Dive into this revealing portrait of Stranger Things fan-favorite Lucas Sinclair and get to know Lucas like never before! Lucas’s guide for surviving freshman year: make new friends, be yourself . . . and save Hawkins. Lucas Sinclair is tired of feeling like an outsider. With Max dealing with her own problems, and Will and El leaving town, he has no one to lean on. And he could really use someone after the last few years of fighting monsters, dodging international spies, and the recent events at Starcourt. But then high school starts, and Lucas suddenly has options beyond playing D&D and being bullied. After connecting with someone on the basketball team—one of the few other Black students at school—Lucas begins to understand what it means to be a Black teen in Indiana, just as his town is plunged into trouble once again. Will Lucas be able to find his place in Hawkins in time to save it? From Suyi Davies, contributor to the New York Times bestselling Black Boy Joy, comes an exploration of love and identity within the beloved Stranger Things universe through the eyes of Lucas Sinclair. Suyi Davies is a Nigerian author of fantasy and science fiction. He has written a number of works for younger readers, most recently Minecraft: The Haven Trials. He was a contributor to the instant #1 New York Times bestselling middle-grade anthology Black Boy Joy. He is currently a professor of English at the University of Ottawa. CHAPTER TWO Monday, August 26, 1985     Mom drops Erica off at the middle school first, then me next. The ride feels like it takes forever, but soon, the fa- miliar parking lot of Hawkins High School comes into view. I’ve never really thought about how flat it looks, compared with the middle school, which is shaped like a massive barn. This also means everyone can see everything, including freshmen getting dropped off by their parents on the first day. I slouch in my seat and hang my head, trying to get below the window level. Mom shoots me a look and I sit back up straight. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of, Lucas,” she says. “Plenty of high schoolers get dropped off by their moms. Mrs. Miller from two streets down drops off her daughter. Also, Mrs. Harris down the same corner. Drops off her son and two of his friends. They seem fine with it.” “I’m sure they’d rather take the bus.” I look out the window. “At least pull over here, lemme meet up with Dustin and Mike before I walk in. You want me to go in alone on my first day of high school?” Mom shakes her head but agrees and pulls over. She tries to kiss me on the forehead before I leave. Nope. The parking lot teems with people, drowns me in sounds. Unlike middle school, where it was either bus or bike if you weren’t dropped off, now there’s students arriving in their own cars—loud, abrupt, some almost doing wheelies as they park. It’s the most people I’ve seen in one place since that ill-fated Fourth of July carnival. A flashback to that day hits me: the screaming, the sound of shaking trees, the pound of the Spider Monster’s feet, blood—so much blood. So many people gone, so easily. I stop in my tracks and shake it off, bring myself back to the present. But even in the present, I’m lost at sea, unsure of where I’m supposed to go next. Then I realize there’s only one set of front doors anyway, and just follow the mill of students heading that way. I find Dustin just where I’d predicted—at the bike rack on the veranda. It takes a while for me to recognize him at first, because, while I thought I’d had a whole makeover, Dustin had a whole makeover. Now he’s peering into the mirror of his bike and adjusting his hair. “What the hell is that?” Dustin’s hair, which was already big, is now even big- ger. Maybe because he isn’t wearing a hat to cover his curls this time. Without it, what he’s done to his hair is very clear. He’s blown up everything, trying to go for a mullet. It looks like a bad perm. “Good hair,” Dustin says. “The kind that gets you noticed for all the right reasons.” “Lemme guess. You’re taking advice from Steve Harrington again.” “Who says it’s Steve?” Dustin pats at the hair, as if that’ll make it shorter or less curly. “And so what if it’s him?” “That’ll explain why you look like a discount Jennifer Beals.” “Hey! I did everything like before. Wash and condition with Fabergé Organics and—” “Four puffs of Farrah Fawcett hair spray, yes, you have explained this multiple times. It didn’t work out for you at the Snow Ball, and ten bucks says it’s not going to work out for you now.” I shake my head. “Man, you’re seriously tripping. How can you not see that you’re missing the most vital ingredient?” “Which is?” “You have to be born with the right hair in the first place, Dustin!” Dustin scoffs. “Bullshit. Anyone can get good hair, born with it or not. I just need more time.” “Yeah, maybe your definition of good hair is the problem, man.” “What’s that supposed to mean?” “Neve