Chapter Text
My dad came to the conclusion we should move to Hawkins after screaming at me for several hours about getting expelled from my last school in Phoenix. He thought I could use the small-town air.
I wasn't expelled, truly. I was "asked to leave," which is a bullshit way of kicking kids out without taking any of the responsibility. Whatever, I hated it there, maybe it was for the best.
They didn't even have a good reason either. I just bailed a lot, and sometimes called teachers names to their faces. I bet they would've let the douchebags from the football team get away with shit like that. But not me.
"You're supposed to come with me on the first day of school," I tell my dad as he puts on his coat.
"I have work. You don't need me there, anyway. You're fifteen, not three." He stands under the doorframe and turns to me. "Good luck."
With that, he's gone. Best dad ever.
I finish breakfast and throw on some jeans, a long sleeve, and a sweater. It's too cold out —because, yes, on top of having to start a new school, I'm starting in January.
This week is about not grabbing much attention. I'll slide under the radar for a couple of years, then I'll be off to college, and I can forget all of this ever happened.
My bike is getting rusty. It squeaks oddly once in a while, and I pray it doesn't do that when I get to school. Just to be safe, I get off of it a block before.
The parking lot is average. I can already tell who the insufferable ones are around here. There's a girl holding books to her chest and twirling her hair as an older guy speaks to her without even looking at her. I loathe him and pity her.
A group of boys runs across the lot at full speed, pushing each other to see who makes it first to the gates. Sports team, I presume. I was never that into sports. I took ballet and swimming lessons as a kid for years, but once no one cared enough to force me to do those sorts of things I just…stopped.
Two boys wearing shirts that read Hellfire Club leave their bikes near mine. I'm not looking forward to the cliques around here, but that one sounds especially lame.
I let go of my bike with an encouraging breath. It's just high school, I've done this before. I turn around, and a quick blur almost knocks me down.
"Watch your step!" I hear a girl tell me, rather angrily for someone who almost ran me over with…a skateboard?
I'm sort of mad about it, but it's mostly envy. I've always wanted a skateboard, but dad said it was too boyish.
"You watch your fucking step," I mumble, heading to the gates.
"Hey, you!" A cop blocks my path. "I haven't seen you here before."
He's looking down at me with an eyebrow raised, his legs spread, and his hands on his hips.
"You a Russian spy, kid?"
I honestly cannot tell if he's fucking with me or not.
"I'm new, but thanks for the warm welcome…" I flick my eyes to his nametag, "...Fred.'
"Yeah, we'll see about that. Come with me."
He grabs my arm and pulls, so I yank it away. "I can walk, thanks."
He leads me to an office, and I keep thinking about how I've never met a school guard that doesn't sleep through the job until now. I kind of wish he did.
"Hey, Marge. Kid here says she's starting today, got anything on that?"
A woman leans above the desk to get a good look at me. She's probably in her fifties, but the stress of the job has her forehead permanently creased.
"What's your name, young lady?" she asks.
"Violet Miller," I reply.
"Yes, this is her. I've got it from here, Fred."
He leaves, not without inspecting me one last time. Marge hands me my schedule and three forms.
"You give those to your mom. Have her fill and sign them, and bring them back here tomorrow."
I nod my head, knowing there is no mom to hand them to. I don't know much about her, only that she left us and dad doesn't like to talk about her.
"Nancy!" Marge calls.
A girl standing in the hallway looks over at us, then walks closer. She's a bit taller than I am, and she smiles brightly at Marge and me. "Yes?"
"Would you mind showing Violet here to her first class, dear?"
"Not at all." She beckons me to follow her, and we leave the office. "Hi, I'm Nancy Wheeler. I run the school paper. Are you new in town?"
The introduction sounds overly polite and rehearsed, but I won't comment on it. She's nice. "I am."
"Where'd you move from?"
I dig my nails into my palm. "Uhm, Phoenix."
She seems to pick up on my restlessness because she stops asking questions. "I'm surprised you came here, given the town's rep."
"Rep?"
"You know, the cursed thing." She looks at me, but I make it clear I have no idea what she's talking about. "Nevermind."
There's a moment of silence as we walk down a corridor. "I'm not, like, superstitious," I say.
"Good, 'cause Hawkins is actually nice," Nancy smiles. "You're right here, Mr. Wilson's class."
I look through the small window to see him. His hair is white, and he is wearing a brown blazer dusted with chalk. Average teacher material.
"My brother is here too. Mike Wheeler." She points to a scrawny kid with a Hellfire Club t-shirt on. "Talk to him if you have questions, he'll help."
"Thanks," I smile —or try to.
She knocks on the door, which I am more than grateful I don't have to do myself, and whispers about my existence to the teacher.
"Ah, alright," he says, then signals for me to step inside. Reluctantly, I do. "We've got a new student among us today. This is Violet Miller."
I think he expects me to say something by the way he watches me, but I don't.
"Everyone be kind. You can take a seat over there." He points to the last desk on the left.
I sit down, turning my head slightly to the right. Most eyes are on me, except for two students who are already whispering, and a redhead who seems really into the blank notebook in front of her. She's slumped into her seat, arms crossed, headphones hanging from her neck. I think she's the girl that almost killed me earlier.
The rest of the day goes by with some difficulty. Having to be awkwardly introduced at every single one of my classes doesn't get easier. At lunch, I grab the sandwich from my tray and throw the rest away, then walk outside to eat under the mediocre winter sun. It's what I used to do at my old school so no one was around to gape and gossip.
A car speeds into the lot, and some guy with pretentious hair steps out. Jesus, how much gel can a single man own?
Soon after, a girl bolts out of the school to meet him.
"Let's go, we're gonna be late!" he shouts.
"Coming, dingus!"
"If Keith complains one more time-"
"Shut up and drive," she orders.
The tires screech as they leave, and right on cue, two boys run after the girl. Of course, they miss her, so they stop to gasp for air. I recognize Mike, but I don't know the other guy's name.
"I can't believe him! He forgot to give me the damn radio again ," he says.
Mike places a hand on his shoulder. "You have to get that thing back. My mom won't stop complaining about the phone bill."
"I know, I know."
Their voices become too low for me to hear, and suddenly, their eyes are on me. I drop my gaze to the floor and fill my mouth with food as I hear their steps approaching.
They tower over me, and I look up at them from my spot on the curb. "Hey, you're new, right?" Mike asks.
"Uh, yeah," I reply.
"I'm Dustin. Do you play D&D?" he grins.
"Nerds, stop harassing regular people so they'll join your lame club," a girl says, then drops something on the ground. Oh, skater girl, there she is again.
"Shut up, Max," Mike sighs.
"Yeah, why don't you join so we don't have to?" Dustin says.
She jumps on the board and speaks as she rides past them. "I would rather pull my teeth out."
I chuckle, and I'm not sure why, but I stand up and run after her. At least this way I'm not stuck with those boys. "Hey, wait up!" I call.
Max drops her foot on the concrete to slow down, and I catch up to her.
"Hi," I say.
She looks at me, puzzled. "Hi. Do I know you?"
"Oh, no, not at all, just…I needed a way out of that conversation."
"Right."
A beat of uncomfortable silence goes by. "I'm Vi," I manage.
"Miller? The new girl?" she asks, and I nod in response. "Max Mayfield." Her eyes travel me like she expected something that isn't there. It makes me feel quite inadequate. "Where's your accent?"
"My what?" I ask like I haven't heard her.
"Your southern accent. I thought people from Arizona had accents," she explains.
I cross my arms and raise my eyebrows at her. "How do you know where I'm from?"
Her eyes do a strange twitching motion. "Mr. Wilson mentioned it. You know, when he introduced you today?"
He definitely didn't. I relax my shoulders. "I just don't have one."
It's easier to say that than to explain that I move states every time dad has to get a new job, which is every two years or so.
I deflect. "Cool skateboard," I tell her.
"Thanks. You skate?"
"Not really."
She bobs her head and looks around. I glance back at my spot and see the boys are gone. I should go, she clearly doesn't want to be here, talking to me, but for some reason, I push.
"Are you bailing?" I ask.
"Not really," she shrugs.
I let a small smirk show. "Any chance I can not bail with you? I'm not looking forward to PE."
She locks our eyes for a second, like she's figuring out whether I mean it or not. Mirroring my half-smile, she says, "Uh, I- I don't think so."
My stomach drops. I suck at handling any kind of rejection. "Oh, okay, sure. Yeah, I probably shouldn't skip anyway, y'know?" I step back, scratching my neck. "So…yup. See you around, Mayfield."
She's looking at me like I'm insane, so I just turn around and walk away. I hear wheels on the pavement before she goes, "Later, Miller."