He'd been going for cute and charming, but it's clear by the way she jumps that he's overestimated his own level of charm and his grin falls away as she asks if the seat is taken. Yeah, he's definitely miscalculated the best way to approach her.
He hears a snort from behind him and whips his head around to glare at Grant. The grin on his face disappears and he focuses on eating his lunch, while the others watch with varying levels of amusement and discomfort.
He turns his attention back to Carrie, pressing his lips together, his expression softening. "No, it's not taken. It's for you." He shifts, hopping off the table and pulling out a chair near her. He leaves one between them so that he might be a little less threatening, leaning over it to talk to her. "You're in Beckman's Biology class, right?"
"Hey, Freak! Is that your mail-order-bride?" Eddie shoots the finger in the direction the shout came from without even looking in their direction.
She can see from the way his grin drops away that she's made some sort of social misstep, probably being startled by the idea of anyone approaching her for anything other than to hit her or throw something at her. He's done neither and doesn't appear to have come over to do so, so that must be it, she thinks. She shouldn't be so skittish. Nobody here has done anything anywhere near as egregious as the kids at Chamberlain High had, so she has no reason to be so jumpy.
Seventeen years of being conditioned to flinch at everything, she supposes, is a lot to work against.
Carrie's eyes dart over to survey the rest of his group when she hears one of them snort back a laugh. Carrie's eyes start to prickle but she's become expert at holding back her urge to cry over the years, so she only barely registers the sensation before blinking it back easily enough.
Her brows crease with reproach when his expression softens to something she's fairly certain she's never actually seen on his face before and he tells her that the seat is for her, which...well. That makes no sense, so it must be a trick. Carrie watches him almost warily as he hops off the table and pulls out a chair to sit down almost, but not quite, beside her. She can't decide if he's messing with her or genuinely asking. He knows she's in Beckman's Biology class; she sits two rows over from him. Or, well. Maybe he doesn't. Maybe she's that forgettable. That's possible. If God is kind, it's definitely possible.
Carrie nods almost imperceptibly and opens her mouth to verbally confirm when she hears someone shouting at him — or her? No, him, definitely him because they're talking about her, she realizes — and her eyes dart in the direction of the sound. Within the amount of time it takes Eddie to flip them the bird, Carrie spots a group of boys a few tables over, all wearing their letter jackets and surrounded by food they seem to be treating as communal.
She wants to believe that Eddie is nice. He seems nice. He's the only person so far who has said a single word to her besides a teacher, so far, so maybe he is. Between being flustered by his presence, flustered by being caught peeking at him, flustered by the jerk in the letterman jacket, Carrie gives into reflex.
The cap of the 20-ounce bottle of Coca-Cola the blonde boy who appears to be the group's leader is holding pops off with a loud crack, spraying pop into the air in a sugary, caramel-colored geizer of foam and liquid, causing shrieks from a couple of the cheerleaders who had been sitting at the table with the boys, not to mention the angry roar of surprise from the blonde boy with the bottle in hand. The rest of them burst out laughing at his misfortune as a pretty cheerleader with her hair drawn back from her face in a ponytail rushes to pat almost uselessly at his sopping letter jacket front with a wad of napkins. Carrie has to press her lips together against the urge to look smug when she has no place to do so.
Then, she turns her attention back to Eddie. "You don't have to talk to me, you know," she offers, wanting to give him an easy out. She knows it's embarrassing to be seen with her. At least, at Chamberlain High, she'd known it. Godspeed to anyone who was unlucky enough to be assigned to be her lab partner, after all, and every last one of them over the years made it abundantly clear that they'd rather be anywhere but there. "Then they won't make fun of you."
Eddie turns at the sound of shrieks erupting from the table behind him and breaks out into a boisterous laugh as Carver erupts into a conniption fit over his soda exploding all over him. He's still chuckling when Carrie addresses him.
He breaks out into a broad grin and shakes his head. "Oh, my sweet little baby girl, they don't need a new excuse to make fun of me." He leans in and lowers his voice conspiratorially. "That's where the genius of being a freak lies. Their teasing isn't about you anymore, it's about me. They're obsessed with me and they don't even know it." He reaches up to flick his hair and gestures to his clothes. "My hair, my clothes, my personality. They can't wrap their tiny little minds around it. It's almost flattering, really. But really, it's just beating them to the punch. They can't hurt me if I don't give a shit."
He leans back slightly in his chair. "Also, I don't do things I don't want to do. Thus the third year senior. Thus, I'm not talking to you because I have to, but because I want to. But if you don't want to talk to me, that's okay too."
In spite of herself, Carrie can feel a little smile creeping onto her lips when she sees that her retaliation made Eddie laugh. She feels her stomach swooping pleasantly at the smile on his face when he turns back to her and her face heats up again when he tacks on a pet name as he responds. He talks to her like they're already friends. At least, she thinks that's what this feels like; it's not like she has much of a frame of reference, after all, but she's certainly seen groups of friends operate. This feels like she thinks that looks.
Out of her nervous habit, Carrie clutches at her cross necklace as he leans in closer before tossing his hair, and she tucks it surreptitiously under her collar because he's wearing his Hellfire shirt and he's talking to her and she can smell a mix of cigarette smoke, Irish Spring, and Old Spice on him and she doesn't want him to leave. Her cross tends to keep people away, she's learned.
Carrie finds herself worrying at her bottom lip with her teeth and the tiniest hum of a giggle escapes her when he declares that their 'obsession' with him — now, that word choice brings another deep flush into her skin — is flattering. There's something akin to hero-worship or maybe it's awe glittering in her eyes as she watches him say his peace. It must be so nice to feel like that. It must be so liberating not to care what anyone else thinks, if he really means that and he isn't just saying it.
But she feels the ghost of a smile slipping when he says he's talking to her because he wants to be. Tommy said that, too. She's not sure she believes it, even now. Carrie's eyes drift over Eddie's shoulder to the snickering boys ranging from freshman upward watching them, and then she looks back at Eddie with uncertainty. "...why?" she asks. "I mean, why do you want to talk to me?" Carrie pauses before adding, "nobody else does," less he think it a personal attack when she doesn't mean it that way.
She has a nice smile, though it looks a little unused. He thinks maybe she's loosening up a little bit, but then she frowns and asks him why he'd want to talk to her. It's a little soul crushing if he's honest with himself, he double downs on the fact that even if she's not into Hellfire, she's definitely a lost sheep.
His grin fades and his expression grows serious as he regards her. "Because you're way more interesting than most of the meatheads here. And because I know what it feels like to be the new kid and to feel like no one wants to talk to me." Eddie leans back in his chair and crosses his arms. "You know, when I moved here it was in the middle of middle school. I ate by myself for months before someone took pity on me." He straightens up. "Not that this is pity. But you looked like you could use some company. Unless you've got a problem with talking to the resident freak?" He gives her a crooked grin. "I promise I don't bite."
Her brow creases slightly as she listens to his response, partially untrusting, but mostly confused. How does he know she's interesting? She hasn't given anyone any reason to think she's anything more than invisible. At least, that's what she's been trying to do, anyway.
A part of her is disappointed when he leans back in his chair, one last waft of soap and smoke washing over her before dissipating in his wake. He tells her he knows what it feels like to be the new kid, which is reassuring, to be sure. Moreover, he corrects himself when he mentions pity. Carrie doesn't need or want that. In fact, she has a feeling that pity is why Tommy asked her to prom in the first place and she hates that idea. She doesn't want that to carry over to Hawkins High School and she certainly doesn't want her new secret obsession to talk to her because he pities her.
Another tiny smile starts to tug up at the corners of her mouth, even though her expression is still a little confused at the comment about her wanting him to bite — what sense does that make? Why would anyone want to be bitten? — and she finds her body shifting into its reflexive curled-into-itself state, her hair hanging in limp waves on either side of her face and her shoulders hunched as she looks back up at him.
"You're the resident freak here?" she asks, incredulously, her eyes shifting to the group of boys at the other end of the table, most of whom have quieted and are trying not to be seen watching the conversation Eddie is having with her. She looks back at him again. "I think you have too many friends to be the freak," she challenges meekly, her cheeks warming and going pink as another little smile creeps up on her.
He almost wins a smile out of her and that feels like a victory, considering how curled in on herself she is. Almost as if she's scared of him, but something in his gut tells him that's not it. Maybe it's just crippling shyness. He follows her gaze to the end of the table where the Hellfire Club is uncharacteristically quiet.
He huffs a laugh and looks back at Carrie with a wide grin. "That's because they're all freaks too," he says. He makes a show of raising his voice, even though he knows they're all already listening. "Raise your hand if you're a freak and proud of it."
Five hands raise and the boys give Carrie smiles that range from proud to friendly. "I know traditionally freaks are supposed to be lone wolves," Eddie says, opening his hands in front of her as if he's conceding her point. "But around here I've made it a team sport. We play a little game called Dungeons and Dragons. It requires more than one player."
"Though, I do have rights on the moniker. Guess that makes me King Freak, but you can just call me Eddie. No need to bow or anything."
Carrie can't help wondering at the way he grins, how can she be the only person at this school who sees how handsome he is? He might not hang out with the "cool" boys like Tommy does, but he's very good-looking. Even with the unruly curls and the smell of stale cigarettes lingering in the fibers of his clothes, Carrie thinks Eddie Munson is easily one of the best-looking boys at Hawkins High School. He doesn't seem to know he's attractive, though, like Tommy does.
Her eyes shift back away from his face and down the table to the other boys, all of whom raise their hands and smile back at her. Carrie's face grows hot and she's sure she must be beet red under the eyes of six boys — Momma would be so angry right now... — and she can't help herself from giving them all a shy smile back. Then, Eddie starts to speak again and her attention shifts once more. "Dungeons and Dragons?" she asks dumbly in spite of the fact that she knows plenty about it. Momma would never let her play it. Never in a million years.
In spite of herself, as he tells her that she can call him Eddie and she doesn't need to bow to the King Freak, Carrie giggles and tilts her head just so, hiding her burning cheeks behind a curtain of blond curls. After a beat, she looks back up, still smiling in spite of herself. It feels surreal having his attention and feeling like he isn't trying to trick her. She believes him. She's not sure why, but she believes him. "Eddie, then," she agrees quietly, her shoulders relaxing a little, although not entirely.
"It's a game of imagination," Eddie says as mysteriously as he can, his voice lowering into his Dungeon Master storytelling level as he leans forward slightly. "Escapism in a way, though we don't actually require any blood sacrifices like people say."
He thinks that might be edging too close to teasing her when she's obviously sensitive and he quickly shifts topics. "What do you like to do when you're not stuck here making your torturous way through school?"
She has a really pretty smile and for a moment he can see what the frumpy clothes and curtain of hair is supposed to hide. He knows more than ever that she needs his help, whether she knows it or not. Once the girls see her possibilities they're either going to eat her alive or give her the cold shoulder. And the boys are going to be even more merciless in their teasing if they know how pretty she is. He feels a sudden protective urge hit him. "Carrie," he says, grinning back at her. "Something tells me we should be friends."
"Escapism..." she murmurs softly, echoing him more to process the word aloud. That sounds nice. That sounds really nice, actually. She wishes she thought she could play with them without Momma finding out and getting angry.
She realizes belatedly that he's asked her a question and she asks, "hmm?" as her brain processes it. "Oh, um...I don't know. I mostly just...read my scriptures. But I like sewing..." she offers lamely, feeling her smile start to fade with embarrassment. Boys don't like sewing and Eddie doesn't look like the Bible-reading type.
At his comment, Carrie shifts a little, looking up at him through her eyelashes, head starting to bow almost reflexively. The cognitive dissonance is almost maddening because this seems like a trick, but it doesn't feel like one. This doesn't feel like when Tommy pestered her to go to prom. It doesn't feel like any of the times the girls in gym used to goad her into laughing along with them only to snap at her to eat shit as soon as she actually did.
Maybe she's wrong; maybe he is a believer and God is telling him to take her under his wing. She opens her mouth to ask him a question and then realizes how stupid it will sound and her mouth closes again with a click of her teeth. If he is trying to trick her and she asks him what do friends do, exactly...? since Carrie has no idea, that will be his open door to humiliate her and Carrie doesn't think she can handle it if Eddie, of all people, does that to her. Instead, she goes with, "really?" and it comes out a little more nervous and wary than the playful tone she'd been trying to convey.
They're going to laugh at you, Carrie. They're all going to laugh at you.
"What about your other friends?" she asks, lowering her voice shyly. "What if they don't like me? Most people don't like me, Eddie..." she confesses, sounding more apologetic than embarrassed or hurt. She's almost numb to it at this point in her life. Almost.
Eddie raises his eyebrows in surprise when Carrie mentions her scriptures. If only because most people their age would be too embarrassed to talk about the bible at school. He wants to tell her that he's probably the last person she should be talking to, but then again, she wasn't talking to anyone, so he thinks God will allow it. He hears one of the boys laugh and his expression darkens as he shoots them a warning look and snaps his fingers in their direction to get them to shut up. The rest of them at least have the presence of mind to try to hide their smiles by shoving food in their mouths or turning their heads.
It's difficult to assess just how much damage has been done, but at least she's still somewhat looking him in the eye. That was more than what he's managed over the last few days of watching her around school. He's about to wave off her concerns about the others but she goes on and he feels his protective streak double down. He puts his elbow on the table and props his chin in it, looking at her directly. "I like you," he says, grinning at her. "And as leader of this rag tag group, I command that everyone else must like you too, upon pain of death."
Inspiration strikes and he lowers his voice, leaning in even further. "To tell you the truth, this group of lost boys could use a Wendy Darling. You can sew our shadows back on when we lose them. At least, just at lunch. We've got the extra chair just sitting here waiting for you. What could it hurt?"
It hardly surprises Carrie to see the way his expression shifts just so when she mentions her scriptures. Over the years, she's gotten used to that. Most people back in Maine knew her mother and they knew all about how strictly religious they both are, perhaps her mother is a bit too much so. But seeing it anew in a place where nobody knows, yet, the kind of person Margaret White is still stings a little bit more than she'd like to admit. Oh well, she supposes, might as well put it out in the open and have him reject her now rather than finding out later when she inevitably slips up in conversation and having him reject her after she's had a taste of acceptance.
Her eyes shift downward to the hands she's unwittingly started wringing in her lap when she hears his friend laugh, not shame but intense sadness washing over her. She's past feeling shame for her love of God. Hearing Eddie snap his fingers draws her attention back up to his face, not immediately realizing that he's not actually snapping at her.
Carrie feels her stomach somersault when he shifts his position again, the somehow pleasantly unpleasant scent of stale cigarettes reaching her nostrils again as he maintains eye contact with her, something that makes her both a little elated and incredibly uncomfortable at the same time. He says he likes her and Carrie wonders how he can know that, but it sounds so foreign and feels so nice to hear that she can't help letting herself ignore that thought to allow herself the tiny, insanely rare luxury of feeling uplifted, if even just a little bit.
In spite of herself, a little smile tugs at the corners of her mouth again, even as she draws more deeply into herself physically. It's a dubious one but there's still a sliver of hope in her eyes. That's one thing Carrie might never learn, actually; to give up the hope of acceptance because it doesn't truly exist for her and it never did.
She finds herself, in spite of the almost nauseating level of fluttering in her stomach, leaning forward as well, a tiny grin making itself known. She doesn't understand the reference and assumes it must be a Dungeons and Dragons thing she hasn't gotten to, yet. "Is she part of your game?" Carrie asks, her voice lowered conspiratorially to match his, eyes alight with the possibility of learning something she hasn't gotten to in her own 'research' of the subject just yet; with the implication of inclusion just by virtue of the framing of his sentence. "You really don't think they'll mind if I come sit with you? I don't want to cause problems or make anyone upset."
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He hears a snort from behind him and whips his head around to glare at Grant. The grin on his face disappears and he focuses on eating his lunch, while the others watch with varying levels of amusement and discomfort.
He turns his attention back to Carrie, pressing his lips together, his expression softening. "No, it's not taken. It's for you." He shifts, hopping off the table and pulling out a chair near her. He leaves one between them so that he might be a little less threatening, leaning over it to talk to her. "You're in Beckman's Biology class, right?"
"Hey, Freak! Is that your mail-order-bride?" Eddie shoots the finger in the direction the shout came from without even looking in their direction.
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Seventeen years of being conditioned to flinch at everything, she supposes, is a lot to work against.
Carrie's eyes dart over to survey the rest of his group when she hears one of them snort back a laugh. Carrie's eyes start to prickle but she's become expert at holding back her urge to cry over the years, so she only barely registers the sensation before blinking it back easily enough.
Her brows crease with reproach when his expression softens to something she's fairly certain she's never actually seen on his face before and he tells her that the seat is for her, which...well. That makes no sense, so it must be a trick. Carrie watches him almost warily as he hops off the table and pulls out a chair to sit down almost, but not quite, beside her. She can't decide if he's messing with her or genuinely asking. He knows she's in Beckman's Biology class; she sits two rows over from him. Or, well. Maybe he doesn't. Maybe she's that forgettable. That's possible. If God is kind, it's definitely possible.
Carrie nods almost imperceptibly and opens her mouth to verbally confirm when she hears someone shouting at him — or her? No, him, definitely him because they're talking about her, she realizes — and her eyes dart in the direction of the sound. Within the amount of time it takes Eddie to flip them the bird, Carrie spots a group of boys a few tables over, all wearing their letter jackets and surrounded by food they seem to be treating as communal.
She wants to believe that Eddie is nice. He seems nice. He's the only person so far who has said a single word to her besides a teacher, so far, so maybe he is. Between being flustered by his presence, flustered by being caught peeking at him, flustered by the jerk in the letterman jacket, Carrie gives into reflex.
The cap of the 20-ounce bottle of Coca-Cola the blonde boy who appears to be the group's leader is holding pops off with a loud crack, spraying pop into the air in a sugary, caramel-colored geizer of foam and liquid, causing shrieks from a couple of the cheerleaders who had been sitting at the table with the boys, not to mention the angry roar of surprise from the blonde boy with the bottle in hand. The rest of them burst out laughing at his misfortune as a pretty cheerleader with her hair drawn back from her face in a ponytail rushes to pat almost uselessly at his sopping letter jacket front with a wad of napkins. Carrie has to press her lips together against the urge to look smug when she has no place to do so.
Then, she turns her attention back to Eddie. "You don't have to talk to me, you know," she offers, wanting to give him an easy out. She knows it's embarrassing to be seen with her. At least, at Chamberlain High, she'd known it. Godspeed to anyone who was unlucky enough to be assigned to be her lab partner, after all, and every last one of them over the years made it abundantly clear that they'd rather be anywhere but there. "Then they won't make fun of you."
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He breaks out into a broad grin and shakes his head. "Oh, my sweet little baby girl, they don't need a new excuse to make fun of me." He leans in and lowers his voice conspiratorially. "That's where the genius of being a freak lies. Their teasing isn't about you anymore, it's about me. They're obsessed with me and they don't even know it." He reaches up to flick his hair and gestures to his clothes. "My hair, my clothes, my personality. They can't wrap their tiny little minds around it. It's almost flattering, really. But really, it's just beating them to the punch. They can't hurt me if I don't give a shit."
He leans back slightly in his chair. "Also, I don't do things I don't want to do. Thus the third year senior. Thus, I'm not talking to you because I have to, but because I want to. But if you don't want to talk to me, that's okay too."
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Out of her nervous habit, Carrie clutches at her cross necklace as he leans in closer before tossing his hair, and she tucks it surreptitiously under her collar because he's wearing his Hellfire shirt and he's talking to her and she can smell a mix of cigarette smoke, Irish Spring, and Old Spice on him and she doesn't want him to leave. Her cross tends to keep people away, she's learned.
Carrie finds herself worrying at her bottom lip with her teeth and the tiniest hum of a giggle escapes her when he declares that their 'obsession' with him — now, that word choice brings another deep flush into her skin — is flattering. There's something akin to hero-worship or maybe it's awe glittering in her eyes as she watches him say his peace. It must be so nice to feel like that. It must be so liberating not to care what anyone else thinks, if he really means that and he isn't just saying it.
But she feels the ghost of a smile slipping when he says he's talking to her because he wants to be. Tommy said that, too. She's not sure she believes it, even now. Carrie's eyes drift over Eddie's shoulder to the snickering boys ranging from freshman upward watching them, and then she looks back at Eddie with uncertainty. "...why?" she asks. "I mean, why do you want to talk to me?" Carrie pauses before adding, "nobody else does," less he think it a personal attack when she doesn't mean it that way.
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His grin fades and his expression grows serious as he regards her. "Because you're way more interesting than most of the meatheads here. And because I know what it feels like to be the new kid and to feel like no one wants to talk to me." Eddie leans back in his chair and crosses his arms. "You know, when I moved here it was in the middle of middle school. I ate by myself for months before someone took pity on me." He straightens up. "Not that this is pity. But you looked like you could use some company. Unless you've got a problem with talking to the resident freak?" He gives her a crooked grin. "I promise I don't bite."
"Unless you want me to."
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A part of her is disappointed when he leans back in his chair, one last waft of soap and smoke washing over her before dissipating in his wake. He tells her he knows what it feels like to be the new kid, which is reassuring, to be sure. Moreover, he corrects himself when he mentions pity. Carrie doesn't need or want that. In fact, she has a feeling that pity is why Tommy asked her to prom in the first place and she hates that idea. She doesn't want that to carry over to Hawkins High School and she certainly doesn't want her new secret obsession to talk to her because he pities her.
Another tiny smile starts to tug up at the corners of her mouth, even though her expression is still a little confused at the comment about her wanting him to bite — what sense does that make? Why would anyone want to be bitten? — and she finds her body shifting into its reflexive curled-into-itself state, her hair hanging in limp waves on either side of her face and her shoulders hunched as she looks back up at him.
"You're the resident freak here?" she asks, incredulously, her eyes shifting to the group of boys at the other end of the table, most of whom have quieted and are trying not to be seen watching the conversation Eddie is having with her. She looks back at him again. "I think you have too many friends to be the freak," she challenges meekly, her cheeks warming and going pink as another little smile creeps up on her.
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He huffs a laugh and looks back at Carrie with a wide grin. "That's because they're all freaks too," he says. He makes a show of raising his voice, even though he knows they're all already listening. "Raise your hand if you're a freak and proud of it."
Five hands raise and the boys give Carrie smiles that range from proud to friendly. "I know traditionally freaks are supposed to be lone wolves," Eddie says, opening his hands in front of her as if he's conceding her point. "But around here I've made it a team sport. We play a little game called Dungeons and Dragons. It requires more than one player."
"Though, I do have rights on the moniker. Guess that makes me King Freak, but you can just call me Eddie. No need to bow or anything."
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Her eyes shift back away from his face and down the table to the other boys, all of whom raise their hands and smile back at her. Carrie's face grows hot and she's sure she must be beet red under the eyes of six boys — Momma would be so angry right now... — and she can't help herself from giving them all a shy smile back. Then, Eddie starts to speak again and her attention shifts once more. "Dungeons and Dragons?" she asks dumbly in spite of the fact that she knows plenty about it. Momma would never let her play it. Never in a million years.
In spite of herself, as he tells her that she can call him Eddie and she doesn't need to bow to the King Freak, Carrie giggles and tilts her head just so, hiding her burning cheeks behind a curtain of blond curls. After a beat, she looks back up, still smiling in spite of herself. It feels surreal having his attention and feeling like he isn't trying to trick her. She believes him. She's not sure why, but she believes him. "Eddie, then," she agrees quietly, her shoulders relaxing a little, although not entirely.
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He thinks that might be edging too close to teasing her when she's obviously sensitive and he quickly shifts topics. "What do you like to do when you're not stuck here making your torturous way through school?"
She has a really pretty smile and for a moment he can see what the frumpy clothes and curtain of hair is supposed to hide. He knows more than ever that she needs his help, whether she knows it or not. Once the girls see her possibilities they're either going to eat her alive or give her the cold shoulder. And the boys are going to be even more merciless in their teasing if they know how pretty she is. He feels a sudden protective urge hit him. "Carrie," he says, grinning back at her. "Something tells me we should be friends."
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She realizes belatedly that he's asked her a question and she asks, "hmm?" as her brain processes it. "Oh, um...I don't know. I mostly just...read my scriptures. But I like sewing..." she offers lamely, feeling her smile start to fade with embarrassment. Boys don't like sewing and Eddie doesn't look like the Bible-reading type.
At his comment, Carrie shifts a little, looking up at him through her eyelashes, head starting to bow almost reflexively. The cognitive dissonance is almost maddening because this seems like a trick, but it doesn't feel like one. This doesn't feel like when Tommy pestered her to go to prom. It doesn't feel like any of the times the girls in gym used to goad her into laughing along with them only to snap at her to eat shit as soon as she actually did.
Maybe she's wrong; maybe he is a believer and God is telling him to take her under his wing. She opens her mouth to ask him a question and then realizes how stupid it will sound and her mouth closes again with a click of her teeth. If he is trying to trick her and she asks him what do friends do, exactly...? since Carrie has no idea, that will be his open door to humiliate her and Carrie doesn't think she can handle it if Eddie, of all people, does that to her. Instead, she goes with, "really?" and it comes out a little more nervous and wary than the playful tone she'd been trying to convey.
They're going to laugh at you, Carrie. They're all going to laugh at you.
"What about your other friends?" she asks, lowering her voice shyly. "What if they don't like me? Most people don't like me, Eddie..." she confesses, sounding more apologetic than embarrassed or hurt. She's almost numb to it at this point in her life. Almost.
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It's difficult to assess just how much damage has been done, but at least she's still somewhat looking him in the eye. That was more than what he's managed over the last few days of watching her around school. He's about to wave off her concerns about the others but she goes on and he feels his protective streak double down. He puts his elbow on the table and props his chin in it, looking at her directly. "I like you," he says, grinning at her. "And as leader of this rag tag group, I command that everyone else must like you too, upon pain of death."
Inspiration strikes and he lowers his voice, leaning in even further. "To tell you the truth, this group of lost boys could use a Wendy Darling. You can sew our shadows back on when we lose them. At least, just at lunch. We've got the extra chair just sitting here waiting for you. What could it hurt?"
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Her eyes shift downward to the hands she's unwittingly started wringing in her lap when she hears his friend laugh, not shame but intense sadness washing over her. She's past feeling shame for her love of God. Hearing Eddie snap his fingers draws her attention back up to his face, not immediately realizing that he's not actually snapping at her.
Carrie feels her stomach somersault when he shifts his position again, the somehow pleasantly unpleasant scent of stale cigarettes reaching her nostrils again as he maintains eye contact with her, something that makes her both a little elated and incredibly uncomfortable at the same time. He says he likes her and Carrie wonders how he can know that, but it sounds so foreign and feels so nice to hear that she can't help letting herself ignore that thought to allow herself the tiny, insanely rare luxury of feeling uplifted, if even just a little bit.
In spite of herself, a little smile tugs at the corners of her mouth again, even as she draws more deeply into herself physically. It's a dubious one but there's still a sliver of hope in her eyes. That's one thing Carrie might never learn, actually; to give up the hope of acceptance because it doesn't truly exist for her and it never did.
She finds herself, in spite of the almost nauseating level of fluttering in her stomach, leaning forward as well, a tiny grin making itself known. She doesn't understand the reference and assumes it must be a Dungeons and Dragons thing she hasn't gotten to, yet. "Is she part of your game?" Carrie asks, her voice lowered conspiratorially to match his, eyes alight with the possibility of learning something she hasn't gotten to in her own 'research' of the subject just yet; with the implication of inclusion just by virtue of the framing of his sentence. "You really don't think they'll mind if I come sit with you? I don't want to cause problems or make anyone upset."