TRIGGER WARNING: This chapter deals with feelings of intense grief, guilt, and anxiety. Please proceed with caution.

The next morning, Nancy was waiting for Christine at the bike rack.

"Did they call you?" she asked at once, before Christine could even dismount. "They called you too, right?"

"Yes, they called me," Christine sighed. "They called last night while I was at the arcade. Dad told me when I got back."

"Dinner tonight?"

"Dinner tonight."

Nancy nodded and anxiously began picking at her lip. Christine couldn't blame her; she'd been counting her breaths all morning to stave off her impending panic attack.

While she'd been enjoying her time at the arcade, her father had gotten a phone call from the Hollands—a concerning phone call wherein Mrs. Holland's voice trembled and she sniffled between each sentence. She hadn't given any details, just said that the Walcotts and the Wheelers should all come over for dinner the next night. There was an update about Barbara.

Even if Christine hadn't known what was coming, it would have been a punch to the gut. Crying meant bad news and dinner tomorrow meant worse news; it meant news that wasn't time sensitive, wasn't changing, wasn't going anywhere. Thankfully, it also meant that when Christine broke down in tears, her father didn't question it.

It was another sleepless night. Part of it was the guilt, but most of it was fear. What would Hawkins Lab do now that the Hollands knew the truth? How much of the truth did they know? Did they know at all, or was this a ploy by the government to lure Christine and Nancy into a trap? To lock their families up for breaking their NDAs so they wouldn't be able to cause any more trouble?

No, Christine didn't sleep at all after that. She sat inside the blanket fort, eyes bouncing between the window and the door, one hand on her walkie, the other on the hammer she'd snuck out of the garage. Logically, it wouldn't make any sense to abduct her in the night if they were setting a trap, but at two o'clock in the morning, logic had been a far-off thought.

So it was exhausted and delirious that Christine arrived at school. At least Nancy didn't look any better.

"Did you talk to them?" Christine asked as they proceeded into the building.

"Not for long," Nancy answered softly. "Her mom was…wrecked. I tried to ask what happened, but all she would say was that they'd gotten an update from the reporter."

"And it—" Christine paused to look up and down the hall before lowering her voice. "—it's not in the papers yet, right?"

"No way. Any journalist that got the story would have to do a ton of research first—fact checking, following up on claims, verifying sources—and if people were asking about Barb again, we would've heard it by now. I—I'm sure of it."

Nancy didn't sound sure of it at all. She held her books to her chest in a death grip, eyes fixed on the floor. Christine bumped into her shoulder with her best attempt at a smile.

"Hey, you're right. The Hawkins rumor mill works fast and, even if they'd just called the station, Hop would've given us the heads up."

"Hop?" Nancy repeated, cracking a grin as they reached Christine's locker. "So he's Hop now? Not Chief, not Hopper, not The Eye of whatever you—"

"Sauron. God, forget I said anything."

"No, no! I think it's good you're…I don't know…working things out. He's letting you see her, right?"

"Once every other week," Christine confirmed, "provided I let him know in advance and I come on a different day of the week so that no one can track my patterns. And if I have anything that I want to give her, I can leave it in his truck on Monday nights."

"Can't you just…call her on the radio? Hopper does, right?"

"Yeah, but he won't tell me what frequency he's using."

Nancy narrowed her eyes. "…Why not?"

"Oh, I'd have way too much power over him then," Christine said brightly. "He's already terrified we're gonna tell Mike where he lives and the party's gonna storm the cabin. If I could tell them how to call Eleven, he'd never get radio silence ever again."

It was enough to earn a laugh from Nancy, and Christine grinned with pride. It didn't erase the dismal mood of the morning, the dread of knowing what awaited them at the end of the school day—but for now, it made Christine feel a little lighter. There was nothing either of them could do to change what was coming; they just had to get through it, together.

"Speaking of the boys," Christine continued, trying to keep the mood light as they headed for Nancy's locker, "is there anything you want to tell me?"

"What?" Nancy frowned in confusion. "Um…no? Not that I know of?"

"Really? So you don't know anything about Dustin showing up to Steve's house yesterday and inviting him to arcade night?"

It was fast, but Christine caught Nancy's smirk just before she was able to smother it.

"No," she said firmly. "Christine, I promise I did not know about that."

"Right. And you thought Mike was asking for Steve's address for shits and giggles?"

"I didn't know it had anything to do with you."

"And you telling Steve to 'get back out there' and 'find someone who makes him happy,' that also had nothing to do with me."

Nancy had the decency to look at least a little bashful.

"Okay, maybe I had an agenda with that one…"

"Yeah," Christine scoffed. "No shit."

"So…you two talked?"

"Yes, we talked, and I told him that he shouldn't get back out there yet, because he's hurt and he's been through a lot."

"Chrissy—"

"No, seriously, Nance, you're—you're always doing this. When you were with Steve, you were trying to set me up with Jonathan, and now that you're with Jonathan, you're trying to set me up with Steve."

"Okay, I'm not with Jonathan—"

"You're not with Jonathan yet. The point is that you feel guilty for cheating on Steve and you're trying to fix things by rushing everyone along. I know that you don't want to see Steve upset, and you're trying to take care of him, but he needs to be upset first. If you shove him into another relationship before he has a chance to deal with anything, he's just gonna hurt someone else. You can't just throw me to him like a life preserver and hope for the best."

Nancy didn't have anything to say to that. She kept lips pressed together in a bitter smile, turning her head away so Christine would see less of the hurt in her eyes. Even then, it made Christine's shoulders sag with guilt. So much for keeping the mood light.

"Sorry," she sighed as Nancy began fiddling with her locker. "I know you're not doing it on purpose, but…"

"I know." Nancy's voice was soft as she stared into the depths of her locker. "Trust me, I—I know how badly I screwed up. And you were right. About Jonathan. I felt so guilty for liking him and, even if I didn't realize it, I think…I was hoping it would be easier to let go if he wasn't single. If he was dating someone I knew was good for him. But with Steve…Chrissy, it's not the same thing."

"How is it not the same thing?"

"Well, for one, it's not some stupid attempt to resist temptation or whatever, but more importantly—" she paused and turned to Christine "—because I wasn't the one who brought it up."

Christine blinked at her, leaning against the wall. "What?"

"I didn't bring it up," Nancy repeated. "Steve asked me."

"Steve asked you what?"

"If it was okay to date you."

"Oh, bullshit, Nancy—"

"No! Chrissy, I swear. Okay, he—he didn't say it like that, but—"

"Then what did he say?" Christine demanded.

Nancy sighed, looking conflicted. She hurried to pull her books from her locker, shoved them into her bag, and slammed the door shut. Then, looping her arm through Christine's, Nancy pulled her close and started down the hall again.

"We talked for a long time on Sunday," she began. "Most of it was me apologizing, trying to explain myself, and then apologizing again, but…Steve handled it really well. I think he knew what was coming, even before Halloween. I mean, we'd been fighting so much and he could tell I was pulling away, which is why—"

"Nancy," Christine interrupted, "I love you, but you told me this already."

"Not all of it. This was like the first time Steve and I have talked—like really talked in…God, I don't know how long, and it's because I wanted him to know that, even if I'm not in love with him, I still love him, you know? I love Steve and I love you and—and you're my friends. And maybe it's selfish to say it now, but…I don't want to lose my friend because I messed up."

Her arm tightened around Christine's, who abstained from answering. Nancy was her best friend, and she'd decided last year that she wouldn't let anything jeopardize that—their friendship was too important to her—but that didn't mean she wasn't upset. She could love Nancy with her whole heart and still disapprove of her actions; after all, Steve was her best friend too.

"How'd he take it?" she asked at last, and Nancy laughed weakly.

"Better than I deserved."

"Nance—"

"But that's not the point. Right before he left, he stopped and said that…that he had this great friend, crazy smart, who said something that stuck with him: that all anyone wants is someone who can be their friend. Someone who notices when they're sad, and remembers what they like, and understands everything they've been through. And he said that he could see how that worked, with me and Jonathan, and that lately…he'd been thinking the same thing. That he needed someone who would be his friend. Like, his best friend."

Nancy gave Christine a pointed look, which made her roll her eyes. "Okay, I didn't say it like that. I was talking to Dustin about—"

"Of course, I wasn't sure that was what he was talking about," Nancy dismissed over her interruption. "So I just said I wanted that for him too. Then he said the problem was that he…didn't have a lot of friends. And the last thing he wanted was to lose one friend because he was close with another. That…that he didn't want to lose me either."

Nancy smiled somberly at the tile under her feet, but before Christine summoned the words to console her, she had already pulled herself together.

"Anyway, I told him that I also have this crazy smart friend who's great at giving prolific advice, and that she'd once told me that if something made me happy, I should go for it, and she wasn't going to be the thing to stand in my way. So if he found someone who made him happy, and I knew how much that person liked him too, then…I would support them. One hundred percent."

Christine shook her head, hoping it might redirect the blood that was rushing to her cheeks. "And all this just slipped your mind during our three-hour phone call?"

"I didn't know if he was ready to tell you," Nancy replied with a shrug. "See? I'm not rushing anyone. I'm just excited to see where it goes."

"Yeah, well, I hate to break it to you, but it's not going anywhere. I'm not gonna do that to you, Nancy."

"Last year, you told me—"

"Last year was different!" said Christine, half laughing in disbelief. "Last year, Steve was just some guy I had a crush on. This is your first long-term relationship, your boyfriend of a year. This is so different."

"What happened to 'you can't always put other people first'?" Nancy challenged.

"No. With you, that's—"

"It's not different. You feel guilty for liking Steve because you feel like you're betraying me or something, just like I felt guilty for liking Jonathan because it wasn't fair to Steve. But if you like Steve and Steve likes you—what did you say to me? It's better than both of you being half-happy forever?"

Christine couldn't swallow her scoff; the idea that Steve would be unhappy for the rest of his life if she turned him down was ludicrous at best. This was Steve Harrington they were talking about. Half the people in school wanted to date him, and once he got out into the real world beyond Hawkins, he'd be unstoppable. She wasn't sure why she was the only one who seemed to understand that.

Before she could solidify her argument in words, they'd arrived at homeroom. Christine marched to her desk, trying to shove the whole conversation from her mind, until Nancy's hand pushed into her line of vision.

"Hey," she said, gently resting a hand on Christine's arm. "I'm not trying to push you or—tell you want to do. Hell, I'm not even saying it's a good idea. All I'm saying is that…it's your decision, and whatever you do, I'll still be here. Maybe it's time for you to make a few mistakes for yourself, instead of just judging mine."

Nancy gave her a teasing smile, which was enough to make Christine's lips twitch upward. "I will…take it under advisement."

"That's all I ask," said Nancy.

Thankfully, she didn't push the subject any further than that.

Still, the first few periods of the school day were nothing short of agony for Christine. Her English class was barely tolerable on a normal day, but knowing she'd be going to Hollands' for dinner made it completely unbearable. Whenever she thought about Barb for too long, she'd distract herself by thinking about Steve. Whenever she thought about Steve, she felt guilty for not thinking about Barb. She wanted to think about something else entirely, but somehow, the same two subjects kept pulling her back, like super-magnets affecting the electromagnetic field of her thoughts.

She'd blame the same magnets for the way her feet carried her to the gym instead of the library before study hall. She'd left class early after speeding through another test, though she was hopeful this one went better than the last. The gymnasium with still echoing with the thumps of basketballs, so Christine made herself comfortable in what was becoming her usual spot: sitting on the floor, back to the tiger mural, legs kicked out in front of her, headphones pulled over her ears so she could blast her Walkman, watching the wheels of the tape spin round and round…

For the first time all morning, her thoughts strayed in a different direction. Bob had sold her this Walkman. She'd had it for a few years now, and she took good care of it. She knew how to clean the tape heads and the headphone jack; Bob had even shown her how to fix it if one of the simpler parts needed to be replaced. But no matter how careful she was, eventually, it was going to break. She'd need to buy a new one, and where would she go then? Would Radio Shack just find a new manager? How long would they wait before Bob was declared dead? It had been over a year since Barb went missing, and her family was only getting answers now. Was anyone out there waiting for the truth about Bob Newby?

Christine was jolted out of her thoughts as a shadow crossed in front of her—one heavy, black boot planted on either side of her legs. Her heart froze in her chest at the sight. Clearly, she needed to find a new usual spot.

"Billy," she choked out as she scrambled to her feet. "I uh…didn't know you were back."

"Yup," he replied, popping the p at the end of the word.

Christine tensed, prepared to block any incoming attack, but Billy just stood there, hands in his pockets, smirking at her as if he didn't have a care in the world.

She took the chance to scan his features. They weren't nearly as damaged as Steve's, but it was clear Billy had been in a fight. There were healing bruises along his eyebrows and chin, and a butterfly bandage stuck out from under his bangs. It seemed that a few of his cuts were still healing, but Christine was too nervous to get a better look. The last time he'd spoken to her, he'd been spitting out blood, but the way he was smirking at her, it was as if the last week and a half had never happened.

Billy was giving her a similar once over, jutting his chin out to indicate her cheek. "You're healing up nice. Wish I could say the same for Harrington."

"Do you?"

That made him laugh; Christine wished she was being cheeky. The truth was, Billy was so bafflingly wild that she had no idea what he was thinking. It seemed like plain sarcasm, but if he turned around and said he was genuinely bummed Steve's face was so damaged, she might've believed him. It was one of the things that made him so unsettling.

Billy ran one thumb along his other lip, his other hand coming to rest on the wall beside Christine's head. "You know, you did a number on me too. Course, not enough to put me in the hospital, but…"

He gave her a pointed look. Despite the danger in his eyes, Christine felt herself relax as she finally realized his angle.

"I didn't start that rumor," she said confidently.

"Ha, well, you certainly didn't stop it."

"This is Hawkins, Billy. People talk because they don't have anything better to do. You can't exactly stop a rumor in a town like this."

"What about the truth?"

He took a menacing step forward, and Christine backed herself into the wall. It took all her energy to keep her voice steady as she echoed, "The truth?"

"Yeah. The truth." He grinned, lowering his voice as he leaned closer to her. "See, here's what we're gonna say. I ran into you on Sunday, we hit it off, and just as things were getting steamy, Harrington got his panties in a twist because he didn't like me stealing his one and only fangirl. We duked it out, you got in the way a few times, and I split town before one of you goody two shoes could call the cops. And the next time some limp-dick like Tommy H asks you what happened last week, that's what you're gonna tell him, otherwise I'll make sure Harrington's pretty face never gets back to normal. You feel me, sweetheart?"

The threat couldn't have been clearer, but Billy was still giving her that signature, impish smile. His eyes twinkled with the same mischief they had when he'd invited her over for the night, even as he talked about permanently disfiguring someone. It made a chill shoot down Christine's spine; the same one she felt when the lights flickered for too long, when there was a hiccup in the radio static, when she heard the familiar gurgle and screech of a Demogorgon…

But she'd beaten the Demogorgon. She'd helped kill it, and she'd killed a few Demodogs too. If she could survive that, she wasn't going to let a stuck-up bully be the thing that took her down.

"No."

Christine lifted her chin in defiance as Billy blinked at her.

"No?" he repeated, his smirk spreading wider.

"No." She pushed off the wall, shoving Billy back a step when he didn't move to accommodate her. "I think Max made herself pretty clear, but just in case I left a piece of plastic in your brain, I'll repeat this: you don't touch Steve, you don't touch Max, you don't touch me. And if I even catch you looking at Lucas Sinclair ever again, I'll skip the personal beat down and go straight to the part where I sic the cops on your ass. My dad is friends with Chief Hopper and—ha, trust me—he is exactly the type of asshole to let you rot in holding for a few days just for talking back. So no, Billy. I'm not gonna tell Tommy shit. You can tell people whatever you want, but you're not gonna stand there threaten me into doing it for you. You feel me, sweetheart?"

Billy's smile was long gone now. He took an aggressive step forward, growling when Christine refused to let him gain any ground.

"Listen, bitch, I—"

"Ahem."

Billy froze mid-step, his eyes flicking over Christine's shoulder; someone had evidently rounded the corner to join their conversation. Christine wished she could see who it was, but she was too on edge to take her eyes off Billy. She wouldn't put it past him to jump her, even in broad daylight outside the gym.

But, at the very least, Billy wasn't stupid enough to hit her with an audience. He took a cool step back from her, glaring at the intruder, then stalked down the hallway without looking back. Christine waited a few more seconds after he rounded the corner before she turned away.

"Hey, thanks—"

She cut herself short, surprised to find Nicole standing behind her, arms folded over her chest and sporting her own expectant smirk.

"No need to thank me," she said with a shrug. "I was just going to the bathroom. This was way more interesting."

"Right." Christine grimaced. "How long were you standing there?"

"Long enough to get the picture. Certainly explains a few things."

"And I don't suppose we could keep this between us."

"God, no. I'm still telling everyone you hospitalized him though. It's way funnier that way."

Christine expected Nicole to strut away the way Billy had, leaving her to deal with the dread of the rumor mill; instead, Nicole grinned and walked over to the tiger mural, propping her back against the stone and making herself comfortable. At a loss, Christine joined her.

"I didn't sleep with him."

It was stupid, but for some reason, Christine felt like that was the most important thing to establish. Nicole surprised her again by waving off her concern.

"Yeah, I wouldn't worry about that. No one's gonna believe that shit, not with your reputation."

"…Psycho Bitch…?"

"Ha, no—not that one." Nicole smiled, somehow managing to seem genuine and patronizing at the same time. "Look, say what you will about Tommy—he's a total pig, I get it—but you can thank him for one thing. He's been joking about you and Harrington for so long that no one at this school is gonna believe you slept with Billy."

Christine scoffed. "Wow. Thanks, that—that makes me feel loads better."

"I guess you could've been trying to make Steve jealous," Nicole mused as if Christine hadn't interrupted, "but after everything with Nancy that's not exactly your style. Steve starting the fight, that'll probably still stick. In the end, it boils down to Billy hitting on you and Steve going off the deep end. Maybe he was jealous, maybe he was being protective—it's actually better to leave it up to interpretation."

Nicole stared thoughtfully into space, oblivious to Christine fidgeting uncomfortably beside her. She knew the rumor mill with ruthless, but it was unsettling to watch Nicole at work, testing different stories to see what would be the most compelling. It was like she was the lead editor of the school's verbal newspaper.

"Well then," Christine said bitterly. "It sounds like you have it all figured out."

"Almost," Nicole agreed, turning back to her. "I do have one question: did he do that on purpose?"

She nodded to Christine's cheek, where her bruises were still fading. Christine might've been affronted, but there were no teasing smirks or patronizing smiles now. Nicole was deadly serious as she waited for an answer.

"Um…some of it," Christine admitted cautiously.

Nicole nodded. "That's all I need to know."

She offered Christine another odd smile; Christine was almost afraid to ask what that meant.

Before she could decide one way or another, the doors at the end of the hallway slammed open, Tina and Carol tumbling inside with a gust of November wind, both hurrying to fix their curls and fanning away the last wafts of smoke. Carol spotted Nicole at once.

"Geez, there you are! I thought you'd fucked off to—oh." She trailed off as her sharp eyes fell on Christine. "Well, well. What do we have here? Chasing after your boytoy again?"

"Cute," Christine replied flatly.

"Come on, Carol," Nicole interjected. "Haven't you heard? Chrissy here doesn't need to chase anyone. She's the prize of the dog fight."

The metaphor didn't make much sense to Christine, but it immediately captured the other girls' interest. Carol raised a haughty eyebrow while Tina's jaw dropped.

"No way! Are you for real?" She gasped and rounded on Christine. "Wait, so like, Steve and Billy were actually fighting over you?"

"All the way to the hospital, apparently," Nicole giggled.

"Wait, I thought she sent him to the hospital?"

"Wouldn't surprise me," Carol sneered. "Her bite's always been worse than her bark."

Christine wrinkled her nose. "Are you naturally this witty, or do you just sit at home thinking of dog puns? You and Tommy are a real riot."

Carol narrowed her eyes, but before she could snap back, another set of doors slammed open. Steve burst out of the gym in a panic, water dripping from his bangs as he looked frantically around the hall. The moment his eyes landed on Christine, he skidded forward.

"Hey, are you okay?" he asked, grabbing her by the shoulders. "Billy's back and when he left early I…"

Steve trailed off, finally spotting the line of girls watching them with rapt attention. He instantly dropped his hands and took a sheepish step back out of Christine's personal space, which only made everything more awkward. At least when he blushed, he could blame it on gym class. Christine wouldn't have that excuse.

"Well, we'll see you around, Chrissy," Nicole said with a smirk. "And uh…good luck."

She whispered something to Tina and Carol before, in a tirade of giggles, they scurried down the hall. Christine resisted the urge to chase them down. She didn't think anything bad had happened during her conversation with Nicole—at least, from what she could remember—but it still left an anxious knot in the pit of her stomach.

"What was that about?" Steve asked, once she had the courage to turn back to him.

"I don't know. I'll let you know once I figure it out."

"Okay…are you okay?"

"Are you?" she asked with a smirk. "Looks like you skipped the hand drier. Your hair looks awful."

"Chris," he said sternly, "I'm serious. Did Billy see you?"

Christine heaved a sigh. "Yes, he saw me and, yes, I'm okay."

The second part fell on deaf ears as Steve surged forward again.

"Did he say anything? Did he hurt you?"

"Steve, I said I'm fine," Christine insisted. "He just…wasn't happy about the rumor that I hospitalized him. Although I don't think that's going away anytime soon, thanks to Nicole."

Steve's eyes widened in alarm. "Christine—"

"Jesus, I'm fine," Christine laughed, nudging him back. It was easier to be calm about the altercation when Steve's eyes looked ready to fall out of his head. "He wanted me to alter the story, I told him no, and reminded him to leave us alone before I called Hopper on his ass. At least the Chief's good for something, right?"

Steve scoffed, clearly not appreciating her cavalier attitude, but relenting nonetheless. He ushered her down the hall as the next few students trickled out of the gym and, together, they headed off toward the library.

"What about you?" Christine asked. "I only had to deal with him for a minute; you were stuck with him all period. You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," Steve dismissed. "He checked me to the ground a few times during class, but that's about it. Actually kept to himself for once."

"Huh. That must've been a nice change of pace."

Steve chuckled his agreement, rubbing the back of his neck. "Hey, uh…did you know he was back? Like, is that why you came to get me or…?"

He didn't finish the question, but the implication was clear. The truth was that Christine wasn't sure why she'd gone to Steve—instinct, maybe—but she'd been sitting outside the gym long enough to come up with an answer.

"Actually, I just wanted to keep you in the loop about Barb."

"Barb?" Steve frowned. "What happened?"

"Her parents called last night to say they have an update from that PI. Nancy and I are going over for dinner so they can tell us in person."

"Tell you that she…?"

Again, he didn't need to finish.

"Yeah," Christine said softly; she couldn't bring herself to be any more direct. "Along with whatever cover story the reporter landed on. Then it hits the papers and then…"

It was another sentence that trailed off, but this time, it was because there was no real end; she didn't know what came next. Would the public eye be enough to protect Nancy and Jonathan from any repercussions from the lab? Would the government start picking off the others as punishment? Would the lab actually be shut down, or just go to sleep—pretending to be gone the same way they'd pretended Will was gone? Would any of this ever truly be over?

"Is there anything I can do?" Steve asked tentatively.

"I don't think so," Christine replied. "I just wanted to give you the heads up in case people start asking questions again—you know, reporters or whatever. I don't know what they'll do for the funeral, and I know you didn't really know her anyway, so you don't have—"

"Hey, hey—" Steve laid a hand on Christine's arm, pulling her to a stop. "Of course I'm gonna be there. Maybe I didn't know Barb, but…I know her two best friends, and they're both pretty awesome. So, I'll be there with you guys. You don't even have to ask, okay?"

Christine only nodded. It was getting hard to breathe again, and she was worried that if she opened her mouth to thank him, she'd just start crying. Thankfully, Steve seemed to get the gist.

"Come on," he said bracingly. "I've got something that'll definitely make you feel better."

"Oh yeah?" Christine asked with a weak smile.

"Yup. Not to brag, but I happen to be the author of the world's worst college admissions essay. Seriously, somehow I managed to make it worse while I was editing."
Steve moved his hand to her back, rubbing her shoulder gently and steering her into the library while she laughed.

It was a welcome break in the middle of the day. Editing Steve's shitty paper did make Christine feel better, if only because it kept her focused on the present; it was hard to worry about dinner or dating when she was trying to parse out the misshapen, misspelled words in Steve's handwriting. He'd purged all the war metaphors, which left the essay feeling a little light and overly simplistic. It wasn't worse, but it gave them a new set of problems to worry about and a new place to start.

Unfortunately, study hall only lasted so long. Her History class gave her less to think about, and Math even less than that. With each passing period, it was harder to focus on school, each minute bringing her closer to the inevitable. At the end of the day, she biked straight home without waiting for Dustin and, by the time she got inside, felt powerless to do anything but wait.

That was how her dad found her when he returned from work: sitting on the couch, staring blankly at the wall, her unopened backpack at her feet. Christine was thankful that he didn't push. He kissed her on the head and went about his business—changing out of his work clothes, bringing in the mail, starting a load of laundry—letting her rest for as long as she could.

At five forty-five, he sat down next to her on the couch.

"You ready, bumblebee?" he asked gently, patting her on the knee.

Christine tried to respond. Really, she did. When her mouth proved incapable, she shook her head instead, and her father nodded.

"Do you want to stay here? I can call and tell them you're not feeling well, or I can go and—"

"No," she said at once. "No, I can't do that to her."

"Mrs. Holland or Barb?"

Christine lifted her head to look at him. "Either of them."

Her dad closed his eyes for a moment, nodding solemnly, then wrapped an arm around her back to pull her to his side. His hand rubbed soothing circles on her back, his head leaning against hers as they sat together.

"I'm gonna be right there with you," he reminded her. "So will Nancy. And if things get really bad…you can always talk to Ted."

Christine choked out a watery laugh, making her dad smile. He pressed another kiss to her head and squeezed her tight.

"Come on. Time to go."

It was strange, the way that time was misbehaving. As the car sped down the road, Christine watched the trees and houses slide by, all moving a fraction slower than normal, as if the whole world was underwater and there was too much resistance. Even as the world spun in slow motion, they arrived at the Hollands' house in the blink of an eye. It felt like the shortest car ride of Christine's life, but somehow, they were late.

The Wheelers' station wagon was already neatly tucked against the curb. Christine expected them to be inside, but as her father parked the car, the station wagon doors swung open. Nancy was followed by her parents, and the moment Christine's feet touched the pavement, Mrs. Wheeler was pulling her into a hug.

"Oh, sweetheart, I'm so sorry." She squeezed Christine tight, her cheek pressed against her hair. "How are you feeling? Are you okay?"

"I'm okay. You?"

It was a hollow, automatic response—Christine might have felt bad for lying, if she wasn't already so numb—but Mrs. Wheeler seemed to understand that. She pulled back to pat Christine on the cheek, giving her a teary smile.

"Yeah, I'm okay too."

Christine nodded and looked away before she could tear up. Her father was hugging Nancy, rubbing her shoulder in reassurance the same way he'd soothed Christine back at the house. Mr. Wheeler just nodded to Christine and patted her on the back; he seemed worried she might ask for a hug too.

The parents continued through the motions of their hellos—a handshake, a hug, remarks about how long it had been, how was the family. Even as Christine watched, their words slipped in one ear and out the other.

A hand slipped into her own, grounding her to reality. Nancy's lips twitched in a failed smile, which Christine did her best to mirror. They weren't ready, and they never would be—but they were together.

Once they'd exhausted all the small talk, there was nothing left to do but brave the path to the house. Christine and Nancy led the way, still hand in hand, all the way up to the front door. Before they could even ring the doorbell, the door swung open, Mrs. Holland already waiting anxiously for them inside.

"Hi! Hi, everyone! Oh, it's been too long. Come in, come on in—"

She ushered all of them inside with a smile, her cheery demeanor a thin veneer to disguise her puffy eyes. Everyone piled into the front room, Mrs. Holland taking coats while Mr. Holland shook hands, and the small talk started over again.

"Marsha, the house looks amazing," Mrs. Wheeler said graciously. "I can't remember a time my house was ever this clean."

"Oh, I know! It's been keeping me busy," Mrs. Holland replied. "With the house going on the market, and the open house—"

"How was your trip, Pete?" Mr. Holland asked. "Job still sending you all around the country?"

"Ha, only twice a year. Believe it or not, it's a lot less travel than it used to be."

"Still," said Mr. Wheeler, shaking his head, "I mean, New Orleans? I was just telling Karen, you'd have to pay me before—"

It was surreal. The adults seemed content to completely ignore the circumstances of the situation while Christine and Nancy hovered nervously at the edge of their group, just waiting for the other shoe to drop.

"Well, I hope you're hungry," Mrs. Holland said at long last. "I made my signature baked ziti. I'll just pop it in the oven for a few minutes to warm up."

"What do you folks want to drink?" asked Mr. Holland. "We've got water, pop, a few cans of—"

Christine's stomach lurched as they began straying toward the dining room. She didn't want to sit at a table across from any empty chair. She didn't want to eat baked ziti. She didn't want to talk about school and pretend everything was okay.

"Wait!" Nancy's voice brought everyone to a halt, the adults looking back at her in surprise. "I'm…I'm sorry, but…can we talk first? Please?"

"Nancy," Mrs. Wheeler scolded. "Don't be rude. We're—"

"No, no, she's…she's right."

Mrs. Holland's façade was slipping away. She grabbed her husband with a trembling hand, fighting to keep the smile on her face. Her mouth opened, ready to speak, but when no words came out, Mr. Holland wrapped an arm around her and nodded grimly

"Why don't we all have a seat?"

It was a subdued group that migrated to the living room. Christine and Nancy sat next to each other on the couch, still holding hands as tight as they could. Christine's father came to stand behind her, one hand on her shoulder. Mr. Wheeler helped himself to the armchair while his wife squeezed on the edge of the couch next to Nancy.

Across from them, under the window, was a long table full of framed photos, a gallery of Barb from her first steps to her last days. The way it was laid out, it was almost like a presentation: Mr. and Mrs. Holland shuffling their feet as they silently debated who should speak first and where they should begin.

It was Mr. Holland who took the plunge.

"As you all know, Marsha and I recently hired a private investigator to look into Barbara's…into her disappearance. Bauman was already following the case, he came to us with an offer, a few leads and…by God, it almost seemed too good to be true."

Mrs. Wheeler gasped into her hand. "Oh no. No, John, don't tell me—was it a scam?"

"No!" Mrs. Holland squeezed out a laugh. "No, nothing like that. Mind you, he had us worried for the last week or two."

"He used to call pretty frequently," her husband explained, "just to keep us in the loop. Then last week, just…nothing. No warning. I was about to start investigating him myself when he called on Sunday to apologize. Apparently he'd been working undercover. Had to go dark so he wouldn't be compromised."

"Undercover?" Mr. Walcott frowned. "Where?"

"Hawkins Lab," Mrs. Holland answered in a hushed voice.

"Huh…isn't that illegal?"

"Ted," Mrs. Wheeler scolded.

"I'm just saying," he continued. "A civilian lying to access a government base—"

"He's an investigative journalist," said Mr. Holland. "It's his job to solve the case, no matter the cost."

"Still, a breach in national security—"

"Why go to the lab in the first place?" Christine's dad asked, cutting off Mr. Wheeler's preaching. "I mean, what's a power plant got to do with a missing girl?"

This time, it wasn't just the girls who tensed. Both Mr. and Mrs. Wheeler sat up straight, shooting each other furtive looks from across the room.

Christine still wasn't sure how much of the story they knew. They'd both been at the school the night Eleven disappeared, seen the ambulances and dead bodies and government vehicles. They had to know something, because they'd had to sign an NDA just like the rest of the party. Nancy had tried fishing for information later, but after all the police and paperwork, both Mr. and Mrs. Wheeler kept their mouths sealed. They just wanted to put the whole situation behind them; Christine couldn't blame them for that.

But instead of Eleven, the conversation veered in a different direction.

"Well, Murray wasn't just looking for Barbara," said Mrs. Holland. "He'd also been looking into what happened to Will Byers."

"Will?" Mrs. Wheeler frowned, shaking her head. "No, but—but they found Will."

"Yes, they did," Mr. Holland agreed, "along with another boy they thought was Will who died in the quarry. Another boy who was never identified and never investigated."

"You don't know that," said Mr. Wheeler. "Just because they didn't release the details—"

"There are no details! The reporter looked into it and he found nothing. Nothing! There's no information about that boy or what happened at the quarry or any of it! If it hadn't been in the damn paper, there wouldn't be any record at all!"

"John," Mrs. Holland warned, trying in vain to control his temper. "Please, let's just—"

"There's nothing because that's exactly the way the government wanted it! They knew exactly what happened to that kid and they knew exactly what happened to Barbara and they just—!"

Mr. Holland's voice cracked just before he broke down. Mrs. Holland came hurrying over to his side, wrapping an arm around his shoulders, whispering soothing words even as her eyes teared up too. No one else in the room said a word. It felt horrible to sit there and watch them cry, but Christine couldn't bring herself to interrupt them either. She wasn't sure which would be worse.

It was Nancy who broke the silence.

"What do you mean…'what happened to Barbara'…?"

Her voice shook with each word, and while she was feigning ignorance, Christine knew that the dread on her face was genuine. She squeezed Nancy's hand tighter as Mrs. Holland finally composed herself, turning to them with solemn resolve.

"Last year, Hawkins Lab was running some…some chemical tests, and apparently…there was a leak."

The atmosphere in the room changed at once. Christine felt her dad's hand slip from her shoulder, and he leaned heavily on the back of the couch for support. Mrs. Wheeler was covering her mouth again, her husband taking off his glasses so he could wipe his hand down his face. No one had said it, but that was a cause of death. Even though Christine knew it wasn't true, hearing it made everything seem more final—like by pretending Barb might still be out there, she'd been keeping some part of her alive. That wouldn't be possible anymore. Now everyone would know she was dead.

Christine felt a surge of nausea and gripped Nancy's hand even tighter.

"I don't—I don't really understand how any of that works," Mrs. Holland said with a weak laugh, the tears already welling in her eyes again. "Chemistry and radiation and that kind of thing. Mr. Bauman said there'd still need to be a—a formal investigation, but…but they say that's…that that's how she died."

Mrs. Holland's already fragile composure shattered, and she buried her face in her husband's shoulder to stifle her sobs. Mr. Holland was red in the face, still crying as he choked out, "They—they don't even have her body."

"Wait, there's no body?" Mr. Walcott stood up a little straighter. "But if they didn't find a body then Barbara could—"

"There's no body anymore."

Everyone froze at Mr. Holland's words. His jaw was set, his eyes fierce as his anger overtook his grief; it was like looking at a different person.

"There's no body because they got rid of her," he seethed, "because they knew that it was their fault—that their mistake got her killed. And the government—no, the government can't make mistakes"—he jabbed a finger at Ted, who looked affronted—"because they're supposed to be in control, because we have to trust them! They can't let anyone know they killed an innocent girl! So they—so they just made her disappear! They covered the whole thing up and pretended that our Barbara—our—our baby girl—"

He couldn't bring himself to finish. Barb's parents clung to each other, barely able to stand as anger gave way to tears once more. Mrs. Wheeler pulled Nancy into a hug and, in doing so, pulled Nancy's hand out of Christine's grip.

Suddenly, it felt like the whole world was tilting. Christine hadn't realized how much she was depending on Nancy to anchor her. Without her hand to hold, Christine's surroundings were becoming a familiar blur of static. She couldn't breathe—not with the guilt lodged in her throat, only barely holding back the truth that was attempting to bubble up to the surface—and all the while fragments of words and phrases clouded her mind: Barb. Barb was gone. It wasn't her fault. They knew it was their fault. Gone. There was nothing she could do. Their mistake got her killed. Barbara was gone.

Christine pitched forward, falling straight into her father's arms. She hadn't even noticed him move. She hadn't noticed that she was already crying—the tears and snot making it as hard to breathe as the guilt did. She hadn't noticed she was whimpering words between each cry.

"I'm sorry. I'm—I'm so sorry. Barb is—fuck, I'm sorry."

"Hey, it's okay, sweetheart." Her dad pulled her in closer, stroking her hair. "I know, Christine. It's okay."

She knew what he meant: crying was okay. She was allowed to cry at the news of her best friend's death. He was trying to make her feel better. Instead, the words rattled loose a memory she'd buried in the very back of her mind.

"Chris, it's okay. Hey! Hey, it's okay. Christine, it's fine."

Barbara ushering her toward the couch in the Harrington's empty living room. Barbara holding her with one hand while her other one was still bleeding. Barbara stroking her hair back as Christine cried herself to sleep.

Then Barb had left. Then Barb was gone. Then Barb was dead.

Without warning, Christine fell into pieces. The dam broke and all the emotions she'd been suppressing for the last came flooding out, fighting to be first—the anxiety of her panic attacks, the fear in her nightmares, the loneliness of her English classes, the shock of hearing Barb's name in the hallway, the hatred she had for the lab, and the guilt that had been drowning her day after day after day…

As she sat there, wracked with sobs and choking on her tears, Christine wished she was back in the Harringtons' living room. She wouldn't fall asleep this time. She'd get Barb to the hospital, even if it meant walking the whole way. She'd tell Barb how much she loved her and how she didn't want to imagine what life would be like without her.

Instead, the last thing Christine had said to Barbara was "I'm sorry." She wished that had been enough.