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It starts with Dustin Henderson.
No, it starts with Steph herself.
Actually, it probably started with her mother, the one and only Victoria Harrington. If there was one thing the Harrington family was known for in Hawkins – besides their immense wealth and the fact that they looked down upon literally everyone else in town – it was their hair. Richard Harrington at fifty had a full head of hair that was artfully graying along the edges, giving him a polished look. Victoria Harrington – his wife, who never aged past thirty-nine (she’d celebrated her thirty-ninth birthday four years now) – had big, voluminous brunette curls that seemed to defy gravity. (There’s no way she hasn’t started going gray, people in town would say. But it can’t possibly be hair dye! Others would bemoan. Have you seen how soft it is? Look at Winnie Kline’s hair, she only just started coloring hers and its been fried half to death!)
Unlike the rest of Hawkins, Stephanie Harrington knew that her mother dyed her hair every six weeks. It was one of Stephanie’s favorite parts of growing up; sitting in the palatial master bathroom and watching as her mother carefully painted her hair with whatever dye she had chosen for the next six weeks. It took her hours to do, and she never rushed it, which meant that whole days (usually Saturdays) were spent in the master bath taking care of her hair. And little Stephanie Harrington never complained, she just sat in awe as her mother worked magic. (She did the same whenever her mother got ready for a party, watching the curlers and the irons and the expensive Parisian hairspray be moved back and forth across the expansive sink as her mother hummed her way through her party prep. Her make-up routine was just as fascinating, with all the pots of color and brushes and the way it transformed her mother’s wan face into a youthful glow.)
It was no surprise to anyone in Hawkins that Stephanie had inherited her mother’s incredible hair. Truthfully, it was the only useful thing her mother had passed on. (The summer before Stephanie’s freshman year of high school, her mother took her aside and walked her through every step of her process. Stephanie had been able to figure out most of it, but this felt more official somehow, as if her mother was passing on some sort of torch.) (It turned out the torch was “being the face of the Harrington family in Hawkins while her parents travel for “work” eleven and a half months out of the year.”)
So Stephanie Harrington started high school with a perfect coif and a perfectly made-up face and didn’t think twice about it. She was proud of it, sure, but she was just doing what was expected of her. There wasn’t anything else to it.
At least, not until Dustin Henderson asked her to help him get ready for the Snow Ball.
(“Whoa, easy, easy!” Steph snatched the styling gel out of Dustin’s sweaty palms. “You don’t want to overdo it with this stuff, okay? Less is more when it comes to gel, Henderson. Less is more.”
“Oh really?”
“Really!”
“Fine, you do it then!”
“Fine!” Steph pushed the sleeves of her red sweater up her arms and swiped a nickel-sized dollop of gel onto her hands. “Don’t move, got it?”
“Yes, mom.”)
She’d done a great job, if she said so herself. Dustin had naturally curly hair, and not the sort of gentle curl that Steph usually ended up with when she air-dried her hair; no, his curls were tightly wound, and if she’d let him use the gel himself he would have ended up with a heavy, greasy mess. Instead, she merely scrunched the ends and grabbed some bobby pins out of her purse (she always had at least two dozen) and artfully pinned his hair up and back into a more-fashionable mullet-like style. It was a surprising amount of work, but the grin on his face when he looked in the mirror was totally worth it.
(And it made her feel useful. That was always a nice feeling.)
///////
Jonathan approached her at school a few days later. That wasn’t too unusual; since her fall from grace, Steph really only hung out with Jonathan and Nancy these days. What was unusual was the expression on his face.
“Hey, Steph?”
“Oh, hey Jon,” she greeted him, trying – and failing – to shove her chemistry books into her locker. “What’s up?”
“The kids were saying that you did Dustin’s hair for the Snow Ball.”
“Yeah, it turned out, huh? I’m pretty proud of it, if I do say so myself.” Shoving her book back in with one last push, she slammed her locker shut before it could fall back out. Success.
“Have you ever cut hair before?” She turned, and Jonathan had a slightly sheepish look on his face.
“Uh no, not really. Why?”
“Oh, no, it’s okay, I just thought I’d ask. Will really needs a haircut and, well, it’s only a matter of time until my mom breaks out one of her bowls.”
Poor baby Byers. Steph barely suppressed a shiver.
“I’ll be over after school.”
///////
“What about a mullet? You should do a mullet!”
“He doesn’t have enough hair for a mullet, idiot. You should just shave it all off like Lucas.”
“What? No! I like his hair the way it is!”
“Of course you do, Mike.”
“Hey, dickheads, shut up!” Steph snapped. Mike, Dustin, Lucas, Max and El all shut their mouths and turned to look at Steph. Will was seated on a kitchen chair in the Byer’s bathroom, and Steph stood behind him, scissors in hand. (She’d made a quick pit stop at Melvald’s on her way over to grab whatever grooming supplies they had in stock. It was a miracle she was able to avoid Joyce while doing so.) Jonathan hovered in the hallway, torn between amusement and anxiety at the activity in the bathroom.
“First off, no mullets, ever. The last thing Hawkins needs is another Billy Hargrove.”
“Amen to that,” Lucas muttered under his breath.
“Second of all, we’re not shaving it either. Unless things go terribly wrong. But they won’t,” Steph reassured Will. (He was starting to look a little too nervous.) “Your mom isn’t totally off base with what she’s doing. We’re going to keep it long in the front and shorten up the sides a little bit, and then I’m going to show you how to style it to get that swoop that all the cool kids have these days, okay?”
Will nodded hesitantly.
“Great. El, drop the needle. Mike, bring us some water. Lucas, I need a towel and a trash can, and Dustin, make sure Mike doesn’t spill water all over the kitchen.”
“Hey!”
“What about me? What’s my job?” Max asked, quirking her eyebrow at Steph.
“You’re my second pair of eyes. Help me make sure I keep things even.”
“Sweet,” Max leaned back. The boys dispersed, and El started the record player. The musical stylings of The Clash rang out in the crowded bathroom. Steph exhaled and lifted the scissors to Will’s tragic bowl cut.
“All right baby Byers, let’s do this.”
///////
“Holy shit.”
Will was staring at his reflection in the mirror, his cheeks pink at the sight. The rest of the kids stood behind him, equally stunned, and when Steph glanced over at Jonathan, his jaw was all but on the ground.
“Holy shit,” Jonathan said again.
“Holy shit is right,” Dustin breathed out. “They really call you Stephanie ‘The Hair’ Harrington for a reason.”
She couldn’t help it; she felt her chest puff up in pride. “Aww, you’re too sweet, Henderson.”
“No, Dustin’s right. He looks like Rob Lowe!” Max exclaimed, reaching out to gently touch the wave that curled away from his forehead.
“Bitchin,” El nodded.
“ – kids, what are you all doing in the bathroom – Will! Oh my goodness, look at your hair!” Joyce burst into the room, dropping her purse and keys onto the floor.
“Do you like it?”
“Like it? Sweetie, I love it! Did you do this yourself?”
“It was Steph, mom,” Jonathan cut in, and Joyce turned to shoot Steph a bright smile.
“Oh, of course it was! I should have known. Your mother was always known for her hair too. It looks great, sweetie. Can I pay you a couple bucks for – “
“Oh my God, no,” Steph quickly cut her off with a shake of her head. “This was my first time cutting hair. If anything, I should be paying Will for being my hamster.”
“Steph, the saying is guinea pig – “
“This is your first time?” Joyce cut off Dustin. “Sweetheart, this looks professionally done! Have you ever thought about going to cosmetology school? There’s one in Dayton County, my old friend Sharon went there. She’s got a salon in Indianapolis now.”
Steph stared at Joyce Byers, and it was like the sun had burst through the clouds, like spring had bloomed after a long winter, like she’d successfully executed a quadruple front flip and her spotters had caught her on the way down. Nothing in the world had ever made more sense to Stephanie Harrington.
“Mrs. Byers, you’re a genius.”
///////
A few weeks later, Karen Wheeler called, and now Mike was the one getting a trim. (“Just a trim,” he’d said, grimacing into the mirror. Steph and Karen shared a commiserating look and then rolled their eyes at the same time.)
“Joyce was right, you really do have a gift,” Karen remarked after, when Mike scampered away into the basement. Steph refused to accept payment, so Karen had demanded she stay for dinner instead (which was fine by her, she needed to steal Nancy’s calculus notecards anyways). “Have you thought about cosmetology school?”
“I have, actually. It turns out they take late admissions, so I sent in an application last week and now I’m just waiting to hear back. It’s not exactly what my parents would have wanted for me, I think, but I don’t know, I think it makes sense?” Steph shrugged. Holly waddled over and handed her yet another drawing – this one was just pink and orange circles – which Steph ooh’ed and ahh’ed over, just like she had with the other five drawings that were now in her possession. (They were all going on her fridge immediately when she got home.)
“Well, I for one think it’s an excellent idea,” Karen replied, watching Holly toddle away with a smile. “You know, I’d always thought about being a hairdresser myself, but then I married Ted and had Nancy and, well, the rest is history.”
“It’s never too late to go back.”
“Oh, no, that dream is behind me now,” Karen laughed. “I’m just glad that I can color my own hair here at home. It can get so expensive in the city! Have you ever dyed yours?”
“No,” Steph shook her head. “I used to watch my mom dye hers, though. She has a very strict six-week routine.”
Karen gasped and smacked her hand on the kitchen island between them. “Oh, I knew it! I knew there was no way that was natural!”
“It’s a Harrington state secret, so you didn’t hear it from me,” Steph snorted out a laugh.
“Oh, of course, of course. I suppose it doesn’t really matter either way. It’s just a bit of fun, you know? You should give it a try sometime! We can never have too much fun around here.”
As if on cue, a large crash echoed up from the basement. Karen’s smile dropped with her heavy sigh. “Speaking of fun, I have a son to yell at.”
“Enjoy!” Steph laughed, and Karen offered her a final quick smile before heading towards the basement stairs. Steph watched her as she walked away; her hair was obviously colored. There’s no way that blonde was natural.
That doesn’t really matter either way, she echoed Karen’s thought.
Holly toddled back into the room, another drawing in hand, and Steph fixed her eyes on Holly’s blonde pigtails.
Huh.
Maybe it’s my turn to have a bit of fun.
///////
Steph glanced at the bottles now lining the old bathtub. If her mother knew what she was about to do, she would lose her mind. It was pretty hypocritical, considering mommy dearest was now getting her hair professionally dyed every four weeks instead of the six-week-home-job she’d done when Steph was younger, but her mother always complimented her “natural” color and how she’d give “anything” to have it back again.
Steph eyed the bleach again, as if it would jump at her if she didn’t keep both eyes on the bottle at all times.
“Are we doing this or what?”
Max and El moved into her field of view. Hopper was working an overnight shift, and Max had somehow convinced her parents to have a sleepover at El’s house. (Their friendship was pretty new still, but Steph kept bugging Hopper about the importance of El having female friends until he gave in. That was another thing Steph was good at: bugging men.) This meant that Steph was on babysitting duty, and since she’d made the mistake of mentioning that she was thinking about dying her hair, it was now the central event of the sleepover.
She sat up and tossed her shoulders back. “We’re doing this.”
She turned, and Max and El had matching grins on their faces.
///////
It was a lot of work, and more than a little stressful, but it was also a lot of fun. Max and El had a great time helping Steph paint each individual strand of hair, and then while it baked, Steph did their nails and they talked about boys and ate way too much popcorn. And when it was time to wash it out, the three of them ended up having a water fight and had to change into their pajamas early. Steph hadn’t gotten a moment to really sit with her new hair until the two younger girls had passed out in El’s room and so, at midnight, inside the bathroom of Hopper’s two bedroom cabin, Stephanie Harrington stared at her reflection in the mirror.
Overall, she’d done a pretty good job. The color was a bit lighter in a few places than in others – she needed to be more consistent with her sectioning – but it had lifted to a lovely honey blonde color. It had kept her warm undertones without getting too red, which was a miracle in and of itself – Max looked incredible with her red hair, but Steph wasn’t sold on her ability to sell that particular look (at least, not yet). And, with the help of her mother’s (stolen) shampoos and tonics, her hair was soft to the touch, just as soft as it had been before.
“Not bad, Harrington,” she finally said to herself, smiling at her reflection. “Not bad at all.”
///////
She was a little worried how her new look was going to go over at school on Monday.
(She shouldn’t have worried.)
“So?” Nancy leaned up against Steph’s locker, watching as Steph once again tried – and failed – to wrangle her textbooks into submission. “How are the masses taking Queen Stephanie’s new hairdo?”
“Well,” Steph grunted, grabbing her copy of Wuthering Heights, “Carol caught Tommy staring and slapped him across the face, I made eye contact with Hargrove and he choked on his cigarette, and four people have asked me to help them dye their hair,” she shut her locker with a definitive bang, “so I’d say it was a success.”
“Okay, I wish I could have seen that,” Nancy giggled. “I have to be honest, I wasn’t too sure at first when you told me you were going blonde, but it’s really works for you.”
“Aww, thanks Nance!”
A loud crashing sound behind her had Stephanie jumping and turning around, just in time to see Eddie Munson rubbing his head against his locker. He made eye contact with Steph, flushed bright red, and sped-walked backwards down the hallway.
“It’s kind of ridiculous, isn’t it?” Steph watched him walk away before turning back to her friend. “I mean, it’s just blonde hair.”
“Well, yes, but it’s Stephanie Harrington with blonde hair. It’s like you’ve become a more powerful version of yourself.”
“Okay, now you’re just being ridiculous.”
They rounded the corner and found themselves walking towards Tommy Hagan, who stopped in talking in mid-conversation with Carol and got himself slapped again.
“Huh,” Steph murmured as they walked past. “What do you think would happen if I dyed my hair red?”
“Honestly? I think it would kill someone,” Nancy replied over the sound of Carol screaming at her boyfriend.
Steph just rolled her eyes. “You’re hilarious, Wheeler.”
“I love you too, blondie.”
///////
June 1986
“So? What do you think?” Steph stepped out of the bathroom and tossed her freshly dyed hair over her shoulder.
“I think that you’re trying to kill me,” her boyfriend replied, falling backwards onto her bed in a breathless heap. “I mean, the blonde was bad enough, and by bad, I mean amazing, even though my face was bruised for weeks and it was your fault that I walked straight into my locker, but now? You look like an agent from S.H.I.E.L.D. sent to kill me.”
Steph frowned. “Agent of shield?”
“You know, Natasha Romanoff? The Black Widow? I thought Henderson was lending you his comics!”
“I haven’t had time to read them yet!” She padded her way across the room, reveling in the cool air of her bedroom. It was a welcome relief from the warm haze of her bathroom (and the warm shower she took to wash out the dye).
Eddie Munson groaned at her in reply, now spread eagle across her sheets. “You’re killing me, Harrington.”
Steph couldn’t help but smile. Reaching the bed, she crawled on top of him so she was straddling his hips, her newly-dyed red hair cascading around him like a crimson curtain. “Speaking of killing and black widows, don’t black widow spiders kill their boyfriends by eating them after they have sex?”
Eddie shivered. “You know what? I’m okay with that.” Then, wrapping his hands around the back of her thighs, he spun them around on the bed so he was laying on top, in between her legs. “God, what a way to go.”
“Nah,” Steph smiled up at him, bunching the collar of his shirt and pulling him in close, “you’re not going anywhere, Munson.”
He smiled back down at her, and his smile was bright. “Whatever you say, sweetheart.”
If this is how Eddie Munson kisses a redhead, Steph thought before she couldn’t think anymore, I wonder how he’ll kiss a blonde.
God, I can’t wait to find out.