El sat beside Hopper, in the Blazer, watching the world flick by, outside the window. She fidgeted, hands twisting absently in her lap, trying to soothe that hollow, sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. But it didn't do any good. That all-too familiar feeling of dread seemed to suffocate her, and the more she wrestled with it, the tighter it coiled around her limbs and her chest and her frantic, beating heart. Like a giant snake. Tighter and tighter and tighter . . .

Another, lighter, jumpier feeling opposed it. She was excited, as much as she was . . .

"Nervous?"

El glanced at Hopper, at the steel grey of his eyes, his brows, drawn together in concern, and maybe a little teasing. El didn't answer. She didn't feel much like talking, afraid if she opened her mouth, her lunch might just make an appearance. Her tongue felt big and dry and stuck in her mouth. She managed a small nod. Hopper laughed, not unkindly, and patted her knee.

They were coming up on another year, gone. Her fourteenth birthday came and went. He kept in touch with ol' Doc Owens, who assured him all was quiet. The lab shut down, for good. No more government black ops, no more interdimensional monsters. Just a skeleton of a building and some bad memories.

So, he let her go. He bit his tongue and held his breath and let her leave the house, because it was what she needed. Summer was a trial run. It worked out. They had some fits and jumpstarts, but in the end, it was alright. She'd been introduced to the town as Jim Hopper's formerly-estranged daughter, come to live with him, in Hawkins. There was talk, of course. News spread fast, in a town so small, but the story stuck without much suspicion, and everyone moved on. That was it. El's appearance in Hawkins was just another link in the chain of gossip, nothing more. Still, Hopper didn't get much sleep. He kept his pistol in a drawer, by his bed. He tossed and turned, jolted awake by every little noise, in the night. Worse, he spent every waking moment expecting a phone call, expecting government bastards to break down his door and take his kid away.

But it didn't happen. And June turned to July and July turned to August and the promise of fall, a chill, tainted the summer heat. And finally, finally, Hopper decided he'd reached the extent of his ability to educate El. That she needed a real education, and all it entailed. After everything, she deserved a normal life.

So, here she was, bound for her first day of high school. She was starting as a freshman, with the boys. After she passed the placement exam, after she studied until her eyeballs were ready to fall out of her head.

She glanced down at her outfit, as the knee-length, black skirt. A yellow, wool sweater. At the end of the summer, Nancy took her shopping. And they'd picked out a whole bunch of new outfits, ones El adored. She wasn't quite punk, but getting there. Leather jackets, dark clothes, but also comfy, bright things. Skirts and sweaters. Pinks and greens.

She walked out of the mall, listening to Nancy talk about the colleges she planned to apply to, telling her funny stories about Mike, and feeling, for once in her life, perfectly, extraordinarily ordinary. Instead of going home, Nancy drove her to the salon to get her hair cut and styled. Afterward, they both got manicures. El chose a bright, bubble-gum pink.

Hopper pulled into the parking lot of the high school. El fumbled with the seat belt, senses kicking into overdrive, eyes skimming the parking lot and the campus, beyond. Searching for a glimpse of familiarity, of safety, within the masses. She reached for the door handle, froze, as Hopper grabbed her wrist.

"El . . ."

She turned, looking at him, mind blank. The nerves were gnawing at her insides. And she thought nerves weren't like butterflies. They were rats. Big, hairy, flea-bitten rodents that crawled in your insides and gnawed and gnawed and gnawed, paring tissue from bone with restless teeth and claws.

"Remember our rule, alright? No powers. Unless . . ." Hopper prompted.

"Unless it's life-or-death, I know." El said. "I won't do anything stupid, I promise."

Hopper smiled.

"Listen to your teachers. Be respectful. Be polite." He said. El bobbed her head, impatiently.

"I know."

She got out of the car, swung her backpack (also brand-new) over her shoulder.

"Ellie?" She looked at Hopper.

"I love you."

She smiled.

"I love you too, Dad."

It wasn't the first time he'd said it. But those occurrences were few and far between. It was still hard for him, to choke on those words and feel them turn to ashes in his mouth. And he knew it was stupid, to hold onto Sara, after all this time. To withhold love and affection from El because he was still caught between slides. Stuck in the past. It wasn't fair to her. It wasn't fair to Sara. Because he knew his daughter would've wanted him to move on, would've wanted him to savor this second chance. She wouldn't have wanted him to keep those words locked inside. She wouldn't have wanted him to deny El what most everybody took for granted. Loving somebody, and having them love you back. He wanted to give that to her. He wanted to be a parent. He wanted to be a father, a protector, a confidant. He wanted to keep her safe. And most of all, he wanted her to know that he loved her. Because she'd been denied that, all her life. And it made him sick.

So, made himself say it. He made himself say it because he thought he hadn't said it enough. He wasn't getting any younger. And if an interdimensional monster didn't kill him, the damn cigarettes might. He made himself say it, because she hadn't heard it nearly as often as she should've. He made himself say it, because it was true.

And she smiled. She smiled, and said it back. And she called him Dad. And for a second, he wasn't sending El off to her first day of high school (scratch that, first day of public school, like, ever), he was looking at Sara. And El's brown eyes looked oddly blue, and her hair was curly, blond, and tied up in pigtails instead of dark and tumbling to her shoulders. And he damned the universe for pulling the rug out from under his feet, for playing those tricks. He blinked, swiped a hand over his face, and Sara was gone. And El was walking away, curls bouncing, adjusting the strap of her backpack. Straight-backed. Tall. Larger than life.

He watched her go, bitter melancholy stirring tides in the cesspool of his heart. The part of him that lay awake at night, the part of him that kept that pistol in the top-drawer of his bedside table, wanted to run after her. Wanted to scoop her in his arms and carry her back to the cabin and keep her there, safe, forever. He cursed the kids that would inevitably hurt her, in some way, or another. The kids he knew would think she was dim, or stupid, because they didn't know the whole story. Because they didn't know how smart she was. So, so smart, and curious, and bright, for picking up on nine years' worth of education (or lack thereof) in ten months. Because they didn't know how excited and scared she was, for this moment. How she woke up this morning and looked in the mirror, and she didn't see a lab rat or a monster but a normal, teenage girl. They didn't know that wasn't always the case.

The other part of him, that part of smiled at her, as she walked away. Away from him, and toward the next chapter. A new normal. For both of them. Because he knew she was ready. He knew she deserved this. That part of him tapped on his shoulder, impatiently. Reminded him that she could throw anyone across a room like a sack of potatoes without blinking an eye. And she had her friends. Those kids. Those boys (and Max). She had Wheeler, who'd made it his life's mission to protect her. Who'd risked his life to save her, already. Who loved her, Hopper suspected, feeling nauseous. Who loved her as completely and unconditionally as was possible to love another human being. And they were just kids, but they were so much more than that.

She had this haphazard little family they'd built, together. This little family, with barely any real blood relations, made of broken people with broken lives, glued back together again. This family, with its jagged edges. This family had been to literal hell and back, sometimes twice. This family fought interdimensional monsters. And the family that fought interdimensional monsters together, stayed together.

She had her friends, and she had him, and she had all the people who'd survived those horrific nightmares. She had an army of people willing to kill for her, and superpowers to boot. It was time to let her go.

Carefully, he extracted a cigarette out of the pack in his jacket pocket, jammed it between his teeth, and pulled out of the parking lot.

El squared her shoulders, trying to gather all those thousands of gnawing, scratching rats at lock them away, somewhere deep inside. She ducked her head, as was habit. Keep your head down, keep walking. Don't let your eyes wander. Don't cause any trouble. If you cause trouble, he'll lock you away . . . It was a constant mantra, in her head, during her time in the lab. And it was flooding her senses, now. Keep your head down. Keep your eyes straight ahead. Keep your head down . . .

She could practically feel Papa's (Brenner's) long, pale fingers coiled around her wrist, fingernails pinching her skin. She could smell his cologne. She could feel the eyes of a thousand faceless men in white coats, clutching clipboards to their chest. She was suffocating. And it hurt. Her chest ached, as she struggled for air. Her head pounded. The cells in her brain began to die, the veins and capillaries began to wither . . .

And then a voice rose, out of the din of conversation, dissipating the clouds in her mental sky.

"El!"

She turned, just in time to catch a glimpse of Mike as he ran up and threw his arms around her. She hugged him back, fisting her fingers in the fabric of his sweatshirt . . . drawing a breath as wonderful and sweet as the first breath of air after a lifetime of drowning.

"Mike!" She said, as he drew away. He glanced at her, cheeks reddening. And El cocked an eyebrow, perplexed.

"Uh, you . . . you look really . . . really pretty." He said. She smiled, sheepishly, unable to stop the blood rising in her cheeks.

"Thanks."

Mike coughed, fidgety and restless. "C'mon, the guys are over there." He pointed, and El followed the line of his finger to a big, sprawling willow tree on the lawn, outside the front steps. He took her hand, led her through the throng of people—no longer faceless men in coats, but kids. Peers. Talking and hugging and recounting tales of a glorious, infinite summer. Nobody payed her any attention, and she liked that just fine.

They joined Lucas and Dustin under the tree, and compared schedules. El had Algebra, and Biology with Mike, much to her delight. She shared P.E. with Lucas, and Art with Dustin. She was taking a slower-paced English class, due to her limited vocabulary, and so it was the only class she didn't have with any of them.

"Hey, losers!" A voice yelled, behind them, Max ran up to greet them in a flurry of red hair. She hugged El.

"Ready for your first day?"

El nodded, smiling.

"Don't look so cheerful. It's all a big shit-show, anyway." She said, rolling her eyes.

"At least Troy and James won't mess with us, anymore. Not while El's around." Lucas said.

"Why not?" Max asked.

"Because El broke Troy's arm in seventh grade."

"She also made him piss himself." Dustin said, with a snort.

El grinned, at the memory. She glanced over her shoulder, scanning the sea of faces for any sign of that mouth breather. The one who pushed Mike, who tried to make him jump to his death . . . El looked at Mike, eyes tracing the thin, white scar on his chin. Anger, sudden and intense, boiled in her gut. She averted her eyes, toeing the ground, unearthing a pill bug. She watched it struggle to right itself, little arms flailing in the air, all the while imaging all the thing she'd like to do to that rotten little twerp . . .

And breaking his other arm capped the list.

No. She couldn't. She promised Hop she'd keep her powers under control, and she intended to keep that promise.

Will joined them as the bell rang. El followed Mike to Biology, their first period class. They bid the party goodbye and headed toward the steps. The rats gnawed in her gut, again, but Mike's calm, steady presence beside her soothed them. She slipped her fingers in the spaces between his own, and he held tight, giving her a little squeeze.

They arrived just before the bell rang, signaling the start of class. El's eyes scanned the class, taking in the chalkboard, the desks, the lab tables lined with jars full of formaldehyde and floating, dead animals. The desks were arranged in rows, each its own island. The room was horrifyingly similar to the classroom where she destroyed the Demogorgon, two years ago. She took a breath, knees turning to jelly. The roar of conversation faded in and out, like radio feed clouded with static, and the colors in the room began to blur together. And she could hear the distant sound of gunfire—a thousand bullets sinking into dry wall and, sometimes, flesh. And she could hear a ghost of Mike's voice, thick with tears, begging her to hold on, just hold on . . .

"El, you okay?" Mike asked, squeezing her hand. The room swam back into focus. She nodded, forced a smile.

"I'm okay."

Mike didn't look convinced. He opened his mouth to press the matter, but El brought a hand up to his cheek, silencing him.

"I'm fine, Mike." She said. "I promise."

A voice rose above the chatter of conversation. El looked around, eyes landing on a wizened, old woman who must've been their teacher.

"Sit where you want, for today. I'll assign seats later in the week." She said. She sat on a stool, observing them with watery-blue eyes framed with thick spectacles.

"El, there's a seat over here . . ." Mike gestured to a pair of desks towards the back of the class. She dropped into the seat beside Mike. She pinched the bridge of her nose, sucking in a breath. Over and over, reminding herself to keep it together, focus . . .

She lifted her eyes, glancing at the posters on the walls, showing the bone structure and blood vessels in the human body, and another, a flowchart, depicting drawings of the different stages of cell division. Her attention was torn away from them as their teacher rapped on the chalkboard with her knuckles to great their attention.

"Welcome to Biology! I'm excited to share a new year with you all." The woman said, smiling. "I'm Mrs. Jones." She wrote her name on the board, underlined it. She turned back to the class, and her blue eyes found El's brown ones. Her smile deepened, reaching her eyes, and El smiled back. Shyly. Tentatively.

"Now, for the first order of business. Textbooks." She asked a pudgy kid with curly, red hair to retrieve a stack of textbooks. He passed them down the rows of desks. A tall, willowy girl handed El a book and smiled at her. She pushed a strand of dirty blond hair out of her face and stuck out her hand.

"I'm Natalie."

"Jane." El said, and took her hand. They shook, and El felt the weight in her gut lighten, just a little.

"Are you a freshman?"

"Yeah." El said. "I was homeschooled." She explained, rehearsing the story her and Hop agreed upon.

"You're so lucky! Public school sucks."

El wrinkled her nose, shook her head.

"Homeschool is boring." El said. "There's nothing to do."

Natalie opened her mouth, closed it again, as Mrs. Jones called for their attention. Natalie shot El an apologetic look, and turned toward the front of the room.

"Alright, if you'll open your books to page sixteen. We'll be reviewing the Introduction to Biology and Life Sciences. Chris, will you read the first paragraph?"

El fidgeted in her chair, worrying her lip, as Mrs. Jones called on her fellow classmates at random. And then El heard the words she dreaded most . . .

"Jane, kindly read the next paragraph."

El couldn't hear properly. What did she say? She froze, locking eyes with Mike. He nodded. Her eyes flicked to Mrs. Jones. She smiled, encouragingly.

El nodded, eyes falling on the page. Blood rushed in her ears, flooded her cheeks. Her mouth went dry. She sat up in her chair, took a deep breath. She stumbled through the paragraph, wishing all the while she'd been gifted with the ability to teleport, or else, turn invisible. Every cell in her body screamed for her to run . . .

She wanted to sink through the floor.

But she fought it. She read, tripping over the difficult, unfamiliar, carboard words. A couple kids snickered, and she tried to ignore them, but their laughter rang in her ears, clear and sharp, buzzing in her skull.

The words didn't flow sweetly like the words in the stories Hop read to her, nor did they tell of wonderful, bold adventures like the words that fell in a rush out of Mike's mouth as he wove his D&D campaigns, voice trembling with excitement he could barely contain. They were rough, unpleasant, alien. Twice, she paused, staring at a word, at loss. But then Hop's voice would come back to her, scratchy and smelling of tobacco, urging her to "sound it out, El, you can do this . . ."

Finally, she finished. She took a breath, risked a glance around the classroom. Mrs. Jones called on the next unfortunate soul, and the class' attention shifted. El released a breath she didn't know she was holding. Mike's hand brushed hers, under the desk. He smiled, and El felt herself relax.

After a time, the bell rang, and El jumped up. She grabbed her textbook, shoved it in her bag, and headed for the door. Mike rushed after her.

"It's gonna be a long year." He sighed. "I mean, what kinda teacher assigns twenty pages of reading on the first day?"

"A shitty one." A voice interjected, and Natalie fell into step beside El. "All period long, too. I mean, are you kidding me?"

"Hey, Natalie." El said. "This is Mike."

"Yeah, I know. We had P.E. together, in middle school."

"With Mr. Densmore?" Mike asked. "Crazy old fucker." He laughed, reminiscent. "Oh, man . . ."

Natalie turned to El.

"The guy had pit stains like you wouldn't believe." She explained.

El giggled, wrinkling her nose.

"Gross."

"I know, right?" Natalie grinned. "Anyway, I gotta go. Nice meeting you, Jane." She headed in the opposite direction, toward the B building.

Mike walked El to art class. She found a seat near Dustin and Will, and sat down. Their art teacher was nice enough, and she assigned a simple shading assignment that became a sort of therapeutic exercise for El, staving off some of the anxiety of the day. And while hers didn't look like much (especially compared to Will's, whose geometric shapes seemed to leap off the page) she was proud, all the same.

She liked her English class the best. Their teacher read a few chapters from Of Mice and Men, then asked each of them to write a poem about anything they wanted. She set about the task painstakingly, writing and re-writing and scrapping her work, putting deep teeth marks on her pencil as she chewed the end of it, frustrated. Eventually, though, she had the beginnings of a poem she liked. She liked the freedom. Poetry wasn't like normal writing. It was forgiving. It didn't have to be organized. It didn't even have to make sense. It just needed to tell the truth.

At lunch, she stood in the doorway of the cafeteria, fingers fumbling with her backpack straps, absently, staring at the masses. Kids fought over tables, and the lunch line was crowded and unruly. Eventually, she spotted Lucas and Max sitting at a table. Lucas waved her over. She steeled herself, crossing the room. She dropped onto the bench, beside Max. The redhead flicked at a lock of El's hair.

"Hey, weirdo." Max said.

"Hey." El said.

"I'm dreading P.E. next period. Wanna skip?"

El frowned.

"On the first day?"

"Why not?"

El shook her head, rolled her eyes. Across the room, she spotted Dustin and Will. Dustin slammed his lunch tray on the table, and several pudding containers spilled over the bench and onto the floor.

"Shit!" Dustin swore.

El snagged one, tearing off the wrapped, and dug her spoon into it.

"Mmmmm." She said, appreciatively.

"Hey!" Dustin said, and swatted at her, playfully. "Those were mine."

"Finders keepers." El retorted, eyes flashing mischievously.

"Hey, sorry I'm late. I talked to Mr. Barnes about joining A.V. club. He said there's a sign-up on the office bulletin." Mike said, tossing his backpack on the floor. He bent down, wrapped his arms around El's shoulders, and pressed a kiss to her crown. She hummed, contentedly. Mike settled himself in the chair, beside her, as Dustin feigned retching.

"No P.D.A in the cafeteria, Michael." He said, and threw a potato chip at him. Mike flipped the bird.

"Fuck off, Dustin."

"No, he's right. I think it would be best if you two kept your mouths and hands off each other for the sake of our sanity. And our appetites." Max said. "And since this party is a democracy, I think we should vote. All in favor of a no P.D.A rule for the lovebirds, say 'aye'".

"Wait a minute! Shouldn't the rule apply to you, too?" Mike said. Max glanced at Lucas.

"We, unlike you, are against public displays of affection. For the sake of young eyes, of course." Max said. She took a bite of her pizza slice.

"So, all in favor?"

Four shouts of "aye!" rose from the table.

"That's not how it works." Mike mumbled. Max smiled, patted Mike's back, sympathetically.

"Oh, Michael." She said. "That's exactly how it works."

Mike rolled his eyes. El giggled.

Their conversation turned to their classes and A.V. club and their upcoming D&D campaign. Normal things. El stole food from Mike's tray, and his hand found hers under the table. When the bell rang, she peeled away from the group and headed toward the locker rooms, with Max.

They changed into their gym shorts and traded bits of conversation. Neither was one for gossip, and El wasn't big on words, period, and so they fell into a comfortable silence as they went into the gym and sat with the other freshman girls, on the bleachers.

"Wanna sleep over, Saturday?" El asked. "I'm sure Hop won't mind." Max nodded, smiling. "Yeah. Neil's driving me crazy, lately. It'll be nice to get out of the house, for a while . . ." She trailed off. El smiled, sympathetically. El knew Max's had it bad, at home. She'd met Mr. Hargrove in person, once. She recognized a mouth breather when she saw one.

She had Algebra with Mike, the last period of the day. She arrived as the bell rang, eyes sweeping the classroom, looking for Mike. She found him, standing by a desk, talking to a tall, pretty, brunette. El stopped short.

The girl was leaning close to Mike, laughing at something. Mike's cheeks were red, and his eyes kept darting away from the girl's face, as if searching for an escape. El didn't like the way she was looking at him. The girl reached up, touching Mike's shoulder, and El went cold. She felt that familiar surge of jealousy well up inside her. She stomped over to where they were standing, fingernails digging into the skin of her palms as she clenched them into fists. She cleared her throat.

"Hi, Mike." She said, loudly. Mike turned, eyes landing on her face.

"Jane!" He said. "Hey." He looked relieved. She took his hand, stood on tip-toes to plant a kiss on his cheek. She turned, levelling the girl with a cold stare. The girl shifted her weight, expression turning sour.

"Hi." El said, coolly. "I'm Jane."

The girl stood a little taller, brows knitting.

"I'm Ava. Ava Davidson." She turned to Mike. "I have to go. Bye, Mike." She sniffed, pushed a strand of hair behind her ear, and walked away. El glanced at Mike.

"Sorry." He said. "I didn't know what to do. She just marched right up and started talking to me like she'd known me her whole life." He sighed. "I don't know what her deal was."

"Mike." She said, rolling her eyes.

"What?" He asked, defensive.

"You're clueless."

"I'm not!"

"She likes you."

Mike frowned.

"Not likely. In middle school, she started a rumor that I liked guys. Called me a 'fag' or whatever." Mike shrugged. El's lip curled.

"Bitch." She said.

"Definitely." Mike said, nodding. He took her hand, face softening. "C'mon, let's find a seat."

After school, she went to Mike's house. They played on the Atari for a while, until El got bored. They went up to his room and lay on their backs on the carpet, holding hands, talking. When they ran out of things to talk about, they fell into a comfortable silence.

Mike propped himself up on one elbow, looking down at El, playing with the tips of her hair. It fell to her shoulders, and Mike couldn't keep his hands out of the soft, chocolate curls. She smiled, contented to just lie there, letting his nearness, his scent, the feel of his fingers in her hair, soothe her into a kind of trance. But the moment was over all too soon. The sound of the doorbell ringing cut through the silence, and El's eyes shot open. She sat up.

"It's probably Hop."

They went downstairs. And there was the chief, standing on the front porch with his hat in his hands, fiddling with the brim.

"Hey, kiddo. Ready to go?"

She nodded, then turned to Mike. She hugged him.

"Bye, Mike."

She followed Hop down the walk and climbed into the passenger seat of the Blazer. Hop got in the driver's side, fired up the engine.

"So, how was it?" He asked. And El told him, happily chattering on and on about her day. About her classes and her teachers and new friends. And Hopper let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding.

She was alright. Learning and growing, already wise beyond her years. And smart. So, so smart.

She was alright. They were alright.

He grinned, ruffled her curls.

"That's great, El." He said.

And he meant it.