in which hawkins supernatural
underbelly is discovered by a
group of apprehensive teenagers.
(steve harrington x f!oc)
(robin buckley x f!oc)
(will byers x m!oc x m!oc )
(f!oc x m!oc)
(eddie munson x f!oc)
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CHAPTER THREE. the first glimpse.
JUNO LEE WAS PERFECT.
ever since she was born her mother described her in a way one would only describe as perfect or ideal. she would say to juno every night that her hair was a blanket of comfort, her skin a canvas already drawn upon, her heart pounding much like a poets and her words as melodic as lyrics. it was always the last part that stuck out to her.
mrs lee heard the melodies of christian hymns and country music in her daughter's voice but everyone seemed to hear something else. her father described her voice as though the lyrics behind a marching song, like behind those soft words there was the lead drums of a marching band. steady paced, loud enough to back up her statements. he said it wasn't a positive thing.
juno liked to think if she was the lyrics and the steady drum beat then her friend group was the song. the outspoken guitar of mari's tone, the thundering bass of elizabeth's morals, the energetic keyboard of micky and the final blow of cymbals of reggie.
if one was to search through the girl's record collection they'd find nothing to match the description of the band; choir songs sung in the name of her lord which concerto music broke up. you'd be lucky to hear even the glimpse of a drumbeat, the peak of a guitar. her dad made this certain, banning sinful 'rock & roll' in the house.
she was fine with this, instead she just went to elizabeth's house and listened to kiss. or she went to mari's house and listened to the clash. or she went to micky's and listened to michael jackson. she wasn't picky, she just liked music.
unfortunately for her this hobby still didn't change her fathers opinions so her house remains quiet, the only song in question is the abrasive shouting voice of her mother.
"juno, do you know where the chips are?!" mrs lee shouts, her voice shaking the four walls surrounding her. if that wasn't to shake it then the intensity of which she rummaged through the cupboards would.
her daughter however, blissfully naive to the current happenings in her house, somehow doesn't here the squealing and rattling in the kitchen. she's too busy listening to the voice on the other side of the phone, the deep, brooding voice of one tommy h. she wouldn't lie and say she wasn't smitten, no girl could stand like she was — leaning against the wall in sweatpants and a tank top, one hand holding the red house phone and the other twirling the cord as though a strand of her hair, jesus on the cross above her head as though a reminder — and say they weren't an admirer of the person on the line.
juno wasn't in love with him — not yet. although she did see it in their future, she assumed that by the time she was in senior year and he was in college the pair would be madly in love, at each other's beckon. she would never admit the dreamed up future she'd made, not to her friends at least. god knows they would judge her for it.
