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chapter twenty-two – bloody knuckles in the lunchroom


November 22nd, 1985

The bus skidded to a halt, simultaneously jolting just about every student inside it forward. Max and Irene shared a look of distaste before they stepped off together and walked through the main doors of their school. Just before they were about to part ways Max took her headphones off and slightly turned to Irene and dug inside her backpack, "I forgot to give you these last week and don't want to forget again." The redhead muttered as she pulled out three cassettes from her bag along with a small book.

"Ah, I totally forgot too!" Irene laughed as she went to grab the book but pushed the cassette's back toward her. "If you like them, keep 'em. Those tapes single handedly got me through my freshmen year back in Texas." Max's eyes lingered down toward the small cases: Pink Floyd's Dark Side of The Moon, Donna Summer's On the Radio: Greatest Hits Vol 1&2, and Fleetwood Mac's Rumors. They all had their own unique sound and that's what she seemed to love most about them – they reminded her of her friends and how different they all were but just seemed to fit.

She shook her head, "You really don't have to Rena–"

"No, I insist. You said you didn't have that many tapes to listen to and I mean I have far too many to count and I made myself a mixtape a while back of my favorite songs off the albums so it's okay." She shrugged with a smile and Max mirrored her as the bell rang, startling both of them. 

"Thank you. I'm bringing you leftover pancakes next week if my mom brings some home with her, I promise!" Max spoke with confidence as the two started parting ways, losing each other in the sea of people. Irene smiled to herself because she knew the red-head would stick to her words (it was the only way she felt she could 'make it up' to Irene) but by the end of their ride they'd end up both having devoured the delicacy; it was an unspoken tradition between them.

As Irene arrived at her locker she caught sight of a familiar figure – clad in his signature denim vest – leaning against it, back turned toward her. She slyly snuck up behind him.

She tapped him on the shoulder, "Excuse me? Do you mind helping me find a friend of mine? He's about this tall," She said, motioning her hand right beside his head after he turned. "And he's got this crazy untamed hairdo, which I think makes him look like Eddie Van Halen but with more defined curls which he almost never lets me style." She frowned before eyes trailed down to his shirt and suddenly her face brightened. 

"And he wears this adorable shirt on Friday's for his DND club and a guitar pick around his neck that his uncle gave him for his eleventh birthday." She explained and the boyish grin on Eddie's face only grew as she continued to describe him. Ever since that night at her house, they'd been joined at the hip. She was slowly letting down her walls again and allowing Eddie to roam her once closed off corridors. It was comforting being able to just hang out and forget about how dark the past few months had been; Eddie had the ability to make just about anyone feel at home and safe and Irene felt incredibly lucky to have him in her corner.

"Do you think you've seen him? He's kind of a big deal around here." She whispered the last part, leaning in slightly before she pretended to search the almost barren hallway.

A loud laugh escaped from Eddie's lips, "You are such a dork, I hope you know that." He mused, crossing his arms over his chest as he looked at her with bright eyes. His body leaned back against the locker beside her and watched as she swiftly turned her lock and placed her things inside.

"I do and I wear my knowledge with pride." Her tone was playful as she closed her eyes and smiled proudly. The light that seeped from her was blinding. It was as if life had never seemed to touch her with tragedy and she was once again a radiating beam of hope. A stream of sunlight trickled in from one of the main doors and illuminated her relaxed features. The hallway was bathed in her radiance.

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