MY TEARS RICOCHET 𛲕 STRANGER THINGS

1. Daphne Davenport

CHAPTER 1: Daphne Davenport

I want you to know, I'm a mirrorball
I can change everything about me to fit in
— Mirrorball, Taylor Swift

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

5th September, 1983: Hawkins High, History Class

DAPHNE DAVENPORT NEVER LIKED MRS CLICK. She wasn't sure what it was about the woman, but everything — from her nasal voice to her uncanny knack of peering down her elongated nose like she was looking directly into your soul — irritated Daphne to no end. It didn't help that Mrs Click had been her history teacher since she was a freshman. Nor that Mrs Click returned Daphne's less-than-favourable feelings.

The moment Daphne walked into her first class of sophomore year, she instantly felt Mrs Click's glare burning a hole in the side of her face. Daphne glanced over at the teacher, offering her a sarcastic smile, before dropping into her assigned seat.

She took the opportunity to scan the rest of the classroom — mostly empty; Daphne was early. The back row was littered with stoners and soon-to-be-high-school dropouts. Ned Wright sat on top of his table (instead of in his seat like a regular person), boombox on his shoulder, blasting Hall and Oates. Daphne wrinkled her nose in disdain. On the other end of the spectrum, the nerds and teacher's pets had already filled the entire front row; backs straight and notebooks at the ready. The remaining few classmates were just background noise to most. They never really stood out — in fact, they tried their damn hardest not to — and if it wasn't for Daphne's discerning eyes, they would've succeeded. Band geeks, wannabe cheerleaders, the soccer team's groupies. Nobody of any particular significance.

Once she had completed her scan of the classroom, the cheerleader leant back in her seat, basking in the multitude of not-so-discreet glances that were being shot her way. Lustful eyes from the loners and the groupies, envious outright stares from the wannabe cheerleaders and scornful glares from the nerds who secretly wanted to be just like her. Fitting in was important to Daphne. It was the one thing she'd always been taught to do.

Daphne's father had never made it a secret that they were running from something. He had always taught her to keep her head down and her nose out of trouble; to never cause a scene. But when Daphne asked him what exactly he was so afraid of, he became evasive and short-tempered. Her memories from before she'd moved to Hawkins were fractured and grainy; like a puzzle she could never quite put together. All she knew was that standing out wasn't just undesirable — for her, it was a death sentence.

And so she went down the conveyer belt, slipping into a life that wasn't quite hers. She toned herself down and didn't allow herself to have real opinions on things that mattered. She liked the things she was told she should like and partook in the social niceties that she'd been conditioned to. She floated through life like she wasn't really there. A mirror image of the girl she was supposed to be. Not quite there, but almost.

Fern Collins always knew how to make an entrance. Daphne's head shot up from her desk as her best friend came bursting through the door, hair permed to perfection and miniskirt just a little too mini. Heads turned towards her as she entered, as though people couldn't even pretend they weren't ogling at her.

"Miss Collins, pull that skirt down before I send you to the principal's office. Again," said Mrs Click, without so much as glancing up from her newspaper.

Fern rolled her eyes dramatically, tugging her lilac skirt down until it reached her knees. Daphne was half convinced she only did it to annoy Mrs Click at this point, as she continued to flaunt uniform regulations despite how many times she had been disciplined for it. But that was Fern through and through — a defiant hothead with a penchant for annoying authority figures. Quite literally the opposite of Daphne, who couldn't figure out for the life of her why Fern had wanted to be her friend in the first place.