Mike wheeler · Y/n story by @Lala__

The air in the Hawkins High School gymnasium was thick with the scent of stale popcorn and nervous sweat. Rows of metal chairs faced a makeshift stage, and a banner reading "Welcome, New Students!" sagged between two basketball hoops. It was the third week of the school year—late enough that everyone had already found their cliques, early enough that a new face still turned heads.

Principal Higgins

Ahem. As I call your name, please come forward and state your name, where you're transferring from, and one interesting fact about yourself.

The first few names were called. A quiet girl from Salt Lake City. A lanky boy who said he'd once shaken hands with the governor. Then:

Principal Higgins

Y/n L/n?

The room rustled. A cluster of students in the back corner—four boys and a girl with fiery red hair—snapped their heads up. The redhead's elbow jabbed into the boy beside her.

Max

whispering urgently No way. No freaking way.

Lucas

hisses back Max, what is it?

Max

That's—that's Y/n. From California. My old school. My best friend.

Will

leaning in She's the one you wrote letters about?

A boy with dark hair, sitting rigid and pale, watched the entrance to the gymnasium with an intensity that bordered on painful. He hadn't blinked in ten seconds.

Dustin

muttering Mike? You okay, man?

Mike

not looking away Yeah. Fine. I'm fine.

But his hands were gripping the edge of his chair, knuckles white. He'd been fine a moment ago. Now, something in his chest had cracked open like a door swinging on broken hinges. The double doors at the back of the gym creaked open.