rruetopia
Hawkins High always smells the same: floor wax, stale cigarette smoke, and the faint, chemical burn of hairspray. It's a place where you either eat or get eaten, and Jordy Vance decided a long time ago she wasn't going to be the one on the plate.
The varsity jacket is heavy. The leather sleeves are stiff, and the polyester lining makes her sweat, but it works better than a "Do Not Disturb" sign. When she walks down the hallway, the crowd splits. No one bumps her shoulder. No one asks her to move. They just stare, projecting their own crap onto her-the winner, the untouchable, the girl who has it all figured out.
It's a grind keeping it up. Laughing at Tommy H.'s jokes when they aren't funny. ignoring the way the fluorescent lights hum loud enough to give her a migraine. But it beats being the punchline.
The strategy was basic: hit the balls, tolerate Steve Harrington from a distance, and get out of this cornfield purgatory the second the diploma hit her hand. No attachments. No looking back. Just a clean break to a state where nothing smells like manure.
But plans don't hold up here.
She wasn't looking for a fight. She just took a wrong turn near the woods and found something that didn't belong on a biology exam. Now the air feels full of static, the shadows stretch too long in the afternoon sun, and Jordy is stuck in the middle of a nightmare that doesn't give a damn about her batting average.
The mask is slipping. She just hopes she can survive the end of the world without anyone noticing she's afraid.