#hellcheerday

[hellfiretropical]

This entire excerpt is taken from The Flight of Icarus.

Happy #Hellcheerday, Freaks!

Chrissy Cunningham. The name comes to me in a rush, now that there’s a spark of something beyond cowed compliance in her face. Chrissy Cunningham. She’s just a sophomore, but everyone with a working brain cell knows she’s the rising queen of Hawkins High. I’m used to seeing her as just some cutout of a cheerleader, all perfect teeth, perfect hair, perfect everything. It’s such a fundamentally uninteresting package that my brain just kind of skips over her, yawning at her existence. But there’s another Chrissy Cunningham. I just hadn’t thought she’d survived the jump to high school. I hadn’t thought she’d even existed outside the boundaries of the Hawkins Middle auditorium.

I’d almost shrieked in surprise. I’d been so focused on the brief glimpses I could catch of the audience that I hadn’t even noticed someone coming up behind me. And now there was this girl perched there, her spindly arms wrapped around her spindly legs and her huge eyes shadowed by the murky catwalk lighting.

“Are you looking for someone?” she’d whispered. Below, five seventh graders clattered clumsily through a baton-twirling routine. I hadn’t been quite sure what to do. By all accounts, this was not the type of girl who should be talking to me. She wasn’t Ronnie Ecker, not wearing hand-me-down overalls and a battered cap. This girl was polished. Her hair was blond. It curled. She looked like she’d skipped off the cover of some Nancy Drew novel. But after an excruciating silence, it became clear that this girl hadn’t made some hideous mistake talking to me, or at least not one she’d figured out yet.

So I cleared my throat and whispered, “My dad.” “Where is he?” she’d asked, leaning around me like she’d somehow be able to pick Al Munson out of a sea of equally unfamiliar adults. I’d just shrugged. Because I’d been up on this catwalk for almost an hour now, and the closest thing I’d found to Dad had been my uncle Wayne, planted way on the left side of the auditorium, watching every act with the same stoic expression on his bearded face. “He didn’t come?” I’d expected pity in the girl’s eyes, and was surprised when I found hungry jealousy instead. “He’s just running late,” I’d said, and it had sounded hollow even to me. But she’d just nodded like she’d believed me. “I came up here to look for my mom.” “Is she running late too?” She’d wrinkled her nose. “I wish. She’s right there.” I followed the direction of her finger, and instantly locked in on the immaculate, poised woman seated front-row-center. “I’m sorry,” I said, and that made the girl smile. “Me too,” she’d whispered, like it was a secret, like it was something she’d never told anyone ever before.

One of the girls on the stage below dropped her baton for the fiftieth time, and I realized the act was drawing to a close. I’d shoved up onto my knees, flinching at the dig of the catwalk grill into my skin. “My band’s up next,” I’d said. “Uh.” “Break a leg,” she’d told me, filling in the blank. “And—” “Eddie.” “Eddie. If your dad gets held up, I’ll cheer for you.” She’d flailed her arms, and I’d noticed her pom-poms for the first time.

(and it was here that he remembered)

“Right back atcha.” I’d winced as soon as it had come out of my mouth. But the embarrassment had almost been worth it for the grin it had gotten out of her.

Later, when the last chords of “Exciter” had thumped unwillingly into the offended ears of Hawkins’s parents and we’d all straggled through the final curtain call, I’d spotted the girl in the lobby, with her mom on one side and a blank-faced, suited man (her dad?) on the other. The mom had been in the middle of some lecture I couldn’t hear, but from her gestures I’d been pretty sure she’d been detailing where in the girl’s routine she’d screwed up. I’d met the girl’s eyes through the crowd, just long enough to mouth I’m sorry, one more time. I’d caught the edge of the girl’s answering smile before her mom, noticing the girl’s split attention, had grabbed her by the shoulder and yanked her toward the door.

I’d thought the last four years had stamped out any trace of the unsettled, imperfect, approachable Chrissy Cunningham. But maybe I was wrong.

[kaycore]

I think today was a lovely and successful #HellcheerDay 👹🥂

Maybe next year we’ll have it planned out better but I love to see the love people still have for this little ship despite it all. Chrissy + Eddie forever freaks ❤️‍🔥