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

Everyone in Hawkins, Indiana was talking about Barbara Holland. Even people outside of Hawkins were talking about Barbara Holland. In life she'd been quiet and reserved, often overlooked, but now her name cropped up again and again in conversation, in the papers, on the television, in tabloids. Christine couldn't wait for it to be over.

Christine knew that Nancy and Jonathan had made copies of their tape and sent it off to the press, but she couldn't imagine how many cassettes they'd mailed if these were just the people who believed them. It seemed like reporters from all over the country were scrambling to Indiana to get the scoop before the news went nationwide. In every corner of town, outsiders were asking questions. Reporters came to school to interview the teachers or catch students between classes. They scoured all the shops on Main Street looking for background info, a way to really flesh out their stories. For a few days, there was even a camp outside of Hawkins National Lab, journalists and protestors side by side as the public waited for a statement from the government. It wasn't long before military trucks were chasing them all away.

Eventually, the police had to get involved. Chief Hopper had a cruiser parked in front of the Hollands' house at all times, just to keep reporters from leering in their windows. Then, for good measure, he assigned a deputy to the Wheelers and the Harringtons, too. The only reason the Walcotts didn't get one was because Hopper was parked there himself. If he wasn't in their living room, he was at the station, and if he wasn't at the station, he was in their living room.

Hopper was too nervous to go home to Eleven when there were reporters tailing him trying to get a quote. He'd stocked the cabin with food, locked down the fort, and promised to radio El every day to check in. She knew where to find him if something really went wrong, but for the time being, it was safer to keep her out of the way.

Christine wished she'd been locked away with Eleven.

It was a miserable feeling, sneaking around town, knowing that at any moment someone might ask her to talk about her dead best friend. At least when Will had gone missing, it seemed like everyone was sincerely worried. Maybe Christine was imagining it, but it felt like no one outside her immediate circle really cared about Barb at all. It was enough to make Christine hate Hawkins more than the Upside Down.

Now, after weeks of torment and turmoil, they were finally going to have a funeral. Mr. and Mrs. Holland had taken their time planning it; after all, it wasn't like they were rushing to bury a body. Instead, they had bought a casket to fill with some of Barb's belongings, gifts from guests, memorabilia from her life. It was a bit like burying a time capsule.

The problem was that it meant burying a piece of Barb, a piece that each of them would have to willingly give up and lose forever. Christine had been wracking her brain for days and—even as she stood in the middle of her room in her black dress—she still didn't know what to bring. There wasn't any part of Barb she wanted to give up. Why couldn't she keep it all?

A knock made her look up from the items she had spread out on her bed. Her father was hovering in the doorway, watching her with a sad smile.

"I don't want to rush you, but…is it okay if I start the car?"

"Oh, um…yeah." Christine sniffled and ran a hand through her hair. "Yeah, we can go."

"You sure? Because it looks like you're not quite done here."

Christine laughed bitterly as her father slowly walked into her room. He joined her at the edge of the bed, surveying the items that she'd spread over the blankets: a gold trophy from the science fair, a worn copy of The Outsiders, an old mixtape, a freshly burned mixtape, a graded school assignment, a VHS copy of Friday the Thirteenth, and—

"Is that your driver's permit?" her father asked, pointing at the card.

"Yeah," Christine answered with a shrug. "You know, because she used to drive us everywhere and…now I can drive myself."

"Honey, you need that."

"I figured I'd just…get another one."

"Yeah, no." He plucked the card from the blankets and gestured vaguely to the rest of the mess. "Why don't we just take all of this and decide when we get there?"

With a pat on her back and a kiss on her head, he left the room so she could collect herself.

Even with her dad's encouragement, it took Christine another twenty minutes to get out the door. Every time she made it to the living room, she had to double back for something else: to use the bathroom, to grab the envelope of photos she'd left on her desk, to find a sweater in case the Hollands' house was cold, to use the bathroom again. She knew she was only delaying the inevitable, but her feet refused to carry her out of the house.

"Christine?" Mrs. Henderson poked her head through the front door just as Christine was changing her coat for the third time. "Oh, there you are! We were starting to get worried. Come on, the car's running!"

"Claudia? What—oh, okay." Bewildered, there was nothing Christine could do as Mrs. Henderson ushered her out of the house, where Dustin and her father were standing in the driveway. "Sorry, I—I didn't know you were waiting on me."

"Well, we can't leave without you, sweetie."

"No, I mean, uh—I didn't realize you were coming."

Mrs. Henderson stopped, looking at Christine in concern. "Of course we're coming, sweetheart! We know how much you loved Barbara, and you know how much we love you. Anything Dusty and I can do, you just let us know."

She seized Christine in a warm embrace, so short that she had to rest her forehead on Christine's shoulder; Christine had to wriggle out of the hug, afraid she might dissolve into another fit of tears. Mrs. Henderson just gave her a sympathetic smile, then shot her son a pointed look.

"Dusty."

"What?" Dustin looked up from his tie, which he was struggling to fix. When his mother nodded to Christine, he shrugged. "Chrissy knows she can talk to me."

"Yeah," Christine chuckled. "Yeah, I know, Dusty."

The Walcotts led the way to the Holland house, Dustin and his mother following behind in their own car. Christine had hoped, naively maybe, that there would be a huge turnout for the funeral. They were some of the first to arrive, pulling up behind the three cars in the driveway: the Hollands', the Wheelers', and Barb's. The tarp had been discarded, letting the Volkswagen Cabriolet see the light of day for the first time in months. Judging by the lack of dust, Mr. Holland had started cleaning it up so he could resell it.

Christine averted her eyes as she shuffled past the car.

While the outside of the house looked the same, the inside was jarring. The Hollands' house had always been a gallery of Barb's pictures, but now it looked like every single photo had been relocated to the living room. Barb smiled at them from every available surface—frames crammed onto end tables, taped to the wall, and tacked to two large corkboards on either side of the couch. The largest picture was at the far end of the room, mounted over a long and narrow wooden box, where they were meant to place their keepsakes. Nancy stood in front of it with her head hung low. Her back was to the door, but her shoulders were shaking in an unmistakable way.

Christine averted her eyes again. She didn't care if she was delaying the inevitable; she'd gladly spend a few more minutes in denial.

Mrs. Wheeler came bustling in from the dining room, carrying a bowl of pretzels and a vase of flowers. "Oh, hello! Christine, Dustin—oh, Claudia, I'm so glad you could make it, really—"

"Of course, Karen! Goodness knows we've had enough tragedy this year. I was so, so sorry to hear about Barbara. How's Marsha?"

"She's—well, she's just finishing up in the kitchen. They're running a little behind. Pete, I think John and Ted are out back if you want to say hello."

"Hm? Oh, yeah, of course. Um…" He shot another glance at the collection box before lowering his voice. "I thought they'd said something about a casket. Is this…?"

"Oh, no," Karen assured him. She hesitated, glancing over her shoulder before lowering her voice to match. "They have a casket, but it seems like there was a lot of back and forth with the funeral home. I mean, John knew they wouldn't have enough money to rent the space, but even transporting the casket back and forth was so—"

"Come on," Dustin whispered, tugging on Christine's arm. "Let's go."

She didn't resist as he pulled her away from the dismal conversation, leading her down the hall into the dining room. There were more pictures here, filling the space between plates of crackers and cheese, but Christine hadn't expected to find any people. She did a double take when she realized two of the dining room chairs were occupied.

"Mike?"

"Hi, Chrissy," he said, looking up from his work. He was drawing absent-mindedly, borrowing his sister's crayons as Holly scribbled happily in her coloring book. "Hey, Dustin, did you hear from Lucas?"

"Yeah, he'll be here later," Dustin answered, taking the seat on Mike's other side. "Will and his mom are coming too."

Christine shook her head in confusion. "I didn't realize any of you were coming."

"Mom made me," Mike said with a shrug, turning back to his drawing.

Dustin caught Christine's eye with a tiny shake of his head; she did her best to suppress her smile.

It was a comfortable silence that fell over the table. Mike shelled out a few extra sheets of paper and persuaded Holly to part with two more crayons. Dustin was working enthusiastically on a detailed portrait of his D&D character. Christine could only manage a few aimless, looping lines, but even just keeping her hand moving was making her less anxious, like pacing without having to leave her chair. It wasn't much, but it was enough for now.

The parents bustled in and out of the room, carrying flowers or plates or cleaning supplies, a few finishing touches before the other guests arrived. Christine knew she should probably offer to help. Instead, she sat at the table with her head hung low, feeling guilty but incapable of acting. She barely had the strength to keep her hand moving across the page, let alone run around with a feather duster, making conversation with the other guests, dusting off frames of her best friend for her funeral that wasn't a funeral because her body was probably lying decayed and broken in the alternate dimension where she'd died alone because her so called friends were too busy being—

"Chris?"

Christine blinked. Nancy was looking down at her in concern. Christine hadn't even heard her come in.

"Hey—sorry, hey."

Previous thoughts forgotten, Christine got up, dropping her crayon so she could pull Nancy into a hug. She felt fragile under Christine's arms, but she squeezed back just as tight and sure. Christine could sense the question coming before she asked, so she beat Nancy to the punch.

"Are you okay?"

Nancy laughed weakly into her shoulder before pulling back. "Do you wanna get some air?"

Christine agreed at once. She pushed the drawing supplies back to Holly, thanking her for the lend and earning a quiet "Y'welcome" in reply. Then she followed Nancy back through the kitchen and into the backyard.

Over the years, they'd probably spent more time in the Hollands' yard than they had in the house—camping out in a tent for sleepovers, playing badminton in the summer, sprawling out in the grass and gossiping until the fireflies came out. Now, the lawn looked more depressing than ever. It was just an empty expanse of unkempt grass, patchy and dying as winter grew closer. That didn't stop Christine from plopping onto the ground, or Nancy from sitting down next to her. Somewhere in the back of her mind, Christine knew she might be ruining her dress with dirt and grass stains, but she couldn't bring herself to care.

For a long time, they commiserated in silence. They listened to the leaves rustle in the trees, Christine with her head tilted back, watching the vague shapes of clouds in the gray sky, Nancy staring at the ground, where we was splitting blades of grass with her nails. She was the first to speak up.

"Did you go yet?"

Christine was tempted to ask, "Go where?" But she knew it wasn't the time for jokes.

"No," she answered instead. "Haven't had time since you finished."

For some reason, that made Nancy smirk. "Right. I'm sure the kids table was keeping you real busy for the last half an hour."

"What do you mean? I've been with you the whole time."

"No, I mean before, when…" Nancy's smile fell as Christine continued to blink at her; the concern returned to her face in full force. "Chris, I finished before that. Like, a while ago."

"Then…why didn't you come get me?"

"I didn't know you were here. As soon as I finished with Barb, I locked myself in the bathroom for ten minutes, then went to go hide in her room. I didn't even see your car until I came out."

"Oh."

It was a very lame response, but all Christine could manage at the moment. She was trying to replay the time in her head, to find the lost time where a whole half an hour had slipped by her, but she was at a loss. Sitting in the dining room hardly felt like minutes. She'd only drawn a few circles. Had she really been sitting there that long? How long had she been outside with Nancy? How long would it be before they had to go to the cemetery? To bury their memories of barb in the ground? How long did she have left to say goodbye?

"So," Nancy said gently. "We're…we're both doing great, huh?"

Christine's laughter caught on her tears. "Yeah. Yeah, we're awesome."

"Oh, for sure." Nancy smiled, then reached over to hold Christine's hand. "Do you want me to go with you?"

"No. I'll go, I just…I don't…"

"Yeah. I know."

She didn't push the subject any further; Christine was grateful. They returned to solemn silence, each of them reliving years of memories, thinking the same thoughts at the same time without saying a word. Christine knew it had to end eventually—the inevitable was inevitable for a reason—but at least with Nancy, she didn't need to put on a brave face. She could cry when she needed to with no judgement, no questions, and best of all, no pity.

The minutes slipped by them again, formless until the back door slid open. Joyce Byers waved meekly as she shuffled into the yard in her black dress. Christine had to wonder if it was the same one she'd worn to Will's funeral.

"Mrs. Byers, hi!" Nancy quickly got to her feet, brushing the grass from her skirt. "I didn't realize you were coming."

"Of course," Joyce said emphatically. "I'm sorry we're running late. Will had to change his bandages and—"

"How is he?"

"He's…" Joyce hesitated, tilting her head from side to side. "He's as good as he can be. His side's healing okay and—and he's starting to sleep a little better."

Nancy nodded, relief evident in her face. No one blamed her for the injury on Will's side, but Christine knew the guilt was eating at her. These days, she talked about Will as much as she talked about Jonathan—and that was saying something.

As if to disprove the point, Nancy cleared her throat, and gestured vaguely to the house. "Is he with Jonathan, or…?"

"They're both inside," Joyce confirmed. "Dustin whisked them away to talk about…trolls, I think…?"

Nancy laughed, glancing at the back door but making no move to exit. Christine decided to give her a way out.

"Go on," she urged, climbing to her feet. "Someone needs to save them."

"Are you sure?" asked Nancy.

"Definitely. Trust me, Dustin's opinions on trolls aren't going to help anyone's mood."

Nancy grinned and, with a grateful look, excused herself to go inside. There was a subtle urgency in her stride as she sped across the lawn—something that didn't go unnoticed by Joyce.

"So…" She narrowed her eyes at Christine, barely containing her smirk. "Are she and Jonathan…?"

Christine put her hands up at once. "Don't look at me. I don't understand anything about either of them."

Joyce nodded dutifully and gave her a small salute. Their giggles lasted a few seconds before the somber mood crept back in, at which point, Joyce's gaze turned sympathetic.

"You okay, sweetie?"

"God, no." Christine kept giggling, hoping it might make the sadness go away, but when Joyce's expression didn't change, she relented. "I'm—what did you say about Will? I'm as good as I can be."

"I know." Joyce nodded, reaching out to rub her arm. "If you ever need anything—to talk, to get out of the house—"

"I can call you," Christine finished. "And I will. Seriously, Joyce, thank you but…I'm okay."

She mustered up a smile, but even then, Mrs. Byers continued to stare. It might've been unnerving if it were anyone but Joyce. When the sympathy in her eyes got to be too much, Christine decided to change the subject.

"Anyway," she said, clearing her throat, "I've been meaning to ask. Is there any word on…? Um…what's happening with Bob?"

"Oh, no. N-nothing yet. I mean, I assume they're going to explain it away with…you know…all this," Joyce added, waving back at the house, "but no. No one's told me anything for sure. It was hard enough getting a straight answer from them before, but now that the lab's closing…"

She scoffed, but the sound came out closer to a soft sob. Her hand covered her mouth as she collected herself, and Christine didn't push.

"That's okay. When you do find out, could you let me know? If there's a—a funeral or a memorial or—whatever it is, I'd like to go. And—I don't know who else—um…if they need help organizing it—"

"I'll call you," Joyce echoed with misty eyes. "Thank you, Christine. Really. Throughout all this, you've been—you've been so helpful, and I don't know how…I just…"

Joyce hesitated before abruptly pulling her into a tight hug. Christine fell into it, completely caught off guard. It took her a few seconds to relax and sink into the embrace, Joyce's hand returning to its gentle strokes down her arm.

"I wish you didn't need to be so grown up," Joyce whispered.

Christine bit her lip. She fully intended to crack another joke—remind Joyce that she still didn't have her driver's license, was behind on math homework, was still waiting on her first kiss—but none of the words came out. All she managed was a shaky breath that made Joyce's arms pull her in even closer. Christine squeezed her eyes closed and focused, drawing what comfort she could from the embrace before she pulled away, resisting the urge to wipe her eyes as she stepped back.

"Come on," Joyce urged, wrapping an arm around Christine's shoulders. "Let's get you inside. It's so cold out here!"

Christine hadn't noticed the cold setting in, but as soon as she stepped inside, she shivered at the stark difference in temperature. The warmth was a welcome change, even if it meant facing her fears.

The house wasn't exactly crowded, but more people had started to arrive. Most were other members of the Holland family, though there were others who'd come to pay their respects. Christine was surprised to see Robin Buckley hovering awkwardly in the corner with her parents, but judging by the ballet slippers she was carrying, she must have taken dance classes with Barb as a kid. Christine's dad was chatting with Mr. Clarke, and Claudia was talking to a woman Christine recognized as the desk clerk from the public library. She wondered what they were talking about that had the librarian looking so annoyed.

The front door opened again and Mrs. Holland materialized to greet the newcomers. Lucas shook her hand politely, making conversation while Steve closed the door behind them. His eyes scanned the living room, nearly missing Christine until he doubled back. He smiled, tugging his hand out of the pocket of his peacoat to give her a small wave. Christine waved back; she felt a little bit warmer now.

"Well, I'm just…" Joyce was doing a horrendous job of hiding her grin. "I'm just gonna go find Karen. I'll talk to you later, sweetie."

She patted Christine on the shoulder and scurried out of the room. Christine was exasperated, but she was also starting to get used to it. She was tired of reminding people that she and Steve were just friends. It wasn't like that.

Still, Joyce's insinuation made Christine tense up. She was relieved when Steve followed Lucas into the dining room…then annoyed at herself for being relieved. Hoping for a minute to collect herself, she headed for the corkboards full of photos and almost immediately ran into someone.

"Oh, shit—I'm so sorry."

"Ugh—yes, yes, it's fine. I…oh. Hang on. I know you."

The man paused, looking down at her with interest. Christine certainly didn't know who he was. He was older, balding, with a bushy, brown beard and thin wire glasses. His cable-knit sweater looked too bright for a funeral—a deep red that stood out against everyone else's black and muted tones. Christine furrowed her brow, but before she could ask, the man pointed a finger at her.

"Christine Walcott, sixteen," he announced in a voice too loud for the room. "Father, Peter Walcott. Moved to Hawkins when you were in the fifth grade, transferred into advanced science in seventh grade, employed by the local cinema in the ninth grade. Close friends with Nancy Wheeler and…Barbara Holland."

He finished in a hushed voice, looking very satisfied with himself. Christine could only blink at him.

"…Okay…?"

Apparently, that was not the reaction he was going for. The man frowned and drew himself up to his full height before offering his hand to shake. "Murray Bauman. You may have heard of me."

"Murray…? Bau—oh!" Christine shook his hand in earnest as the pieces fell into place. "The investigator, right?"

"Investigator, journalist, private eye," he said impressively. "Whatever my clients need."

"Right…"

Christine did her best to hide her doubt. She didn't want to be rude.

"Listen, I wanted to thank you," she continued, lowering her voice. "What you did for Barb…no one would have believed Nancy and Jonathan. They might not have believed you, but…you still sent out those tapes. Even though you knew how dangerous it was. I know that could've been bad—like, career-ending, life-ending bad, so…thank you."

"Oh. Well…you are welcome." He seemed taken aback by her sincerity, but quickly brushed it off. "Just doing my part to tie up the loose ends. The Hollands have their closure and the rest is history."

"Sure," Christine scoffed. "Until the Mind Flayer comes back."

"…I'm sorry?"

"The Mind Flayer. You know, the psychic being that controls all the Demodogs and Demogor…" She trailed off, looking at Bauman's bewildered face. "Oh. Right, you…don't know about that. Um…don't worry about it."

She patted him on the back, making his eyebrows climb even higher. Thankfully, they were interrupted before he could ask any follow up questions.

"Chrissy, hey." Steve had found his way over from the dining room. He gave Christine another small, bracing smile. "Can I borrow you for a sec?"

"Yeah, of course. Well, thank you, Mr.—"

"Let me guess." Bauman was staring at Steve, eyes scanning from his dress shoes up to his sweater vest up to his fluffy hair. "You must be…Steve."

"Uh…yeah. Do I know you?"

"No, no. But I know you, Steve. I know you."

Christine was expecting another list of memorized factoids, but Bauman didn't go into detail. He just kept looking at Steve, smiling in that same self-satisfied way he had before. He chuckled, looked between Steve and Christine, and then chuckled a little louder.

"Ah, life never ceases to amaze me," he said with a wide smile. "Humans have been on this earth for centuries and we still haven't come up with any new stories. We're just so predictable. We still make the same choices over and over again, go through the same motions over and over and over and…"

He trailed off, giggling at his private joke. It didn't seem like he was going to explain himself any time soon. Christine narrowed her eyes at him.

"You know? Nancy was right."

"Oho?" Bauman's grin widened. "Right about what?"

"You. You're definitely creepy." She watched his pride drain away in an instant, then smiled. "Anyway, thanks again, Mr. Bauman. And thanks for coming."

With that, she grabbed Steve's hand and towed him across the living room, leaving the journalist behind with his jaw hanging open in shock.

Christine led Steve out of the room entirely, tugging him down the hallway where they'd have at least a little more privacy. By the time they stopped, Steve's surprise had faded to amusement.

"Do I even want to know?" he asked.

"The investigator the Hollands hired. Nancy said he was a real prick, but…he also helped break the story, so…" She shrugged and brushed past the subject. "What's up? What did you want to talk about?"

Steve grimaced, scratching the back of his neck and then stuffing his hands in his pocket. "Right, uh…I know—I know we were all supposed to bring something—you know, something to put in the coffin for Barb, and I—"

"Steve, it's okay," Christine assured him. "You and Barb weren't exactly friends. It's fine that you didn't bring anything."

"Well, that's the thing. I did bring something, but I feel kind of weird about it so…so I wanted to ask you first before I…"

He took a deep breath and pulled his hand out of his pocket.

It was a knife—a red, Swiss Army Knife that Christine had only ever seen once in her life. Her blood curdled and she took a shaky step back.

"Steve—"

"I know," he said at once. "That's—that's why I wanted to talk to you about it."

He sighed and leaned his back against the wall, weighing the knife in his hands. It took Christine a few seconds to build up the courage to join him, and a few seconds more for Steve to speak.

"I haven't used it. The day after the party, I went to clean up the yard and it was just sitting out there and…I mean, it still had her blood on it. And at first I didn't really care, you know? I didn't think about it, I just washed it and stuffed it back in my drawer, but…then she went missing, and then we fought like an actual monster, and then Nancy told me about everything that happened and how Barb was dead and…I haven't been able to use it since."

Steve held one end of the knife in each hand, twirling it back and forth between his fingers.

"I know it's messed up," he continued quietly. "Everyone else is putting in fun stuff and good memories, but…I didn't know her, so this is all I've got. I think about her every time I see this stupid thing in my drawer, any time I see someone else with a pocketknife, or—fuck, I don't think I've shotgunned a beer since that night. And I know it's like I'm cheating, because—because obviously I don't want this anymore, so it's more like I'm getting rid of it than giving it up. I don't want to upset her memory, or whatever, and…I feel like she'd just be totally pissed that douchebag King Steve showed up to her funeral and gave her the knife she cut herself with."

He sagged against the wall, defeated.

Christine chewed on her bottom lip, at a total loss for words. Her first instinct was to say that it was messed up, that it was incredibly twisted and he shouldn't do it. Barb had cut her thumb with that knife, which made her bleed, which attracted the Demogorgon, which killed her. It would almost be like gifting her the murder weapon.

At the same time, Christine understood where Steve was coming from. It was a reminder, something small that had drastically changed the course of Steve's life. When he threw the knife in the box, it wasn't really the knife he was giving up.

Christine hesitated, then reached over and closed Steve's hand around the knife.

"She'd get it," she said softly. "Barb was really good at that. I mean, the amount of times she had to mediate a fight between me and Nancy—playing middleman, trying to understand everyone's point of view. She always knew how to put herself in someone else's shoes. You're trying to be genuine and thoughtful. She'd know that."

Steve looked at Christine nervously. "You sure?"

"Mhm. And, for what it's worth, if I told Barb that the Steve Harrington hadn't shotgunned a single beer since her passing because he was that affected by her death, I'm pretty sure she'd laugh her ass off."

"Shut up."

"Seriously. I think she'd be very touched, but she'd also think that was really, really funny."

Steve flipped her the bird as they both pushed off the wall. Christine nudged him forward and nodded toward the living room.

"Go on. I promise she's not gonna haunt you."

"No no no, don't say shit like that. I don't want to find out ghosts are real next Halloween. That's it." He brandished a finger and took a few tentative steps down the hall. "You coming?"

"Yeah, in a bit. I just…"

She wasn't sure how to end the sentence, but Steve didn't need her to. He nodded, gave her one more supportive smile, then backed off to give her some space.

Christine didn't know what to do with herself. Her mind felt foggy and frozen, but her body moved of its own accord. It carried her down the hallway, through the door, and across the ugly, orange carpet of Barb's bedroom. Christine wished she'd brought a camera. The Hollands were still selling their house, which meant that soon, this wouldn't be Barb's room anymore. A new family would renovate and pull up the horrendous carpet and paint the walls and that would be it. It was probably the last chance she'd get to stand in her best friend's room.

Christine turned on the spot, trying to memorize all the posters and photos and flyers on the walls. There was a nail polish stain on the floor under the window, left behind when they'd been getting ready for the Snow Ball in eighth grade. The desk chair had a loose leg from when Barb had crashed into it while they were all dancing and blasting ABBA. The ceiling fan had mismatched pull-chains because Nancy had accidentally broken one during a pillow fight.

It was all Barbara.

It was all of them.

Christine took one last look around, taking in their story from beginning to end. She steeled herself and, practically shaking from the effort, forced herself to leave the room.

The memorial box was mostly full by the time Christine summoned the courage to walk up. Her eyes raked over the contents: Robin's ballet shoes, Steve's pocketknife, one of Nancy's sweaters that had been Barb's first, stuffed animals that had been permanent fixtures in Barb's room, her car keys with the jangly tangle of keychains, and dozens of photos scattered between the rest. Christine was sure there were some gems in there.

The picture chosen for Barb's memorial portrait, on the other hand, wasn't the most flattering. It was her most recent school picture, the one where she'd worn her red shirt and complained about it later. Christine could just picture her standing here, rolling her eyes at the poster-sized print surrounded in red and white flowers.

"Seriously?" she would say. "They couldn't have picked something with a little more personality?"

The thought made Christine smile.

"I know," she whispered. "Don't worry. Nancy and I brought all the good photos. Like the one where your face is painted like a pumpkin. I'm sure you'd love to know that's hanging in your living room."

Christine chuckled to herself, but it was short-lived. With one finger, she traced the edge of the collection box. What was she supposed to say? Where was she supposed to start?

"I'm sorry, Barb. I know I said it that night, and I know I've said it a million times since then, but…I'm sorry. I'm sorry Nancy and I were so wrapped up in our own bullshit that we weren't there for you when it mattered. Every day I wonder what would have happened if—if we'd just gone back to your car. If I'd just cried in the passenger seat while you drove us back to my house. We would've watched The Exorcist, and you would've hated every second, but you'd suffer through it for me and…you did that a lot. Suffered for me, or Nance, or anyone else. You were so incredibly selfless and…I'm just so, so fucking sorry, Barb…"

Her hand closed on the edge of the box, gripping the wood like it was the only thing keeping her standing, which that wasn't far from the truth. She swayed on the spot, ready to start bawling again—but she didn't. It still felt like Barb was standing there with her, smiling but still exasperated.

"Chris, I know you're sorry—and you know it's okay. None of us knew what was gonna happen, and we don't know that anything would've changed. I mean, if you'd been in the car with me, maybe it just would've gotten us both. But it's my funeral, so can we please talk about something else?"

Christine sighed and shook her head. "Fine. I'm sure I'm boring you with my endless apologies, but…I brought some other stuff too."

She opened her bag, stuffed with the myriad of objects she'd grabbed from her room. There wasn't really a "good" place to start, so Christine chose the easiest; she fished the two cassettes out of the bag first.

"Honestly, it's been a pretty mediocre year for music. Then again, what do I know?" she added with a laugh. "You always said my taste was as stubborn as I was. Anyway, I put together a mix for you, just so you wouldn't miss out. And if you decide all of that's garbage, the B side is just Beatles and a few of those Paul McCartney songs you liked from Pipes of Peace. I know you only got…a few days to listen to them, but they've been on the radio a lot this year.

"And then this is the mix I made for you when you got your license, which—well, I said I made it for you, but it was pretty much a list of my favorite songs that you'd tolerate while you were driving. The good news is that I passed driver's ed, so soon I won't have to annoy anyone else with my music. That is, if I can ever actually afford my own car. Guess I should've started saving when you did."

Christine sniffed as she placed the two tapes into the box, then reached into her bag again.

"This is my science fair trophy from eighth grade. That was the year I tried to prove that the color of light affects plant growth, only I kept killing the bean plants because I suck so much at gardening. You had to come over like every other day that semester to take care of them so I could actually finish…and we won. And even though Mr. Clarke tried to give you your own trophy, you wouldn't take it, which I never understood because…it was our project. I wrote the paper and made the posters, but you really did all the work, so…now I'm giving this to you, and you have to take it, because you're the only reason we won."

The trophy joined the other items in the box, and Christine moved a few things on top of it, as if Barb might reach in and pull it out again if it wasn't secure. Christine wasn't about to let her get away with shrugging off the praise this time.

"I know how much you love The Outsiders," she continued, pulling the book out of her bag, "and I think this was about the only book I ever enjoyed reading in class. Then we went to The Hawk like every weekend to watch the movie when it came out. I think that was half the reason Anthony hired me that summer, because I'd already spent so much time there that I knew where everything was."

Christine hesitated now, down to the last two items—the hardest ones to talk about, the hardest things to give up. She steeled herself and pulled out the VHS tape first.

"I know how much you hate this movie, and I don't know how many times I made you rent it. I hope you got to watch something else that weekend, because if Friday the Thirteenth was the last movie you…saw before you died…I figure you'd be pretty pissed." Christine picked at the corner of the Family Video sticker on the VHS sleeve, gnawing on her bottom lip. "You left it at my house that Friday, when you and Nancy slept over. I was kind of psyched that you forgot it, actually, because it meant I had a few more days to watch it again. I was gonna give it back to you on Wednesday, so you had time to return it, but…obviously that didn't work out. I know I should probably return it myself, but um…I'm sure the overdue fee is outrageous at this point, so I'm returning it to you instead."

She tried to laugh at the joke, adding the VHS to the growing pile of memories. It was a miracle that she'd made it this far without crying, so it was no surprise when her eyes began to well up with tears. Trembling fingers reached into the bag one final time, pulling out a packet of old, faded paper. Christine cleared her throat and tried her best to keep her voice steady.

"And this one…this is, uh…our lab assignment. From the first day of sixth grade. Mr. Clarke gave this big speech about how science was really just studying things and writing them down, so…so he wanted us to study each other. I think everyone got a perfect score on their presentations, but…we still had the best one. I know it."

Christine sniffled and smiled, reviewing the words on the paper—broken sentences and fragments as she took notes during her conversation with Barb, written in a slightly messier version of her own bubbly handwriting.

Name: Barbara Holland. Means "strange" but she likes it because she likes being "weird." (ex: nerdy, glasses, writes poetry, memorized all the states and state capitals.) Birthday: September 16, 1967. (Next week!) Going to roller rink with her mom (Marsha), dad (John), and best friend (Nancy). Perfect birthday gift: cash. (She's saving for a car? Already?!) Favorite foods: pepperoni pizza, DOTS, strawberry ice cream, waffle fries. Not in that order. Favorite band: The Beatles, especially "Blackbird." Favorite movie: Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory. Wishes the meal-gum was real so she doesn't have to keep eating her mom's baked ziti!

There was plenty more after that, but Christine's teary eyes had stopped moving. She could still remember that day so clearly: storming into Mr. Clarke's classroom before first period to ask about AV club, struggling with her locker, eating lunch in the corner because—even after a year living in Hawkins—she hadn't figured out where she belonged.

Then science had rolled around, and Mr. Clarke had paired her with Barb. By the end of class, Christine had been certain that Barb was the was the perfect lab partner—smart without being pushy, funny while taking things seriously, and genuine to her core. Christine had actually been disappointed when the bell rang and it was time to pack up. Barb was already out of her seat when Christine blurted the first thing she could think of.

"You'd pass."

Barb had stopped, eyes squinting behind her thick glasses. "What?"

"Wonka's test," Christine clarified meekly. "I just…I think you'd pass it."

She'd felt stupid the moment she said it. That wasn't a normal thing to say. That wasn't how normal kids talked to each other or made friends—but Barb had already told Christine that she liked being strange.

It only took Barb a few seconds to recover, and then she smiled. "Do you wanna come to my birthday party?"

After that, it had always been the three of them—Christine, Barb, and Nancy. They had sleepovers, went to the library, hung out at the community pool in the summer. Barb and Nancy showed Christine all the best places in Hawkins and, even better, listened to her talk about all the different places she'd lived. They didn't think it was weird that she'd moved around so much as a kid. They thought it made her interesting, and loved listening to her stories about exotic places like Texas and Florida. Someday, they agreed, they'd take a road trip out of Hawkins and hit as many different states as they could.

Well, they still hadn't taken a road trip, but Christine and Nancy had both been to a different dimension. That had to make up for some of it.

Christine let go of the pages and watched them flutter into the memorial box. She shivered involuntarily, as if dropping the pages had physically sucked the energy out of her body. Her eyes drifted back to Barb's picture—stiff and smiling in a frame of red and white flowers. Christine tried to smile back.

"God, you would not believe the year we've had. The whole thing's been like a science-fiction horror flick, something I would've made you and Nance watch at my house—monsters, superpowers, alternate dimensions, government conspiracies. It feels like one, long nightmare, but…at the same time…it's not all bad. I met this really sweet girl, Eleven, and I'm a lot closer with Dustin and the kids and…it's been weird, but…interesting. I guess that's what you'd call it."

Christine shivered again, her stomach jolting sporadically as it became harder to swallow her tears. She squeezed out the last few sentences as fast as she could.

"I—I miss you. I miss you so fucking much, Barb. And I hope that, whatever dimension you're in now, you can hear me, because—because I love you so much and I—I'm so lucky that I got to be your friend."

Tears spilled over Christine's cheeks, turning her surroundings into stinging streaks of color. She clasped a hand over her mouth to hold in any rogue sounds, and took a few shaky steps back. She had no idea where she was going or how she would get there, why she wanted to both run away and stay rooted in the same spot forever, staring at Barb's face. She couldn't do this anymore, but she didn't want to let go.

Christine's father appeared at her side, pulling her into his chest and obstructing her view of the photo; that was all it took for her to break down. She bit hard on her knuckle, pressing herself into her dad's chest for support, letting him hold her upright and ward off any pitying looks from the other guests.

The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur. Mr. and Mrs. Holland gave a short speech, thanking everyone for coming and formally inviting them to the funeral service. Christine barely heard a word of it. She didn't remember getting back in the car, or the drive to Roane Hill Cemetery, or the procession that carried the memorial box to the open casket at the gravesite. It was all just colors to her—red flowers, green tarp, stark black letters that spelled out Barbara's name.

A priest gave another speech that Christine didn't hear. She stood between her father and Nancy, looking at the people around them: Barb's extended family, the Wheelers, the Walcotts, the Byers, the party lined up shoulder to shoulder on the other side of the grave. It wasn't the ostentatious crowd that had shown up for Will's faux funeral, but it was still a crowd. Christine was pretty sure there were more people than Barb would've expected for herself. That was almost as depressing as it was comforting.

Then it was over. The crowd began to disperse, shaking hands and patting backs. Everyone lined up to give Mr. and Mrs. Holland their condolences. Christine would never remember what she said, but whatever it was made Mrs. Holland seize her in a hug, where a few tears slipped into Christine's hair. Then her father was easing her into the car, holding the back door open so Nancy could slide in after her.

Christine didn't remember a second of the drive, as if her brain had been on pause until the car stopped. The parking lot only had a handful of cars, but Christine's dad didn't bother pulling into a space. He drove up to the front door of the building, then turned to check on the girls.

"I'll be back to pick you up in an hour," he reminded them. "I don't know if that'll be enough time, but if it's not, I can just—"

"It's fine, Mr. Walcott," Nancy assured him. "Really. Thanks for driving."

"Of course. You sure you girls will be okay?"

He asked the question openly, but Christine knew he was watching her closely for a response.

"We'll be fine, Dad," she said, forcing the words out. "It's just a diner."

It wasn't the reassurance he'd been looking for, but he let them out of the car all the same. Christine and Nancy waved to him as he pulled out onto the street and then, side by side, they headed inside Rockets Burger Joint.

It wasn't a crowded place. In the lull between lunch and dinner, only a few tables were occupied, most of the staff milling around and chatting with each other. Christine and Nancy were seated by a kind, older woman who was ready to take their order right away.

"Can I get you started with something, dears?"

"Actually, I think we're ready to order," said Christine. "Can I get a Rainbow Deluxe Strawberry Shake?"

"Two straws, please," Nancy added with a polite smile.

"Um, no." Christine found the strength to smile as Nancy looked up in surprise. "I'm not sharing. If you want a milkshake, you can get your own."

"Seriously, Christine? You never finish yours."

"Well, I'm finishing this one."

"Oh, I'm sure—"

"Look, it's the principle of the thing. Either order a milkshake, or you can sit there quietly while I drink mine."

Nancy glowered at her for several seconds before turning back to the waitress, her smile slightly less polite. "Make that two, please."

"You got it, honey."

The woman smirked and walked away, shaking her head at their antics. The moment her back was turned, Nancy threw a sugar packet at Christine, who yelped but giggled in response. She picked it up off the seat and twirled it between her fingers as she continued.

"By the way, Joyce? Totally knows about you and Jonathan."

Nancy blanched, mouth hanging open. "What? Are you sure?"

"Oh, definitely. You are not being subtle. I had to plead the fifth when she asked me if you two were together."

"We're not," Nancy said, for about the millionth time that month. Then, before Christine could summon the strength to hit her, she added, "At least…not officially…"

"When do things become official?" Christine asked, resting her chin in her hand.

"I don't know. I mean, we haven't decided anything for sure. I told him I wanted to wait until after the funeral, just so I could…deal with all this first, you know? But we're hanging out next weekend so…"

Nancy shrugged, unable to keep the smile off her face. Christine smiled back at her, already bracing herself for impact.

"So at least you know to bring condoms this time—ow! Shit, Nance! Sorry…but seriously, promise me you'll—OUCH! Okay! Okay, I'm done!"

Nancy halted her packet attack, still glaring as Christine rubbed the stinging spots on her arms. She certainly hadn't been holding back. Christine gave her a reproachful look, but she wasn't off the hook yet.

"Well, what about you?" Nancy asked pointedly. "You and Steve are—"

"Not talking about it," Christine finished, making Nancy shake her head.

"I still don't believe that. I mean, I know you told him not to talk about it, but he's not actually listening to you, is he?"

"Actually…he is. For the most part, anyway. He's making progress on his admissions essay, getting through his homework. He talks about basketball a lot, since it's his last season and all. It sounds like he's been staying late at practice, just to get some time in where he doesn't need to worry about having Billy up his ass. Some days he drives Max to school so she doesn't need to ride with Billy. All in all, it's been…pretty normal."

Christine bobbed her head and tucked her lips in. She was trying to fight off a smile, at least hide it better than Nancy had, but she didn't think she was doing a good job.

Nancy nudged her leg under the table, glare finally gone. "Hey—I'm glad."

"Yeah. Me too."

They lapsed into silence, both of them grinning stupidly at the table. Christine thought it would feel wrong, smiling so soon after the funeral, but it didn't. Tucked away in a booth at Rockets, it just felt—normal. They'd always smiled when the three of them trekked out here. Christine, Nancy, and Barb would park themselves at a table and pick at their food, talking for hours about whatever crossed their minds, ordering soda after soda so the staff couldn't justify kicking them out. Once Barb had gotten her license, they'd come almost every other week. It was one of Barb's favorite places.

"Do you think she'd be mad at us?" Nancy asked quietly.

Christine gave a heavy sigh. "Nancy, we've talked about this. Barb wouldn't blame us for—"

"No, not that." Nancy shook her head again, and Christine was surprised to see that she was still smiling. "I just mean…it's been a year and we're still sitting here talking about the same shit. You've still got a crush on Steve. I'm still maybe-maybe-not dating some guy. And I know Barb never found out about the pictures Jonathan took, but you know she'd never let that go. Like—she'd think I was clinically insane."

"Oh, for sure," Christine giggled. "But to be fair, I also think you're insane."

Nancy rolled her eyes. "I know. And maybe I am, but…I don't know. Sometimes I just wonder, if she could see us now—"

"She wouldn't be mad," Christine said confidently, cutting off Nancy's concern. "She would nag us relentlessly and remind us that we're both way too smart to be this dumb, but...you know she wouldn't be mad. Shit, after the year we've had? I can just picture her being like, 'You know what? You conned your way into a government facility and caused a national news scandal. You can date whoever you want. As far as I'm concerned, you've earned the right to be crazy.'"

"Christine, listen to me," Nancy said in her best impersonation of Barb's voice. "I just watched you fire a shotgun, curse out a cop, and beat up a guy twice your size. The fact that you still like Steve Harrington is the only reason I'm sure you weren't body snatched."

"Ha—we just found out there are alternate dimensions. I'm honestly kind of relieved some things don't change."

"Even if the constant is that my friends have terrible taste in guys."

Both of them burst out laughing. Nancy doubled over to press her face into the table while Christine tried to smother her giggles and snorts with her hands. They were still in a fit when the waitress returned, carrying two gigantic milkshakes.

"Alrighty! Two Rainbow Deluxe Strawberry Shakes…if you can stop laughing long enough to drink 'em."

The girls quickly composed themselves, each thanking her and grabbing a milkshake. They were towering glasses—sugary pink and topped with a mountain of whipped cream, rainbow sprinkles, cherries, and a rainbow cookie wedged on the rim, cemented with chocolate fudge.

Christine rotated the glass on the table, trying to find the best entry point. "This is like…way bigger than I remember."

"Oh, really?" Nancy asked haughtily. "Well, I hope you're hungry, because we're not leaving until you finish. I don't care if your dad has to wait hours to take us home."

"Yeah, that's because you like my dad too much—do not throw that sugar at me."

Nancy grudgingly retracted her hand from the sugar dish. She took a deep breath and lifted her glass, something she needed both hands to do.

"For Barb," she toasted, "and the things that don't change."

"For Barb," Christine agreed, struggling to keep her voice steady, "and the things that do."

Then they clinked their glasses together so hard, they showered the table in rainbow sprinkles.