𝐁𝐎𝐘𝐈𝐒𝐇// 𝐄𝐃𝐃𝐈𝐄 𝐌𝐔𝐍𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐗𝐎𝐂

𝐱𝐱𝐱𝐯𝐢. ✭ 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐊𝐄𝐑

VALENTINES DAY, 1978; EDDIE

"Could you give this to her?" Alastair Straw asked, the perfectly lined teeth in his mouth shining. He had a cotton candy-colored blush on his pale cheeks. Freckles were sprayed all across his face. "I sort of- Well, I sort of like her, and I wanted to give her a valentine. Make sure she gets it?"

He smiled hopefully, brown eyes glimmering under the buttery sun. A tiny blue teddy bear was set in my palm along with a cheesy card covered with little hearts and kisses.

For the rest of the school year the little redhead boy who had just entered our elementary school, Alistair Straw, was the bane of my existence.

He liked her. He had a massive crush on Chance. The fourth grader was hooked on puppy love. Even though Alistair was one of the most popular ten-year-olds in Hawkins, that didn't stop all of the boys from teasing him for it. They tore him apart when the girls were away on the playground.

Still, during all the mocking and smacking lips in his face to imitate kisses, he remained unphased.

It was the strangest thing. The kid would just take it, a pleasant smile dimpling his face. He was in love and no one could tell him different. The guys called him Al. I called him by his last name, Straw. The girls called him Allie. Chance scarcely said his name at all.

It wasn't her fault she was oblivious. I had...helped. It was all in the name of being a good friend, to shield her from the truth. Besides, it wasn't entirely all of my meddlings. She probably would've remained unaware of his affections regardless if I stepped in or not.

Chance was under the impression that she was unlikable. At least in a romantic way. She never got notes as the other girls did. None of the guys gave her candy like how they did to Patty Norman or stole a kiss from her as they did to Lyra Butters.

I liked her. She was my pal. She was my friend. She was my best friend. So why was I so indignant about keeping Alistair and her apart? Shouldn't I have been happy that someone liked her in that way?

My chest tightened when the teacher sat them next to each other in the first week of January after we had come back from Christmas break. A hot lump formed in my throat. Half-moon circles were dug into my palms.

I could feel my skin itching when he'd brush his elbow against her or let her borrow a pen or smile in that same damn way he always did.

Now I know it was jealousy. Why couldn't I have those freckles? Why couldn't I have that red hair like he did? Why couldn't I be a couple of inches taller like him?

They looked similar. He already had a leg up with having that neat copper-colored haircut. Gingers were known to bond over their shared hair. How could I relate to Chance with my plain old brown hair?

He was the fastest runner in the grade. He wore expensive clothes and sneakers. He didn't have patches on his jeans like I did. He was athletic and smart and he smelled like success. How in the fuck does someone even manage to smell that way?

At that age, I probably smelled like lake water and dirt and gutted fish and creepy crawly worms.

Alistair came to our school in the fall, rooting himself down in November. Since that rainy day he walked into our classroom, his feelings festered, building up like his boldness.