Frankie Walsh was seemingly perfect.
She was popular, got good grades, was very pretty and could play piano better than anyone in Hawkins. The only thing to taint this perfection was her twin-brother, Troy, who was the schools biggest bully.
Dusti...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
S1E3: HOLLY JOLLY
The party had met up in Mike's basement before school to run through the plan for 'Operation Mirkwood'.
"We'll tell our parents that we have AV club after school. That will give us at least a few hours for Operation Mirkwood," Mike ran through once more.
"Yeah but we gotta leave school quick, though so we don't get caught in the crowds," Dustin added.
Lucas let out a laugh."Yeah, if you don't go missing again," he joked, to which Mike smirked in agreement.
"What are you talking about, Lucas?" Dustin asked, genuinely confused.
"Oh come on, you were so late to AV club the other day that you didn't even get to see the Heathkit Ham Shack," Lucas explained.
"Yeah and what about yesterday? We know that you don't have curfew at 6pm," Mike crossed his arms.
Dustin struggled to come up with a lie "Uhh, I had family movie night," he finally spit out. Mike and Lucas glanced at eachother. They didn't believe him one bit.
"Yeah sure, movie night," Lucas muttered, under his breath before looking at Eleven, who was sitting on the couch. "You seriously think that weirdo knows where Will is?" He asked Mike.
☆
Meanwhile, at the Walsh household, Frankie was eating breakfast. She was sat at the kitchen table, reading the next chapter of 'The Shining' as she spooned Cheerios into her mouth.
Then, out of the corner of her eye, she could see her brother tiredly stoop down the stairs. Troy barely slept the night before. Instead, he lay awake, staring at the ceiling and thinking about what he had overheard his mother say.
Well you wont have to deal with my favouritism anymore now that you want a divorce so badly.
Troy had decided that he would tell his sister about it the next day, so when he saw her reading in the kitchen alone, he thought that it was a perfect time.
"Hey," the boy greeted as he poured himself a bowl of Frosted Flakes.
The girl looked up for a moment, giving her brother an acknowledging nod before continuing to read her book. She knew that her brother was a massive dickhead, but she couldn't stay angry at him forever.
"So... is it safe to talk or are you gonna burst my eardrums again?" Troy made a feeble attempt at a joke. Judging by his sister's crossed arms and unamused expression, it didn't seem to have the desired affect.
"What do you wanna talk about?" Frankie spoke, placing her tie-die coloured bookmark back inbetween the pages of her novel as she sat it down on the table infront of her.
"Well..." her brother sat down on the seat directly opposite her and poured the milk ontop of the Frosted Flakes in his bowl. "I need to tell you something I heard Mom say last night,"
Frankie rolled her eyes. "Was it 'FRANCES JASMINE WALSH, WHERE DO YOU THINK YOU'RE GOING?' by any chance?" the girl did an incredibly accurate impression of her mother. "Because I'm pretty sure I heard that too,"
Troy had to admit, his sister impersonated his mother perfectly but he wouldn't segue the conversation away from the topic he had in his head. "No, that wasn't it. After you went upstairs, Mom and Dad started arguing and I heard-"
The boy stopped at the sound of footsteps descending the staircase. Mr. Walsh came down the stairs, sitting on the bottom step as he tied his workboots. Troy knew that his father would be now be able to hear any further conversation between him and his sister.
"What did you hear?" Frankie asked as he drank the last of her orange juice.
"I'll tell you later," he replied and gestured to their Dad, who had his back to them.
"Oh," Frankie nodded as she stood up to bring her dishes to the sink.
The twins' father walked into the kitchen a few seconds later and his eyes darted, from one one end of the room to the other
"Where's your mother?" Mr. Walsh asked. The man turned to look at his son, who just shrugged; his mouth full of Frosted Flakes.
"She went to the store for some eggs," Frankie answered, keeping her eyes on the bowl she was washing under the cool water of the kitchen tap.
Mr. Walsh nodded as he popped two slices of bread in the toaster. "Alright. If she's here when you guys get home from school, tell her that I'll be home late. I volunteered to search for that missing Byers kid,"
Frankie stopped what she was doing at the sound of Will Byers being mentioned. The girl turned off the tap and dried her hands in the tea towel as she walked over to her father.
"Do you think they're going to find him, Dad?" She asked, a worried expression on her face. Although she had barely talked to Will in all the years that they had gone to school together, she knew that he was a friend of Dustin and that was enough for her to care about him.
The older man put a hand on his daughter's shoulder. "I really hope so doll, but you have to be realistic. He's been missing for over 24 hours and there has been no clues as to where he's gone... he could be gone forever," he tried to put it as gently as possible, but being gentle never was his strong suit.
Frankie bit her lip as she tried to understand. "What're you saying? You think he's dead?!" She asked.
"I'm just saying it's a possibility," Mr. Walsh spoke in a softer tone than usual, trying to comfort his daughter. He would never lie to his children if they asked him a direct question.
Frankie nodded in understanding as she turned back to her dishes. Then, she heard a chuckle coming from the kitchen table.
"What's so funny?" Mr. Walsh asked as he turned his head towards his son.
"Nothing, nothing," Troy defended as he stood up and placed his bowl in the sink, right infront of Frankie, and tried to walk away.
"Forgetting something?" Frankie asked as she slung the tea towel over her brother's shoulder and handed him the sponge. "Find someone else to clean up after you," she spoke before walking out of the kitchen.
