chapter 2 - the stacey bennett house party
4.3K words
warnings - underage drinking, eddie is totally sober before he drives wow
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Your post-school ritual consists, mainly, of blocking yourself up in your dad’s big recliner with the TV spewing nonsense and a book on your lap. Usually, Eleven is cooped in your shared room and anybody in Hawkins could tell you Hopper isn’t home long enough to arm you out of the chair. Usually.
Today, he’s burning pasta with a fan on max trying to blow smoke out of a window and Eleven is crooking over the back of the polka dot recliner. Her new Byers’ traditional bangs brush your cheek and she keeps poking your arm the more you ignore her. When you huff and close your copy of The Color Purple around your fingers, she beams at you sunshine sparkly,
“Any plans this weekend?” overly sweet, like her syrupy Eggos every morning.
“What is with everybody and my plans recently?” she shrugs, digging an elbow into the shiny leather and supporting her head by her palm, you crack the book back open and stare it down, “I’m going to a party.”
She gasps, but despite her connoisseur status in modern television, she isn’t a good actor and you can tell she already knew, “You’re going to a party?” she scoffs, brows scrunching, “Without me?”
“This is so not a party for little freshmen,” you slam The Color Purple closed around a bookmark and shoot out of the chair, “or their littler boyfriends!”
Her jaw pops open before she pulls into a pout, “He’s not even my boyfriend, Papa made me dump him.”
Something crashes in the kitchen and you curl your arms tightly around your book, binding it to your chest, “And for that, I’m sorry, but this party isn’t something kids can just go to.”
“Well, why don’t you just bring me so I can get a taste of high school parties,” she slithers over the back of the couch and slumps into the worn, lumpy seat of your father’s chair, “Then I can decide if they’re something I can handle!”
She’s such a pain in the ass.
“You’re such a pain in the ass,” you kick her shin and she hisses as though it actually stings, “Ask Dad and I’ll think about it.”
Another crash in the kitchen but this time the thumping of your father’s work boots follows, Hopper careens into the area, hands barely catching him against the chair, “I heard ‘Dad’.”
“Psycho,” you nudge your head in your little sister’s direction, “El has something to ask you.”
She guffaws, glares, and gruffs before standing and puppy dog pleading, “Can I please, please, please go to a party?”
Hopper’s eyes narrow and he shakes his head slowly, “You know the rule…”
Eleven tosses an arm back to point at you, “She already has a date and everything!”
You can see it in your father’s eyes - that shock and disbelief, as if your sister claimed you knocked your own teeth out. You’re the reason the rule exists. You’re the factor. You never date.
He points at you, skeptical and cold, “Is that true?”
Eleven whips around to stare straight into your soul and you know her fate is in your hands. And you take time in this consideration, just to make her wait, wait, wait before swallowing your elder pride, “Yeah,” you toss the book up, waving it dismissively, “It’s true. We’ll watch the kiddies.”
“And who’s your date?” Hopper stands straight, hands latched on his hips.
You just know he’ll hate the name and man, so you don’t bother trying - instead teasing, “That’s not part of the deal.”
He puffs his chest and prepares to instigate, but the new beeper Florence gave him rings and rattles his leather belt. A great big sigh unglues his tense muscles and he shakes the pointed finger in your direction, “We’re talking about this later.”
“Yeah, yeah,” you wave the book again and replace Eleven in Hopper’s chair, sinking into broken springs.
Work boots thump across the open floor plan and straight out the door, he pauses - just a second - to grab his hat, and that irritates you more than it should.
“Thank you,” Eleven tosses her arms out around your neck, squeezing until you’re goosing her off with light shoves, “Thank you! Thank you!”
“Sure,” you point at the phone hooked against the cabin wall, “Go call Mike, schemer.”
Another mock of innocence shoots straight through her face and she flutters out of your sight.
Your thighs are going numb from the heavy sack of flour in a diaper that your father ‘mandated’ you and Eleven carry around the party. Eddie swings around the front of his van quickly enough, lugging the passenger side door open for you and offering a kind hand.
Eleven is assisted out of the van by Robin, and Barb takes her flour sack - tucking it carefully under her burnt sienna cardigan and pretending to be pregnant. Robin punches the mound and you spot Mike lurking under Stacey Bennett’s porch lights - lanky and jumbled and rubbing his arm just a little too often to be casual.
“I’m never having kids,” you unceremoniously huck your flour-in-a-diaper onto the curbside and watch its weight roll onto the gravel by Eddie’s tire.
The man himself, in gaudy rings and leather, coos and swoops down for your flour baby. Cradling it in his arms, he brushes dirt and grime from its once pristine packaging, “Don’t drop the baby- !“ he takes his keys and jingles them above its ‘face’, “Poor thing.”
Robin and Barb hop up the stone path to Stacey Bennett’s double-door entry, turning to wave you over.
“Plan on babysitting Junior all night or something?” Robin lurches forward and clings to one of the porch banisters, “Come on, lovers!”
Barb, still pregnant, looms over Robin’s shoulder, “We’re waiting!”
Eleven and Mike slip inside the grandiose doorway while your eyes sweep back over to your apparent date of the evening.
“I never thought parties were their thing,” Eddie muses, keys still clinking for your fake baby.
“They’re not,” you press a palm into the puckered top of the flour and jam it through the gap in his hold - back into the rocky gravel below.
“Aw!” you snag Eddie by his wrist before he can be too devastated about a pretend baby and drag him up the rocky pathway.
“My esteemed guests,” Eddie prances out in front of your group, one hand tight on the unlocked knob and the other waved out at his side, “I present to you… an average Stacey Bennett rager.”
It looks like something from a teen parody movie. Lamps are tipped over in the foyer with toilet paper strung out like streamers and plastic cups crushed against the floor. The rug has crumbs and questionable stains and has clearly been tripped over without being properly replaced - unevenly lumpy with ill corners.
People side-eye and point, but you think Eddie’s used to it by the way he guides you all through the swarming crowd. It’s lighter than an average night at The Sunset, but that uncomfortability is thicker - like a boiling shower in the middle of sweltering July. In Arizona.
Or maybe Florida.
Eddie points out a cooler of subpar, inexpensive beer that he says will give you a hangover if you have too much of it and you have one.
“Where the fuck are Robin and Barb?” you have more than one.
Eddie hums, attention still mostly on you even as he closes a deal with Andy Johnson, and his eyes flicker quickly out of your post in the kitchen, searching the rest of the house. Andy slips over cash and Eddie coughs up the weed.
“They left ten minutes ago, sweetpea,” Eddie watches Andy crawl back to Hawkins High’s self-appointed savior, Jason Carver. He watches them whisper and stare and he decides to not ruin whatever buzz you’re on.
Judging by your lax muscles - you seem to be enjoying it.
“Why?” your bottom lip puffs out miserably, head leaning against Eddie’s shoulder. It’s thicker - firmer - than you would have expected. And the material of his long sleeve is softer than you would have thought, too. It’s nice, even if the frayed armholes of his sleeveless vest tickle your forehead every now and again.
“Saw Nancy Wheeler, wanted to say hi,” he leans down to force eye contact, “How you feeling?”
Body sluggish and unmotivated, you attempt to shrug - cheek squished against his arm, “Fine.”
“That’s good,” he tilts his head against yours. Some of his curls hang in front of your face - you think you can smell coconut shampoo. You don’t know if it’s a good thing that you notice that.
“You’re lucky I don’t have lice,” you jab your knuckle into his rib and giggle at the way he histrionically whines and cups the afflicted bones.
“Evil mistress.”
Jason Carver, for all his stupidity, is brave. Much braver than the students who assume Eddie to be a conduit of the Devil and you a heartless witch. You think you prefer those students, at least they don’t bother trying to prove how unscared of you they apparently are.
Like Jason is doing now, his most loyal lapdog Andy lingers just to the side. Within arm’s reach.
“You know,” he stands closer to you, though, and you smile to yourself knowing it's because you aren’t assumed to be an actual hellspawn, “I’m glad to see you’ve taken the stick out of your ass and decided to become a nice young lady for the night.”
Eddie stands up straight, face pinching in something between upset and confusion, but you cut in before he could embarrass himself trying to stand up for you.
“Well, Carver,” you lean back and simper, “maybe if you pulled your head from your ass, you could become one, too. Maybe even prettier than me, if you really gave it your all.”
Eddie’s chest shivers in his peels of laughter and you imagine he’s giving that big dumb smile that shows off all his teeth - one you’re unwilling to admit has been endearing since you first saw it junior year.
Jason backs off, but still opens his mouth to spew more sewage. You steal his thunder in the form of ripping a still-unopened beer from Andy’s hand. It hisses as you pop the tab and rolling foam kisses your fingers, you bump the can into Jason’s shoulder as a cheer. Eddie continues his unbecomingly delightful giggles while you take a swig and wander out of the kitchen.
You don’t get stared at the way Eddie does - the fewer people look at you, the less they are subjected to your dreaded “attitude problem” - but this time seems to be an exception. Eyes flicker and remain as you nail-bite the railing to stumble upstairs with an eager, starry-eyed Eddie Munson hot on your trail.
Mike has to lean down so nobody else can hear as he says, “They look like they get along!”
And yet over vibrating speakers that do more damage to his ears than anything else, he still has to yell in his poor girlfriend’s ear.
Eleven tilts her head, one eye narrowed and nose scrunched as she shakes her head, “She doesn’t talk about him at all…”
“Okay,” Mike leans and barely manages to catch the crinkled tail of Eddie’s black bandana as you both exit the crowd, “but does she ever talk about people? At all?”
You jiggle a couple of knobs - some locked and some leading to compromising views - until you find one just right and Eddie’s about to blindly toss himself in after you when he catches something glinting under cheap lamps. Chrissy’s gold ring with the emerald in the middle, she’s grinning big as he flounders after you - giving a generous thumbs up he certainly wouldn’t be getting if she knew of why he asked you out.
But that doesn’t stop Eddie from returning the gesture.
“Hey!” you snap at the waist to haul up a blue cooler with muffled brown rings stained into the plastic bottom - murkier, browner rings spot the white lid. Popping the lid open, you find more beer, “Sweet!”
“Didn’t know people actually said that outside of movies,” Eddie clicks the lock into place behind him - for privacy rather than any nefarious purposes - and absorbs the pleasant decor. Tulips paint the walls and thin apple-red curtains with fairies embroidered at the skirted bottoms.
“Whatever,” you lean a little too far trying to swat his shoulder and Eddie has to hold you up before you fall.
“Should you drink more?”
“I have nothing going on tomorrow,” you hold out one of the chilled cans, “And I’d like to forget today, preferably as fast as possible.”
He could sense that intention when he picked you up - there was something like thick smog when you crawled into his front seat. It didn’t disappear until he slammed on the brakes at a light and Robin - who refused to put on her seatbelt no matter your insistence - was flung straight into the back of your seat.
The two of you settled onto Stacey Bennett’s Disney princess bed, cooler abandoned on the floor after you have a beer in hand.
But no matter how much time is lost shooting the shit, Eddie can’t get his mind off that beginning to the evening. Being inebriated doesn’t silence him, to no surprise whatsoever.
“Why’d you seem so upset when I picked you up?” he presses his thumb into the raised lip of his can, “I was scared you might rip my head off.”
You kick your legs in and under you, pretending to drink from a can he knows is empty. Eddie sets down his can and lays down in front of you, so your downcast eyes can lock with his, you push his face away by the cheek, “Why do you care?”
He doesn’t know.
“Maybe I’m just a kind soul,” he splays his hand wide over his chest, “With a loving heart.”
Eddie flutters his lashes and you wonder why they’re so long and thick - you hate that you like the way they look. He clasps his hands as though he’s begging you.
You don’t even remember how it started - or what entirely was said. Just that you had the last word against your father before Eddie arrived.
”You can’t keep me here just because your last family didn’t pan out right!”
Pretending to take another drink from a can you both know is empty, you dodge Eddie’s eyes, “I regret it now. That’s all you need to know.”
You like to imagine you’ll apologize - but apologizing to family is always harder than regular apologizing. There’s more baggage and history, and a higher possibility that it’ll just happen again. You can’t even feel sorry for yourself about this because it’s all your fault, isn’t it?
But Eddie looks at you like you’ve done nothing wrong. Realistically it's because he doesn’t even know, but part of you wants it to be because he thinks you’re still good and sweet. Like your family used to when you were a kid.
That makes you realize there’s a lump forming in your throat and hot shame filling your eyes, you blink it away and crush the can in your hand to toss out.
“I suppose that’s fair,” he can see it - the tears - but he chooses to not mention it, “Can I ask why you insist on being so…”
Maybe he doesn’t think you’re still good and sweet, then.
You can’t blame him.
“Heinous?”
“I was gonna say original.”
“Is that an insult, Munson?”
The way he snickers makes you think it was, though he vehemently shakes his head, “No, no. Not intentionally,” he turns onto his side, head propped up by his fist and he beams at you, “Just meant - how do just… do what you do? Not listen to people?”
“I would think you’d know!” the softness of Stacey Bennett’s plush bedspread looks so inviting that you can’t help following Eddie’s lead and laying on your side as well, “You of all people should know.”
“But I’ve been hearing it my whole life,” he shakes his head slowly, “Don’t think the sheriff’s daughter has had quite the same treatment,” and when your brows furrow and he can tell he’s offended you, he quickly adds, “Don’t get me wrong! I like it a lot, just curious where it comes from.”
You dig your elbow into the lofty mattress and push so you’re matching Eddie’s eye level, “Guess I just like disappointing people.”
“You never disappointed me,” he offers, and you think maybe he does consider you good, possibly even sweet, “Not that I’m much to judge, but, you know.”
“You don’t even know me.”
“I know enough.”
You roll your eyes but Eddie can see it plain as day - the smile playing at your lips.
“Whatever,” you think you scooch closer - or maybe he does, “I admire you, too. Living for yourself and whatnot.”
“I just fuck around,” he lays a hand on the mattress, his fingers brush yours and neither of you move, “More fun.”
“Agreed,” you’re about to take the leap and actually clasp his hand when you notice, in this sudden proximity, something new, “Are you wearing eyeliner?”
It’s only a little - practically a smudge under his eyes.
Eddie shies away instantly, embarrassed by the sloppy job he’d done. He shucks his hand away from yours and up in front of his face, thick rings blocking out the minute makeup.
“No, hey- “ you grab him by the hand and pull it down, the leverage rocks you just a little closer to his face. Noses almost bumping, “I think it looks good. I like it.”
For the first time since you’ve stepped foot into Hawkins High, Eddie is speech-jammed. His cheeks flare like cherries and he briefly worries if you can feel the heat his face is radiating. You were pretty from a distance, in the way he thought many people were pretty - but this is different. You’re actually within reach, you’re actually kind. He thinks he might actually like you.
Oh God, and now he might actually want to impress you.
“I like your…” he’s breathless, nervous in the presence of a girl for the first time since middle school, “everything.”
At least you laugh over the line, that’s enough for him.
And as much as he wants to lean in and kiss that smile on your face, he can’t ignore how much you’ve drank tonight in comparison to him. So he pulls away.
Almost as though something had struck you over the back of your head, your expression drops. No signs of the flirtations and the joy, now you’re straight-laced and pulling back farther than he did. So far, in fact, you’re getting off the bed entirely and storming out of the room.
Eddie slips on the soft sheets as he attempts to follow you, landing flat on his face before gathering his bearings.
The search for Robin and Barb is cut short when you can hear your name - and a glance back confirms that Eddie Munson has returned to his usual M.O. of making himself a fool. He’s tripping over himself and waving you over and you don’t need to look around to know people are staring.
So you instead shoot for the only freshmen in the entire Bennett household, snagging the beer they’re slowly nursing together and passing it off to a girl on the couch. She passes it to the boy trying to find the missing screw in his glasses between the couch cushions while you take both Mike and Eleven by the wrists to bring them outside.
“This is exactly why I didn’t want you coming to these damn things!” you snap, looking over your shoulder to glare at the couple, “Underage drinking is illegal.”
Mike tries ripping himself from your grasp, failing miserably, and glares right at the back of your head, “That’s why you smell like a brewery, right?”
You pause at the front door, scoffing as you shove the pair out in front of you, taking Mike by the back of his shirt and dragging him down the steps, “I’m a legal adult - I can do whatever I want.”
Eleven harps after you, “Don’t hurt him!”
“I really can’t lose the kid taking over as DM when I graduate, you know!” Eddie seconds, hopping over the stone pathway until he’s by your side at his precious van, “So try not to wring him out for the crime you just committed.”
“Buzz off, Munson,” you wave him off.
“Totally would if I wasn’t your ride home,” Eddie’s hand hovers by your shoulder, prepared to guide you should you allow him, “Can we talk? ‘Cuz I don’t want you getting the wrong idea about earlier.”
You glare, “By earlier you mean a minute ago?”
He nods hopelessly, eyes big and wet as if he’ll burst into tears should you refuse to hear him out. With a ‘stay here’ to your child companions, you do allow Eddie to guide you off to the side of the curb.
“I pulled away because it wouldn’t be right to kiss you like this,” his fists clench - clammy and shaky and craving your own - when you don’t immediately respond, “Because you’re drunk. I’m sober. That’s all.”
Rather than the sigh of relief he may have expected, you snit - entirely haughty, “I’m not leaving because I got rejected, do I look like your average douchebag?”
He shrugs, brows climbing to his hairline - tantalizing - and you groan at his ill joke. Eddie fumbles for another response, a way to ask without scaring you away, “Then why are you leaving? The only person that wants you gone is you, so just stay.”
“I’m leaving because I don’t like…” your hands shake as they fly in the space between you and Eddie, “this.”
“What’s wrong with this?” he copies your motions vaguely, hands steadier though. Now less unnerved.
From the corner of your eye, you catch your sister and her boyfriend staring at your trainwreck, their necks rubber into the other direction when you serve a nasty glare. Eddie leans, big head blocking out the teenagers, pleading for you to look at him - just as he has been all night. Always trying to meet your eyes just because the idea of him seeing you is somehow terrifying.
You’re leaving because you know that even when you’re sober - you’d still want to kiss Eddie Munson on his dorky lips.
Not that you said it - not even a twitch of the lip.
Eddie is unused to forfeiting the way he’s about to, “If you really wanna leave, I’ll drive you all home - no questions asked,” he steps back, hands jamming into his jacket pockets, “Can’t promise not to call later, though.”
Oh God, he’s in trouble - the way he’s bending over backward just to please you.
“Sure,” you step down to where Eddie is, catching another glimpse of the tantrum toddler twins you’re tasked with escorting, “We should do something tomorrow, just to not leave things like this.”
“Assuming what? We’d never see each other after this?” Eddie jests, “I dunno about you, sweetheart, but I don’t ask people out as a day job.”
Technically he does, and he swallows the thick guilt like expired milk.
“We can talk about it when you call,” you walk by, already heading in to recollect Robin and Barb when you turn back and call, “I’m bone-tired from all your fake flattery, Munson!”
He goes to insist it isn’t fake, but he catches Mike in his peripherals and remembers the two $20 bills in his piggy bank on the kitchen counter. So he keeps silent as a church mouse while you bop back inside Stacey Bennett’s hell house party.
Turns out “doing something tomorrow” after all you had to drink last night was a bad idea - a worse idea? Allowing yourself to be talked into an outing at the rebuilt Scoop’s Ahoy! in all its colorful neon and pale blue fluorescent glory. Robin gives her favorite bug-eyed stare as you order ice cream for your small group.
Through narrowed eyes and arms folded defensively to your chest, you wave away the bizarro look, "Whatever, whatever."
“I didn’t say anything,” she clinks two glass bowls of banana split onto the counter followed by a waffle cone and a large (or a Chest of Booty size, as Scoops puts it) cup of cookies and cream.
“Don’t you have a shift at The Sunrise to prepare for?” you can’t feel your skin and the room is just a few thousand degrees too cold, “I swear, for a workaholic, you really don’t hurry anywhere.”
“I’m not a workaholic - I’m poor,” she seethes, swatting your arm over the counter.
And after her shift at The Sunrise, Robin has to hit her pillow before a day at Family Video.
And yet she still has the gall to make kissy faces at you as you walk back to your booth with the ice cream.
Eleven watches as Eddie wraps an arm around you in an annoying side-hug she sees couples at school partake in and delights because she assumes this means he genuinely likes you.
Mike, meanwhile, internally vouches to give Eddie a raise for how well he’s acting.
You watch, bewildered, as Eddie manages to get melty strawberry ice cream from his banana split over the bridge of his nose.
“God, Munson, you’re sloppy,” you sneer.
“So I’ve been told,” he doesn’t bother wiping the sugary mess away as he leans in, “I can show you someday if you want?”
“Ew,” pushing Eddie back by his cheek, you ignore the swell of heat that descends from your face to your gut to your thighs. Disgusting.
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Songs I Think Stranger Things Characters Would Listen To (The Party + Erica: Edition)
Note: For these lists, I tried to include songs that we haven't really seen in canon for the characters. We know that Max likes "Running Up That Hill", we know Mike likes "Small Town Boy", and we know Will likes "Boys Don't Cry". I love those songs and they are included in these playlists but I'm more interested in using music as a way to expand on and flesh out these characters.
I have also linked to Spotify playlists for each character. If you agree or disagree with any of my picks, please let me know!
Will Byers
Will has inherited a lot of his music taste from Jonathan but it's evolved in a way that's distinctly his own. Unlike his brother, Will's music tends to be more pop-focused. He likes new wave, post-punk, and moody songs that he can listen to while he paints. I think Will really pays attention to the lyrics of the music he listens to and it serves as a kind of therapy for him.
In Between Days by The Cure
Elegia by New Order
Mad World by Tears For Fears
Lost in the Supermarket by The Clash
It's A Sin by Pet Shop Boys
Major Tom (Coming Home) by Peter Schilling
Without You by David Bowie
This Charming Man by The Smiths
Mike Wheeler
Mike is always trying to appear slightly cooler than he is. He likes classic rock in a very Eric Forman way (if that makes any sense). By the time he joins Hellfire Club, he's trying to emulate Eddie's style and music taste because he just thinks Eddie's that cool. At his core, Mike enjoys sappy songs about love, life, and heartbreak because he's a dork who likes to jam out in his room.
Never Surrender by Corey Hart
Dream On by Aerosmith
Suburbia by Pet Shop Boys
Punishment For Love by Bronski Beat
Hold Me Now by Thompson Twins
Hells Bells by AC/DC
Summer of '69 by Bryan Adams
Eighteen by Alice Cooper
El "Jane" Hopper
El is just finding her own music taste. She’s only been shown music by her friends or Hopper so she picks and chooses what she likes. Mostly that’s a lot of pop music and ballads. She also watches a lot of MTV so her taste tends to skew pretty mainstream. When Max teaches her how to put together mixtapes her’s tend to be pretty upbeat or dramatic depending on her mood. While she’s contemplating her relationship with Mike she listens to a lot of gaudy break-up ballads.
Hey Mickey by Toni Basil
She Bop by Cyndi Lauper
The Promise by When In Rome
Total Eclipse of the Heart by Bonnie Tyler
Talk Talk by Talk Talk
Could've Been by Tiffany
Destination Unkown by Missing Persons
Two of Hearts by Stacey Q
Max Mayfield
Max’s music taste is kind of hard to pinpoint. It’s really a grab bag of pop, rock, experimental, and softer punk. The only way I can describe it is like “spunky”. There are also moments when the music she listens to becomes more introspective and brooding. In “Runaway Max” she mentions liking The Go-Go’s and The Beach Boys.
Dreaming by Blondie
We Got The Beat by The Go-Go’s
Kids In America by Kim Wilde
The Girl U Want by DEVO
Bette Davis Eyes by Kim Carnes
Hounds of Love by Kate Bush
California Dreamin by The Beach Boys
White Wedding - Pt.1 by Billy Idol
Dustin Henderson
Dustin is the nerdiest of nerdiest teenage boys (we wore a "Weird Al" t-shirt on his first day of high school I mean come on). He thinks that "Weird Al" is a genius for his use of parody and critique of pop culture (which, he's not wrong). He's always liked metal but it's only become more prominent for him since hanging out with Eddie so much. Being in Hellfire though has caused him to be more stealthy about his love for novelty records and one-hit wonders. He makes mixtapes full of love songs and saves up his money to send them to Suzie in Utah.
She Blinded Me With Science by Thomas Dolby
Bohemian Rhapsody by Queen
The Safety Dance by Men Without Hats
Weird Science by Oingo Boingo
I’m Gonna Be by The Proclaimers
As The World Falls Down by David Bowie
Never Gonna Give You Up by Rick Astley
I Lost On Jeopardy by “Weird Al” Yankovic
Lucas Sinclair
Lucas’ music taste is pretty diverse. He likes rock music but not as hard as Mike and Dustin’s taste. I imagine he’s picked up a lot of soul and r&b music from his parents, specifically his mom. In “Lucas On The Line” Lucas is introduced to Run-D.M.C. and really takes a shine to it so I imagine he’d be listening to some rap and hip hop. My qualifications for my picks were “would Lucas sing this infront of his bedroom mirror while using a hairbrush as a microphone?”.
Another One Bites the Dust by Queen
Walk This Way by Run-D.M.C.
Dirty Diana by Micheal Jackson
Juke Box Hero by Foreigner
Easy Lover by Philip Bailey & Phil Collins
Everything She Wants by Wham!
You’ll Never Find Another Love Like Mine by Lou Rawls
Never Too Much by Luther Vandross
Erica Sinclair
Erica is eleven so she tends to gravitate towards music that's popular or that she hears on the radio. Pop and R&B make up most of her cassette collection. The music she likes tends to be very upbeat and kick-ass (these songs are all bangers so she has amazing taste). Like Lucas, she also does dorky lipsyncing in her bedroom but unlike him, she's never been caught.
Head to Toe by Lisa Lisa & Cult Jam
I Feel For You by Chaka Khan
What Have You Done For Me Lately by Janet Jackson
Got to Be Real by Cheryl Lynn
Let’s Hear It For the Boy by Denise Williams
Rhythm of The Night by DeBarge
Cool It Now by New Edition
Swept Away by Diana Ross
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