Nancy Wheeler

It was the year of '86, you were about 20 years old and your love for journalism was greater than anything, you loved and longed so much to have that space in a small part of a newspaper where you could simply write what for you was real, you started working for a group of men who worked at one of the most important newspapers in Hawkins but...nothing was as you expected, they simply used you as a servant, they asked you for things and if you proposed an idea it would be their weekly ridicule, making you feel terrible and angry. On the other hand, Nancy worked with you, but because of the schedule, you only knew her by sight, although you sometimes heard her teasing you like. You often saw her leave the workplace extremely frustrated, and you completely understood. Nancy, for her part, knew you very well. She knew who you were because your style seemed to belong to another era. Your hair was straight, a slight rebellion against the hairstyles imposed by society, and she liked that; she loved it. Sometimes she would arrive early just to watch you from afar and admire you, until one day she decided to talk to you, since she had never felt that way about anyone else in all those years.

—“Hey”

She greeted you shyly as she went into the kitchen. You, on the other hand, were somewhat frustrated by those idiots who sent you to make them coffee. You nodded and gave her a soft smile. She stood beside you, starting to make those sandwiches they always eat, until her gaze fell on your hand, observing that decorative ring that seemed to be something more

—“So…do you have a boyfriend?”