— CHAPTER 11 —
THE EXPEDITION

FRIDAY 11th NOVEMBER,
1983

BANG! Daphne winces as the wooden drawer flies open more swiftly than she'd expected, and she hesitates for a moment. Only silence follows, Cath appearing to be in her own world. Good, she thinks. But so much for being subtle. After retrieving some woollen socks, Daphne starts hopping around like a rainforest frog as she tries to wriggle out of her black tights.

She glances at her watch briefly, panting hard. There's still time for the plan.

After Will's funeral, she had made plans with Nancy and Jonathan to go on an... expedition of sorts. They are going to be out for the rest of the afternoon, so it's imperative they pack appropriately. All of the other requirements had seemed doable, but "weapons" had thrown her. Daphne knows for a fact that they don't own a gun. And she knows exactly why, too...

Their grandfather, her father had told her, was a complicated man. Thomas knew why he did the things he did, why he was so hard on his son and insistent on him "being more of a man" or why he would suddenly be seized by these bouts of frightening animosity that took him back to the beaches of Normandy. He had been in the D-Day landings — and he had told plenty of stories to Daphne when she was alive, at least when he was in a better mood. Those were better times with him. But regardless of all that, although he's never outwardly said it, Daphne thinks Thomas was terrified of his father to a point. Not him as a human, but his unpredictability. It was hard not to when, allegedly, he once took the pistol from the basement cupboard and fired it in the house. He blew two holes in the ceiling — she can still see the plaster work done to cover it up whenever they visit her grandmother nowadays.

So after that, it's no wonder her father refuses to keep a gun in the house.

But what else is she going to use against that thing she's seen? She has to equip herself somehow.

Daphne shrugs on a brown jacket hanging on her door hook and starts tip-toeing downstairs, her bag slung over her shoulder, as she grimaces at every squeaking step. Cath is the only one to be careful of disturbing here — conveniently, their father had to go out and pick up some groceries, so Daphne made the excuse that she was swamped with homework and wanted to make a start, whilst Cath said she simply wasn't feeling up to much after the funeral. Mysteriously, though, her sister doesn't seem to be in any of the rooms she creeps past. Weird.

     She slips into the kitchen and opens the drawers, scanning her options for a suitable knife. She eventually selects a generously sized one, the blade's gleam in the ceiling light making her heart thunk nervously. Daphne holds the handle gingerly in her hands; she would rather not be accidentally stabbed with this thing in her bag. It needs a padding of some sort. Through the window, she spots the perfect source — clean laundry swaying gently in the wind on the washing line. Perfect. She rushes out and, after checking the coast is clear, plucks a pair of Cath's soft stockings from the line, wrapping it around the blade. As she slips it into her bag, it feels perfectly cushioned.

     Now she just needs to check the garage. There is bound to be something in there. When she gets to the back door of it, she finds it open just a small crack... how strange. She pushes the door open and fumbles in the dark for the light switch. The room illuminates dimly. It takes a few moments for her to notice the figure standing there, sandwiched between bicycles and gripping the handlebars as she stares at Daphne like a deer caught in headlights.

     "Jesus fu—" Daphne jumps back, clutching her chest in surprise. She stares at Cath. Cath stares at her. Then she asks, "What are you doing here?"

     "Just getting my bike," Cath responds, a little too fast. "And what about you?"

     "Me? Oh, I'm just getting some stuff."

     "What kind of stuff?"

     "For... a hike. With, um... Nancy and Jonathan."

     Cath raises her eyebrows at her, nodding slowly. She seems surprised but also reluctant to question it; almost as though she doesn't had the time to do so.

     "Where are you going on that thing, then?" Daphne questions.

     "I'm going to see the boys," she answers, rubbing circles in the garage floor with the scuffed toes of her Mary Janes. "You know, Mike, Lucas, Dustin, that lot."

     Daphne stares at her for a while, watching the determined look on her sister's face. "You've been hanging out with them a lot this week. Since Will disappeared."

     "I know. Is that weird? I mean, I know I—"

     "No, Cath it's... it's nice." And she means it. She doesn't know how or why it started, all she knows is that something is changing in her. No, maybe not changing. Coming to the surface again. It was never lost, not really. But she can't put her finger on what it is. "I guess Pamela, Sandy and Gina are old news now, huh?" Daphne teases.

To her surprise, Cath almost steps back in protest as she fires back, "No! It's not like that. I still..." she trails off for a few moments, retreating within herself before shaking her head. "Never mind."

Cath kicks down the brake on her bike and starts pedalling out. It only strikes Daphne a few moments later, once she's watched her turn the corner, that only a few days ago she had been petrified to try riding her bike again. What had she missed that had given little Cath the guts to do that again?

Back to her search. Daphne scans the dimly-lit garage, gazing uneasily upwards at saws hung on the wall and gauging whether she has the confidence to handle them. In the end, she opts for a hockey stick as back-up; perhaps not the strongest choice but better than nothing. I really hope Nancy and Jonathan can put up a fight, she thinks sheepishly to herself. Sliding the hockey stick through one of her backpack straps, Daphne retrieves her own bike (if anything for a more quiet and subtle escape) and makes her way out.

As the chilly air brushes past her cheeks and dashes them rosy red, she steals a glance downwards at her wristwatch again. There's still time. Before she can meet Nancy or Jonathan, there is something else she needs and wants to do...

She has to see Felix.

And not just for information about Tonya. She can't help but feeling as though this week she's hardly checked up on him, asked how he is coping with all of this, hasn't offered a shoulder to cry on. Instead she has been so caught up in her own wild fantasies of mystery in Hawkins that may no longer be so far-fetched after all. Daphne knows exactly where he will be on a Friday afternoon, too.

She turns into Hawkins High, spotting his vermillion Vauxhall Chevette parked outside. Her bike has barely slowed to a halt as she swings her leg over, waking briskly inside. A few students pepper the hallways in small clusters, less than usual since most are reluctant to an extracurricular now when they have a weekend ahead of them. But not Felix Rancourt. Daphne meanders her way through corridors to the Arts block, a telling sign of his presence being the sound of Tchaikovsky floating down the hallway like mist. It's enchanting, rich with fantasy and drawing her in with a hypnotic pull as her steps slow to less urgent ones.

When she slowly opens the door to the studio, he doesn't seem to notice her there. Daphne doesn't bother telling him. Felix is alone, with no one he knows of to applaud him, and yet dances with the confidence and mastery of someone performing in The Royal Opera House or the Mariinsky Theatre. She watches in awe — every extension and contraction of his limb is so graceful and controlled, and he glides like a swan, before leaping through the air immaculately with his silk slipper-encased toes pointed. Daphne remember one time when they were kids, maybe around the time her heart first started fluttering around him, she saw him dance for the first time, and properly. She had been amazed. How was it that the Felix she knew then — the lanky one with that ridiculously groomed bowl cut, the turtle necks, those flared jeans and teeth that were more crooked — could transform into this beautiful creature with poise she could only dream of in just moments? Yes, that was it. He really was beautiful.

After descending into a rapid pirouette (almost angrily so) that makes Daphne dizzy to watch, Felix catches her eye mid-spin and stumbles to slow himself down again. Even that looks graceful. But in his soft honey eyes there is alarm, his chest rising and falling through his black t-shirt as he regains his breath. "Hey," he breathes, staring expectantly at her.

"Hey... could we talk for a little?" Daphne asks, raising her voice a little over the Tchaikovsky music blaring from his tape deck. Felix nods, going over to switch it off before he gestures to a bench on the side. He comes to join her sitting there, elbows rubbing as he takes a small sip of water from a bottle. Then he stretches out his long, elegant legs and lets his arms rest. She thinks for a moment about how he never moves without a definite purpose. With Felix, there is no exaggeration of movement, nothing that isn't relevant, even in his aura of awkwardness he sometimes has. He never does anything without meaning it. He would claim it's because he isn't an "obnoxious American" (the cocky bastard) but Daphne ignores that and likes to think it's more of a Felix thing. Another thing she loves about him.

You're getting side-tracked. Again. She shuts her eyes for a moment, almost refreshing her memory without looking at him to remember what her real purpose here is. "How are rehearsals going?" she asks. Ease into it.

Felix nods. "They're fine. I'm all brushed up on the routine, that's not a problem. The only flaw is that you can't exactly do a duet with... one person." A twinge of sadness strikes Daphne at this. "At this rate, I'm either dropping out, or I'll have to partner up with Shelby Ryan..." he trails off with a shudder, making her giggle.

"Is Shelby that bad?"

"That bad? Daphne, her hands... she sweats like nobody I've ever met. It's like she's oiled up for a wrestling match. And that's when she's not dancing. One time I was talking to her, and she just goes like —" Felix imitates her shaking her hands and his eyes grow wide, "— and all of this sweat just comes off. How does she do it? Where does it come from?"

Now they're both laughing, and for a moment Daphne is caught breathless, the muscles in her face aching wonderfully from the sudden joy after the grim past few days. Felix purses his lips, hums of chuckling still coming from behind them as he calms down again. "And I guess..." he adds, "I guess she just isn't Tonya."

There's the twinge of sadness again. For a moment, Daphne wonders whether she should tell him; everything. She sees the pain streaking his eyes and all she wants to do is just nurse it away. But would her information even help? And more importantly, would he believe her? She doubts it. And the last thing she needs for their relationship is for him to think she's making up stories about his missing girlfriend.

"I'm sure Tonya will turn up," she reassures him.

"That's what I said on Monday about Will, but now look."

     "We don't know that!" Daphne protests. Although she doesn't believe a word of this after what she now knows, she tries her best. "You know what they're saying about Barb, right? That she ran away? Maybe Tonya... did something similar? Maybe she needed to get out."

     "But Tonya wouldn't do that. At least... I don't know." A flash of doubt passes over Felix's face, and he runs his slim fingers through his hair.

     "At least what?" Daphne asks, suddenly curious as she sits up in her seat. "You were going to say something."

     He sighs, stretching out his foot. "Sometimes she seemed a little... off? Like there were some days where I felt like I couldn't quite reach her? She seemed really distant — not like you do, not the way you space out. More like you couldn't hold a conversation with her at all because it was like talking to a brick wall. Like she was catatonic or something. That hasn't happened for a while now, but... if she was thinking of leaving..."

     Daphne stays silent, taking it all in. It's definitely worth considering, even if the lead she and the other two are going on the moment is that she was taken by monsters. But for now she just stays silent for him — sometimes the pressure of trying to explain such a strange feeling is too much.

     All of a sudden Felix snaps his fingers, too enthusiastic-sounding for the question he's about to ask: "Oh, how was the funeral this morning?"

     "Oh, you know... it was good as funerals go," she shrugs. "It's just sad, that's all. And the coffin was so small..." Whether Will is dead or not, that still haunts her. The coffin made for a child who's barely had long enough of a life to mourn.

     "Well done today. I know how hard you find those things, so... I'm really proud of you. I am. That was a great thing of you to do. You know, for a mother who's just lost her kid."

     Daphne thins her lips into a smile and looks up at him. It means a lot to hear that. Felix is one of the few people in Hawkins who knows all of her secrets. Almost.

     "I think this might be the first time we've talked frankly in a while," Felix admits warmly. "It's nice." She doesn't want to delve into this any further, not now, but she knows what he means — after they broke up. But he pursues it. "Come on! You've been avoiding me like the plague for months now. If there's something wrong, you know you can tell me, right?"

     Actually, I can't, she thinks reluctantly. And the last thing she wants to do is bring up Tonya in this manner when there's always still the possibility she might be dead. "... Nothing, it's nothing, really," she says a little too fast.

     Felix scoffs. "Et mon cul c'est du poulet."

     Daphne glares at him for a moment — don't French me again, she tries to tell him telepathically, and he grins for a second. At least it seems to break the tension... even if she's slightly afraid of what he just said. She feels her mouth go dry, all the oxygen in the room dissipating. No, no! Come back! she thinks in despair.

"... How– how have you been finding the break-up? You know, how're you, um, coping?"

"Uh..." shitshitshit— "Okay, I guess?" Felix scratches his earlobe and looks at her thoughtfully. "I take it you aren't, then?" She can't find the words to respond. She wasn't prepared for this today. Just when everything was actually going well. "Look, Dee —" Daphne finds herself flinching at that nickname; the one he used when they were dating, "— I get that it's weird, trust me, but that doesn't mean we still can't be friends—"

"See, this is the problem! You... I..." she draws a deep breath, 'Dee' still echoing in her head with all the feelings attached. Old feelings. They had to be old. "Things can't go back to the way they were. Not like before we dated. Everything's changed now, okay? And that doesn't mean we're not friends, or I love you any less, but we've just got to accept that crossing that line of intimacy and then going back makes everything a whole lot... messier."

"I agree," Felix says, to her surprise. She thought he had been clueless all this time. "It can't be exactly the same. We just need to let go of this awkward limbo stage. I mean, I think I'm doing okay but..." He looks at her pointedly, and Daphne doesn't have to be a genius to gather what he is insinuating (accurately all the same, but even so). She cowers, slightly offended.

"I am letting go! Or trying, anyway..."

"Well that wasn't very convincing."

"Oh yeah?" she snaps. "And why do you think that is?"

He leans back, thrown off guard by her sudden hostility. Daphne turns herself round to him, their knees touching as she stares him directly in the eyes. She just needs to lay it out on the table. It's the best thing at this point.

"You know better than anyone that I wear my heart on my sleeve, right?" To this, Felix nods violently and she squints at him. "Okay, I get it. And I'll be the first to admit I was a little... thrown by how fast you moved on with Tonya afterwards. But before you say anything, that's nothing against you two whatsoever. I'm happy for you two. Genuinely. I'm happy that you make each other happy, and that you feel fine hanging out like we used to do... except it's not like that now, is it? It's different. And I'm just not at the stage where you are yet." Daphne pauses for a moment, biting her tongue to stop herself from over-sharing. If she tells him just how much what they had had meant to her, it's just going to make her entire plan to get over him harder. "I want to move on as much as you do. And if I could just magic up everything to be like it was before, I would. But it's not. I just... I need time. Away from you for a little while, on my own, just to get used to the idea of our thing changing again. I can let go, and I will — if you would just let me. Please..."

Felix is staring off into the distance at this point, and she hopes it's in deep thought rather than complete disconnect from what she'd just said.

Suddenly getting nervous again, Daphne adds, "... Also I think Amy might actually go insane if we don't get our shit together soon."

They both burst into laughter again, Felix shakily rubbing hands together. "That's no problem, Daphne. I just wish you'd told me how you felt sooner..." he smiles sadly at her, and she returns it. Then his eyes twinkle with excitement. "Hey, I'll tell you what though, you should write that down. That was a rousing speech if I've ever heard one."

"Oh, please!" Daphne laughs, her cheeks burning red with embarrassment.

"What? You basically admitted it yourself, you're a full-throttle hopeless romantic."

"I don't know about hopeless romantic... I think I prefer hopeful."

"Seriously though, I wouldn't worry," Felix says, smiling softly at her. "You'll find someone. Maybe someone you'd least expect, and you'll fall madly in love with them, and you'll live happily ever after. What's not to love?"

Daphne feels a warmth spread out through her chest as she smiles back at him. Felix then starts, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I'm sorry," he says, "That's exactly what you told me not to say and I—"

"No, it's fine! Don't worry..."

His eyes drift down to the floor in the comfortable silence, and he cocks an eyebrow at her. "... You playing hockey this afternoon or something?"

She squints at him, confused for a moment, before she follows his gaze downwards and sees the hockey stick strapped to her bag. Then she remembers. "Shit! I've gotta go, I'm so sorry," Daphne cries, springing up from the bench and shrugging her arms through the straps. "Do you mind?" she asks, feeling awful for shattering the sincerity of their moment, but she would rather not keep Nancy and Jonathan waiting whilst they still have some hours of daylight.

"I never had an issue. You're the one who interrupted my rehearsal in the first place."

"Cocky French bastard!" Daphne yells at him as she pushes open the double doors.

"That's French-Canadian to you, madame!" Felix's response warbles down the hallway, and she grins to herself.

━━━━━━

DAPHNE'S breath is ragged by the time her bike skids to a halt by the woods. The husky scent of nature, of the woods, fills her head with a light-headedness. But unlike most days, today she can't tell whether it is from her love for wildlife or the lurking knowledge of dark happenings here...

She walks through the woods, twigs snapping under her boots as she calls out Nancy and Jonathan's names. Daphne hopes she isn't being too loud right now — after all, if Nancy saw that thing in broad daylight, who is to say she isn't acting like a walking-talking beacon right now?

A figure emerges into her periphery and she jumps, only to realise from the red coat and tied-up cocoa brown hair that it's Nancy, wielding a baseball bat. "Sorry I'm late," Daphne apologises.

"You're not late," Nancy shrugs. "I only just got out of the house. Kind of ended up arguing with my mom over something..."

"Oh... is everything okay?"

"Yeah, yeah it's fine."

A round of gunshots shatter the air, prompting a flock of crows to emerge from the trees in fear. Usually Daphne's first thought would be to stay well clear of any gunshots, but today she knows exactly who they're coming from. When they reach the giant clearing of brow grass surrounded by towering trees, Jonathan is reloading his pistol as he glances in disappointment at all the fans still standing on hunks of wood.

"You're supposed to hit the cans, right?" Nancy calls out cheekily, grinning at him. Jonathan turns her way and, to Daphne's surprise, openly smiles at her. And there it is again — that spark...

"No, actually... you see the spaces in-between those cans?" says Jonathan, nodding to his homemade shooting range. "I'm aiming for those."

"Right, sure..." Daphne scoffs, chucking her bag to the side with Nancy's.

After he's finished loading the gun, he glances up at Daphne. "Have you ever shot one of these before?"

Staring it with uncertainty, she shakes her head firmly. "No way."

When he turns to Nancy, she almost laughs. "Have you even met my parents?" she retorts.

"I haven't shot once since I was ten," Jonathan confesses. "My dad took me hunting on my birthday... he made me kill a rabbit."

"A rabbit?" Nancy echoes, shocked. Daphne less so, since she knows Lonnie Byers. How he treats his sons. It sadly doesn't surprise her.

"Yeah. I guess he thought it would make me into more of a man, or something... I cried for a week."

For a moment, Daphne is taken back to the story her father had told her about his own dad. For her it's simply proof that that kind of parenting doesn't stop with a generation — it doesn't get outdated, even when it should.

"Geez..." whispers Nancy.

"What? I'm a big fan of Thumper," Jonathan chuckles.

You absolute dork, Daphne thinks. This is the Jonathan she knows from when they were kids, but even then, he doesn't show that side of him to just anyone...

"I meant your dad."

"Yeah. I guess he and my mother loved each other at some point, but... I wasn't around for that part."

     As he finishes loading the gun, Nancy hold out her open palm. Surprised, Jonathan gingerly hands it to her and points at the cans. "Just... point and shoot."

     "Stating the obvious, Jon," Daphne chuckles.

     Nancy handles and aims the pistol with a surprising confidence, as if she's always known how to hold one. "... I don't think my parents ever loved each other," she suddenly confesses.

     "Well, they must have married for some reason."

     "My mom was young. My dad was older. But he had a cushy job, money, came from a good family. So they bought a nice house at the end of the cul-de-sac... and started their nuclear family."

     "Screw that," says Jonathan.

     "Yeah..." Nancy's jaw sets, eyes narrowing onto the target. "Screw that."

     A shot shatters the air again, but unlike with Jonathan, a beer can goes flying off one of the log stumps. Bullseye. The three of them stare with hanging jaws, all as surprised as each other. Then they chuckle in awe amongst themselves. Nancy Wheeler, a top sharpshooter... who would have thought?

     "What about you?" Nancy asks Daphne suddenly.

     "What about me?"

     "Your parents... what's their story?"

     "Oh, well, quite the opposite actually..." Daphne blows into her cupped hands, rubbing them together. Then she smiles at the memory of the few stories she's heard, the photographs, and what she remembers of them together. "They were childhood sweethearts."

     "Really?" Nancy smiles. Jonathan leans over, also smiling knowingly at Daphne. He should know — he'd met her on multiple occasions, and Joyce had been well-acquainted with her dad since they'd been neighbours.

     Daphne nods fondly. "They met in the Seventh Grade. My mom was new in town, my dad had lived here all his life. She was brought to the front of the class and introduced... and then the rest is history, I guess."

     "That's so sweet," says Nancy warmly. "If only everything could work out like that, huh?"

     "Yeah..." But even that didn't work out. Maybe the universe thought they were too good to last, so they stole her away from them far too soon. If that was the case, then just like Jonathan had said, screw that. There was no way Cath never meeting her mother, Daphne losing hers and their dad disappearing into a dark state at the start was fair at all. That's why she also remembers hating many church services. They all talk about predestined fates... that was the one predestined outcome Daphne would never understand. What God would do that?

"... You wanna try too?"

Daphne glances at the gun in Nancy's hand, her own staying in her pockets for a few moments. Then she hesitantly takes it in her hands. Already at first touch, the metal is still warm on her skin and feels like it could blow like dynamite at any moment. Now's not the time for nerves. She swallows thickly, holding it up to aim in front of her. "Is this right?" she asks, cringing at how her voice shakes. Her finger hovers steadily over the trigger.

"Yeah, just a little higher..." Nancy carefully places a finger under her wrist and lifts it up a centimetre. "There we go. Now just... whenever you're ready."

Deep breath in, deep breath out... aim...

She pulls the trigger. And everything seems to explode. First a flash, a body-jerking recoil that rattles her from head-to-toe. Then a split record later the deafening shot rings out and buzzes in her ears. The mephitic smell of burning gunpowder chokes the back of her throat and makes her eyes water. Everything combined almost makes her sway nauseatingly on the spot, and for caution she quickly hands the firearm back to the supposed expert, Nancy.

"Did I hit it?" Daphne asks, her brain swimming too much to even process what just happened herself. Then as her eyes adjust, she sees in the distance that there is still only one beer can knocked down.

"You were pretty close actually," says Jonathan. "I think you hit the log underneath. You just need to go a little higher."

She rubs her eyes, still reeling from the experience. No wonder her dad had been so freaked out as a little boy.

"... Do you wanna go again, or—"

"No, I– I think I prefer my hockey stick, thanks."

━━━━━━

CATH waits patiently under a streetlight, the light of day still relatively high in the sky as she waits at the meeting point for the boys and Eleven. She fiddles with the small bell on the handlebars, ringing it and relishing in the sweet shrill chirps it emits. Opposite her, the lights at the Hideaway Pub flicker on, and indistinct chatter can be heard tumbling out of the open doors as folks finish work and gradually crowd inside to grab a pint.

She's about to start wondering what is taking the others so long, or if she got the wrong place, when she hear a familiar voice call her name from behind. She spins on her heel to meet her face and raises her eyebrows. "Gina! Hi..."

"What're you doing?"

"I'm, uh, waiting for someone."

"Oh. Cool."

Gina adjusts her gigantic glasses on her nose. "I just came out from Chess Club," she says. "I won. Again."

"Oh, well done," Cath smiles in a congratulatory way, and Gina nods in thanks of the acknowledgement. Then they just... stand there. Cath suddenly finds herself hyper-aware of the fact they have nothing to talk about. Maybe it's just her being paranoid, or unsettled by the events of the past week, but she's curious. And aware. "... Gina?"

"Mhmm."

"How... how did you find lunch the other day? With Andrea."

"It was fine," Gina shrugs dismissively. "Why?"

"I don't know, I just..." Cath cowers a little, doubting whether she is saying the right thing. "Did you find it awkward at all? The way Pam just ignored her? It might just be me overthinking it, honestly it probably is, or—"

"You're totally right."

"I'm... what?" Cath asks, laughing breathily.

Gina adjusts her glasses again, annoyed that they're sliding down her nose, and sniffs thoughtfully. "We're a funny bunch, aren't we?" she says, to no one in particular, staring at a beer-bellied man waddling into the Hideaway Pub. "You have Pamela, who's always cared too much about what other people think of her — she worships the popular kids like Stacy Albright is the next Messiah or something. You wouldn't think it, but she does. Sandy cares too much about straight As and pleasing her parents. My problem is that I can't seem to care about anything, apart from cruising by and getting necessary grades, but never enough to actually... it's hard to pin down. But that's why I need them."

Cath swallows thickly, staring down at the pavement. "And... what about me?"

"You?" Gina echoes.

"Where do I fit in?" she asks.

"I don't know. You're just... there."

Cath blinks at her for a moment — what was that supposed to mean? Her mind feels like sludge, and simultaneously buzzing as it grapples for some kind of answer to that comment. Her instant reaction is that it was belittling, but nothing about the way Gina said it felt spiteful. It was just so... matter-of-fact.

A bicycle bell alerts her attention to the boys braking by the side of the pavement, Eleven perched on the back of Mike's bike, still wearing her pink dress and wig. "Hey, are you ready?" Mike asks.

Cath nods, silently mounting her bike again and getting ready to set off. As quickly as she appeared, Gina vanishes again with her textbook in hand, ever so casually once more. Cath pedals on behind the boys, her mind considerably unsettled now. She can feel herself descending into a downward spiral, one of those times where she begins to overthink things. It doesn't matter how stupid the thought is — it can always find a way to manifest into something horrible.

She starts really thinking about what Gina said. She's just... there. She starts to think she might have been right. All of those years, sitting at lunch with them, going to their birthday parties, studying together, doing the Science Fair. They were nice enough girls, but what did she have in common with them, really? Cath was only ever on the fringe — a spectator who just tagged along. She just assumed it was because she was quiet, but maybe not. Were they only pretending to be nice to her all that time? She starts thinking of other friendships. Everything had gone downwards since Stacy. What had she done wrong for Stacy to take off like that? And why had she let herself drift away from Will, one of the only people who stayed? Or had she imagined they had something too? She thinks of Andrea. Was she just being nice to her because she pitied her? Because she needed someone to show her the ropes in Hawkins? What if because she was off helping the boys find Will, she was screwing up her chances of befriending Andrea, and when she came back she'd found new friends? She could already picture the look of distaste in her eyes. Then there are the boys, who cycle alongside her chatting amongst themselves. And she speculates. Why did they really ask her to tag along in the first place? After all, she was the last person to see Will, so why wouldn't they? But was that really all it was, after everything? If they did either find Will, or he really was dead, would that be it? Would everything go back to normal? What if she's been imagining all of it?...

Walking along the train tracks later on, Cath glumly stares at the compass arrow in her hand; wobbling out of control, no clear direction. Unable to find its True North. Lucas and Dustin are walking ahead, muttering something about "the weirdo" at her side — Eleven has been acting strangely fidgety the whole trip, but Cath is too preoccupied to really notice. Mike initially walks on the other side of El, but circles around to fall into step with Cath for a moment instead.

     "Cath, you okay?" Mike asks her, clutching his compass in his hand.

     "Yeah..." she nods unconvincingly, continuing to stare at the autumn leaves passing under her shoes.

     She feels him hesitate for a moment, before he points ahead of them. "So we're gonna keep going on this route for a little while longer, and then we should be turning off here —" he points to a slightly different angle. "— and that should be where the Gate is, right El?"

     Eleven glances at him nervously, unable to respond.

"Does that sound right to you, Cath?"

     "Think so," Cath shrugs indifferently.

"Cool," says Mike. "You know, it's been really handy having you along with us finding Will. We need as many people along with us as possible right now—"

"Is that it?"

Mike opens and closes his mouth for a moment, unsure of how to respond. Cath doesn't know how she expects him to either. She doesn't know what she wants to hear, and she knows it's probably a stupid question. No, it is a stupid question. But right now she feels so lost, and if she could just hear some kind of answer that would take one elephant's foot off her chest, snap her out of it, then maybe things would be okay.

Is she really only here to find Will?

"Only"? she retorts to herself. You should be grateful. Will's worth it.

But the voice in her head persists.

"I... what do you mean?" he stammers.

It's such a stupid question, she tells herself. With a gentle shake of her head, Cath sighs. "Just forget it, Mike," she mumbles, taking a few bigger steps ahead to clear some distance between them. It's not him, it's... she doesn't even know...

As she wanders behind Dustin and Lucas, eavesdropping on their lighthearted friendly bickering, it strikes her then just how incredibly lonely she is.

━━━━━━

A/N;

wow, we're almost halfway through paranormal now! (there are 24 chapters altogether, so the next chapter will be the halfway checkpoint essentially). let me tell you, in the next chapter, things REALLY begin to kick off. but for now, let's unpack chapter 11...

• daphne and cath both having no idea that the other is engaging in shenanigans too... it's one of my favourite things, and i can't wait for them to eventually unite later in the book and be like the spiderman pointing at spiderman meme.
• that entire daphne and felix scene has been in my head for ages, so to have finally written gives me so much satisfaction! i feel like felix hasn't popped up as much, but i love my french-canadian ballet boi and i hope you guys do too.
• the small slithers of thomas backstory we got... i love him with my whole heart PLEASE
• POOR CATH 😭 it may seem like a little thing she's stressing over, but cath is literally insecure and self-doubting to a fault, she literally acts like a human doormat and is actually really lonely when you think about it. but do not fret! ✨the power of friendship✨ can change that! and her slowly believing herself is supposed to be part of her development.

^^ me @ catherine martha delaney

also, a quick translation for felix being cocky:
"et mon cul c'est du poulet." = "and my ass is made of chicken."

as always, thank you for reading! if you have time to drop a comment, that would be great 💕 have a great rest of your day/evening.

— Imogen

[ Published: July 24th, 2021 ]