A/N Warnings for this chapter: language, bullying, mentions of sex (there will be no explicit smut in this book), and a crude comment from Billy Hargrove (🤢).

OCTOBER 30, 1984

"I think I want to run it again."

Robin Buckley groaned at her old sister's words, but Emerson Buckley would not be deterred.

"Again?" Robin said. "Emmy, it's been forty-five straight minutes of this. You know this dance. You can practically do it in your sleep!"

"It has to be perfect," Emerson said, shaking out her wrists and dipping her toes in a small box of rosin. She currently stood on the rickety wooden stage at Hawkins High School. She had slipped the janitor $5 to unlock the door to the auditorium during study hall, so she and Robin could use the space. Robin sat cross-legged downstage, Em's small pink boombox sitting next to her.

"It is perfect. You are perfect!" Robin said, exasperated. She clasped her hands together. "Please, oh please, great one, spare some greatness for the rest of us plebes."

Emerson chuckled at that, before closing her eyes.

"Okay, press play."

Robin rolled her eyes but obliged. She was only 18 months younger than Emerson, but wasn't immune to being bossed around.

The Sugar Plum Pas De Deux from Tchaikovsky's "The Nutcracker" echoed out of the tinny speakers. Emerson didn't have a duet partner for this dance, but she didn't need one. She exuded grace and elegance as she twirled across the stage in her dingy pointe shoes, which clashed horrendously with her green Hawkins High gym shorts and gray hoodie. That didn't detract from how impressive the dance was.

Robin watched, entranced, as Emerson completed the complicated routine for the umpteenth time. Each pirouette, each arabesque, each grand jeté was more impressive than the last. After Emerson ended with a curtsy, Robin clapped and whistled.

"Brava!" she said, only halfway facetiously. "Brava!"

Emerson giggled and curtsied again.

"So?" she asked. "It looks okay?"

"Okay? It's amazing!"

"Right, but good enough to get me into the conservatory?"

Robin leaned back on her palms.

"If those bastards don't want you for the fancy ballet school, they're all dinguses. Certified idiots."

Emerson took a seat next to Robin and sighed. "I hope you're right, Robbie," she said quietly, as she began to unlace her pointe shoes. "But I don't just need to be good enough to get a spot—I need a scholarship."

Money was tight for the Buckley family. Their father was a county bus driver, and their mother taught art classes at the Hawkins Community Center. The William Weatherby Conservatory of the Arts in Chicago, Illinois was Emerson's best shot at a career as a professional dancer, but her parents couldn't afford it, and neither could Emerson. Most of her meager salary for working the front desk at her dance studio went back toward her classes, training, and supplies—and the occasional bill, when she could convince her parents to let her chip in.

"You'll get it," Robin said gently. She squeezed Emerson's shoulder and smiled. "You've got this."

Em covered her face with her hands and laid back on the stage, relishing the feeling of the cool hardwood beneath her back. "Oh God, I hope so."

"You're too much of a worrywort, you know," Robin said, laying next to Emerson. Em barked out a laugh.

"Ha! Takes one to know one."

That wasn't an understatement. The Buckley sisters both had a tendency to overthink. And they were both awkward in different ways: Robin was clumsy and could talk so fast your head would spin, often word-vomiting to fill awkward silences. Emerson, on the other hand, was quite graceful and poised, but her soft spoken nature made her often misheard or misunderstood. The other kids at Hawkins High often talked over her in class, as if she was rendered invisible. Emerson wasn't unpopular, per se, and she had some loose acquaintances she could almost call friends—but it was like she wasn't even there sometimes. Like if she fell off the face of the planet tomorrow, her classmates wouldn't even think twice about it. That feeling made her feel empty a lot of the time.

Emerson didn't realize that her chatty younger sister felt the same way, though her insecurity stemmed from a different source.

Emerson ducked into the dressing room to change out of her half-gym-clothes-half-ballet ensemble, while Robin swept up the rosin. The bell rang, signaling the end of the period and the start of class change.

The sisters headed out into the bustling hallways of Hawkins High. After turning a corner, they passed Steve Harrington and Nancy Wheeler kissing against some lockers.

Robin screwed up her face in disgust. Once they were out of earshot and at their own lockers, she hissed, "That was so gross."

"I think it's sweet," Emerson said, spinning her combination lock. "Romantic."

"Gag me with a spoon," Robin muttered. She traded one notebook for the next and added in a low voice, "Hey, speaking of romance...is it true you're screwing David Baker?"

Emerson's eyes widened. "W-what? Who told you that?"

"I heard Tina talking about it in art class," Robin said. She laughed. "But it's so ridiculous. It's dumb gossip, right?"

Emerson silently put her French textbook in her backpack, avoiding her sister's gaze. Robin's jaw dropped.

"Oh my God, it's true?!"

"Okay, yes!" Emerson hissed, slamming her locker shut. "David and I have been seeing each other for a few weeks. But please don't say we're 'screwing.' We're...'making love.'"

Robin gagged and closed her own locker.

"Emmy, please," Robin said. "Did you get kicked in the head at ballet class one too many times? Because that's the only reasonable, logical explanation for you and David fucking Baker to be intimate."

"He's nice!" Emerson said, leaning against her locker and clutching her books to her chest, as if to shield herself from her sister's judgment. "And he's cute. And he plays music."

"He plays the triangle in Corroded Coffin," Robin scoffed. "Eddie Munson and the others only let him onstage because his parents are rich and they can practice in his garage. Oh, and that's another thing. He likes to play-act like he's some starving artist, but his family owns three cars."

That wasn't an exaggeration. The Bakers were one of Hawkins' most well-off families, even more so than the Harringtons or the Turnbows. David Baker, however, wore a lot of ripped jeans and wrote songs about "sticking it to the man" or "living on the wrong side of the tracks"—two experiences David Baker had certainly never had. He was quite vanilla.

But Emerson liked that about him. He was a safe option. She liked that he was predictable and cliche. And she liked that he knew the kind of person he wanted to be and just went for it—even if he came out looking a little (a lot) silly for it.

"You don't get it," Emerson said, waving away Robin's criticisms as they continued their trek down the school hallway. "Once you get a boyfriend, you'll see."

Facing forward, Emerson didn't see how pale Robin's face got. Robin cleared her throat and said, "Yeah, see, about that—"

Whoosh! Sudden movement next to Emerson caused her to startle. Suddenly, Tommy H. had his arm around her shoulders.

"Hey, Emily!" he said, too loudly in her ear. Emerson felt herself shrink under his scrutinizing gaze, unsettled by the smirk twisted on his lips.

"It's Emerson," she said, softer than intended. "Please let go."

"Sorry, sorry," Tommy H. said, not sounding sorry at all. He freed Emerson from his grip, and Robin glared daggers at the older boy. Before she could lay into him, Tommy added, "Have you met Billy? He's a senior too, and new in school."

A taller boy with a mullet stood next to Tommy H. He raked his eyes up and down Emerson, and she felt very, very small, tightening her grip on her books.

"Hello," she said. "We have to get to class, so...c'mon, Robbie."

But the halls were still so crowded, they couldn't make their escape.

"Wait a minute!" Tommy said. "I was just telling Billy all about your extracurricular activities. You do that ballet shit, right?"

"It's not 'shit,'" Robin cut in, eyes narrowed. "It's an art form!"

Tommy and Billy ignored her. Instead, Billy kept his eyes on Emerson and said in a low, gravelly voice, "I bet that means you're really limber, right?"

A few students who had gathered around the new kid snickered. Emerson's heart pounded as embarrassment rushed through her bloodstream. She'd heard all that crap before, but it didn't make it any less uncomfortable to hear.

But while Emerson could express herself perfectly through dance, when it came to using her words, they always came out jumbled and wrong. Or she struggled to get them out at all. She looked down at her feet, ashamed and blushing bright pink.

Robin to the rescue: She scoffed and loudly said, "Yeah. She's limber...she can kick creeps like you in the head without breaking a sweat!"

The kids surrounding them cackled louder, now at Billy's expense. From somewhere down the hall, Steve Harrington laughed so hard, he started to hack and cough. Tommy's eyes widened in shock. Billy's face turned a violent shade of red, but he didn't retaliate—simply grumbled, "Crazy bitches," and stalked off.

Robin grabbed Emerson's hand and pushed through the crowd. The two of them began to jog as the warning bell rang, signaling one minute until class started.

"Oh my gosh, that was brilliant!" Emerson said, giggling and out of breath, once she and Robin got to their destination. "What is it with you and people getting kicked in the head?"

"That fucker deserves it!" Robin said defiantly.

Emerson gave her a quick hug. "Thank you for sticking up for me."

"Of course!" Robin said. "No one is allowed to tease you...but me."

They separated from the hug and took their seats in their respective classrooms, just as the final bell rang out.

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Emerson's closest friend in school—besides Robin, of course—was Franklin Ito. His parents had immigrated from Japan shortly before he was born, and he was the only male student in school who took dance classes. He got teased mercilessly for both of those facts. However, Franklin didn't let that bother him from living his life on his terms. Emerson found that incredibly brave.

Every Tuesday and Thursday, when Franklin and Emerson had ballet class, he would drive her from Hawkins High to Cartersville, home of the Roane County School of Dance. (On Mondays and Wednesdays, when Emerson worked the front desk, she took the bus.) The 30-minute drive usually consisted of them discussing class itself, but occasionally, they'd chat about school or town rumors. Today was a day for the latter.

"Can you believe it's almost been a year since Will Byers went missing?" Franklin said, as his car stereo played a Bowie song that Emerson could never remember the name of.

"So wild," Emerson said. She picked at the ballet-slipper-shaped keychain hanging from her lilac dance bag. "What did they say happened to him again?"

"Lost in the woods," Franklin said. "And amnesia, I think? I don't know. I heard someone in the cafeteria talking about Will Byers going to a neurologist."

"But they found a body!" Em said. "They buried it. Next to a gravestone with Will's name."

"Some other kid," Franklin said. "So sad."

"I don't know what I'd do if anything happened to Robin," Emerson said. She shook her head, trying to knock the thought loose and onto the floorboards of Franklin's car. "I wouldn't be able to go on, I don't think. Jonathan is so strong."

"How is Robin, by the way?" Franklin asked.

"Fine. The soccer season ended last week. But the marching band practices all year round, and I think she's auditioning for the next school play."

"Wow. She's got a lot going on. But she never wanted to dance, huh?"

Emerson laughed. "She's about as graceful as a drunk duck, so no."

Franklin chuckled at that as he pulled into a parking spot at their dance studio. Once inside, they went into their respective changing rooms to get ready for class.

Ballet class was twice weekly from 4 to 6—and when the days got shorter and time marched closer and closer to Christmas, they would be extended until 7 to prepare more seriously for the RCSD's annual production of "The Nutcracker." Emerson had been so desperately hoping for the Sugar Plum Fairy role for her final "Nutcracker" performance with the dance school, but she'd instead been cast as a flower for the Waltz of the Flowers. Franklin was the Mouse King, and the role of the Sugar Plum Fairy had been given to Noelle Kline.

Noelle was the mayor of Hawkins' daughter who thought she was God's gift to earth. She was also a raging bitch.

"Oh my God, look at her," Noelle whispered (loudly) in the women's changing room. Emerson felt her skin prickle with anxiety, goosebumps growing on her arms, and braced herself. "She's wearing that shrunken leotard again, and the pink tights with runs in them."

Emerson tugged at the sleeve of her black leotard, though no matter how much she pulled, the long sleeve couldn't reach her wrist anymore. She'd had it for years. It was a miracle she could still fit into it, but she couldn't afford another black one. And Emerson's pink leotard and non-ripped tights were currently hanging in her closet, prepped and ready for her conservatory audition.

"And look at her dance skirt," Noelle continued, not even attempting to whisper anymore. "She's obviously copying me. Everyone knows sky blue is my signature color."

"Wait, what?" Kirsty, one of Noelle's minions, said. "You can own a color?"

"Reese's owns that ugly shade of orange," Noelle said, tossing her shiny blond locks over her shoulder before pulling her hair into a bun. "And everyone else knows not to use it in their packaging. So The Mouse should know not to wear sky blue to my ballet class."

And there it was: The Mouse. The nickname that Emerson had been saddled with since she and Noelle started taking dance classes together back when they were in elementary school. Emerson thought Noelle would eventually grow out of this mean girl phase, but no. A decade later, she was still just the same as before. If Emerson was The Mouse, Noelle should've been called The Snake. She was as mean as one, and possibly as dangerous too.

Emerson quietly locked her backpack and dance bag in her locker and headed toward the door, not keen to listen to whatever else Noelle had to say. On the way past, Noelle reached over and snapped the elastic neckline of Emerson's leotard, causing her to flinch.

"Hey Mouse," Noelle said, saccharine sweet, as Kirsty and another girl named Mary-Beth giggled behind their hands. "We were just talking about you."

Emerson looked down at her pointe-shoe-clad-feet and scurried out of the changing room (and then immediately regretted how she made her escape, since mice sure love to scurry).

She joined Franklin by the barre to do some pre-class stretches. He noticed the red mark on her clavicle and whispered, "Hurricane Noelle?"

Em nodded, eyes burning with unshed tears. She would not cry at ballet class. She had just turned 18 a couple weeks ago, and she was an adult, dammit! She would not give Noelle Kline the satisfaction.

"Ignore her," Franklin said. "She's just worried that you'll beat her out for a conservatory spot."

"Unlikely," Emerson said, resting one leg on the barre and reaching for her toes. "She just loves to make me feel small."

"I heard her dad is up to some shady shit in Hawkins," Franklin murmured. "Like, embezzling, or racketeering, or something."

"What even is racketeering, anyway?"

"Fraud," Franklin explained. "Maybe that's why she can afford all those butt-ass ugly ballet skirts with, like, 17 bows on them—her dad's a crook."

He and Emerson snickered, but quieted down once Noelle and her posse sauntered in. Thankfully, there was no time for additional trouble, since their teacher Madame Violetta swept into the room, dressed in a sleek white leotard and a floor-length black ballet skirt.

There was no greeting, no warm-up. She clapped her hands once, twice. All the students lined up in rows. Violetta pressed play on the studio's boombox, and the soft notes of their warm-up music began.

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{Posted July 7th, 2025}

A/N Meet Emerson! 🩷 I'm 90% sure I've chosen her face claim but I'm indecisive, so I'm going to wait before I ~ officially announce it ~

I also wanted to mention that Emerson won't be directly involved in the Season 2 arc of Stranger Things. Instead, like Robin in the show, she'll join in Season 3. But I just have some background stuff planned that I need to get through first. I hope you enjoy!

QOTD: Favorite ballerina, fictional or real?

A: I love Angelina Ballerina 🩷 She was a childhood favorite. And her best friend's name was Alice 💚