satanicpanics | Open Post/Overflow

"Thanks, I think, but it was barely and the options were 'graduate and get a job' or 'don't and get shipped off to boot camp', so, not really that much of a choice." He hadn't been sure just how serious that particular threat was, but it was one of a handful his dad had made more than once, which definitely lent some credibility to it.

He shook his head, as if to shake that line of thought off, "Honestly Nancy's the one who helped the most, Wheeler, wouldn't have managed it without her." Steve moved unerringly, he'd already memorized the path through the maintenance halls from the shop to the exit nearest the parking lot, since he tried to go unnoticed as long as possible while still in uniform. He shouldered the door open, waving Eddie through and nodding towards the actual mall exit, "This way."

There wasn't really a designated 'staff' area of the parking lot -though everyone felt like there should be- but he'd gotten there fairly early that morning, so he wasn't parked far away, just fishing his keys out of his pocket, unlocking the passenger side out of habit more than anything else before circling around to the driver's side.

Eddie takes the opportunity to peer sideways at Steve as they trudge through the dingy maintenance halls, trying to imagine all that perfect hair shaved off for the military. It’s not half as funny of an image as he thought it might be. In fact, it’s kind of sad and offers a glimpse of the Harrington household that he never knew existed. Maybe money can’t buy happiness, but it surely helps, right? Between the nice car, a pool, giant house, never having to skip meals—what could Steve Harrington ever have to be unhappy about? Well, more than Eddie thought, apparently, but he doesn’t push for more information.

Eddie has always struggled with school. The material just doesn’t come easily to him, and no one ever talks about what a battle it is to try to focus on something you don’t find at all interesting. But not once has he ever been threatened with boot camp. Maybe it’s because Wayne knows that his nephew could never survive a place like that, or that he simply knows Eddie is trying his hardest in a system not built for him and that’s all he can ask for. His uncle’s support is one of the only reasons he hasn’t dropped out. He’d like to actually make the old man proud someday. Third time’s a charm, maybe.

“Well, count yourself lucky, Harrington,” he calls as he ducks into the passenger seat. “This will be my sixth year in that goddamn school, and I speak from experience when I say the curriculum doesn’t get any more interesting. But hey, they can't exactly surprise me at this point.”

Without permission, almost on instinct, he pops the glovebox open and begins to rifle through it, ignoring the usual paperwork and nonsense that usually ends up in a glovebox. That’s not what he’s after.

“No tapes, dude?"

"Not in the glovebox." He replied as if that was the most ridiculous suggestion that he'd ever heard, "There's a shoebox under the seat." One that Robin had already added to, and while he didn't think she'd actually removed anything from it, he wasn't entirely sure, since the kids had definitely done the same, and it wasn't like he'd had more than a couple things in there himself in the first place.

It was easy enough to just circle back to the statement before that even as he started to make his way out of the lot, alert as ever, "And no, the curriculum doesn't get any more interesting and it doesn't actually change that much." He debated for a moment, thumbs drumming idly against the steering wheel before asking: "Mr. Hauser's still teaching English, right?" He was pretty sure he would have heard from Robin if the guy had retired, what with him being her favorite teacher and all, but was going to gauge just how much information to relay from Eddie's response.

Eddie rolls his eyes and bites his tongue, holding back on what he’s actually thinking—that he’d assumed Steve was one of those guys who didn’t actually care about music enough to form an opinion about it or keep more than a handful of tapes on hand. It’s a bit of an assholeish assumption, but it’s one he’d make about just about anyone. It’s just inescapable; not everyone loves music to the degree Eddie does.

But he reaches beneath he seat, and lo and behold, there is a shoe box. It’s a little sparser than the stuffed milk crate he keeps in his own van, but he hoists it up into his to lap and begin shifting through tapes, holding each one up like he’s scrutinizing precious gems instead of brittle plastic.

“Nah, man,” he replies vaguely. “Hauser left, like, mid-year. Came back after winter break and he was gone. Surprised you didn’t know. I mean, there’s not much that doesn’t become a wildly inaccurate rumor around here.”

It had all been quite sudden, and while Eddie thinks he may have a vague idea as to what happened, he doesn’t make it a point to poke into teachers’ personal lives. Hauser had actually liked Eddie to some degree, though, and his class had been one of the few he wasn’t crawling his way through. He’s already kind of missing that.

“At least someone got out of this goddamn town,” he sighs, squinting at a tape before dropping it back into the box and shifting his gaze back to Steve, flat and unimpressed.

“’Kay, so, remind me to introduce you to some real music,” he says, like this isn’t a one time thing, like this ride isn’t going to take fifteen, twenty minutes tops and they'll never be in such close quarters again. But despite his criticism, he finds something that he deems worthy. He pops open the case, slips the tape into the deck, and the soulful voice of Van Morrison begins to drift from the speakers. And it doesn’t take much; a stanza or two and Eddie is captivated by the music, tapping his fingers, half humming, half singing along like he isn’t in the car of a near-stranger:

And it stoned me to my soul
Stoned me just like going home
And it stoned me

"Damn, guess someone figured out he was using the same answer key for all his tests so he wouldn't have to adjust the scantron." He doubted that was actually a fireable offense, but he didn't really know, since all it took was one student figuring it out to become something that benefited most of them, and making the students' lives easier was the one thing the faculty seemed to be well and truly against.

His brow furrowed at that insistence, just blinking, glancing at Eddie and responding, "Why do you think I have that many tapes? I've got Robin and an entire squad of almost-teenagers trying to do the same thing." He shook his head, gaze returning to the road, honestly a little amused by how readily Eddie fell into bobbing along with a song Steve sort of half-recognized, "And I have to tell you, I'm not sure anyone else knows what 'real music' is, either."

He shrugged, "All I'm saying is that everybody just knows what they like. And before you say anything, yes, that also includes me."

“Mmm,” he intones thoughtfully, scrunching up his face and tilting his head. “Not so sure you can get fired for that. Not when I know for a fact that Higgins is popping pills in his office on a daily bass just for the hell of it. Not a whole lot of room to judge after that, you think?”

Don’t ask him how he knows. He will be taking no questions at this time. In fact, he glosses over it and skips baack to the more important subject at hand: music.

“Yeah, well, judging by the slim pickings in this box?” He rattles the shoebox to prove his point before he shoves it unceremoniously beneath the seat again. “I believe that.”

He and Robin have some overlapping taste. In fact, he suspects the Van Morrison tape belongs to her. Eddie would never pretend he’s too good for mainstream acts like Bowie and Fleetwood Mac, but given the choice, he’d much rather gravitate to his own carefully curated tape collection.

But his interest has been piqued, and with a wide grin, he leans just a little further into Steve’s personal bubble.

“And what does Steve Harrington like? If you’re not afraid of my judgment, that is.”

"Well I wasn't until you mentioned it and now I think maybe I should be." He replied, eyes narrowing with another brief glance towards Eddie, especially as he leaned in closer.

He did, however, shake his head, since it wasn't like he'd actually have to deal with that judgment for anything more than the time it took to get back to town, just ticking off on his fingers as he listed, "Springsteen, obviously." Though it was only when he said it that he realized it might not be obvious, "Cyndi Lauper, Bon Jovi, Queen, and I mean, Dolly Parton, of course."

He shrugged then, "And honestly? I've actually liked any of the stuff Robin's thrown in the box, some of it's weird, but it's not like I go out of my way to avoid any of it."

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