DANCING WITH MYSELF • EDDIE MUNSON

bad omens

Summary: After experiencing the most unlucky morning of his life, Eddie is convinced that doom is on the horizon. All his friends think he's just being paranoid, but then Jeff receives an unexpected request from you, Eddie's little harbinger of misfortune.

Warnings: middle school, young!eddie, insecure!eddie, language, bullying, teasing

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It was a dull, dreary, rainy morning for all the students hanging out in the Hawkins Middle School cafeteria. They sat in small, quiet clusters around the room, eating, talking, scrambling to finish last night's homework. Jeff was part of the latter group, and like everyone else, he was having a hard time staying awake.

While the rain pattered softly against the window, he sat slumped over the table with his chin on his wrist, struggling to resist sleep's sweet siren song. His social studies book lay in front of him, open to his current reading assignment: something about the Incas or the Mayans (Jeff couldn't keep them straight and, this late in the school year, he didn't have the motivation to care). He kept reading the same sentence over and over, but the words always got lost in the fog of his thoughts. His eyes, listless and heavy-lidded, blurred with tears every time he—

Another yawn snuck up on him, threatening to split his mouth wide open. Jeff raised his head and surrendered to it, let it wash over him and then drift away, leaving little pools of moisture in the corners of his tired eyes. He wiped them away with his sleeve, put his chin down, and went back to reading.

"Dude, you gotta stop yawning," Grant said. Then he let out a big yawn of his own.

He was slicing through the school's frozen waffles with a fork. Inside the other compartments of his tray were two greasy sausage links, a cup of assorted fruit, and two cartons of milk. Grant always bought an extra milk because one was never enough.

"They're too small," he would say. "You finish one before you're even halfway done with your food."

"Boy, this is riveting stuff," Scottie would answer. "Now, Grant, how 'bout you share with us your thoughts on the basic four food groups? For instance, should fruits and vegetables really be grouped together?"

Then someone, usually Eddie, would tell Scottie to shut up, and that would be the end of it.

"God, these are awful," Grant was saying now, while he stuffed a waffle square into his mouth and forced himself to chew. "Just look at 'em. Pale, lifeless, cold in the middle. It's like they have no pride in their product."

"And yet you keep eating it," Scottie said while he doodled in his notebook. "See, Grant? You're part of the problem."

"I have to," Grant answered with a shrug. "You know I can't go to class on an empty stomach. When I get hungry, my stomach growls really, really loud, and I've got a test coming up. Can you imagine what it'll sound like in a room that quiet? Everyone will hear it and they'll know it came from me. I can't handle that kinda stress."

Scottie's doodling hand slowed. He stared at Grant with bored, blinking eyes.

Then he said, "I keep going back to the tombs. I feel like the tombs are crucial."

Jeff lifted his chin off his wrist. "What?"

"He's talking about his campaign."

"Oh."

Shocker. Scottie was always talking about his campaign.

"I still haven't come up with a name for it," Scottie said. "So far, I've got Into the Delves, The Delves of Dunmar, The Delves of Dunland, Digging in the Delves, Digging in the Dark Delves..."