Fight or Flight (Eddie Munson x Y/N)

6. "Rock 'n' Roll High School"

You walk into Ms. O'Donnell's class and aren't sure where to sit. Students are still piling in behind you, and one bumps against you enough to make you stumble slightly forward...and realize you're still in the classroom doorway like an idiot. You move to the side and a scan the room for an empty seat, but instead, you're met face to face with the lipstick stained smile of Ms. O'Donnell.

"Hello, Dear. Are you Ms. Y/L/N?"

"Y-yes," you stammer, making brief eye contact but still making sense of the room. "I just didn't know where to sit."

"Oh it's okay, dear. Take the seat over there, back row," she points.

Your eyes follow Ms. O'Donnell's finger to the seat but instead of focusing on the empty desk, your eyes are drawn like magnets to the dark brown ones staring back at you from the seat just beyond the empty desk. They're striking, in a way that brown eyes typically aren't. They're warm, but staring at you with an intensity that is almost uncomfortable. His hair is wild, a waterfall of dark waves down just past his shoulders; full lips set in a contemplative frown as he considers you for just a split second before quickly looking down and away, slowly shifting his body back to the front of the room along with his gaze. 

You're just nervous, you tell yourself. He wasn't staring at you. You start to wonder who, if anyone knows or recognizes you. Did this person? He doesn't look familiar, but after three years, a lot of students at Hawkins High don't either. 

You sit down. You take in a faint smell of aftershave, cigarettes and woods. It smells good but at the same time, alarming...triggering. You focus straight ahead and don't make eye contact. After what happened, you're not focusing on boys; you're focusing on rocking the fuck out of your senior year, having fun with Stacy and thriving in the town that attempted to take you down. 

"Alright, class, settle in," Ms. O'Donnell begins. "We're going to continue with our reading of 'Twelfth Night." The class becomes a cacophony of collective groans and shuffling for books and supplies in backpacks. "Any thoughts on the Duke's plan to win Olivia's heart?"

"I mean, yeah," you hear a gruff voice in a varsity jacket interject. You recognize it right away as Jason Carvers. You freeze. It was Carver's party. How did he not know what was happening upstairs in his own house?

"The Duke has the right idea," Carver begins with a smirk. "Get some other sucker to do the dirty work of getting the girl. The Duke is busy. And he's rich. My old man says that what they call 'delegating,'" he laughs, earning a high five from another monkey in a varsity jacket.

"Well, thank you, Mr. Carver, for your contri--" Ms. O'Donnell begins before you inadvertently cut her off, aggressively shifting your body weight to face Captain America. Your body and mouth move faster than your brain can stop you.

"Actually, I believe that's called dishonest misogyny," you retort, crossing your legs and putting you arm on the back of your chair; clearly you're off to a good start back in Hawkins...

You hear the squeaks of a few chairs as people turn to face you, the new (?) girl with the big mouth. "If the Duke wants Olivia so bad, he should put in the effort himself. It's a classic Shakespearean case of mistaken identity. The Duke that Olivia knows is not, in fact, the Duke at all. She's falling in love with someone else," you explain before taking a beat, almost inaudibly mumbling the next part: "People aren't always who they appear to be."

You feel the eyes of the guy next to you flicker toward you, but you don't return the glance. 

****** 

At the final bell, instead of meeting Stacy to walk home, you decide to go to the tutoring room to talk to your guidance counselor, Ms. Kelley, about becoming a volunteer tutor; Stacy told you she was the adviser. You'd always liked to help people and figured it would look good on college applications. 

You walk in to the room and there are already a few students in there, studying with other students, quiet whispers, questions, and explanations peppering the otherwise silent room. No one looks up as you approach Ms. Kelley, who has a kind face, her black hair piled high on her head. She looks deep into what appears to be a student file, her eyebrows kitted in the middle with concentration. 

"Hi, Ms. Kelley?" you say, more as a question in case it wasn't her. 

"Oh! Hello," she smiles warmly. "You must be Y/N. Welcome to Hawkins...again, I suppose," she lets out a little chuckle. 

For the first time since this morning with Stacy, you let out a little chuckle, too. "Yes, thank you. It's...been a day." 

"I'm sure it has. Are you looking for a tutor?"

"Actually, no. I used to tutor at my old high school in Colorado and I was hoping to do it here, too." 

"Oh," she says, surprised, but then takes a beat. "That actually makes more sense. I was looking through your file this morning and with your grades, it doesn't really make sense that you would NEED tutoring. Unfortunately, Y/N, our tutors all have to be part of the National Honor Society at Hawkins. Although we'll have our next induction closer to winter break, if you'd like to tutor for the second half of the year." 

You're disappointed, but understand. "Yeah...sure... Thanks, Ms. Kelley. I look forward to that." You look at the clock. "Uh, Ms. Kelley. Do you think I could just hang out here for the next half hour and do some school work? I'm walking home with Stacy Hargrove and she's still at cheerleading practice." 

"Sure, Y/N," she smiling, cocking her head to one side. 

You nod, your lips flattening into a small smile, and turn to take a seat. You get out your Sony Walkman and press play on Dio's "Sacred Heart" cassette. You pull out your calculus homework. You're about three songs and half a worksheet in when you see someone else walk into the room. You don't know if it's the first person to walk into the room since you came in or it's the sheer presence of this person that causes you to look up. It's the guy from your English class. He's wearing a Hellfire Club t-shirt...whatever that is...a leather jacket with a denim vest, and black pants with chains. He's definitely a metal head, which you can certainly appreciate. 

You pretend to tuck a lock of hair behind your ear so you can shift your headphones enough to hear the conversation that's about to happen between him and Ms. Kelley. 

"Eddie," she begins with a sigh. "You're late."

"I'm not staying," he says quickly, shaking his head. "I don't need a tutor. It's a new year and I'm going to study my ass off....sorry, butt off. I don't need some little sheep to tutor me." 

"Eddie, we've been down this road twice. I was just looking at your file," she shakes the file she's holding in his direction. "This is your last shot to graduate." 

"I know that," he says, somewhat quietly now. "My uncle will kick my ass, sorry, butt, if I don't graduate this time..." He suddenly smiles, raising the decibel level of his voice back up to a confident bravado. "But it's my year Ms. Kelley. I can feel it. The band is killing it at the Hideout, my campaign for Hellfire is nearly ready, and I'm going to walk that stage past Principal Higgins and run like hell, uhh, heck, out of this town!" 

"I sure hope so, Mr. Munson. I sure hope so," Ms. Kelley smiles, but her voice sounds disappointed. "You're free to go."

"Have a good one, Ms. Kelley," he says before turning to go. But as he does, he notices you, sitting there, for the first time. Your eyes lock for a second, a look of almost amusement on his face, before he turns to leave.

He's probably amused because you were staring like an idiot, you think to yourself, embarrassed. Eddie Munson....You'll have to ask Stacy about him when she's done with cheer practice. 

You audibly sigh, shake your head as if to shake him out, and get back to your calculus.  

Author's Note: aaaand we're off! 😉