PROM QUEEN, eddie munson

THE SLUSHY SITUATION

SOPHIE HARRINGTON HAD OFFICIALLY CRACKED the code on how to de-stress after a long day spent being Steve Harrington's twin sister. It was a really distressing and unfortunate role, but she persevered and carried on with putting up with his existence. In order to shake herself off all things Harrington, she would take a worryingly long bath.

The bathroom would be overflowing with bright candles and essential oils (which were probably highly toxic). She sprinkled rose petals through the water and cared for her face using a face mask. It was her most prised possession, she needed to look after it. Then she'd play whatever songs she was in the mood for, it had to match the tone of her bath. She'd settled for abba which just made her previous conversation with Eddie Munson play through her ears more than 'angeleyes."

Crushingly for Sophie, her much needed bath only lasted ten minutes when it was supposed to be an hour. Who was it at the door? The very infuriating person she was trying to escape from.

Steve banged on the door mercilessly, he got pleasure out of deeply annoying his sister. "Soph! Can you hear me!?" He shouted over the music, the record player lay outside the bathroom door playing loudly. He sighed and leaned down to turn it off.

"All of America can, Steve!" She shouted back, cringing at her own volume. She felt like she was with that boy every second of every day, what did he have to ask her now that he couldn't ask her in fifty minutes?

"Don't be mean," she heard his pout through the door. "Look, I know you're having your Steve-less hour right now, but it's not my fault for interrupting it." Steve would never interrupt Sophie's Steve-less hour because this was also his Sophie-less hour. "Mom needs you to go to the store and get some stuff for dinner."

"Why can't you go, momma's boy?" She asked frustrated. At this point Sophie had left the bath and began to dry herself. She knew she'd end up going regardless of Steve's answer.

"I'm going to the Wheelers for dinner," he told her with an edge of panic to his voice. He was afraid incase she hit him with a shoe again. She did that last time he told her to go to the store. Sophie emerged from the bathroom with a white robe wrapped around her and an irritated expression passing over her face. Steve innocently asked, "Do I look nice?"

"Not nice enough for Nancy," she fumed, "she's way out of your league, dude."

Steve frowned, "I know you've had a bad day today with all the abba slander and everything so I'm just going to let that go." He went to tread back down the stairs but stopped and turned to face her at the top of them, "Chop chop, Soph. Dad'll be home soon and he expects dinner to be made."

His forehead was then met with a tub of moisturiser.

Sophie internally groaned as she headed back to her room. She loved her mom, she really did, but why did she marry such a sexist asshole? And why did she birth Steve? So many questions.

The younger Harrington trailed herself over to her closet, shoving on some underwear. She wasn't trying to impress anyone, it was the grocery store. On a Monday night, the grocery store is where the youngest child of the family gets sent to get dinner supplies. It's always the youngest. So the people she was most likely to see would be maybe Will Byers or Dustin Henderson.

She pulled one of Steve's old worn out winter jumpers over her head, putting on some faded jeans too. She brushed her hair into a neat ponytail. Begrudgingly leaving her room and rushing her way into the kitchen.

"Mom," she greeted, laughing at the sight of her mom trying to work the new oven. "What am I getting from the store?"

"Just salt and tomatoes," the woman informed her daughter with a characteristically sweet smile. Mrs Harrington was the embodiment of warmth and youth, dancing around her kitchen to some old song by the Beatles.