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The rain poured relentlessly over Hawkins, turning the quiet town into a gray blur of wet pavement and streetlights. A young Eleven stood outside the grand Hawkins Plaza, her tiny hands gripping the frayed edges of her mother's coat. The world seemed impossibly large, but her mother's soft voice had always mad it feel small, smooth, and warm.
"Stay close to me, El," Joyce murmured, crouching down to meet her daughter's eyes. Her smile was tired but reassuring. "No matter what happens in there, remember--you're special. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise."
Eleven nodded silently, her big brown eyes wide with wonder as she stared with wonder at the luxurious entrance. Through the glass doors, a glittering crowd of impeccably dressed socialites and fashion designers mingled in the lobby. Her mother was here to beg for a chance to show her designs--a dream Joyce had nurtured for years despite the odds stacked against her for years.
But Eleven's excitement quickly turned to unease when the imposing figure of Max Mayfield swept into view. Max, a rising star in the Hawkins fashion world, was dressed in a sharp crimson suit that seemed to catch the light just right. Her smile was as cold as the rain outside.
"Well, well, Joyce Byers," Max drawled, her voice dripping in mockery. "You showed up. I'll admit, I'm impressed. Most people don't bother trying to challenge me."
"I'm not here to challenge you, Max," Joyce said, her tone calm but firm. "I'm here for an opportunity. Just one chance to show you what I can do."
Max raised an eyebrow, her icy gaze briefly flicking to Eleven. "Is this your little helper?" She said as she knelt at Eleven's height. Max pinched on Eleven's cheeks as she nervously hid behind her mother. "She's... scrappy."
Eleven's fists clenched, but Joyce placed a steadying hand on her shoulder. "My daughter is brilliant," Joyce said sharply. "And she's going to grow up in a world where women like you don't get to decide who succeeds and who doesn't."
Max got up and dusted herself off, smirking unpleasantly. "How noble." She gestured to her valet, Steve Harrington, who stood awkwardly in the background, holding an umbrella. "Take care of them, Steve. I don't have time for charity cases tonight."
Steve hesitated, glancing between Joyce and Eleven. "Uh, sure, Max. Right away."
As Max disappeared into the crowd, Joyce turned to Steve. "Please," she said quietly. "I just need her to look at my designs. Just for a moment."
Steve looked torn. "I can't promise anything, ma'am, but... I'll try."
He gave a quick nod to Eleven, a flicker of sympathy in his eyes, before disappearing after Max.
LATER THAT NIGHT
Hours later, the rain had eased, but the storm inside El's heart had only grown fiercer.
They'd waited for what felt like forever, but Joyce's sketches were dismissed without a second glance. It wasn't just rejection--it was humiliation. Eleven watched as her mother held her head high, refusing to cry even as they walked back into the rain.
"You're still brilliant, Mom," Eleven said quietly, her voice still angry at Max.
Joyce smiled, her eyes glistening, "And so are you, my sweet girl. One day, you'll show them all."
As they reached the car, a sudden screech of tires shattered the stillness. Eleven turned just in time to see Max's sleek black car racing toward them, her driver failing to stop in time,
Joyce shoved Eleven out of the way with a scream, but the car hot her with brutal force, sending her crumpling to the ground.
"Mom!" Eleven cried, scrambling to her side.