Briggs is restless, bored with the mundanity of Hawkins and the drag of rural Indiana November. That energy is channeled into laps up and down the Hawkins High pool, where he's worked his way up the ranks of the swim team and found a rival in one of...
THE HAWKINS SKY paints itself in shades of burning orange and foggy gray, the setting sun casting a glare off of Briggs Reyes' windshield as he takes a left onto Old Cherry. As usual, the town stands quiet under a blanket of rural mundanity, the only sounds being Michael Jackson blasting through the bass-heavy speaker and the tapping of Briggs' index finger on the steering wheel.
"Where's the sister at?" asks Mack Gibson, the irritatingly charismatic nerd Briggs considers one of two best friends. Mack fiddles with his watch in Briggs' periphery, his torn red baseball cap moving as he bobs his head to the music.
"Wheeler's." Briggs tilts his head just slightly to look at Mack, who's nodding like he'd expected that answer. "Mike had this whole extensive campaign for Dungeons and Dragons again. Corey called it a life-or-death situation when she asked for a ride this morning." Mack smirks.
"I'm sure it was." He throws a hand behind his head, staring up at the roof of the car for no reason Briggs can detect. "She with all her little gang? Henderson and Sinclair and Will?" Briggs nods, and Mack exhales through his nose in a sort-of laugh. "I'm glad I don't have younger siblings, man."
"I think I'm more chauffeur than brother at this point," Briggs grumbles as he pulls up the worn gravel drive toward Mack's house. "See you before first hour?"
"Uh-huh. And third, baby. Your lucky eyes," Mack winks as he hops out of the car, swinging his backpack over a shoulder and hustling up the steps to his front door. He mock-salutes Briggs before going inside, and Briggs just laughs under his breath.
Mack might be an annoyingly good student, all advanced classes and high ambitions, but even his late nights poring over science textbooks like his life depends on it can't get out him of third hour gym. It's the only time Briggs feels like he's better than Mack at anything, because God, the kid can't put a ball through a hoop to save his life. It's like whatever set amount of coordination he possesses is harnessed solely on a skateboard and disappears the second he has to throw or catch something.
Tonight, the boys were not joined by the completing piece of their trio, Jonathan Byers. He was working late at the record store. Again.
He's been doing that a lot lately, Briggs thinks, making a three-point-turn and heading out of Mack's neighborhood. He has to swing by the Wheeler house and pick up Corey before he can finally collapse in his own bed for the night.
