CHAPTER TWO : under the moonlight

( the weirdo on maple street, part ii )

————

november 8, 1983

     EDDIE'S VAN HAS BEEN idling in front of Steve's house for ten minutes now, and every time Allison has attempted to leave, Eddie has found yet another reason to hold her back. He doesn't know much about Allison, he's only known her a week, but he does know Steve and his crew. And he knows that they'll chew her up and spit her out. It's just what their kind does.

     After a long minute of silence, Allison shuffles in the worn passenger seat. "Eddie, I really need to go now," she says definitively. She's going into that house whether he wants her to or not.

     The boy groans dramatically, throwing his head back against the headrest of his seat, but concedes with a nod. "Yeah, yeah, I know." He looks back over at her. "Just, uh, call me when you wanna get picked up, okay?" he says. Allison gives him a nod in return and reaches for the door handle. As she pulls it, Eddie reaches over to lightly take hold of her forearm, stopping her in place. "Stay safe, 'kay?"

     Allison's brows raise and she throws him an awkward close-lipped smile. "It's just a party. I'll be fine."

     Of course, Allison doesn't know that for sure but how hard can a party be? She'll talk to people, drink a beer or two ( she's never had a beer before but Eddie and Wayne drink them with meals sometimes and they seem to enjoy them, so why not? ), and listen to music. Easy peasy.

     She clambers out of the van and drops down onto the grassy lawn in front of the large house. Eddie's van doors only half-work on a good day, so she has to really throw her weight into the damn thing shut to make it latch. Eddie flashes one last nervous smile at her and waves as he drives away. Upon reciprocating the wave, Allison turns to face the Harrington house. She takes a deep breath and sets off toward the front entrance, wiping the sweat on her palms off on the sides of her pants before knocking on the door. Some rock song blares inside the house, so loud that Allison can't even be sure that anyone has heard her. It takes what feels like a lifetime before the double front doors finally swing open.

     Steve Harrington stands proudly in the entryway, a smile plastered on his face. "Hey, come on in... Allison."

     Wow. He actually remembered the name. Even if he did hesitate before he said it.

     "Nancy isn't here yet so it's just, uh, us and Carol and Tommy right now."

     Allison smiles politely. "That's fine," she says as she takes a step over the threshold into the heated foyer. How better to forcefully socialise herself than by spending time with people who probably don't even like her that much — if at all? She's already managed to shed some of her Lab habits around the Munsons, this is simply the next step to being a normal person.

     At that moment, Carol rounds the corner into the front room. She hides a smirk behind her wrist, her hand too busy holding a beer can, as her eyes scan up and down Allison's body. She does a piss-poor job of masking her mirth, her shoulders rattling with silent giggles. "What on earth are you wearing?" she asks.

     Allison looks down at her clothes and frowns. Her clothes aren't that bad — she doesn't think they are, anyway. They're slightly oversized and kind of distressed, her jeans hang a little low on her hips, but they aren't scraps, and she's comfortable. Compared to Carol's fit-and-flare jeans and tight green top, though? Yeah, Allison supposes she looks a little scrappy.

     To his merit, Eddie had tried to get her to put on a nicer shirt, at least something that wasn't clearly marketed towards men, but Allison had insisted on what she had already picked. Plus, the nicer clothes in her stash felt way too revealing — they showed far too much collarbone and shoulder for her liking. "Oh, it's, uh, my brother's, my stuff got lost in the move," she lies. This lie doesn't roll off her tongue as easily as the lies she told to the receptionist at school. She'd had a chance to practice those, this she had to make up on the spot.

     "Shut up, Carol, she looks fine," Steve says with a roll of his eyes, beckoning Allison further into the house at the same time. He leans in closer to Allison's ear after she takes another few more steps in. "Sorry about her," he whispers into her ear, before pulling back to flash what seems like a genuinely kind smile at her, though it disappears just as fast.

     Carol snickers behind her drink. "Yeah, okay. Whatever. You want a beer, Allie?"

————

     Beer is gross.

     That's what Allison had determined after her first couple of sips, anyway. Steve had seen the look of disgust that had crossed her face after her first swig and made sure to tell her that it was an "acquired taste," though she still hadn't believed him until she'd forced herself to drink half the can. Only then did she begin to see the appeal.

     She's outside with the rest of the teenagers, sitting on the edge of the diving board, her ankles dangling in the water of Steve's pool, shoes neatly placed right by the patio door. Just like Papa taught her to do. Tidy room, tidy mind.

     Only about ten minutes had passed after her arrival before Nancy and Barb showed up, and now the group of six was sprawled out in the backyard under the stars and bright moonlight, the light reflecting off the pool making the space glow aquamarine.

     Allison can't enjoy the peacefulness of the night, though, not while Carol's busy screeching as her boyfriend keeps trying to throw her into the pool fully clothed. Once Tommy finally puts her down on solid ground, she shoves him away from her. "You're such an asshole, Tommy," she groans.

     Meanwhile, Steve, who had just been inside the house doing who-knows-what, reemerges and crosses to his seat by the side of the pool. He snatches up a beer from the cooler behind Nancy and flicks out a switchblade, making a hole in the side of it before bringing the newly punctured hole to his mouth and popping the tab. He drains the drink in six seconds flat before he tosses the aluminium to the ground and flops down on his yellow deck chair with a groan, reaching for a cigarette tucked behind his left ear.

     "Is that supposed to impress me?" Nancy asks.

     Steve sticks the unlit cigarette in his mouth and looks at her. "You're not?" he asks.

     Nancy laughs. "You are a cliché, you do realise that?"

"You are a cliché," he scoffs with a smile, fumbling around for a lighter. "What, with your — your grades and your band practice-"

     "—I'm so not in band!"

     "Yeah, Robin's the one in band, idiot!" Tommy calls out, still scampering towards Carol as if he might just push her into the water if she doesn't watch out.

     Allison looks to Barb with wide eyes, noting the girl's complete disinterest in the conversation. Barb feels Allison's gaze on her and turns her head to make eye contact. "Who's Robin?" Allison mouths.

     Barb mouths back, "I'll tell you later."

     During their side conversation, Steve had finished lighting his cigarette, so he places the lighter on the table to his side. "Okay, party girl. Why don't you just, uh, show us how it's done, then?" he suggests, passing his switchblade over to Nancy. She takes the knife without hesitation, accepting his challenge, and grabs a can of her own out of the cooler by her side before getting to her feet. "You gotta make a little hole right in the bo—" Steve begins.

     "—I got it," Nancy says. Although her back is to Allison, the girl can hear her confident smile.

     Steve raises his hands in surrender. Tommy laughs. "Yeah, she's smart, you douche!" he calls out before violently crushing his empty beer can against his skull and throwing it to the ground. Allison would be worried about him damaging his brain, but she can't be entirely sure he has one. Tommy wraps an arm around Carol's shoulder, seemingly giving up on his mission to get her in the pool.

     As Nancy flicks the blade to stab the can, Allison shuffles off the edge of the diving board, the movement of her feet in the water making soothing swooshing sounds. When she hits solid ground, she pads over to where the rest of the group is lingering, leaving wet footprints in her wake.

     Steve starts up a chant of "Chug! Chug! Chug!" that Carol and Tommy join on, whilst Barb and Allison stay quiet, silently observing from the sidelines. They don't let up until Nancy finishes drinking, only getting louder and more frantic until the can leaves her mouth and hits the floor. They applaud and cheer as Nancy gives a triumphant smile and curtsey.

     Barb drops her gaze to her hands, fiddling with her fingers,  while Allison takes another few steps towards Steve. "Hey, can I have one?" she asks, gesturing to the cigarette in his mouth.

     He cocks his head in confusion and it's like she can see the cogs turning in his head as he pieces together what she's indicating, but he eventually figures it out. He reaches for the little table beside him to grab the cigarette packet. Allison sits down in the seat that Nancy had left unoccupied — "Ha! Snooze, you lose, Wheeler!" Tommy cries out — and Steve beckons for her to lean forward so that he can put the cigarette directly between the redhead's lips before lighting it for her.

     Allison sits back, takes a hit, and coughs loudly. Nobody acknowledges it, thankfully. She doesn't need another reason for Carol to make fun of her. Instead, everyone's attention still is directed at Nancy as she tries to convince Barb to have a drink with her.

     "Nance, I don't want to," Barb protests, repeats. Nobody listens to her. Nancy doesn't listen to her.

     Though a little foggy from the beer and cigarette smoke, and despite her only knowing the girls for a day and a half, Allison knows that this isn't right. She shuffles back up, still clearing her throat, and swirls around to face the action, tucking an already-dry foot under her leg for purchase.

     "It's fun! Just give it a shot," Nancy insists, trying to press a beer can and the switchblade into Barb's hands.

     "Hey, come on. She doesn't want to," Allison says, finally having cleared the smoke from her throat.

     Once again, nobody listens. Had Allison turned invisible when she decided to take the cigarette? Had she joined the dark side in their eyes? Aligned herself with them? Frustratedly, Barb takes the can and the blade and gets up from her seat, an exasperated "okay," leaving her lips. She fumbles around for a moment, trying to find a good way to hold them before she goes to slice open the can. "So, you just..." she mutters under her breath, readjusting the angle of her entry point. Instead of going in, the knife slips on the can's surface, jabbing right into Barb's hand instead — into the squishy part where palm turns into thumb.

     She hisses, the knife and can clattering to the ground, along with a few drops of thick, red blood.

     Tommy guffaws. "Gnarly."

     Barb brings her cut to her mouth, trying to stem the bleeding.

     "Are you okay?" Nancy asks, stepping closer to her. Allison also jumps up from her seat, tossing the barely-smoked cigarette onto the glass table next to her, to inspect Barb's wound.

     Barb nods sharply. "Yeah. I'm fine."

     Nancy looks down at Barb's hand, steadily dripping blood onto the ground. "Barb, you're bleeding."

     The wound doesn't look too deep or wide at all at first glance, but Allison was never really accident-prone, so she wouldn't know. Her trips to the infirmary were always exhaustion-related, she'd work herself too hard and her blood pressure would drop. Some of her other siblings, though — Six, Eleven, Thirteen — tended to be in the infirmary more often for actual injuries. Allison never asked what had happened, but she'd often seen them with bruises, scratches, and welts. She was locked away two years before the Massacre, though. Maybe they got better with time.

"I'm fine," Barb says, her voice quivering. She quickly turns her attention to Steve. "Where's your bathroom?" she asks.

Steve scrambles to his feet. "Oh, it's — it's, uh, down past the kitchen, to the left." He follows her to the door but doesn't go inside, instead choosing to gesture to which door she needs to go through. With Barb's departure, the yard falls back into silence.

Until Tommy realises how close Carol is to the edge of the pool and takes the prime opportunity to shove her into the water — freezing cold in the late-fall air. Carol shrieks on the way in, drawing everyone's attention. Despite the tense mood just a moment ago, everyone left in the yard bursts into laughter. "What the hell, Tommy?!" screams, shaking her head to get her soaked hair out of her eyes. Tommy opts not to answer and instead jumps headfirst into the water.

Allison props her hands on her hips, looking at Carol's sodden clothes. "What on Earth are you wearing, Carol?" she asks, calling back to Carol's insult from just a little while earlier. Steve snorts out a laugh from behind her as he reaches out to give a one-handed push to Nancy's back, sending her flying into the cold water as well.

She can feel Steve's breath on the back of her neck and her eyes widen with a mixture of terror and anticipation as she turns to face him. "No, no, Steve," she begins, wanting to back up but knowing that if she does, she'll fall in anyway. "I can't swim, Steve!" Steve gets closer, grinning cheekily from ear to ear. Either he knows his pool isn't that deep or he doesn't believe that a sixteen-year-old can't at least doggy paddle or tread water or something. He forgets that not everybody is on the swim team. "Don't you dare—"

He dares.

Allison goes in. She manages to take a breath before her head goes under, and all animal instincts kick in the moment she's completely submerged. She thrashes around in the water like one of her siblings during a meltdown until she's able to find her footing and breach the surface of the water, managing to find a rhythm that keeps her head firmly in Oxygen-Land. Steve throws himself into the pool too, and the four normal teenagers start swimming, splashing, and dancing around, while Allison finds her way to the edge of the pool, pulling herself along it until she reaches the shallow end where she knows she'll be safe.

     Around a half hour later, the teenagers collectively decide that they've had enough of messing about in the pool. Barb hasn't returned by the time they're all back on dry land, not that she would've been in the mood for swimming anyway. Steve, Nancy, Carol, and Tommy are all visibly shivering, their teeth chattering and voices shaking as they stand on the porch, dripping in the icy air. Allison doesn't quite feel the chill, though she pretends to if only to avoid any strange looks. She rubs at her exposed forearms to generate heat.

     Steve darts inside after forcing himself to air dry for a minute or so, emerging with a stack of four beach towels to distribute amongst the group, a fifth already wrapped around his shoulders. Each member of the group takes a towel, patting whatever body parts they can dry. Allison goes straight for her hair — the water dripping off the choppy, shoulder-length strands down her shirt reminding her too much of that early-morning sprint through the woods just a week ago.

     Once everyone has stopped dripping water all over the concrete, Steve allows them to enter the house. Now engulfed in the warmth of the living room's heater, the group of five focus on patting dry their clothes and hair. Their new goal is to avoid catching pneumonia, which would be a feat in their soaked clothes.

     Tommy and Carol disappear within two minutes of getting inside, going off to Steve's parents' room to do something that involves needing to clean the sheets afterwards. Allison makes a point of not asking.

     "Come on, let's get you two some dry clothes," Steve says, fondly rubbing Nancy's shoulder as he passes by to head to the staircase. Allison follows, close on his heels, not wanting to be in wet denim jeans for any longer than is absolutely necessary. She can already feel the fabric grating against her inner thighs and it is not comfortable.

     Nancy stops halfway up the stairs upon hearing Barb call her name, leaving just Steve and Allison to go up alone.

     "Uh, give me two seconds to find you something," Steve tells her as he beelines for the room at the far end of the hall. Allison nods and stays in the hallway, just outside of the door, as Steve goes in to rummage around in his dresser. He throws a pair of pants and a shirt onto his bed, another set of similar clothing draped over his arm, which he passes off to Allison.

     She finds herself distracted by his aggressively stripey wallpaper and curtains, so Steve has to clear his throat to get her attention. "Oh, sorry," Allison says, taking the dry clothes gratefully. There's a pair of grey sweatpants and a white shirt with dark green sleeves that she takes great care not to hold against her body lest she get them wet too.

     "You're fine," Steve says, escorting her across the hallway to a much less patterned bedroom. "You can just get changed in here."

     He lingers in the doorway even after Allison thanks him, and for a moment, she doesn't know if he's planning on standing there the entire time she's changing. But, after a few seconds, he opens his mouth again. "Why'd you lie to Carol earlier?"

     "What do you mean?" she asks, maybe a little too quickly.

     Steve looks at the ground for a second. "About your brother giving you those clothes, or whatever."

     "Pfft. What do you mean? I was—" She can tell by the look on his face that she's not fooling him. Fine. "You have to promise not to say anything."

     Steve's eyes widen and he nods. "Cross my heart." His tone is sincere, truly sincere.

     Allison nods back at him and breaks eye contact. Now it's her turn to stare at the floor. "I, uh, ran away from home." It's still a lie, but it's a lot closer to the truth than the story she'd spun before. "I'm living with a friend, these are his clothes." That part was mostly true. The shirt is Eddie's, the jeans were a 'donation' from a woman named Ruth who lived a few doors down at Forest Hills.

     It looks like Steve believes her this time around. He nods silently, processing. It's too quiet now, so Allison brings the towel back up and starts working on drying her still-damp hair to distract herself.

     "Well, you're lucky, you know," he says, breaking the silence. Allison looks up, brows furrowed as if to say 'What?' so he continues. "To have someone to help you out like that."

     "Yeah, I am," she says, taking her bottom lip between her teeth. Steve turns to walk away, but before he makes it out of the room, Allison pipes up again. "Oh, Steve. Do you mind if I use your phone to call my friend?"

     "Not at all, go for it," he says.

     "Thanks." Allison looks at him for a moment before turning around so that her back is facing him. Although she's certain that he'll close the door, or at least walk away before she strips off, she still wants to make extra sure he won't be able to get an eyeful if he doesn't leave in time. She drops the dry clothes onto the edge of the bed and folds the wet towel over the footboard, leaving her hands free to pull her sodden shirt from her body. The shirt drops to the floor with a wet smack and Allison reaches for the towel to dry off the newly-exposed damp skin.

     The towel has clearly been in use for a while because the fibres are a little scratchy. Allison makes sure to use a light touch as she dries her still scratched and bruised skin. She'd come out of that nighttime run more beaten up than she'd thought.

     By the time she gets to her shoulders, biceps, ribcage, and upper back ( as hard as it is to dry her own upper back ), she switches to an even lighter touch, if that's even possible. The skin covering those parts of her body is even more sensitive than her scabbed-up cuts.

     One of the more unfortunate side effects of being able to control fire is the fact that she had to learn how to control fire. There was a time when she didn't know how hot would be too hot, or how to avoid burning herself whilst burning others.

     Her hands healed fine, as did her forearms, but her torso wasn't so lucky. The skin of Allison's upper back is warped and wrinkled, pink and orange scars twisting their way over her shoulders, down the lengths of her biceps, and around her ribcage like the roots of an old, gnarled tree.

     Allison knows what people think of her scars. Nobody, no scientist or orderly, not even her siblings regarded her scars with kindness. Even Papa requested that she keep them covered. And, even so, she doesn't mind them.

     They remind her that she is human.

     Allison doesn't hear the sound of the bedroom door clicking closed behind her, too preoccupied with slipping Steve's shirt over her head. She starts on the task of changing her pants while Steve takes a moment to himself in the hallway. Nancy's already in his bedroom, he just needs to go over there and seal the deal already. "What happened to you?" Steve mutters under his breath, before shaking the sight of the scars from his mind like an Etch A Sketch. He crosses the hallway to his room, shutting the door after him.

     It doesn't take long for Allison to finish changing. She bundles the wet shirt, pants, and towel into her arms and leaves the spare bedroom, bounding downstairs much faster than she had come up, no longer restricted by the sodden denim. As she passes the laundry room, she places the towel on top of the washer and steals a plastic bag from a bigger plastic bag, shoving her clothes inside it. Her next mission is to find Steve's house phone, which she manages with ease, and she dials the number to the Munson trailer. Eddie picks up in no time as if he had been waiting by the phone for her to call.

     He tells her that he'll only be about five minutes and so she should bid her friends 'goodbye'.

     The door to Steve's parents' room is shut, and she gets the sense that she shouldn't go in there. Not with the noises that Tommy and Carol are making, anyway. She gets the feeling that Steve's room is also a no-go. So, she sets off for the backyard once again.

     Peering out of the glass doors, Allison can see the faint outline of Barb sitting on the diving board, nursing the wound on her hand. She opens the door and takes a step out into the cool night.

     "Hey, you alright?"

     Barb glances up from her hand, managing to muster a smile. "Yeah, fine, just thinking, you know?"

Allison offers a friendly smile back. "Yeah, I know." She pauses. "Do you have a way home?" she asks. Maybe Nancy drove her and she can't leave until she's come back downstairs.

Barb nods, though. "My car's out front," she says. Allison takes a step forward, bracing the darkness and cold. It hasn't been long since she was last outside but already the light has retreated. "Do you have a ride?"

"My friend's on the way to get me," Allison replies, attempting to run her fingers through her hair. They get caught at the roots — it's become knotty from the water. "Hey, do you want some water or something?" she asks.

Barb hesitates, maybe not wanting to ask too much of her. But, eventually, she nods. "That'd be nice, actually. Thanks," she says, a genuine smile appearing on her face.

"I'll be right back."

She disappears back into the house, finding her way back to the kitchen — the room that housed the telephone. It takes her a few tries to find the cabinet with the glasses but once she finds it, she grabs the closest one to the front and fills it with water from the faucet. It had only taken a minute, maybe a little longer, stalled by the scavenger hunt to find the cups, but when Allison returns to the yard, Barb is gone.

Not on the diving board, not on a deck chair. Just gone.

Allison's brow furrows. She checks behind her but Barb isn't in the living room either. She squints into the woodland just past where the backyard ends but she can't see any movement in there at all. Allison places the water glass down on a table, slipping her dry shoes and socks on while she's there, and upon standing back up, she extends a hand and calls forth her fire.

The flickering flames light up the dark yard, extending Allison's field of view, but she still sees nothing.

No, wait.

Something's moving in the bushes.

And the sound of a camera's shutter resonates through the quiet.

Allison freezes. The fire sputters out. That isn't good at all. She keeps her eyes fixed on where the movement was, where the sound came from, watching as a figure slowly rises from a crouching position. It moves forward, just far enough that Allison can see it's — his — face. it's face.

She recognises him as the boy she had seen putting up the missing poster at school earlier in the day. He opens his mouth to say something but before he can get a single word out, the sound of a car horn honking breaks the silence.

Eddie.

Allison doesn't hang around to see what the guy has to say. She just turns around and leaves, acting as normal as somebody in her situation can be. She picks up the water glass, drops it off on the kitchen counter, and leaves.

Like nothing had happened at all.

————

a/n
oh brother this chapter SUCKED before i edited it. i was clearly trying to make everything a huge reveal and that was simply,, very unnecessary

also i was listening to ethel cain whilst editing and now i feel like i could kill a man

i also NEED you guys to know that one of the original lines in this was "Maybe Nancy drove her and she can't leave until she's done doing — well — Steve." and i WISH i could've kept it in but yk... allison doesn't know what sex is. i literally cannot make that joke and have it be in character

published: august 17, 2022
re-published: july 27, 2024
word count: 4.7k