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005. 𝘁𝗿𝗼𝘂𝗯𝗹𝗲 𝗶𝗻 𝘀𝗵𝗲𝗲𝘁-𝗳𝗮𝗰𝗲𝗱 𝗽𝗮𝗿𝗮𝗱𝗶𝘀𝗲.
𝐋𝐎𝐑𝐈 𝐊𝐍𝐄𝐖 𝐄𝐗𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐋𝐘 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 she was getting herself into when she parked her mother’s jet-black BMW on the side of the road, down the street from the raging Halloween party. Beside her, in the leather passenger seat of the car, sat the crumpled neon flyer, the words “SHEET-FACED” engraved in bold at the top. The night was young, the stars were going to be shining soon, and Lori would be inside.
She liked Halloween. As much as you could like a Holiday that, now in her time, transformed into who could chug the most beer from a keg whilst wearing a shitty wig and some face makeup that faded with the alcohol.
So there really was no reasoning behind why she was parked outside of Tina Mitchell’s house, at eleven o’clock, other than her mom being at Claudia’s and the car being left behind (something about having drinks while the kids are out?). It was the perfect opportunity to sneak out— and Lori was beginning to think that Claudia’s coaxing about going to the party was convincing her mother, which would be why sneaking was so easy. If not done purposely, Maureen should’ve known that leaving her car behind on Halloween was the perfect setup for a teenager like her daughter. With or without the untold permission of her mom, Lori didn’t care and took the car anyway.
The moving truck had officially emptied all of their original furniture into their new house the night before, but Lori didn’t have the energy to organize her room just yet. One— because she was busy finding her last-minute Halloween costume all evening. And two— it kind of stung seeing her beloved furniture and posters in a much different, much duller room, than back home. She was, maybe, putting it off for a night, resulting in still sleeping on the mattress on the floor. But none of that mattered at the moment, because she was on the brink of Tina’s sheet-face party.
She was on the brink of getting absolutely, entirely, not sheet-faced.
Now, at eleven at night, she pulled the key out of ignition.
Her jet-black dagget boots stepped hard onto the concrete, and she shut the door with a thud behind her. Her fingers gripped around the lapels of the hot pink blazer she was wearing, pulling them down a bit to ease the weight on her shoulders and letting air in. There was a thick silver chain on her neck, hiding behind a blue bandana-kerchief tied loosely around her throat. Briefly, she adjusted the plain t-shirt tucked into her black, polyester flat-front pants. She had her headphones pressed to her ears and her Walkman in the pocket of the blazer, music spilling out from them. A bag was on her shoulders.
Underneath her own music, she could already hear the shouts, and the party music, and the cheering. She didn’t close her eyes in a tight, dreading blink like she would at school or towards her mom, she kept them sharply pinned forward at the house’s front lawn, not moving them for a second as she neared. She wasn’t going to look at the people who looked at her, or the people who paused to watch her walk by, or the small sum of (probably the only not drunk) teenagers that were going to whisper to their friends about something meaningless like her costume, her hair, or her general presence. She didn’t have the greed for social statuses and where she fit into that.
By the time some boy in an angel costume was throwing up in one of the shrubs out front, Lori was walking, hard-stepped in her dagget boots, up the driveway. The music was blaring at this point, overpowering her headphones, spilling from the open windows of the house, and radiating from the boomboxes out in the backyard. With a small groan, as she walked on the pavement, she pulled her headphones off her ears and let them rest around her neck.
She’d been to many, many parties before. But none of them matched the chaos of Hawkins — which was kind of ironic.
Cars were parked all around, some even on the grass lawn, and couples were making out on the hoods of them. There was toilet paper being thrown everywhere, and so many decorations and Halloween lights all around. At the end of the driveway, a group of girls, dressed in typical eighties-style costumes were leaning on the garage door, and a group of guys were mingling with them, standing awfully close— probably aiming to spit-swap like the losers on the cars. Stoners were hidden in the trees along the opposite side of the driveway, clouds of smoke evaporating over their heads. Most of these people looked at Lori and her bright pink blazer, but half of them were too drunk to even recognize that she was there, let alone give her a judging glance.
Of course Lori didn’t bat an eye at any of this. She kept her chin up, and her eyes searching daringly, making eye contact with the people who were watching her, which caused them to look away first like she always made them do. There was nothing tangibly threatening about Lori— but like Dustin had noticed on their first meeting, she was just weirdly intimidating. And the people staring at her outside this Halloween party were starting to see that too.
She turned her head around and pinned her eyes forward again, heading past he group of horny, mingling teenagers at the garage door as they scoffed at her. Her boots pounded on the grass, while they stepped around the side of the house towards the backyard where all the booming music and cheering was coming from.
When she turned the corner, Billy Hargrove had just ended his turn on the keg stand, and the crowd around him was erupting in cheers, and he himself, was yelling at the top of his lungs. Lori slowed her pace for just a moment, taking in the real sight of the only other new kid in Hawkins. He was the speeding, mullet-wearing, blue Camaro-driving maniac whom she’d seen on her first day at school and whom everyone, apparently, had been obsessed with since he stepped foot in town.
Lori’s lips twisted slightly in disgust when he sprayed out beer from his mouth, the boys around him grabbing his shoulders. From where she was walking in the backyard, no one was looking at her and no one was staring at her, she sort of just blended in with all the costumes.
Tommy H, too proud for his own good, announced that Billy Hargrove was, now, the new Keg King to everyone around them.
“That’s how you do it Hawkins!” Billy Hargrove shouted, loudly and with pride, as the beer dribbled down his chin and as he took a cigarette from his friend’s fingers. “That’s how you do it!”
Billy and Tommy made their way down the patio of the backyard, but Lori didn’t care to watch them anymore as she walked through the back door, stepping up the steps with hard strides.
Inside, there were so many raging teenagers that there was barely space to walk without the possibility of contracting some sort of disease from all the physical contact. People were dancing, cheering, singing and drinking, as the music blared from speakers all around. There were toilet paper streamers hanging from the ceiling and off the chandelier in the dining room and the ceiling fan in the kitchen, Halloween banners were taped to the walls, and confetti all over the floor. Hands were in the air, waving, and teenagers were jumping to the bass of the music. The air smelled of sweat, beer, punch, and hormones, and tasted salty on the tip of the tongue.
There was a disco ball on the ceiling, spinning bright lights onto all of the faces around Lori as she walked through the crowd, unwillingly touching chests and shoulders of her unknown classmates. She didn’t watch out for the feet she was stepping on, because everyone was probably too high or too drunk to scold her. It was like a maze of sweaty bodies and revealing costumes, and red solo cups and toilet paper streamers that brushed over her face whether she liked it or not.
With her eyes forward, she noticed Steve Harrington standing by the wall, his hand on it, with Nancy Wheeler beside him. Briefly, she thought of what Helena Gibson had said about their soap-opera relationship being all the buzz, and time sort of paused for a second as she stared, under the dim lights of the living room party.
Just as she stopped walking beside two people spit-swapping, Billy, Tommy, and another boy, had made it up to the notorious couple, seeming taunting. She watched for a second as Tommy spoke, his words inaudible because of the music, as Steve slowly pulled off his black glasses, and as Nancy Wheeler rolled her eyes and stepped away from the interrogation. It was only seconds before Steve followed her towards the kitchen.
“Hey! You want some?” The voice of a boy was shouting close to Lori, causing her head to turn.
A tall boy, wearing a cowboy hat on his head and a girl clinging to his body was holding his red cup out to her. A wide, drunk smile was on his lips. At the random encounter, Lori stared blankly, blinked, and turned on her heel.
Her eyes rolled, and she wondered why Claudia thought this party would be a good idea.
By the time she made it up to the kitchen island, Nancy Wheeler was walking away, taking a big gulp from her cup and wiping her chin, leaving Steve by himself.
Lori was walking around the opposite bend of the cornered island. She reached a hand around her body, her fingers landing on her back pocket to feel the expecting presence of her extra cassette tape, to make sure it was still there. Her favorite, absolute favorite Bowie cassette tape was in the back pocket of her flat-front black pants, just in case the party music got boring and she needed something better. With a breath leaving her lips, she stopped at the drink section, about three feet apart from the King of Hawkins High.
Steve was leaning on the island counter with his elbows on the surface, and his shades in his folded hands.
“Y’know Tom Cruise is five foot seven, right,” Lori spoke out, her words laced with her usual, casual but slightly obscure tone of voice. She spoke loud over the music.
Steve turned his head at the sound of her voice, his eyebrows narrowed at the girl suddenly standing beside him.
“What?” He said, slightly taken aback but he kept a solid, annoyed composure. He had absolutely no idea what she was talking about.
Lori stared at him, her eyes locking with his. “Your costume?” She said, sarcastically, “Tom Cruise from Risky in Business.”
Steve found himself sort of confounded at this sudden, odd conversation. This was only the second time the two neighbors talked, and he found it to be odd timing and a weird topic.
“And what about it,” he said, shrugging annoyingly, his eyes squinting. He stared at her.
“Just that you’re not five-seven,” she shrugged, looking towards the stack of cups and reaching for one. “Doesn’t it not fit with the costume to you.” she knew damn well that height didn’t matter for a costume— she just wanted to be the one interrogating him, as opposed to when he’d spoken to her on her first day.
Now, Steve was confused, and annoyed. “Yeah? What about your costume, huh,” he rebutted, now removing one elbow from the counter and facing her.
“There’s nothing wrong with my costume.” She shrugged, “Joan Jett and I are the same height. God, is there any water in this shit show?”
Steve furrowed his eyebrows even more. Why was this girl, who he knew didn’t like him all that much, suddenly making conversation in the middle of the night, and going on about height importance. He couldn’t help but feel dumbfounded.
Lori stepped over to the sink, and turned on the tap.
“What’s so bad about it,” He followed her, now feeling obligated to get an answer.
All she did was laugh to herself, as her cup filled. She was kidding, but he didn’t need to know that.
“Do you have, like, a problem with me, Philbin?” Steve questioned, now leaning against the other half of the double sink, his arms crossed and his head turned to her.
“You say that like it’s an obligation to not have a problem with you.” She turned the tap off, and brought the cup up to her lips.
“What— no, that’s not what I meant,” he corrected himself, almost as if he was apologizing for what came out of her mouth. “Just. Do you have a problem with me, or something.”
“I will if you keep asking the same fuckin’ question,” She swallowed a few sips, and squinted her eyes at him. “I’ve known you for three days.”
“Yeah, so what’s your deal, then,” he persisted. He placed one hand on the counter-top, leaning on his side now.
She popped out her bottom lip, and he stared at her, waiting. His eyes widened with the urge for an answer after a few seconds.
“Do you know what the word cliche means?” She said, casually. She leaned her hip on the opposite sink.
He scoffed, “Duh,” He put a hand out of his crossed arms as a gesture like her question was stupid.
“You are a cliche,” she shrugged, holding her cup close below her chin. “Cliche is you. That’s all,”
“Excuse me?” he stood up, growing more annoyed.
Her eyes lowered, “Please, Harrington, I’ve been here for, like, seventy-two hours and I already know it—”
His face gawked, outraged, “Whoa, whoa— and you’re not? What about the whole new girl angst…” he searched for the word, “thing,” he pointed his hand towards her.
“Good attempt,” she nodded.
“Yeah, whatever,” he scoffed. “Don’t you have, like, a car to steal, or something.” he side-eyed her.
“Very bold of you to assume I would do such an illegal thing,” she replied. “But you’re right— if you’ll excuse me, I’m on a mission to find the stoners and hope they’ll slip me a joint.” she was only half-joking.
“Well you sure as hell don’t look both ways before driving a bike. That’s pretty illegal to me,” he said, referring to when he’d almost hit her with his car.
“I should’ve dented your car,” she replied, distastefully. “Hard.”
He let out another scoff.
With the last sip of her water, Lori placed the red cup in the sink, and looked up to Steve who had his head turned. She followed his gaze, and landed her eyes on Nancy, dancing in the crowd with drinks in her hands.
“Shit, David Cassidy,” she commented with a stifled laugh, knowing they were looking at the same thing, “Make sure the princess sleeps on her side tonight for me, okay.”
With that, Lori tapped the side of his arm twice, and gave him a smug smile before she stepped past him and into the living room. She didn’t look back once as she seeped into the crowd, her arms rising up in the air and her hips swaying to the lame music like she was just one of the other teenagers, disappearing into the crowd at last.
“I don’t give a damn ’bout my reputation,” a girl spoke out, leaning her back against the wall next to Lori. “I’d say the costume suits you pretty good.”
It was past midnight, and Lori was leaning with her bag against the furthest wall of the party living room, her eyes wandering for nothing specific. The music finally got boring, and her legs were beginning to hurt from all the useless and mindless mingling in the crowd of people. Now, she leaned underneath a painting, facing the whole jumble of teenagers.
Helena Gibson had found her, and was now leaning her own back against the wall beside the unbothered teenager with the pink blazer. Helena had a cigarrette between her fingers.
“Enjoyin’ the party?” Helena questioned, humorously, turning her head to look at Lori who was still, utterly, unfazed by her presence. Like she always was.
The black-haired girl took a drag of the cigarette, and pointed it to Lori, offering it. She looked down at it, shook her head. She never found the stoners, but she didn’t like nicotine as a second choice.
Lori looked around the room, a hum emitting from the back of her throat. “I guess,” she said, about the party, through slightly closed lips.
Helena crossed her arms, leaning on the side of her shoulder now to face the girl. “So you and mister high school?” she giggled. “Saw you guys talking at the drink table. What’s that about, thought you didn’t like him.”
“This music is shit,” Lori didn’t answer the question, and rather reached for her Walkman still in the pocket of the blazer.
She pressed the button on the side, letting the Walkman open with a click. While Helena took drags of her cigarette and watched around the room, casual as could be, Lori grabbed the cassette tape from the Walkman and slid it into her front pocket. Letting out a small huff, she reached around to the back pocket of her pants. But there was nothing in it like before— suddenly, the tape was gone and Lori’s lips departed with something close to fear and shock.
“Oh my god,” Lori breathed out, now frantically reaching into every pocket and looking around on the floor with her eyes, “No, no, no,”
Helena noticed her distress, and she thought that someone like Lori couldn’t panic, so this must have been something really important. “Hey, what is it?” she asked, sort of lightly.
“Hold this,” Lori roughly took off her backpack, her heart racing now, and shoved into Helena’s hands as Helena placed the smoke between her lips. “No, no, no, no,”
While Lori searched through every content of her bag, Helena looked elsewhere— spotting Steve Harrington slamming the bathroom door shut. “Speaking of mister high school, seems like somethin’s wrong in paradise,” she laughed.
“Where is it!” Lori cussed, groaning with anger. When she decided the tape wasn’t anywhere in her bag, she turned around and tried to look through the feet dancing on the dance floor. There was no tape in sight— but it must have fallen out when she was dancing.
With a spike hitting her chest, Lori looked up to where Helena was gazing, noticing Steve storming out of the kitchen, furiously. She couldn’t care less about him in the moment, but just as she was about to turn away and look somewhere else, a boy had stopped Steve in his tracks. And in that boy’s hand, was Lori’s recognizable cassette tape, with the red ribbon on the side. The boy handed it right to Steve.
But Steve, pissed off and visibly irritated, took the tape mindlessly, just hoping to get out as fast as he could.
Lori’s eyes widened, and before she even thought twice, she was pushing through people in the crowd, with her eyes pinned on the back of Steve’s head leaving from the front door. He was walking terribly fast, and all the dancing teenagers in the tight crowd, slowed her pace, even if she shoved as many people in her way. Her heart was racing, and her veins were pulsing with a certain anger.
By the time she ran out the front door of the party house, Steve was slamming the driver’s door of his burgundy BMW parked in the driveway. Angry, he let the cassette fall onto the passenger seat, careless, and then slammed on the gas. He drove away before Lori could even tap his window.
She ran all the way out onto the street, her pink blazer blowing in the wind behind her.
“Dickhead!” she yelled her voice fuming. Her fists clenched hard, and she let out a loud, angry groan.
Now, as she watched his stupid car drive away with her favorite cassette tape in it, she realized that she really, really, was cursed. And Steve Harrington was playing a major, major part in it.
𝙅𝙐𝙇𝙄
this shit is so long oops
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