Happy pride month!! To celebrate pride month, I'm throwing in a bonus chapter, especially for the queer community.
If you couldn't tell from my fruity-filled cast of characters in this book, I myself am queer, and my queer cast means a lot to me.
I've always had an idea of Robin and Kaya's relationship before they broke up, and Kaya and Robin met Steve, but I don't know if I'm ready to commit to a complete stranger things fan fiction book, so I hadn't done so just yet.
But, in the spirit of pride month, let's look at them before the events in this book.
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The library is cool today. The librarian, Mrs James, has opened the windows to let the spring breeze in, and if I inhale, I can smell a touch of the peonies planted outside, mixed with the smells of old and new paper, crisps someone has snuck in and freshly sharpened lead pencils.
I walk through the aisles, taking my time and looking for what I need. The library is the one place in this school I feel like I can breathe. The one place it doesn't feel like people are staring at me, trying to read what's inside my head.
I spot the book I was looking for and hum. It was higher than I'd hoped and heavier looking than expected. I stand on the tips of my toes and manoeuvre my fingertips onto the groove of the spine and inch it towards me, readying my hand to catch it once it comes out of place.
I hold my breath as I'm stretching, it's moving little by little, but I can feel it is definitely moving. I give one more tug, and it falls out of place, but I run out of breath simultaneously and lose balance on my toes. I can't catch it in time, and I can see it coming for me.
This is it. I'm going to die in my safe place. All the times I've quieted my mother's worries about how much time I spend reading by saying, "At least I can't get into trouble from books!" Runs through my head. I imagine her saying, "I told you so", through sobs during my eulogy at my funeral.
Something grabs me from behind and rushes me backwards. I feel the air rush from my lungs as I'm winded in the process, and I start to cough as my lungs begin to function again.
"Are you okay?" A soft yet slightly crackly voice says over my shoulder.
My brain slowly starts to piece together what's happened, like an old steam train moving all its parts for the first time in fifty years.
It wasn't something that grabbed me. It was a person. I look down at the hands still holding my waist. The long slender fingers, the chipped nail polish on the nails, the gentle yet secure way I'm being held.
It wasn't a person. It was a girl. I swallow and breathe deeply, her scent of citrus and vanilla hitting me, and I start straightening myself up. Her hands drop from my waist.
I turn around slowly. Maybe a little sheepishly, to face the person who saved me from death by book.
The girl that saved me is tall. She's looking down at me with deep blue eyes, the colour of a deep dark ocean. When I look into them, I wonder what mysteries her eyes hold, the same way I wonder about what lies in the depths of the sea.
I nod first, trying to gather my thoughts. Then I answer her question.
"Yeah, thank you. I knew that book was too high for me," I laugh, trying to shake off my embarrassing near-death experience.
"Damn place is a death trap," She chuckles.
I grin. I know she's just humouring me to make me feel better, but the crackle in her voice and her laugh sends a jolt of electricity through my nervous system, and I do feel better.
The girl manoeuvres around me, and I sense that she's leaving already, and I begin to panic. I'm not ready for her to go yet.
"Maybe if I didn't go for the heaviest books on the highest shelves," I say sheepishly.
As I speak, I realise she's not leaving but picking up the book that nearly killed me, and she hands it to me.
"Well... if you find yourself height deficient when looking for any more books and I'm around, I'm happy to help," She tells me, gesturing to herself and making it clear she's tall enough for the job.
"Thanks! I will!" I say to her.
I start to wonder if I sound too eager when I realise we're both still holding onto the book. I glance down at our hands, so close they're almost brushing, but not quite. She follows my eyes and lets go, clearing her throat.
"French museums! What class is that for?" She asks me, referencing the book I'm holding.
I look up at her eyes again, but it's almost too intense to look into them. I try to focus on the rest of her face instead, but I feel like I'm getting lost in the freckles on her face. I follow them along her nose, around her cheekbones. I stare momentarily at the ones sitting just above her lips before I realise I'm staring and snap my head back to the book.
What did she ask again? Oh yes, about the French museums.
"Oh. Not for class. Personal research. I want to travel when I get out of school," I tell her.
My eyes lock onto hers again, and a flicker of something flashes behind her eyes. Her lips part, and her face looks soft.
"No way," She says quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.
She must notice the confusion on my face and answers my unasked question.
"I was planning on travelling too. I've been practising my French to prepare!" She exclaims.
"Oh! That's really cool! I should probably start practising too," I say.
"Well... if you want a hand learning, I'm happy to help," She says, a ghost of a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.
"Thank you! I might take you up on that offer," I say.
The school bell rings, bringing me back to reality. Lunch is over, and I can hear the rustling of kids picking up their bags and books to leave.
"Well, I'm usually here at lunch if I'm not in my English classroom. I hate eating in the cafeteria. So, you can find me around here if you need help reaching books or practising French," She says shyly.
"Thank you! I usually come here too; I can't believe I hadn't noticed you before," I tell her.
I realise when I say that, that it sounds kind of weird. She doesn't say anything, and I don't want to bring more attention to it, so I change the subject.
"Well, I've got to get to class, but my name is Kaya, by the way, Kaya Murphy," I tell her.
She smiles at me, eyes glistening like sunlight reflecting off the ocean.
"Yeah, me too. My name is Robin Buckley," She says, turning around to leave.
"It was nice meeting you, Robin," I tell her.
She stops, places her hand on the bookshelf beside her, and then turns her head to me. Her eyes are still glistening, but that look from before is back, like she's unsure if she should say what she's thinking.
"It was nice to meet you too, Kaya. Tu as de beaux yeux," Robin says, then leaves.
🩷💜💙
It's been a month since I met Robin in the library that day. The next day I ate lunch in the cafeteria, my head deep inside the French museum's book. Imagining myself walking through the museums, maybe with Robin. Listening to her speak French. Why did her voice sound even more beautiful when she spoke in French?
I hated the cafeteria and didn't really want to go there, but I was avoiding Robin. Why? Well, because of how much I didn't want to. I couldn't wait to see her again and didn't want to freak her out by appearing far too eager.
After that, though, I went to the library, and we found each other immediately. She invited me to sit with her and went over French with me while I showed her my list of landmarks and tourist spots I wanted to visit.
Every lunch since then was spent together, planning our escape from Hawkins to Europe the minute we graduate.
It's funny how we'd both most likely been in the same library together so many times before and not ever noticed each other, and now I pick her out first before I notice anyone else in every crowded hallway.
Today, I'm once again on my way to meet her for lunch in the library. We're not exactly supposed to eat there, but Mrs James has a soft spot for us both, and we always clean up after ourselves.
As I walk through the library doors, I spot Robin straight away at the tables we usually sit at. She has headphones on and is mumbling quietly.
I sit beside her, gently touching her arm with my hand. Careful not to startle her. I know how much she tends to zone out when listening to her language tapes.
Robin turns her head to me with a grin and pulls her headphones from her ears.
"Brushing up on your French?" I ask her.
A blush appears on her cheeks, and my heart stops momentarily. My breath involuntarily hitches, and I hope she doesn't notice. I remind myself not to creep out my new friend.
"Actually... I'm pretty much fluent in French now. I'm learning Greek," She tells me.
"Oh! Well, I'm still very far behind on my French," I tell her, a little embarrassed.
Robin reaches forward to grab some of the books she has in front of her, then hands them to me.
"That's okay, you'll be better at French by the time we go, and I can translate for you when we go to Greece," She tells me a matter of factly.
We. When we go to Greece. I'm not sure at which point we silently agreed that our Europe gap year trip would be taken together, but at some point, we stopped saying "when I go" to "when we go", and I got butterflies every single time.
I look at the books she's handed me and notice they're about historical landmarks in Greece. Our roles have kind of landed as me being the unofficial tour guide while Robin will be the unofficial translator of the trip. It doesn't escape me the trust she has for me to plan where we go, nor the trust I need to have for her to be my voice.
"These are great!" I tell her, leafing through the pictures in the books. I can see why she wants to go to Greece.
"Do you want to come over after school?" She asks me, her voice dropping a little in volume.
I noticed she does this whenever she's not confident about something.
"Yeah, of course," I tell her, trying to reassure her.
I'm a bit surprised because we've never taken this outside of our lunch break at school. We always say hi whenever we see each other but haven't socialised properly outside our book-laden sanctuary.
It feels like the next step in our friendship.
"We can talk more about Greece or maybe do some homework. I've fallen a little bit behind since we started planning this," Robin says with a chuckle, "Or maybe we can watch a movie! I was thinking of hiring out The Breakfast Club,"
"I'm happy just to hang out as long as it's with you," I tell her.
My heart races as those words fall out of my mouth. I'm being too forward. Too clingy. She's going to realise I'm a creep with a crush on her and will never talk to me again, and maybe she'll tell the whole school I'm a per-.
"Me too," She says, a grin on her face.
Just like that, my heart rate starts to slow down. The thoughts in my head begin to dull. It's just us two sitting together in the library again, discussing our favourite thing. Getting away.
❤️🧡🤍🩷💜
After I knock on the door, I hear Robin's voice call out.
"Coming!"
Followed by the sounds of things being knocked over, a few shits and possibly other curse words mumbled under her breath, the front door swings open.
Her hair is tied up in a ponytail. She's panting and a little red.
"Everything okay?" I ask her.
Robin pushes her hair back out of her face and breathes out. She looks at me with those blue eyes, the afternoon sun behind me making them sparkle. Her tongue slides across her lips to wet them before she speaks.
"Yeah, fine. Just got a little too excited you're here and knocked some stuff over," She admits to me, a blush rising on her already reddened face.
My stomach fills with butterflies that I mentally scream at. I tell them to settle down. She was lonely before, like I was. She's just excited about having a new friend.
"I'm excited, too," I tell her with a smile.
She looks into my eyes momentarily and then finally invites me in.
Her house is beautiful. It's a small wooden thing with exposed beams and so many plants. Crystals and beads hang from all the walls and doorways, and intriguing black and white photographs are on the walls.
"Your house is amazing," I tell Robin as she picks up some pictures off the floor and places them on the side table. I'm guessing she knocked them down earlier.
"Ah, thanks. Yeah, the parents are reformed, hippies. Got jobs for the man when they realised they had to pay to keep me alive, but still for freedom and love and all that at junk," She explains.
There's a ghost of a smile on her face as she tells me this. As if she's reminiscing about her parent's days before her. I wonder what stories they've told.
"My parents are very much devotees to corporate America. They have no idea why I want to do a gap year instead of readying myself to be a functioning member of society," I say, unable to hide the hint of bitterness in my voice.
They just don't understand me. I don't think they can understand anyone who doesn't get married to their high-school sweetheart right out of college and work five days a week inside a stifling and claustrophobic cubicle.
"Well, lucky for us, they don't need to get it. We're doing it anyway," Robin says with a wicked grin that makes my heart skip a beat.
I remind myself not to stare at her lips.
Robin keeps walking, and I follow wordlessly. She opens a door, and I realise quickly that this is her bedroom.
Her bed is pushed up against the wall for more space. She has a round rainbow rug on the floor, with a couple of sweaters and socks lying around. Robin walks over and pushes them away with her feet. The air inside feels warm and inviting, and I can smell that mix of citrus and vanilla I noticed the first time we'd met.
"Sorry, it's not super clean," she says shyly.
I shake my head.
"It's perfect," I tell her, "It's like you,"
Something in her eyes changes, but she doesn't say anything.
I sit on the end of her bed and take out my books. Robin gets comfy, laying on her stomach with her feet by her pillow and her head near me and my books. I pull a packet of junior mints from my bag and offer her some. Her eyes light up as she takes a few.
We start going through some French first. Even though Robin's started learning Greek now, she's committed to helping me, she says.
"You never told me what you said to me the day we met," I say, remembering she said something in French before leaving the library that day.
Robin looks down at the pen in her hand and starts to fidget.
"It was nothing important," She mumbles.
"Come onnnn," I nag. I want to drop it for her, but I know not knowing will keep me up at night.
Robin rolls her eyes at me, but she smiles. She sits up and looks at me for a minute. I tilt my head and stare back, trying to will the information out of her. I go to open my mouth, but she speaks before I can.
"Je t'aime à la folie," She says softly.
My heart begins to race. I'm still not the best with my French, but I've heard je t'aime before, and I'm pretty sure it means I love you.
"W-what?" I stammer.
Robin looks back down again and shrugs.
"Just something you can use to pick up the cute French guys when we go," She laughs off.
"I don't want to pick up any cute French people," I tell her, choosing my words carefully, hoping she gets my meaning.
She looks up again and catches my eye. I move a little closer to her, and she turns so she's sitting next to me now, with her legs over the bed like me.
"You have something against the French?" She asks me.
I laugh and shake my head. I look down at her hand sitting on the bed next to mine and move my hand closer to hers until there are mere millimetres between us. I swallow.
"I don't want to pick up any people from any country when I'm travelling with you," I say.
The corners of Robin's mouth lift ever so slightly. It's such a small change, and I probably wouldn't have noticed it if I hadn't been staring at her mouth. She bites her lip, and then she speaks.
"You have beautiful eyes," She says.
"What?" I breathe out.
"That's what I said. When we met," She tells me.
I notice her fingers start tapping nervously on the bed, and I move my hand on top of hers.
"I noticed your eyes, too," I tell her.
"Really?" She asks as if she'd never seen her eyes in the mirror and had never been hypnotised by their depths and mysteries.
I nod.
"What did you just say to me before?" I ask her.
Robin looks into my eyes and then looks away.
I squeeze her hand.
"Robin," I say.
Robin looks at our hands, then at my eyes again. I swear she glances at my lips.
"I love you madly," She says, this time not taking her eyes from mine.
My breath hitches. I swear time has stood still. How could it be moving? How could anything continue the same after hearing her say that in her beautiful husky voice to me?
I look at her lips and back to her eyes. I catch her looking at my lips before meeting my eyes again. Her breath is as shallow as mine, and I'm sure she's feeling this. I'm sure. But I'm so scared that she's not. I'm so afraid I'm misreading it, and if I move in for a kiss, she might scream and look at me in disgust.
"Kaya?" Robin calls my name, and she sounds as scared as I am.
I swallow.
"Je t'aime profondément," I tell her, hoping my pronunciation is correct.
Her eyes search mine for something. To tell if I mean it? To tell if I mean it the way she meant saying it to me? I'm not sure.
But then she moves in closer, and I find myself moving in closer too. Our faces move closer and closer to each other until our noses are touching, and we're both breathing heavily.
She's not running away from me. She's not screaming or looking disgusted.
"Can I kiss you?" The words tumble out of Robin's mouth so hesitantly and clumsily that I wonder for a moment if I'm the one that spoke them. I was certainly thinking about it.
"Yes," I say quickly, hoping the quicker I say yes, the less likely she'll back out.
Robin moves forward and closes the last inches of space between our lips until hers are on mine. I move mine against hers, and they are so soft.
I lift my other hand, the one that's not still holding hers, and rest it on Robin's cheek, brushing her skin beneath my thumb and pulling her closer so I can kiss her deeper.
Her tongue slips into my mouth and caresses mine. She kisses me harder and passionately, and I savour every second.
When we pull back, I can't help but let out a small laugh.
"Wow," I say.
Robin grins.
"I've wanted to do that since the moment I met you," She says.
"So have I," I tell her.
❤️🧡💛💚💙💜
Okay! That was harder to finish than I thought; I kind of didn't want it to end. Maybe one day I will get around to doing their story full justice because, oh my goodness, I'm more attached to them than ever now.
I'm sure some will notice if they've listened to it, but I took a lot of inspo of this timeline of Robin and her backstory from the Rebel Robin: Surviving Hawkins podcast. If you have yet to listen to it, you need to! It's such a great insight into Robin and her character.
As usual, thank you for reading, voting, commenting, and being here with me.
You all inspire me to write every time I come back to this website, and I can never fully express just how much you mean to me.