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...
"IT'S NOT WHAT it looks like!" Corey blurts, wide-eyed and staring up nervously at Briggs. She shoves her hand in her jacket pockets like she can wrap up whatever schemes and secrets she's a part of in each fist and tuck them away, out of sight, out of mind.
"What—" Briggs sputters, throwing his hands in the air. "What do you think this looks like? I don't know what the hell this looks like. I'm pretty sure I just watched a kid throw Lucas across the junkyard by banshee-screaming, so you tell me."
"Briggs, whatare you doing here—"
"No, you don't get to ask that right now," Briggs interrupts, staring his sister down with what he hopes is somewhat of an authoritative glare. "Explain."
Mack stoops to Lucas' level, knees in the packed dirt of the junkyard, and sits him up against the metal. A few seconds later, he blinks awake blearily.
"Lucas!" Mike cries in relief. "Lucas, you okay?"
"Lucas. Lucas, how many fingers am I holding up?" Dustin asks, holding up three. "How many fingers?"
"Let me see your head," Mike demands, reaching out for Lucas, but Lucas slaps his hand away and shouts, "Get off of me!" His voice is sharp, but Briggs doesn't miss the waver—the kid is dangerously close to tears.
"Guys," Mack says firmly, nudging the boys away from Lucas. "Give him some space." Lucas glares over Mack's shoulder at Mike and Dustin, Corey still too shocked at being caught in whatever this is to notice the goings-on behind her. Mack makes Lucas stand and walk and follow his finger and for some reason, he listens. He seems fine, physically, just understandably upset because a girl just threw him into a car without touching him.
God, what has Briggs' life come to?
"I'm leaving," Lucas announces when Mack is through with him, and though Mack purses his lips in objection, he says nothing to stop him. Maybe being friends with Briggs has taught him to pick his battles.
"Lucas, come on!" Mike exclaims, voice pitched in a half-whine, half-plead. Briggs has to bite his lip to keep from snapping about hurrying up so Corey can explain what the fuck just happened.
"Let him go," Dustin demands, holding Mike back. Corey facepalms. Lucas crosses the junkyard.
"Man, let him go," Dustin says again, mostly to himself. Mike relents, and the boys watch Lucas' orange jacket as he retreats across the yard.
