August 1984
Hawkins, Indiana
"You'd better be ready already, because if you're not, I'm leaving without you!" Murray shouted from the living room.
His voice echoed through the house as James rushed back and forth across his bedroom, tossing notebooks into his backpack and searching for something he swore he had left "right here."
"I'm coming! Relax!" James finally replied as he appeared in the doorway, disheveled and out of breath.
"Five more minutes and I would've left," Murray muttered sarcastically as he opened the door and headed for the car. "Personal record."
Once inside the car, Murray pulled out without wasting any time. James stared out the window, restless, drumming his fingers against his backpack.
"All right," Murray said after a sigh. "Let's go over the rules. Rule number one: you do not skip school."
"I've never skipped school," James replied.
"That's because you've never been to one," Murray shot back without looking at him. "Rule number two: when classes end, you come straight home. No wandering around Hawkins like a curious tourist."
"And how exactly am I supposed to find the girl with the number eleven if I don't look for her?" James replied, turning toward him. "Because sitting around waiting doesn't seem very effective."
"That's my job."
"My mom said I'd be the one to find her," James insisted. "Not you."
Murray tightened his grip on the steering wheel for a moment before responding.
"Listen, James. I'm putting these rules in place because I won't be able to stay with you. My work requires me to move constantly… and stay off the radar."
James lowered his gaze for a few seconds.
"So you bought a house just to get rid of me?" he asked carefully.
"No—of course not," Murray replied, surprised. "You're fourteen years old and you don't exist in any school records. Getting you into the system is the best way to protect you."
"I know," James said. "I understand the plan. I just… don't like feeling like I'm failing what my mom asked me to do."
"You're not failing," Murray replied, his tone softer now. "You're just expanding the search area."
The rest of the drive passed in silence.
"We're here," Murray announced as he stopped in front of the school.
James grabbed his backpack but paused before getting out.
"Hey… what's the third rule?"
Murray smirked.
"Check the trunk."
James stepped out of the car, opened it, and froze for a second.
"Is this a bribe?" he asked. "Because if it is, it works."
"It's a logistical tool," Murray replied.
"Right," James smiled as he pulled out the bike. "Logistics with wheels."
"Rule number three: it's your only means of transportation. No rides to or from school. Got it?"
"Yes, sir," James replied as he climbed onto the bike.
"I just hope your mom taught you how to ride one," Murray muttered as he watched him leave. "Anyway… I've got a police chief to annoy, and I'm already late."
James pushed his bike to the school entrance. After locking it up, he wiped his sweaty hands on his pants and pulled out the documents he needed to turn in.
The hallways were packed with students. Some glanced at him with curiosity; others didn't notice him at all. James kept his eyes forward, walking with the practiced confidence of someone who didn't want to admit he was lost.
After a couple of unnecessary laps, he finally reached the principal's office.
"You must be the other new student," the receptionist said when she saw him.
"The other?" James asked.
"Yes, Miss Mayfield is new as well," she replied, pointing to a red-haired girl sitting nearby. "May I have your documents?"
James handed them over and sat in the only empty chair—right next to her.
"Let me guess," she said without looking at him. "You arrived today, got lost at least twice, and you're pretending you know where you're going."
James let out a short laugh.
"Twice. The third time was pride."
She glanced at him, assessing.
"Fair enough. At least you're honest."
"When I'm not, I get into trouble."
"That explains your face," she replied. "You've got the look of an interesting problem."
"New, confused, and officially lost," James said. "I'm James."
"Max," she replied. "New, not lost, and with very little patience for awkward small talk."
"Perfect," he smiled. "We balance each other out."
"Don't get excited," she shot back. "I haven't decided if I like you yet."
"Just like all my important relationships."
Before she could respond, the principal appeared with their schedules.
"Good morning, kids. Follow me—I'll take you to your classroom."
As they walked, the principal talked nonstop about the school and its recent improvements. Neither of them paid much attention.
"And this concludes the tour," he announced upon reaching the classroom. "Here are your schedules."
James looked at his and raised his head.
"We've got the same lunch period," he whispered.
"Well, what a coincidence," Max replied.
"Fate or poor school administration," he said. "Either way, we should eat together. Less chance of dying socially on the first day."
Max studied him for a moment.
"You've got five minutes to prove you're worth it."
"Generous," he smiled. "I usually get three."
The teacher motioned for them to enter, cutting off the conversation.
After one of the most awkward introductions of his life—though the drumroll wasn't bad—James endured the longest four hours he could remember.
Going from class to class, listening to teachers repeat the same introductory speech about the course and the year ahead, became tedious after the first time.
But at least, he thought as he glanced at the clock, lunch promised to be interesting.
Lunch break was, for once, a small relief in the middle of the endless routine of classes. Just as they'd agreed earlier, Max and James met outside in the courtyard.
They ate at one of the outdoor tables, talking about nothing particularly important—the confusing schedules, the teachers, how underwhelming the first day had been. But when the food and the conversation both ran out, Max suddenly stood up and grabbed her skateboard.
"All right," she said. "Your turn to suffer."
James eyed it suspiciously.
"That's a death trap with wheels," he commented as he climbed on carefully. "I'm pretty sure this violates some safety law."
"Don't be dramatic," Max replied, holding back laughter as he flailed his arms like he was about to drown. "Just relax."
"I am perfectly relaxed," James said just before nearly falling. "This is peak relaxation."
"Uh-huh. Sure."
After a few seconds of uselessly fighting for balance, James stepped off the skateboard.
"That's it," he said. "Your turn. Let's see if you're as good as you claim."
"Oh yeah?" Max replied with a confident grin. "Watch and learn."
She hopped on effortlessly and rolled forward with ease.
"That's it?" James challenged. "You don't know any tricks?"
Max stopped short.
"Excuse me?" she said, offended. "Of course I know tricks."
James crossed his arms skeptically.
"I'm waiting."
Max's pride couldn't take the challenge. She tried a trick—and failed spectacularly. Tried again. And again.
"Stop laughing!" Max snapped, her face red as James doubled over laughing. "If you're not going to try a trick, you don't get to make fun of me!"
"I'm not getting back on that thing," James replied once he'd calmed down. "And you've tried five times now—none of them worked. Just admit it. You don't know any tricks."
Max stared at him for a few seconds… and then smiled.
"Want to bet?"
"That depends," James replied cautiously. "How much am I about to lose?"
"If I land a trick, you pay for two hours of arcade games," Max said. "If I don't, I pay."
James raised an eyebrow.
"Deal."
What James didn't expect was for Max to pull off a much simpler trick than the one she'd been attempting earlier. It was quick, clean, and more than enough to win.
"That wasn't the trick you were trying before," James muttered, defeated.
"That'll teach you never to underestimate the great Max Mayfield," she replied with a triumphant grin.
James sighed.
"Well, a bet's a bet," he said after a moment. "Even if I was legally scammed. When do you want me to pay?"
"This Saturday at five?" Max suggested.
"Perfect."
Max glanced around and lowered her voice.
"Hey… have you noticed the four creeps who've been staring at us for a while?"
James followed her gaze.
"Yeah," he said. "I thought you knew them."
"I thought they were your friends."
They both fell silent.
"I've got an idea," Max said suddenly. "You got paper and a pencil?"
"Yeah," James replied, handing them over. "What for?"
"First: you're really weird for carrying this at lunch," Max said as she wrote. "Second: listen. I'm going to leave this note in the trash. You walk away, then come back and see what they do."
"And what's that supposed to accomplish?"
"Gut feeling," she replied. "Come on, trust me."
"I trusted you and lost a bet," James muttered—but he complied.
Max skated around for a few more minutes before stopping with a soft screech. She walked over to the trash can, dropped the note in casually, and walked away.
For a few seconds, nothing happened.
James, watching from a distance, was about to give up when he saw the four boys approach the trash can with more interest than they wanted to admit.
"Mental note," he murmured. "Never underestimate a redhead."
He moved closer, close enough to hear.
"'Stay away from me, perverts,'" one of them read quietly.
James let out a short laugh.
"Well," he said, making his presence known, "if that was your icebreaker, it wasn't very classy."
The four jumped. Dustin yelped; Lucas stepped back instinctively. Mike simply tensed.
"We weren't doing anything," Mike said, crossing his arms.
"I never said you were," James replied calmly. "It just… caught my attention."
Mike studied him closely.
"It wasn't your business."
"Fair enough," James shrugged. "But when someone stares at you all lunch, you start asking questions."
There was a brief silence.
Dustin stepped forward.
"H-hi. We just wanted to introduce ourselves," he said. "You and Max are new, right?"
James nodded.
"Yeah. I'm James."
"Dustin," he replied quickly. "That's Mike, Lucas, and Will."
"Nice to meet you," James said. "And just so we're clear, I don't mind people looking at me weird. I just prefer knowing why."
Mike didn't answer right away.
"Hawkins is small," he finally said. "We're not used to new faces."
"That explains a lot," James replied with a faint smile.
Lucas sighed softly, relieved the conversation hadn't escalated.
"Well… it was nice meeting you," Will said.
"Will Byers!" the principal shouted from across the yard. "Your mom's here!"
Will waved goodbye hurriedly just as the bell rang.
"I've got history next," James said. "And no idea where that classroom is."
"I can show you," Dustin offered. "I'm headed there too."
"Thanks. I'd appreciate it."
As they walked away, James heard Mike mutter something—just enough to catch it.
"I don't trust him."
"He didn't do anything weird," Lucas replied quietly.
"I didn't say he was weird," Mike shot back. "I just… don't know."
Lucas didn't push it. Mike kept staring down the hallway James had disappeared into, thoughtful, as if he still hadn't decided what to think of him.
_________________________________
October 1984
Hawkins, Indiana
It was incredible how fast time passed. Two full months had gone by since James started school, and if anyone asked him, he'd probably say he'd rather do literally anything else than keep going every day.
"Damn it…" he groaned in frustration as he tore a page out of his notebook. "This is impossible. Why the hell do they assign so much homework?"
The doorbell rang, giving him the perfect excuse to abandon the notebook—at least for a few minutes.
"Who is it?" James asked, peeking through the peephole.
"I'm selling cookies," a sweet, overly cheerful voice replied.
James frowned.
"Chocolate chip?"
"Yes… but I only have mint chocolate left."
"Okay, give me a second," he replied as he opened the door.
His expression went from curiosity to disappointment in seconds when he saw Max—cookie-less.
"You'd think after falling for it once, you wouldn't do it again," Max said, laughing at his face.
"What can I say?" James replied, stepping aside to let her in. "Cookies are my weakness."
"Pathetic," she said as she walked in. "But honest."
"I try."
Max glanced around, heading straight for the couch.
"I'm honestly jealous of you."
"Why?" James asked.
"You basically live alone. No one yelling, no one bothering you all day… it must be awesome."
James shrugged.
"Sometimes. But it also gets pretty lonely."
"That's what I'm here for," Max replied without much thought as she turned on the TV. "I'm not letting you be alone as long as you've got cable."
"Oh, so that's how our friendship works," James said sarcastically as he sat beside her. "Hey, is your brother still a jerk?"
"Stepbrother," Max corrected. "And yes, still a jerk."
"He still hasn't paid me back for what he broke last time he came to pick you up," James said, eyes still on the TV.
"Sorry," Max said, a little uncomfortable.
"Don't apologize for him," James replied. "We all know he's an idiot."
They fell into silence after that, watching TV. It wasn't awkward. It was familiar. They'd been doing this for almost a month.
Max hated spending too much time at home. Her mom and stepdad were still buried in the move, and most of the time, it was just her and her stepbrother. And since he was unbearable, James had become her best escape.
"Hey," Max said without looking away from the screen. "Do you still hang out with those creeps?"
"They're not that bad," James replied. "They're weird, yeah… but Dustin and Will are pretty cool."
"I don't know how you put up with Mike," Max said. "Every time I'm around, he looks at you like he's judging you."
"The trick is ignoring him," James replied. "Besides, they help me in Mr. Clarke's class."
Max smiled.
"Is science really that bad for you?"
"I'm sorry, Miss Mayfield," James replied dramatically. "Not all of us can be geniuses."
"What genius?" Max shot back. "We haven't even had exams yet."
James froze.
"…Damn it."
"What?"
"I didn't study," he said, jumping to his feet. "And I haven't finished my homework."
He rushed toward his room. Max watched him go and shook her head, amused.
"Idiot," she muttered, smiling as she kept watching TV.
______________________________________
October 31, 1984
Hawkins, Indiana
Halloween morning started like any other. Unfortunately for the students, classes were still mandatory.
James arrived at school on his bike and, as he locked it up, saw Mike, Dustin, Lucas, and Will walking together—fully dressed as Ghostbusters.
"Nice costumes," James said as he approached. "Just one question… why are there two Venkmans?"
He immediately regretted it.
"We already agreed on who was playing who!" Mike snapped.
"We never agreed on anything!" Lucas fired back.
Dustin tried to calm them down, unsuccessfully. Seeing the argument wasn't ending anytime soon, James leaned toward Will.
"See you later," he said before heading inside.
By lunch, James noticed they were practically the only ones in costume. He couldn't help feeling a little bad for them.
"Hey, James," Will greeted him.
"Hey. Where are the others?"
"I don't know where Dustin and Lucas are," Will said. "Mike went to buy food."
James nodded, surprised. It wasn't common for them to leave Will alone.
"Hey…" Will said after a few seconds. "I don't know if you'd want to go trick-or-treating with us tonight."
"Thanks," James replied. "I was planning to go with Max. Do you think she could come too?"
"Sure," Will said. "Dustin and Lucas will probably invite her."
They talked a bit longer until Mike returned and took Will with him—not without shooting James an unfriendly look first.
James shook his head.
"What's that guy's problem?" he muttered.
Max hated the ride home. It was the only time of day she couldn't escape—completely trapped with Billy. She couldn't put on headphones, couldn't ignore him, couldn't leave. And since her stepfather had sold her bike during the move, she couldn't even escape by pedaling away.
The Camaro's engine roared as they drove down the road.
"God… this place smells like shit," Billy suddenly said.
Max didn't respond right away. She stared out the window, counting poles, pretending she wasn't there.
"It's not that bad," she finally said.
Billy laughed shortly.
"Oh yeah?" He turned toward her and rolled down the window. "You smell that, Max?"
He pinched his nose dramatically.
"Cow shit. Everywhere."
Max clenched her fingers into the seat.
"I'm just saying it's not that bad."
Billy frowned.
"What's wrong with you?" he asked. "You like this place now?"
"No," Max replied. "But we're here. So I'm trying to… not hate everything."
Billy laughed again, humorless this time.
"Looking for the bright side?" he repeated. "There is no bright side. We're stuck here."
He paused.
"And you know exactly whose fault that is."
Max swallowed. Thought of her mom, of California, of everything she'd lost.
"Yeah," she said without thinking. "Yours."
The silence hit instantly.
Billy stopped smiling.
"What did you say?"
Max's heart started racing.
"Nothing."
"No," Billy said quietly. "You said something."
He slowly turned his head toward her.
"So say it again, Max. Whose fault is it?"
His voice hardened as he leaned closer, invading her space. Max felt her eyes burn, but she clenched her jaw. She wasn't going to cry—not in front of him.
"Say it!" he suddenly yelled.
Max didn't answer.
Billy gripped the steering wheel and accelerated.
"Fine," he said with a twisted smile. "Let's see what your new little friends think."
"What are you doing?" Max asked, alarmed.
Then she saw them.
Mike, Dustin, and Lucas pedaling ahead.
"Billy…" she said, her blood turning cold. "Stop."
The engine roared louder.
"Billy, please," her voice shook. "This isn't funny."
The boys began pedaling frantically.
"Billy, brake!" Max screamed, panic taking over. "Brake!"
Billy laughed.
Something inside Max shattered. She lunged for the steering wheel and yanked it with all her strength.
The car swerved violently.
"Are you insane?!" Billy roared as he grabbed her wrists painfully. "Never touch the wheel while I'm driving!"
It hurt, but Max barely noticed. She looked out the window, searching for the boys.
They were okay.
The relief was so intense her legs shook.
"You still haven't said the magic words," Billy said calmly, still holding her. "I wonder if running over your little boyfriend would finally make you listen."
Max blinked.
"What…?"
Then she saw him.
James.
The world collapsed.
"Billy…" her voice broke. "Please."
She looked at him—really looked at him.
"It's my fault," she said quickly. "All of this is my fault. I'm sorry. Just… stop. Please."
For a second, Billy hesitated.
That second changed everything.
Minutes earlier.
James was riding calmly, thinking about anything but danger. The bike still felt strange—he wasn't used to it—but he liked the freedom it gave him.
The sound of an engine revving snapped him out of his thoughts.
He looked back.
The car was coming straight at him.
"Shit…" he whispered.
He pedaled as hard as he could, but he knew immediately it wouldn't be enough.
Fear crawled up his spine.
No.
He closed his eyes for a second.
Not again.
He focused.
The familiar buzzing filled his head, pressure building behind his eyes. He reached out without thinking, as if he could push the air itself.
The car resisted.
"Come on…" he muttered through clenched teeth.
Then it moved.
The vehicle swerved sharply into the opposite lane, wobbling violently.
Pain hit him instantly—a sharp spike in his temple, like something cracking inside.
"No… no…" James gasped.
He forced his mind again, holding the car steady, keeping it from flipping. His hands shook, his vision blurred for a second.
Finally, the car sped past.
James nearly fell off his bike.
He stopped, breathing hard, heart pounding.
When he caught his breath and saw the car driving away, adrenaline turned into rage.
"You're insane!" he yelled, raising both hands and flipping it off every way he knew.
When the Camaro disappeared, James leaned against the handlebars, dizzy.
"This…" he muttered through clenched teeth. "This isn't over, Billy Hargrove."
The car screeched to a stop in front of the house.
Billy said nothing.
Max opened the door and got out without looking at him. Her legs were still shaking. She slammed the door shut, and the Camaro took off immediately, kicking up dust and gravel.
She stood there, unmoving.
She didn't know how long it was before she realized she was crying.
She wiped her face with her sleeve, took a deep breath, and went inside quietly.
She went straight to her room, locked the door, and slid down until she was sitting on the floor, her back against the bed.
She hugged her knees.
It was my fault.
The thought wouldn't let go.
Not because of Hawkins.
Not because of Billy.
Because of James.
She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to erase the image of the car getting closer, of fear freezing her chest.
She breathed slowly, again and again, until she convinced herself of one essential truth:
James was alive.
James got home later than usual.
He dropped his bike in the yard and went inside without turning on the lights. He climbed the stairs quietly and shut his bedroom door.
He looked at himself in the mirror.
Blood was slowly running from his nose.
"Great…" he muttered.
He wiped it with his sleeve and sat on the bed, leaning forward. His head still hurt. The buzzing was still there—low, constant.
I almost lost control.
He wouldn't tell Murray. He wouldn't tell anyone.
He lay back, staring at the ceiling, his heart still racing, remembering the feeling of pushing something too big, too fast.
For the first time since arriving in Hawkins, he truly understood:
Using his powers wasn't just dangerous for others.
It was dangerous for him.
And next time…
he might not be so lucky.