Chapter 1

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Eddie plugged into his amp, and strummed the strings of his guitar, testing the tuning. Starting with the E string, he tuned up to the right pitch, and from there he adjusted the rest. He looked to the guys, still setting up their respective instruments, and sat on his amp. Guitar in his lap, he considered them a moment. Jeff had graduated with him last week, but Gareth and Brandon were still in for another year. Eddie had secretly been happy he couldn't graduate twice— it meant more time with these guys. They were his brothers, his chosen family. He wouldn't be seeing them every day now, but he hoped that wouldn't change anything for them. He and Jeff weren't leaving Hawkins, but time was a fickle bitch, and you could never predict what she'd lay at your feet.

Gareth twirled his drumsticks, nodding to Eddie that he was ready. They'd been playing at the Hideout most Tuesdays for the last year or so. The owner of the bar paid them in free beer, and whatever tips were left for them, and that was fine with Eddie. Once Gareth graduated, they were going to take Corroded Coffin more seriously. Eddie already had the names and phone numbers of all the right bar owners in bigger Indiana towns, places like Indianapolis and Fort Wayne. But Eddie had his sights set on Chicago, where they might be able to play larger crowds, record an album, get a record label to sign them.

Corroded Coffin started their set, a mixture of covers and originals. Eddie nursed a beer during the first part of the set, and was starting to feel buzzed halfway through War Pigs by Black Sabbath, so when a familiar shock of strawberry blonde hair crossed his field of vision, he was sure his imagination had strayed. He had thought about Chrissy Cunningham so often since she bought weed off him during spring break, and now he was sure he had conjured her image, so out of place amidst the regulars at the Hideout. He kept singing, and when she met his gaze, he knew it wasn't his imagination.

She sat at a high top table, and gave him a small wave and a smile. That smile that could turn his insides to jelly. Ever since spring break, they'd made eye contact so many times, and every time, she smiled at him. And now, without Jason here at her side to pull her attention away, Eddie thought maybe this might be his chance to do more than just smile at her from across the room.

The band finished the song, and Eddie looked around at his friends. He turned away from the mic, and asked for fifteen minutes. They all looked at each other, at Chrissy, and then back at Eddie, and nodded.

"Ok, thanks guys, we're gonna take a quick fifteen minute break, and we'll be right back," Eddie said into the mic. He turned the mic off, turned off his amp, and set his guitar down gently in its case.

He rubbed his palms on his jeans, and made his way off the little stage, down to the table where Chrissy sat. She had her hair down, pinned back on one side, and she wore white jeans with a cashmere pink sweater. It was one of his favorite things she wore, and he realized just then that he probably knew her wardrobe frontward and back. He stood at the table, and switched on the charm to mask the very real ball of nerves growing in his stomach.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were lost," Eddie said. "Not unless you just love the brand of stale pretzels they have at the bar."

Chrissy smiled, and shook her head.

"No," she said, "you said you play here on Tuesdays. I had hoped after graduation that was still true."

Eddie's eyes widened. She'd remembered, and what's more, she was here for him .

"Uh," he said, smiling. "Well then, can I... get you a beer at the bar?"

"They sell you beer?" Chrissy asked, shocked.

"They pay us in beer," Eddie said. Chrissy laughed.

"Ok, sure, why not..." she said, and Eddie made his way to the bar. He rapped his knuckles on the bar a few times. "Two pints, Maude darling..." Eddie said to the bartender. Maude, the matronly bartender that had been working the bar for about two decades, pulled the first pint, and looked from Eddie to Chrissy.

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