’t stopped in Winfield, she would’ve for sure suggested to sit here for a second. Instead, they silently hopped out of their seats and stretched their legs.
“Do you want another Gatorade?” she asked. Her thumb jutted over her shoulder. “There’s a convenience store at the end of the street.”
While he considered it, a person cleared their throat beside them. The couple swivelled to the sound and came face to face with an old woman, dressed in an eclectic fashion. She held up a small pamphlet. “Are you interested in a reading by Madame Magic?”
Lucas and Max blinked, incredulous, the former squeaking: “What?”
The woman took that as a sign of encouragement and pushed the paper in his hands. It was a black-and-white scan of a woman’s picture holding a crystal ball with the words MADAME MAGIC KNOWS ALL above. “A tarot reading by Madame Magic. She’s the best psychic in Chicago. Would you like to know your future?”
“So… you just stand on parking lots lurking on people?” Max deadpanned. Lucas nudged her. She couldn’t help it though. Not that this woman screamed ‘stranger danger’, but please, who walked up and down a lot and pestered travellers for a ‘psychic’ reading? They had been around enough paranormal activity to recognise this ‘Madame Magic’ didn’t possess a bone of magic.
“I’m simply her assistant,” she smiled, unbothered by Max’ rude quip. “I’m never in one place for a long time and let energy guide me towards the people who are destined for a reading. So? It’s the building next to Carl’s Bodega .”
Just as Lucas opened his mouth, presumably to say no, Max beat him to it. Fuck it. They already wasted so much time it didn’t matter anymore if they procrastinated another thirty minutes. Arriving at nightfall was inevitable at this point. It either became a funny story to tell her friends (especially amusing to El), or maybe it actually helped them in whatever way.
“Four fifty and we got a deal,” she haggled.
“Max!”
“Deal,” the lady agreed, pleased. Max handed her the money. “Follow me.”
As the woman walked up front, Lucas and Max stayed two steps behind her. He stared at her like she’d grown a second head, likely wondering why the hell she decided to entertain the pseudo-science she so clearly detested in any regular situation. Max shrugged. She didn’t want to explain herself. If he didn’t acknowledge his own stupidly dimmed smile, she wouldn’t discuss her actions either.
Madame Magic’s store had the typical exterior. A front door painted indigo, a beaded curtain behind it, a dark staircase leading down to her lair where comically spiritual music played. It felt like they entered a movie scene. Lucas’ eyes flitted around, wary, muttering something about ‘second locations’ and ‘freaky strangers’, but he shut up when she quietly reminded him of Demogorgons, Mind Flayers and Vecna. The ‘lair’ appeared to be a small room with a handful of chairs, a round table covered by a velvety blue cloth, a crystal ball and a deck of ornate cards. Those were the tarot cards, Max presumed, though she’d never seen them in real life before.
From another door, Madame Magic popped out. She wore a black harem pants and a simple top, a transparent purple caftan cascading down her frail body. She seemed younger than her assistant, maybe late thirties from the lack of wrinkles on her olive skin, much to both the teenagers’ surprise. They expected some high as a kite, old crone puttering nonsensical prophesies. One could almost believed this madame was normal.
“Hello, travellers,” she greeted them. “Sit down, please.” The assistant left the room and the teens sat down. Madame Magic took her place on her rattan throne. “I’m Madame Magic,” she introduced herself. “And I can sense this is your first time visiting a psychic.”
Lucas snorted. Max kicked his foot under the table. The woman didn’t seem bothered, however, and fanned the deck of cards out onto the table, meanings hidden from them. “Pick three cards, please.”
Max’ brows quirked up. “These cards will tell us our future?”
“Exactly.”
“Just three cards?”
“Yes.” Her eyes, piercing blue and intense, slid between the two. “Though I could always change it to a lovers reading. Three years, maybe? Perhaps longer. You’ve known each other for a while, that much is certain.”
Max felt Lucas stiffen beside her. It didn’t faze her though. So what, she did a bit of deductive reasoning — they were young and looked like a couple. It didn’t take a brainiac to figure out they went to school together. Madame Magic took Lucas’ aghast reaction as a positive, a pleased smile covering her purple-painted lips.
“A lovers reading, then?”
“The future’s fine,” Max said. “We don’t need relationship therapy.”
Her head tilted, curious. “I didn’t say anything about relationship therapy, but alright.” Max fought off an embarrassed blush. “A reading for the future. Pick three cards each.”
They did as she asked and she decided to start with Lucas. She turned the first card. It pictured a man on a throne holding a staff and wearing a crown. The teens leaned over the table to get a better look, curiosity taking over their cynicism.
“The Emperor,” she said. “The Emperor is a card of leadership and power. He represents structure and solidity, and reminds you that you also hold immense power in your own life.” She eyed him. “You’re a strong leader, traveller, though you might not always know how to harness that skill. Acknowledge your potential even if you’re insecure, though be mindful not to become a tyrant.”
The next turned card looked similar to the first, but with more details going on.
“The Chariot,” she continued, “This card is connected to your drive and determination. It can indicate an upcoming victory. Maybe you just got accepted somewhere—” he nodded in approval “—once more a reminder to use your intellect to rise to the top, though not forget your heart along the way.”
She turned the last card. A far more lugubre one, with a man hanging upside down on a wooden cross. Her fingers pressed into the cardstock. “The Hanged Man,” she said. “Arrested independence. You’re waiting in fear for the worst to happen, traveller. You think you don’t have control over a situation and wait for it to pass.”
Max watched Lucas from the corner of her eye, watching him become more quiet and still with each syllable, deep in thought and avoiding eye contact with either of them. His previous smug expression was gone.
“These three cards should stimulate you to think about your character and the limitations you have put upon yourself. You are far more than you give yourself credit for, the fear of change and power keeping you on the sidelines of your own life. Meditate upon your position, traveller. Patience and reflection will help you break through those shackles and find peace.” She paused. “May I call you Lucas?”
He reeled back. “How do you—?”
“A feeling.”
“And… Maxine,” she trailed, gaze sliding to Max with slight mirth. “Though you don’t seem like the person to go by that name.”
“Just Max,” she replied, brows furrowed. Not only did Lucas’ reading feel strangely true, she wondered, perhaps selfishly, if it related to her as well. If Lucas felt arrested in place because of their situation they so deeply ignored.
“Max,” she nodded. “Let’s see your future.” The first card turned and she let out a chuckle. It presented a female religious figure, much to Max’ confusion. One wouldn’t exactly call Max a believer. “Ah… The High Priestess, reversed.”
Max frowned. “Reversed?”
“Human wisdom. You’ve been through more in your young life than most people, which has granted you insights in the true, inner meaning of existence. It’s made you contemplative… melancholic.” The latter word made the girl shift in her seat, discomfort creeping up her back. “Reversed means that when you’re struggling, you hide within that inner life and shut out all connections that tether you to the world of your loved ones.”
“That’s not true,” Max rebutted reflexively, but the snappy tone gave her away.
“This is not judgement, Max,” she soothed. “This is a reminder to balance your inner and outer world. If you succeed, you’ll live a much fuller, more whole existence, feeling the entire spectrum of emotions.”
The next card turned. A knight on a horse holding an ominous black flag. “Death,” Madame explained. Max wanted to laugh: of course she’d get the fucking Death card. What else was new? “Don’t fear this one. It simply represents transition. Just like Lucas, you’re going through a new phase in life. This is liberating: cut the ties that need to be cut, move on from those that hurt you, love those that are deserving of such. This—” she pressed her long nail into the card “—is your clean slate. Losing and gaining are simply the two sides of the same coin.”
Her lips pressed together. She never looked at death that way. Every winter, nature died and lost its lustre; every summer, they mourned Billy; every fall, it reminded her of the life she used to have on the West Coast — she didn’t see any beauty in death.
“And lastly…” She turned the third card. “The Star. Your soul wants to transcend. You’re seeking a stronger sense of purpose, or have found it and not know what to do with it. Let it nudge you in the right direction. Become conscious of those helping you, whether it’s a divine spirit, a friend, a community.”
Madame Magic paused. Max felt it too; the charged energy surrounding them, enveloping her, pressing on her chest. Lucas’ eyes bore in her temple. “You have a unique soul, Max… and though this wasn’t a lovers reading, your fates are intertwined with the thickest string.” She let the six cards overlap. “Lucas and Max, you find yourself at one of the most important crossroads of your young lives. It’s up to you to figure out if your commonalities put you at odds, or bring peace to your union.”
Max promptly stood up. Fuck this. “This is weirding me out. I’m done here. Lucas?”
Lucas looked forlorn. When Max fixed him a pointed look, he slowly stood up and nodded at the lady. “Yeah… we’re… we’re done here, Madame. Uh, thanks for the reading.”
“It was a pleasure. It’s not often I discover such intensity.” She gestured at the exit. “You know your way out. Goodbye and safe travels!”
Max decidedly made a grave mistake by messing with some faux-psychic, as she now successfully placed seeds of doubts in their minds. Max wasn’t stuck in some inner world and she wasn’t at crossroads and she wasn’t anything Madame Magi-Bullshit claimed her as. She was Max Mayfield. That was it. Lucas’ hands dug deep in his pockets as they walked the short distance back to their car. The sun had lowered to the tips of the trees, its light filtering into shades of gold. She’d take a picture of it had she not felt so lost in that moment.
They switched places: Max behind the wheel, Lucas in the passenger seat. But when she wanted to turn on the ignition, his hand clasped around hers.
“We can’t just drive after that,” he said, almost incredulous she even dared to act.
Max leaned back. “Why not? You didn’t even believe in it.”
“I still don’t,” he replied, too curt to be believable. “Do you?”
“No, I don’t.”
“I don’t believe you.”
She paused. Anger simmered beneath her skin and she had no clue how it was going to erupt; in tears, in ugly words, in deadly silence. Her teeth grinded together. “You don’t believe me?”
“Yeah. Max,” he sighed, “it all sounded too fucking convenient and I just— you were the one haggling that woman.”
“Because I thought it would be funny!” she yelled. There it was: the anger. Her hands balled into fists. “I thought it would lighten the mood after you gave me that look!”
“What look?”
“When we drove into Chicago,” she said and she knew he understood what she meant, his expression shifting to one of guilt in a snap. At least he was an open book. “Yeah. I’m not stupid, Lucas. So, what is it? Are you not happy for me?”
“Of course I’m happy for you, Max.” He gestured wildly, as if catching the words for his disbelieving lips. She felt it, too; not enough words in the English lexicon to explain the devastation of the end of their youth. “Who do you see me as? I’m super happy for you. But— what’s gonna happen to us? You’re so hell-bent on leaving Hawkins, leaving everyone, so, y’know…” Moisture shone in his troubled eyes. “Are you going to leave me as well?”
“Why would you even think that?” she let out, aghast. The anger bled out her bones, making them heavy. That was what he was worried about? “Do you think I would’ve let you go on this trip with me if I wanted to break up with you?”
“I don’t know!” He shrugged, agitated. “One last ‘moment’ or whatever. You’re hard to read, Max.”
“Jesus fuck. No. No, Lucas.” Reaching over the middle console, she grabbed his hands and held onto them tight. How had it only been one day in the car with him? How had so many turbulent emotions coursed and crashed through them? This day needed to end. “I don’t want to break up. Ever. I want us to work. We’re not at crossroads. We’re on the same road, okay?”
Lucas slowly exhaled. It cracked the tension. Her shoulders slumped. Maybe she hid from the people she loved dearly as it meant she’d have to acknowledge the past and move on, maybe he feared reaching his full potential if it meant he’d potentially fail or disappoint those he loved; maybe their struggles were at odds, but them, as a couple, were not. If anything, they leaned on each other.
“Same road,” he repeated, firm.
“Same road.”
“Okay.”
“Good.” She paused. A kiss wouldn’t make this better. Instead, she reached up and gently wiped the wetness off his under-eyes. He kept her hand there, turning his cheek to kiss the palm. Her heart softened alongside her voice, unable to stay cool whenever he did that. “Can we go?”
“Yeah,” he nodded and let go of her hand. It fell on the stick-shift. “Let’s get outta here.”
Only time would tell what changed between them. Something intrinsically did, that Max was certain of, but whether it was for better or worse… she hoped better. She wished for better. No matter the road or hill or college campus they traversed next. Her teeth dug into her lower lip.
She didn’t believe in destiny. Really, she didn’t. But maybe away from home, in a car where time and space felt liminal, were they able to have this conversation. They weren’t Max and Lucas from school, or Max and Lucas from the Party, or even Max and Lucas; the kids they once used to be. Here, they were just them; no title, no association, to the point that they were forced to address what was left when removed from everything else.
Fucking hell. This was supposed to have been a five hour trip to a festival. Of course, this would happen to them: a conflict straight out of some shitty B-lister drama movie her mom rented from Family Video.
While the sun dipped lower and lower behind the buildings, Lucas and Max drove out of Chicago. They’d have a lot to think about in the next two weeks before real life caught up to them.
Milwaukee, Wisconsin
By nightfall, the car finally strolled into Milwaukee. Their motel was close to the festival grounds, but far enough that they wouldn’t hear the finishing touches of construction. It was a small, brick, four-storey building with a rusty signboard. Max’ eyes burned from exhaustion. It felt like the day has stretched beyond twenty-four hours and she’s been awake for triple of that. They hauled everything out the car and checked in at the small lobby. An old man squinted at their reservation with slight disdain, probably sick of the influx of young tourists around this time of the year, and handed them a rusty key to room 9C.
It was a simple room. Beige carpeting, a double bed with matching night stands, an old desk tucked in the corner and a bathroom somehow fancier than the one in her mom’s trailer. Max practically ripped her shirt off her sweaty torso and zoomed straight into the shower, calling over her shoulder she’d be done in ten minutes. She was smart to avoid her reflection; no doubt looking like an absolute wreck after today’s events.
The cool stream of water slipping down her head made her sigh contently. She preferred hot water, but this felt like it swiped the grime right off her body.
She swaddled herself in a fresh towel and wiped the fog of the mirror. Her wide eyes stared back at her. Picking at a split end of her hair, she wondered once more if she should find a hairdresser in the coming days and just snip it all off to her shoulders, or something. Behind the door, she heard the shuffling of Lucas.
The second she opened the bathroom door, he slid inside, muttering about new sweat building a colony on top of his old sweat.
Max hid a giggle behind her hand. The weariness of miscommunication went down the drain with the shampoo residu. Jitters fluttered in her stomach now that she was clean and could focus on something else. She’s never shared a motel room with Lucas before. Never been really alone before. Suddenly, she understood what her mom had meant: all these new firsts, all at once, all the way in Wisconsin and not the familiar environment of Hawkins. Albeit she wasn’t afraid — not after their fight — she was… antsy. It was unlike her.
By the time she had changed into her pyjamas (an oversized t-shirt that once belonged to Lucas and cotton shorts), he reappeared feeling like a new person.
“Showered off all that crazy witch talk,” he said. His boxer shorts had the same colour as her shirt and that felt intimate. She didn’t comment on it, wondering if he noticed as well.
Max puffed out a laugh. “You really don’t believe she was even a little bit real? Considering everything?”
“Do you?” he challenged. Walking to the left side of the bed, he pressed his hand into the mattress to test its softness.
“I don’t think we should rule her out completely.”
Lucas hummed, amused. “Dustin would’ve done a full background check on her by now.” And then— “I bet that receptionist guy is doing that to us now.” A remark that prompted Max to send him an incredulous look.
“You think he cares about the gazillionth couple coming in for Summerfest?”
He laughed. “You’re right. Probably not. He just looked super pissed.”
She stared at him for a beat. Her stomach felt more knotted by the second. “Is it soft?”
“Yeah,” he nodded, sitting down and leaning against the wooden headboard. “I’m kinda surprised... can I say something shitty?”
“Shoot.”
“It’s a better bed than yours at home.”
She sighed. “That’s not hard to beat. Lemme check.”
Crawling to the right side of the bed, she laid down and let out a sigh as her body sunk into it. Well, damn. For a cheap motel, they sure knew how to get the good stuff. Her eyes involuntarily fell shut.
“Falling asleep on me, Max?” he teased.
One eye cracked open, seeing him hover beside her with a fond grin. Alone with Lucas in a motel room. Swift, she rolled on her side and fixed him a stern look. “You’re not expecting anything… are you?”
“What?”
She quirked a brow.
“Oh!” His eyes widened in surprise, body jerking back as though stung by her words. “No. Max. We’re both tired and today’s been— you know— this is—”
“New."
“Yeah,” he exhaled. “New.”
The tension faded from Max’ spine, that constant crackle of electricity between them less insistent than before. Her foot bumped his under the sheets. “You were… um… nervous, too?”
God, she hated admitting to that. Max from three years ago had rather died than confess to feeling nerves.
“Not nervous, I think,” he shrugged. “We’ve just never done this before.”
Max nodded, a faint smile edging her lips. “We have two weeks to get used to each other like this—”
“Exactly.”
“—and if it doesn’t work, I’ll just kill you.”
Lucas smirked. “You’re a worse liar than I am, Max.”
She smiled and dropped her head on the pillow. Exhaustion pulled on her bones. “Can you turn off the lights?” Her words came out mumbled.
She felt him shift and stand up, the light darkening behind her closed lids, and then his body heat close to her again. They weren't the cuddly type of couple, but they enjoyed it every once a while, like now. Sliding her head on his shoulder, his hand raked across her scalp to her arm in one smooth motion. Her foot curled around his, the heel pressing in his calf.
“Night,” she sighed.
“Night, Max.”
Though Max hasn't spend many nights in hotel rooms, it was always difficult for her to fall asleep elsewhere but her own bed. It took months for her in the trailer, regardless of Vecna, but she'd overexerted herself so much today that sleep came to her like a hammer to a wall. Lucas only needed five minutes to drop into a deep slumber.
She smelled the hotel soap on his skin, how it smelled like hers, and she smiled. In the distance, the clock tower struck twelve.
June 28th, 1989 — Milwaukee, Wisconsin
“Get up,” she called out, throwing a shirt at Lucas' face. The drowsy boy barely pulled his face off the pillow. “It’s Summerfest. Get up, so we can put our tent up on the camping ground.”
He groaned when he checked the electric clock on the nightstand. “It’s five in the morning, Max.”
“I wake up with the sun.”
“I know,” he sputtered, “you’re like Dustin, I have no clue how you function with zero sleep.”
She rolled her eyes at the dramatics. “Five hours isn’t zero.”
“It is in my book.”
“You sound like your dad.”
That woke him up, his body jerking upright to stare at her in shock. She knew that statement would rile him up. The worst fear of any teenager: becoming their parents. Max smirked. “Nice. You’re up. There’s a coffee maker in the hallway and if we’re quick, we can still get some cereal or toast from the breakfast hall.”
She grabbed the shirt from the bed and stuffed it back in his suitcase. She donned a baby blue halter top, corduroy shorts and her trusty sneakers, with her hair in a French braid down her back. Two layers of sunscreen already covered her skin. Max was ready.
With a sigh, Lucas rolled out of bed and crawled to the bathroom. Max checked her backpack. Their Summerfest tickets, food, water, a blanket to sit on, money, their camping spot reservation. She wished they could stay in the motel, but their bank accounts didn't allow them to splurge on a two-week stay. Besides, what was better than always being two steps away from the music?
He reappeared and Max laughed. “Are you doing this on purpose?”
“What?”
“Matching with me!”
He looked down at his shirt and grinned. “Not on purpose, but everyone’s allowed to know you’re here with me.”
“I should’ve let you sleep in. You're cheesier sleep-deprived.” Drinking the last of her coffee, Max shepherded him and all their stuff out the room. She was the first to call out anyone that rushed her during vacation, but the girl couldn’t help it: today was the day! Today was Summerfest! Kate fucking Bush performed!
Lucas seemed to realise this. He let her rush and push and worked the coffee machine instead of her trembling fingers. The lock that escaped her braid turned frizzy from the heat. The receptionist of last night didn’t work in the morning, instead greeted by a cheery woman that reminded them they served pancakes and fruit as well. By now, Lucas looked in higher spirits, too; the sleepy gauze disappeared from his face.
Other guests at the motel clearly came for Summerfest as well. Young and old couples, several groups of friends and a handful of solo travellers sat around the breakfast tables.
Max watched Lucas for a beat now that she wasn’t rushing him. They hadn’t talked about anything that happened yesterday since they just dropped dead asleep. Should they broach the subject again? It felt finished, but she also knew it wasn’t. Maybe she should postpone that conversation until after Summerfest. No need to wallow right now — they had all the time for that during the rest of break. Decided, she let her eyes drop to her plate of toast and continued eating.
“Who’re you excited to see today?” she asked, grinning, “aside from Kate Bush, of course.”
“ Echo & the Bunnymen , ‘course,” he said, “and Joan Jett.”
“Duh.”
“Bob Dylan’s gonna perform tomorrow.”
She shook her head in disbelief at all those words strung together. “Which will be insane.”
“And uh—” he trailed off, pensive.
“ Concrete Blonde ,” they voiced simultaneously.
Max’ brows raised. “You listen to Concrete Blonde?”
“Uh, yeah,” he mimicked her tone from the ‘duh’ and she suppressed a giggle. “Because you listen to it.”
Her smile stretched into something disgustingly sweet, somehow still surprised by all the little things he did for her. (How did he ever imagine she’d break up with him?) “Tom Petty’s going to perform, too, which’ll be sweet,” Max added, “and Public Image Ltd. .”
Lucas gaped at her. “Shit, really? Public Image is coming?”
“Yeah!” she cheered. “Their latest album is going to be amazing onstage.” She loved Lydon’s perpetually angry voice, no matter the genre the band found itself in.
Max listened to Lucas explain the perfect spot in a festival crowd — close enough to the stage to see everything, far enough not to be trampled, smack in the middle so they were still part of the action — and how they were going to locate it. Summerfest attracted one of the biggest crowds in the world and those masses were notoriously difficult to break through, but why ruin his joy?
They checked out less than an hour later and were off to the camping grounds. It reminded her off the summer before ninth grade, when she and the Party lugged materials up the meadow for their science experiments, only now it was just her and Lucas dragging their luggage across the sidewalk. Equally unappealing. Luckily, it was like a duck’s trail with miles and miles of other going the same route as them. Cars honked while passing, some filled with college-aged people holding out fraternity and sorority flags through the windows.
“Hey,” he muttered, nudging her elbow. “We’re cool, right?”
She looked up, readjusting her bag, and soothed his pensive look with a sweet smile. “Yeah, we’re cool.” Kissing his shoulder for good measure — because they were cool, honestly — she kept her nose pressed in his sunscreen-lathered skin until he smiled back and pulled her closer.
“Okay,” he grinned.
Back in Hawkins, Max had to stand in line for hours at the box office to reserve a camping spot, something she was now grateful for as disgruntled people without reservations stared her down while she showed their tickets to a guard. She stuck her tongue out while Lucas tugged her along.
The camping ground was a flat, grassy terrain of several acres, stretching from the parking lot to a park by Lake Michigan. At the centre stood a big communal sanitary building with dozens of toilets, sinks and showers. One of the borders of the camping led to the gate of the festival grounds. Currently, they heard a sound check on one of the stages faraway. The bass drummed beneath their feet. The ambiance on the grounds felt chill: most people set up their tents in an unhurried fashion, others made small talk with the people beside them, and from a few spots mellow rock music played from boomboxes. She knew that in a week, the place would look like a landfill with trash piling on every inch of grass, but for now she relished in the cleanliness.
Lucas dumped the tent’s casing on the ground with a huff. “This is a good spot, let’s set it up now.”
“Last time I slept in a tent, I was, like, eleven,” Max recalled, unzipping the bag and taking out the pins to secure the tent to the earth. “Last trip to Yosemite Park before it all went to shit.” ‘All’, meaning her family unit. Max didn’t often speak of her life prior to Hawkins. There was no use, she found, as who she was then had no connection to who she was now. Didn’t every eighteen-year-old feel estranged from their twelve-year-old self?
“What about you?” she asked.
Lucas stuck the piping through the polyester fabric. “Couple of years ago, before Will first disappeared. So… yeah, also eleven, actually.” He sounded surprised, as though realising only now seven years had passed. “Dad didn’t wanna go into the woods anymore after that.”
“That makes sense,” chuckled Max. “Kind of a mood-killer.”
“You can imagine their fear when I kept going in after you guys, anyway,” he laughed. “Remember when we were caught with Dustin at Lover’s Lake?”
Max rolled her eyes. That moment was equally terrifying and stupid; the former since they’d temporarily lost half the group to the Upside Down, the latter since their guardians and the police were overreacting as hell. Sure, they hadn’t known what was up, but interrogating her for thirty minutes on zero information? So stupid. At fifteen, she would’ve held a better interview and had been more intimidating than any of those dudes.
To her, Lover’s Lake had changed meaning though. It didn’t define the moment they got caught, it reminded her of all the moments afterwards: the summers spent with her friends, with Lucas. He added a swing to an overhanging tree the summer before junior year and for days, they’d jumped off it into the water. He kissed her languidly between the trees. She swam for shells and collected them in empty jam jars. Dustin and Mike had a rock-tossing competition and that rivalry stretched until the end of break. Robin brought a new cassette for her each time she came around. Nancy made the best lunches and Steve was always the first one to propose playing Chicken. It was just… one of the best summers she’s ever had.
To both their surprise, they set up the tent fairly quick. She rolled out their thick mats and sleeping bags, putting their bags at their feet, while he laid out a picnic blanket and the rest of their food. For the next two weeks, they would eat festival food or scavenge at a food-mart nearby. Zipping up the tent, she stepped back and plopped down beside him with a content sigh, only to chuckle at the sight of the actual leftovers. Half a cylinder of Pringles, four cans of energy drink, a half-eaten sandwich and lots of candy.
“We’re super healthy,” Max commented, sarcastic.
“This is our Freshman Fifteen right here,” he joked, but opened a can of Jolt Cola, anyway. He held in up, in lieu of a toast, so Max quickly grabbed a can as well. He had that stupidly perfect smile on his face again, even this early in the morning, and she couldn’t wait to see it every day for two weeks.
“To Summerfest,” he said.
“To seeing Kate fucking Bush,” she added.
Their cans tapped together. Excitement thrummed right beneath her skin. She couldn’t wrap her head around the fact yet that in twenty-four hours, she’d be in Kate Bush’ vicinity. She’d be amidst a crowd of 500,000 other admirers that understood her.
They took it easy the rest of the day. They walked around the grounds and slipped into the park to dip their toes into Lake Michigan, ticking it off their bucket lists, and then joined another group on the camping ground for a competitive game of Kubb. Neither had played the game before, unknown to them, but they quickly got the hang of it.
In the afternoon, she realised it had been a while since she contacted her mom and found a telephone booth. Chucking a couple of coins in, she turned to her mom’s number and patiently waited as it rang. From the corner of her eye, Lucas sat on the grass with a paperback. He probably went after her when she was done.
Something clicked. “Hello? This is Susan,” her mom’s voice crackled through the receiver. She sounded… alright. Much better than Max expected.
“Hey, mom,” Max greeted.
“Max!” she cheered. “How are you? Are you okay?”
She smiled, looking at her feet. “Yeah, I’m fine. I just wanted to say that we made it to the festival in one piece.”
“That’s great! Lucas is okay, too?”
“Yeah, ‘course.” A hesitant pause. A nervous hand picking at the eroded paint on the booth. “You were right, by the way.”
“About what?” she asked in surprise.
A sigh left her lips. One puff of breath held more meaning than she ever thought it could. “About… experiencing all these new things with Lucas… it’s intense. But in a good way. If that makes sense.”
A long pause stretched between Hawkins and Milwaukee before mom responded. “It does… you’re sure you’re alright, Max?”
“I always am, mom.”
Moonlight filtered through the green polyester. A quiet disturbance, as opposed to the crickets singing in the grass. From other tents, gentle chatter or hums of music was heard. People spared their energy the eve before the festival and she knew she wouldn’t sleep much after this. Turning on her side with a sigh, she came face to face with the dark silhouette of Lucas, also still awake and observing her. Without touching her, he radiated heat; when he breathed in, she felt it, too.
“This is a lot closer than last night,” she whispered.
His hand caressed her arm. “Are you comfortable?”
She hummed and shuffled a tad closer. Their sleeping bags were zipped together into one big blanket. Grazing his jaw, her fingers pressed into his neck to coax his to her, their lips slanting together in a breath. He curled around her body more, scrunching her t-shirt in his grip. It felt more warm and rash than usual. An apology and a need wrapped into one. Her mind felt blissful all the same, loving she made out with her boyfriend. Until suddenly—
“I’ll drive to Chicago every month to see you,” he muttered against her lips.
Her chin tucked back, dazed. “Hm?”
“I’ll drive. To see you next year.” He raked through her hair and settled on her cheek. “Same road, right?”
“You’re an idiot,” she giggled. She only let him hear that stupidly lovesick sound. “But I’ll drive, too.”
She heard him smile; his nose brushing hers in the motion. “Why is this the first time we’re actually talking about it?”
Max tilted up her shoulder in a shrug, unsure of what response he expected, or wanted. Wasn’t it obvious she just looked the other way for as long as she could? “I mean— why didn’t you?”
He sighed. “Ignoring the problem.”
“Yup.”
“But I mean it,” he said, determined. “I’ll drive. I’ll make Suzie give us super-phones, or something. Or…”
She kissed his cheek, his jaw, whispering: “We’ll be those annoying people in a long-distance relationship.”
“Nah, Mike and El have us beat on that.”
“Yeah, that’s true,” she chuckled. And then, something she should’ve said last night after Madame Magic exposed how easily she shut everyone out— “I promise I won’t push you away. Again.”
“And I’m not gonna let you,” he exhaled, surging towards her in another kiss.
Max tethered herself to his face and neck, pressing into his body as close as she could. Sweat coated their skin from the humid night without AC and the polyester of their sleeping bags scratched their skin, but Max felt so loved, so wanted, so present beneath his touch. Their bodies melted together like softened clay.
And despite the fact they drifted away from each other in their sleep, needing their space, for now he enveloped her in a tight embrace; her cheek on his toned chest, his nose on her forehead, her knee on his hipbone.
June 29th, 1989 — Summerfest
The moment was indescribable. Like most moments she shared with Lucas, she found that trying to use words would strip the scene from its intimacy, its beauty, its truthfulness. Once she spoke, it wouldn’t be as vivid as the actual reality. Kate Bush running onstage with her wild, dark hairdo and skin paler than the moon was an experience so thrilling she became stupefied. Lucas was still in the right mind to take a picture, but all Max did was stare and ogle and process that Kate Bush — the Kate Bush — stood 160 feet away from her. Tears welled in her eyes.
Kate Bush’ voice saved her. And here she now was — alive.
As if the singer read her mind, she kicked off her set with Running Up That Hill, her band’s soulful instrumentals booming through the massive speakers and piercing through her bones in the most delicious way ever. The masses started screaming. Lucas let out a disbelieving breath, shaking his head as the same memories likely hurled through his mind.
But she was here. She was alive. And they got to experience this together.
Kate Bush opened her mouth and sang.
It doesn't hurt me
Do you want to feel how it feels?
Do you want to know, know that it doesn't hurt me?
Do you want to hear about the deal that I'm making?
You
It's you and me
Lucas wrapped his arms around her from behind, her back snug against this chest, when she realised tears slipped down her cheeks from the overwhelming sensation of being here and experiencing this and Kate fucking Bush singing right there. Her hands covered his, squeezing them. He kissed her temple. “Whatever happens to us,” he whispered in her ear, “you make me so happy, Max. I love you.”
And if I only could
I'd make a deal with God
And I'd get him to swap our places
Be running up that road
Be running up that hill
Be running up that building
Say, if I only could, oh
Max closed her eyes, letting his words sink in, letting Bush’ song thrum from her feet up to the crown of her head, and finally — finally — felt the horrific memory of running for her life, towards her life, disappear for a happier memory. For this. Lucas loved her; an undeniable truth she so deeply cherished. This song was theirs now.
You don't wanna hurt me
But see how deep the bullet lies
Unaware, I'm tearing you asunder
Oh, there is thunder in our hearts
Is there so much hate for the ones we love?
Oh, tell me, we both matter, don't we?
You
It's you and me
It's you and me, won't be unhappy
Max was so goddamn happy.
And no one could take that away from her again.