The Black Dog Vol.3

They turned the corner toward the back stairwell, and that was when he appeared like he had a sixth sense for dramatic timing, back braced against the lockers, one boot up, fiddling with a cigarette he definitely wasn't supposed to have in school, a chain hanging off his belt, hair falling in his face in a way that looked accidental and absolutely wasn't. Eddie Munson glanced up as if he'd felt her eyes on him before she even registered him being there, dark eyes catching on her, then flicking down briefly to Billy's necklace at her throat, to the ring on her thumb she'd stolen from his table during a campaign, then back up with a slow, lazy grin that did something annoying to her lungs.

"Wheeler," Eddie drawled, pushing off the locker with an easy roll of his shoulders, tucking the unlit cigarette behind his ear with practiced fingers, "Henderson. To what do I owe the pleasure of seeing my two favorite almost-dropouts this fine Hawkins morning?" Amelia's stomach did that stupid little lurch it had started doing around him a couple months back, the one she pretended was just hunger or caffeine withdrawal or some other fixable problem, not the hot, electric awareness that crawled up her spine whenever he was within five feet. "We're graduating before you, Munson," she said, thankful her voice came out steady, "if anything, you're the almost-dropout here."