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CHAPTER SEVENTEEN XVII. a mutual connection [ season 2, episode 9 ]
Max Mayfield was an awful driver, which was a given for a middle schooler without a licence.
In the backseat of the death machine, Stephanie held on for dear life. Max jerked around each corner sharply, leading them toward the Upside Down tunnels buried underground. Steph's head had thwacked against the window far too many times to count by now, and she was beginning to suspect a concussion was forming. She pressed a hand to her temple, gritting her teeth in an attempt to subside the searing pain rippling throughout her brain.
"Jesus! My neck!" Steph cried exasperatedly. She deeply regretted the deal she had sealed earlier — the one where she gave gave Max full permission to drive. "Slow down!"
"We're almost there!" Max assured, pressing harder on the accelerator. They whizzed down a dimly-lit street, narrowly avoiding a tabby cat strolling onto the sidewalk. It looked like a deer in headlights, crimson eyes catching in the iridescent beams.
"Shit!" Dustin screeched. "You almost flattened that thing like a pancake!"
"Shut up!" Max yelled back, flicking through random buttons on the dashboard. Steph's stomach clenched with nerves as they neared a roundabout. "I'm trying to concentrate here. A little silence would be much appreciated."
In the passenger seat, acting as Max's driving instructor despite no real training herself, was Lucia. Much to his horror, disgust, and dismay, Lucas Sinclair had been forced to perch on her lap due to limited seating. Although, he might as well have been sitting in the underbelly of the car, distancing himself as far from Lucia as humanely possible. She didn't seem to mind, however, and had cracked open a map she found in the trunk of Billy's Camaro, yelling out random street names that had little to no importance throughout their precarious journey.
Meanwhile, Steph sat in the back with Mike, Dustin and Steve. She had taken up the middle seat, with half of Steve's battered body splayed over her lap, head lolling in the narrow space between the row of seats, feet propped up on Dustin's shoulder. Apparently, they needed to keep the blood flowing to his head, or whatever. Keeping Steve horizontal was their last hope for him regaining consciousness.
Once more, Max jerked around a corner, and Steph slammed into Mike's side. The shouting and panicked yells intermixed into one, resounding around the compact vehicle as if someone had played it back over a boombox at the highest volume.
Steph looked down when she felt a ripple of movement wavering over her legs. Steve was stirring, swollen eyes beginning to crack open. His first instinct was to look to the left, where he saw Mike Wheeler gripping a can of gasoline.
