December 15, 1984
Each year, right before winter break, Hawkins Middle School hosted the Snow Ball. It was the only formal school dance they had, which meant—besides the first and last day of school—it was the most important day of the year.
Even outside of the middle school, the Snow Ball caused a ripple of excitement. Restaurants and fast food joints stayed open a little later, giving the students someplace to go after the dance. Other stores, like Big Buy and Melvalds, closed early so their employees could go home to help their kids get ready. Some businesses on Main Street just had to make do while they were understaffed—places like The Hawk.
Christine was working a Saturday shift by herself yet again. Maggie had put in for time off weeks ago; she was volunteering at the dance, something a handful of high schoolers did for extra credit. Jake had called out last minute because he'd "totally forgotten" that he was volunteering too. Christine was pretty sure he had just "totally forgotten" he could use that as an excuse, but there wasn't really anything she could do about it.
Thankfully, it was slower than the average Saturday. They'd just gotten a new film in, Dune, but it wasn't performing as well as Beverly Hills Cop. Ironically, the people of Hawkins didn't seem all that interested in science-fiction.
Dustin had read the book and was chomping at the bit for Christine to sneak him into the theater next week. She'd promised to bring back a review and had been hoping she might get the chance to watch the movie during today's shift, but it looked like that wasn't going to happen. Between ticket sales, concessions, and cleaning, she'd be busy every second of her shift.
She was just about to close the theater doors for the first showing when Anthony came out of his office.
"Hey, Christine, why don't you head upstairs? You man the projector. I'll take care of the front today."
Christine froze where she stood. "…Why?"
"Don't argue with me," he said, with his usual level of annoyance. "Just hop to it before the screening's late, will ya?"
He waved her off and, not wanting to push her luck, Christine scampered up to the projector's booth.
In the year and a half she'd been at The Hawk, Christine hadn't spent a lot of time working the projector. Not because she didn't know how—quite the opposite. In the projector's booth, there was only one thing to worry about: the projector. Anthony preferred to keep Christine busy downstairs, where he relied on her to multitask the more detailed jobs. Joey or Russ usually manned the booth, and when they were really short staffed, Anthony would do it himself. Either he'd bring his paperwork upstairs or run up to the booth whenever the reel needed to be switched over.
Still, Christine wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth. She prepped the first reel to roll and then settled herself in the window to watch the show.
Dune wasn't what she'd been hoping for. The way Dustin had been rambling, it sounded like Star Wars with less lasers and more sand. Instead, Christine was treated to over two hours of complex space politics, prophecies, and sandworms. She did her best to pay attention, but the movie was so jumbled that she couldn't keep up. Lucky for her, when it was time for the second showing, Anthony sent her upstairs yet again. She didn't feel like she was really earning her paycheck, but at least she'd be able to give Dustin a coherent review.
The movie was so long that they were only able to fit in one and a half showings before the midday shift-change. Christine was relieved of her post by her coworker Russ, then headed downstairs to collect her things. Anthony was behind the counter, tapping away at the register with a furrowed brow. His expression made Christine slow to a halt.
"Hey," she said tentatively, "My shift's up so…do you need anything else before I head out?"
"Hm? Oh, no, you go ahead, Christine. I can handle this."
He waved her off the same way he had before, but this time, Christine didn't move.
"Is everything okay?"
"What?" Anthony looked taken aback. "Yeah, it's fine. Why do you ask?"
"Nothing, just…I don't think I've ever seen you at concessions. You usually stay in your office."
"Trying to tell me I don't do enough around here?"
It was a jab, but one that didn't hold any weight. Christine's hesitancy faded away as she walked up to the counter, dropping her bag on the ground and raising an eyebrow at her boss. Anthony looked more tired than annoyed and, after a few seconds under her gaze, he sighed and shut the register draw.
"Look, I'm not making any decisions yet, so this stays between us, yeah?" Christine nodded dutifully and Anthony rubbed his chin for a moment before continuing. "They're building that mall out on the edge of town. I know most people are excited, but the shops around here are gonna take a big hit. Now Mayor Kline's saying they're gonna have a cineplex down there."
"Wait, seriously?" She realized her mistake a second too late, and quickly tried to backpedal her excitement. "I—I mean, that's—sorry—"
"It's fine," Anthony said with a rare smile. "I don't blame you. That's how most people'll react when they find out. Why go to a place that's got one movie when you could go somewhere with five?"
"Well—well, The Hawk's closer," Christine offered. "It's a lot more convenient to drive down Main Street than hike all the way to the edge of town."
"I know that. We'll still get our regulars and the kids that can't make it down to the mall, but things are gonna change around here. Less customers means less profit, less payroll, less employees. Guess I'm just crawling out of my office to make sure I still remember how to do all this."
He laughed halfheartedly and began wiping down the counter. Christine fiddled with her bowtie, unsure how to respond. She'd spent a lot of time at The Hawk, even before she'd started working there. She couldn't imagine walking down the street and seeing it closed and vacant. How long could the local theater survive on regulars before the big-time mall shut them down?
"Hey." Anthony snapped the rag at her, looking stern again. "Stop it with the face. This place isn't going anywhere, and I don't need you worrying about it. You just keep the register in order, and we'll be fine."
"Right," said Christine. "Yeah. I can do that."
"Good. Now, don't you have something better to do than standing around my lobby?"
Christine didn't argue. She did have better things to do, and if she didn't start doing them soon, she was going to be late.
Her bike ride home was against the wind, so by the time she got to Dover Avenue, she was flushed and out of breath. She stowed her bike next to the garage before jogging over to the Hendersons' house, knocking, and letting herself in without invitation.
"Hello?" she called, wiping her feet on the mat. "Dustin? Claudia?"
"Hi!" Claudia's singsong voice called down the hallway. "I'll be there in a minute, sweetheart!"
A sharp squeak drew Christine farther into the living room. She dropped to her knees and crawled toward the couch, pressing her face to the carpet so she could peek underneath, where a tiny pair of blue eyes peered back at her.
"Hi, Tews," Christine cooed, fishing the kitten out from her hiding place. "Whatcha doing down there, huh?"
The cat mewled again, squirming in Christine's hands until she was properly cradled against her chest. Tews snuggled her face into the sleeve of Christine's sweatshirt, making Christine's heart melt a little more.
Tews was proving to be a lot more affectionate than Mews had been; she was only two months old with soft, cream-colored fur and a scrunchy black face. Dustin had enlisted Mr. Walcott's help in getting the kitten as a super early Christmas gift for his mother, who'd been reeling in Mews' absence. No one was surprised when she burst into tears at the sight of the new kitten and nearly suffocated Dustin in a crushing hug.
Christine had never been much of a cat person, but Tews was alarmingly adorable. She was starting to understand how being a self-proclaimed Cat Mom had become such an integral part of Claudia's personality.
"Oh, there she is!" Claudia came bustling into the room, an iron in one hand and a pair of dress pants in the other. She discarded both on the couch so she could scoop Tews out of Christine's arms and bury her face in the fur. "Yes, here she is! Oh, you are just so good at hiding, aren't you? Roosy Tewsy! Who's my Tewsy?!"
Claudia continued to fawn over the kitten, and Christine took the chance to briefly wave her hand over the iron, just to ensure Claudia didn't burn the house down while she was making googly eyes at her cat; thankfully, the iron wasn't hot.
"Christine!" Dustin charged into the room, still in his pajamas but looking furious. "Why are you here?! Go away! What are you doing?!"
"Excuse me?" Christine was too baffled to be annoyed. "I just got off work. You asked me about Dune."
"Not now! I don't need you—wait….was it good?"
"Honestly, I don't know. I didn't read the book, so maybe it'll be less confusing for you. It was okay, but—"
"Okay, you know what? I can't do this right now." Dustin marched forward, grabbing Christine by the shoulders and shoving her toward the door. "You need to leave. Go home. Get out."
"Dusty!" Claudia scolded.
"Mom! I have to get ready!"
"Seriously?" Christine scoffed. "Dust, it's like three o'clock. The dance doesn't start until seven-thirty."
"Yes, I know that, Christine," he snapped at her, "but I have to finalize my outfit and go to the store and take a shower and eat dinner and get dressed and take pictures and—"
"Okay! Okay, I got it," she huffed as he pushed her out onto the stoop. "You're a busy man and you don't want my help."
"Exactly!" Dustin smiled widely. Either he was completely oblivious to the fact he was being a dick, or he was ignoring it to save time. "Thanks for stopping by, Chris—really. We'll talk about the movie tomorrow. I gotta go. Bye!"
And then he shut the front door in her face.
Christine sighed, letting her head tip back and her eyes flutter closed. "One of these days. Not today, but one of these days…"
She shook her head and went back to her own house.
Christine wasn't surprised to find Hopper in her living room. He was in his usual chair, her father his spot on the couch, both of them watching the television with the volume set too high. It wasn't a football game, but whatever it was had a lot of gunshots and explosions, so Christine didn't bother slowing down to ask.
She shouted a hello and ducked through the kitchen to the garage. Amongst the wall of cardboard boxes that held the Walcotts' holiday decorations and keepsakes, there was a large suitcase that hadn't been used since their moving days. Christine lugged it out of the corner and into the house, dragged it down the hall to her bedroom, and shut the door behind her. She took a moment to select a cassette from her collection and turn the music up to drown out the TV. Then she turned to her closet and threw the doors wide open.
Christine had never been especially fashionable. Most of her childhood had been spent in jeans and T-shirts, sweaters, and borrowed flannels. She had a few dresses and skirts, usually reserved for work functions her dad brought her to when he couldn't find a babysitter. It wasn't until she got to Hawkins that she started to understand trends and personal style; more specifically, when she became friends with Nancy.
Nancy was everything Christine pictured when she heard the word "girl." She had delicate features and curly hair, dressed in neat skirts and loafers, had collections of soft cardigans and shiny jewelry. It wasn't that Christine was jealous, exactly—she didn't want Nancy's wardrobe or pink wallpaper—but at the same time, she was jealous of how effortlessly Nancy Nancy was. Back then, Christine wasn't sure what it meant to be Christine; if she was honest with herself, she was still figuring it out now.
Nancy had always been willing to help. She would come over with armfuls of magazines so the two of them could flip through the pictures and talk about which ones they liked. She loaned Christine skirts and jewelry, curled her hair, taught her how to do her makeup—well, that one was an ongoing project. She'd even invited Christine along on her mother-daughter shopping trip before their first Snow Ball. Mrs. Wheeler had more fun than either of them, picking out piles of dresses for the girls to try. After hours of playing dress up, Mrs. Wheeler bought Nancy a ruffly pink dress, the one that Eleven would fall in love with a few years down the line. Christine wasn't thrilled about her own dress—she looked like Dorothy from The Wizard of Oz, if Dorothy's dress had been yellow and pink instead of blue—but Mrs. Wheeler insisted that she looked adorable, and since Mrs. Wheeler had offered to pay for the dress, Christine hadn't felt comfortable arguing.
Christine was just pulling the checkered dress out of the closet when there was a soft knock on her door. Her father waited for her approval before stepping inside, where his eyes were instantly drawn to the overflowing suitcase on her bed.
"Are you sure you need all that?" he asked dubiously.
"I don't know what I'll need," Christine countered. "That's why I'm taking everything."
"Right. And, remind me, who are you doing this for again?"
"Her name's Max. She just moved here a month or two ago, and she's gotten really close with the boys."
"Okay…? And why does that require a metric ton of beauty products?"
Christine squeezed the suitcase closed and, with a little finagling, managed to close the zipper. She leaned back against it and turned to her father with her arms crossed over her chest.
"She's the new girl who doesn't have a lot of dresses and doesn't know how to fit in. I can relate."
Her dad smiled and walked over, taking her face between his hands so he could look at her properly. "You're a good person, you know that?"
"Thank you," Christine replied. "I mean, you raised me, so…good job?"
He laughed at that, shaking her a few times before he pushed her toward the door. "Alright, let's get going, bumblebee. Wouldn't want this…Max…to be late for the Snow Ball…whoever she is…"
Christine led the way back through the living room, her father heaving the heavy suitcase along behind her. He dropped it next to the front door with a loud thump and turned breathlessly to Hopper.
"Jim, you think you could move your truck for me? I gotta drop Chrissy off at a friend's house."
"Now?" Hopper complained through a mouthful of crumbs. "Come on! It's just gettin' good!"
"Sorry," Christine said flatly. "I can't exactly bike with luggage."
Hopper shot the bag a suspicious look. "You movin' out or something?"
Christine glared at him, narrowly resisting the urge to respond with Billy Joel lyrics as she tugged on her coat.
"Not quite," her dad answered for her. "She's doing a public service—helping one of the new kids get ready for the Snow Ball."
"…It's a middle school dance. What's there to do?"
"Girl stuff," Christine said tersely.
"Right, well, I don't know anything about that."
Hopper groaned as he got to his feet and swiped his keys off the table. He moved to join them, but paused just before he reached for the door, closed his eyes and retracted his hand, already grimacing before he spoke.
"I know I'm gonna regret this, but…do you want a lift?"
"What?" Christine wrinkled her nose at him. "Seriously?"
"Oh, Jim, you don't have to do that," her dad assured him. "Really, I'll be right back and—"
"Pete, it's fine. I gotta start 'er up anyway, and I should probably swing by the station. Teenagers tend to get a little wild when everyone else is focused on the middle school." He turned back to Christine, cocking an eyebrow as he settled his hat. "What'dya say, Slim?"
Christine pursed her lips. It took her a few seconds to compose an answer.
"Yeah, whatever. Thanks."
Hopper clapped a hand on her shoulder with unnecessary enthusiasm, then scooped the suitcase up from the ground and headed out the door. Christine followed, shooting a half-assed smile of reassurance to her dad. He was still standing in the doorway, looking wary, worried, and extremely confused. Despite that, he didn't stop them.
Christine and Hopper climbed into the truck in silence, the suitcase secured in the backseat. They pulled out of the driveway and just when Christine thought they might manage to drive away without any more obstacles—
"WAIT!"
Dustin came barreling across his front yard, waving his arms insistently as his curls bounced like crazy. Hopper groaned again, but pulled to a stop on the curb so he could roll down the window.
"What?"
"I need to talk to Chrissy," Dustin panted.
"Can't it wait?"
"Can't you?"
Hopper stopped, actually speechless for a moment. Christine took advantage of the pause to unbuckle her seatbelt before he could argue.
"I'll be quick," she assured him, before slipping out of the car.
Dustin pulled her up the driveway, closer to the house and the overhead lights of the porch. He kept looking back and forth between the truck and the front door, as if he were trying to gauge the perfect spot to be out of earshot of any prying adults. Christine stopped him halfway up the driveway and raised an eyebrow.
"So, what happened to 'I don't what your help?'"
"It's nothing," Dustin grumbled, fishing in the pocket of his dress pants. "I just—I need your help with my bow tie."
Christine kept her expression neutral as he handed her the fabric. She knew that Dustin knew how to knot a bow tie—he was better than her, considering her bow ties were all clip-ons—but she kept that thought to herself. She waited for Dustin to pop his collar, slung the tie around his neck, and tried her best to start the bow.
"You look sharp," she offered. "I like the suspenders, and the shirt. Blue's a good color."
"Yeah. Yeah, thanks."
Dustin was looking up so he didn't have to make eye contact with Christine. His fingers wiggled anxiously at his sides and his knee was bouncing nervously. Finally, he cleared his throat to speak.
"Chrissy, what…what do I do?"
She wasn't surprised by the question, but that didn't mean she was prepared for it. Christine sighed, finishing the bow tie and yanking it around until it looked semi-level.
"I told you, Dusty. You're gonna be fine. Just be yourself and go have fun with your friends."
"But what if they don't want me there?" he asked weakly.
"Dustin, you know that's not true. These are your best friends. The four of you saved the world. You're supposed to do this together. Hobbits, remember?""
"What about Lucas? Now that Max—"
"Is friends with all of you," Christine finished sternly, "she's officially part of the party. And that's good, right?"
"Easy for you to say. Steve likes you back now."
"Hey." Christine flicked Dustin's nose, ignoring his yelp as she grabbed ahold of him, tight enough that he wouldn't be able to shake her off. "This isn't about Steve. It's not about who Max likes, or who she picked, or who she ends up with, okay? It's not about who any of you end up with. It's about you. This is your last year of middle school and your last Snow Ball, and if you spend the whole thing slouched in a corner, staring at someone from across the room, then you'll regret it. That's something easy for me to say."
Dustin sagged as Christine released her grip on him. Even though it had only been a few seconds, he made a big show of brushing off his arms and flattening his shirt. He picked at the edge of his suspender, still stalling.
"Are you gonna come?"
"I might pop in," Christine answered. "I'm not actually volunteering like Nance and Jonathan, but if Mr. Clarke's at the door, I could probably talk my way in."
Dustin smiled. "I can lend you some bardic inspiration."
"Nah, save your points for yourself. You're not gonna want me there anyway, not once you get inside. You guys are gonna have fun."
It was clear that Dustin still had his doubts, but he didn't argue with her. Instead, he surprised her with a hug so tight that she huffed out a breath of laughter, visible in the night air. She hugged him back and seized the opportunity to ruffle his curls.
"Okay, I love you, but seriously, get inside," she said, gently pushing him toward the house. "It's cold as shit and your hair's still damp."
"Oh shit!" Dustin's jaw dropped as he patted his head. "Shit, I have to do my hair! Okay, I gotta go! Love you! Bye!"
He sprinted back into the house, one hand on his head the whole way. Christine grinned and shook her head as she walked back to the truck, where Hopper pretended he hadn't been watching them, and Christine pretended she hadn't caught his smile. He kicked the car into gear and sped off down the road.
It took a long time to get to the house, but it was faster than it would have been on her bike. Hopper didn't have a driveway, per se, but his truck had carved a rough path through the brush in the woods. Once he parked, Christine pulled the suitcase from the back, intending to carry it inside, but Hopper wordlessly grabbed it from her hands. Then he led her the rest of the way, through the trees and around the tripwires, until they finally arrived at the cabin. He knocked—two quick, one slow, three quick—and the door unlocked from the inside.
"Chrissy!" Eleven grabbed Christine by the arm and pulled her into the house, dragging her straight toward the bedroom. "Come on, come on!"
"Okay, okay, slow down," Christine laughed. "Do I get a hello?"
"Sorry." El stopped, turning back to her with a blinding smile of excitement. "Hi!"
"Hi to you too."
"Don't worry about me," Hopper grumbled as he dragged the bag over the threshold. "Not like I've got anything important to say."
"Hi, Hop," El amended. She hurried back to lock the door as he lugged the suitcase to her room. "How was your day?"
"Fine. How was your day?"
"Fine. Can I still go?"
"Yes, you can still go," Hopper sighed, as though this were the millionth time. "Just take it easy, kid. Can we have dinner first?"
"I ate."
Eleven's bed squeaked in protest as Hopper dropped the suitcase on top, and he turned back to Eleven with suspicious eyes. "You mean Eggos?"
"No," El said earnestly. "I ate dinner. And the mushy peas."
Hopper considered this for a few seconds, sharp eyes scanning Eleven head to toe for signs of deception. He must have decided she was telling the truth, because he huffed and walked past her into the kitchen.
"You know, it's rude to eat before everyone gets to the table."
"I eat without you," Eleven said defensively. It was clear her patience was already running out.
"Yeah, I know you eat without me, but did you ask Christine? Huh? You ask her if she had dinner or are you just gonna drag her in there to play dress-up until she starves to death?"
Eleven turned to Christine in alarm, not understanding the hyperbole.
"I'm fine, El," Christine assured her. "I had a big lunch. Let's go pick out your dress."
El beamed and immediately dragged Christine into her bedroom, closing the door behind them.
Christine was tempted to say that Eleven looked like a kid in a candy store, but that didn't quite convey Eleven's fascination. She gawked at each dress she pulled from the bag, handling it like glass and staring as though it was a piece of fine art, which was hilarious, considering the cheap department stores most of them came from.
They moved the suitcase to the floor so El had enough space to spread the dresses out on the bed while Christine put on some music. This was going to be Eleven's first party ever, so Christine had made a special mix tape for the occasion. Instead of her personal favorites, she'd recorded a collection of some popular songs on the radio. She wasn't sure what Eleven had been listening to for the last year—exclusively Billy Joel, if she was dumb enough to believe Hopper—but Christine thought El might be more comfortable at the Snow Ball if she was familiar with the music. At least, as familiar as you could be after listening to one cassette tape.
Christine busied herself laying out all her makeup and hair products while Eleven considered the dresses. There were five in total—six if you counted the flowy chiffon skirt Christine brought as an alternate option. She'd shown Eleven the blouse and matching neck scarf, but El had wrinkled her nose and put it back in the suitcase.
The next to go had been Christine's fluffy Dorothy dress, followed by the green mini dress she'd worn the year after. She'd been trying to compensate for the year before, hoping the short, daring dress would make her look pretty and confident like Twiggy. Unfortunately, she was wearing the dress in small-town Indiana, so the only thing it made her look was cold.
That left three to choose from: a yellow, floral dress with a ruffle that hung off the shoulders, a muted blue dress with pink polka dots and a matching belt, or a blue and green plaid jumper with large buckles on the shoulder straps. El seemed to be leaning toward the plaid one at first, but after holding each of them up against her chest, she settled on the blue one.
"Pretty?" she asked Christine hopefully.
"Pretty," Christine confirmed with a grin. "Yeah, I think that's the one Nancy wore in the eighth grade. I asked if I could borrow a few so you'd have more to choose from."
To her surprise, Eleven frowned and put the dress back on the bed.
"Wait, what's wrong?"
"Which are yours?" Eleven asked sheepishly.
"Oh…" Christine swallowed the lump in her throat, but it still took a few seconds to find the words. "El, you—you don't have to wear my stuff. You should wear what you like. It's just…it's like favorites, remember? You like whipped cream, and I like syrup. It's okay."
Eleven's lips twitched up into a smile. She looked again at the blue dress, her fingers ghosting over the puffy shoulders, her eyes longing but still uncertain.
"Go on," Christine urged. "You loved the pink dress too, and that was Nancy's. You're gonna look way better than I did at my last Snow Ball. Course, I wore a jumpsuit so that's not saying much…"
"Jumpsuit?" El repeated curiously.
"Yeah, it's like—it's a top that's connected to your pants and it was bright red and—and I had my hair all curled because I was trying to look like this actress from Charlie's Angels, because that's what Nancy, Barb, and I had done for Halloween, only everyone was staring at me and I looked like a total weirdo so I called my dad so he could pick me up early and…yeah…"
Christine trailed off, blushing at the embarrassing memory until she was about the same color the jumpsuit had been. Eleven's big brown eyes were still watching her, so she cleared her throat and continued, "Anyway, that's why I didn't bring that as an option. I'm not the kind of person you take fashion advice from. If you like the blue dress, then I think you should wear it, but it's totally your decision."
El waffled for a moment before she picked the dress up again, hugging it to her chest.
"Yeah?" Christine asked, and Eleven nodded. "Okay! Now that that's settled, we can work on…uh…everything else…"
She turned back to the dresser with her hands on her hips, staring at the now seemingly random items spread in front of her. Well…she was just going to have to try her best.
The first thing they tackled was Eleven's hair. The mop of brown curls brought a smile to Christine's face, but she wasn't entirely sure what to do with it. It was too short to pull into any kind of updo, and too long to do nothing. Ultimately, she decided the best course of action would be to use hair gel to slick it back—not as drastic as it had been when El had come back from Chicago, but enough to make her curls seem more purposeful and defined. At least, that's what she'd said to Eleven, who had nodded dutifully and sat down on a stool. Christine herself wasn't even sure what she'd said, but she didn't want El to know that. Christine rarely did anything with her hair besides putting it in a ponytail. Anything more complicated than that took a two-Wheeler team, as it had on Halloween. But Nancy wasn't here to help now; the training wheels were coming off.
They settled in front of the dresser, where Hopper had mounted a mirror on the wall. El hummed along to the music while Christine brushed her hair back and combed what she hoped was a sufficient amount of product through the curls. She sang along to the songs she knew best, guiding El through the words, and told stories about the largely uneventful Snow Balls she'd attended when she was in middle school. El listened with rapt attention, watching Christine's reflection in the mirror.
"That's a nice bracelet," Christine offered, nodding to the blue braid wrapped around Eleven's wrist. "Did you make it?"
El tried to shake her head, but Christine forced her to keep looking forward so she could finish the curl she was working on. "No. Hop."
Christine raised an eyebrow at El in the mirror. "Hopper made you a bracelet?"
"No, he gave me it. From Sarah."
"Sarah? Who's Sarah?"
"His girl. Before me."
Christine's hands stilled in Eleven's hair. El wasn't looking at her anymore. She was staring thoughtfully at bracelet, fiddling with the elastic band and spinning it around her wrist.
"He doesn't talk about her, because she's gone."
"…Oh…"
It was all Christine could think to say.
She didn't know much about Chief Hopper. Now that she thought back, she'd gotten a glimpse of the bracelet a few times before on Hopper's wrist. It might have peeked out while he was paying for tickets at The Hawk, or slipped out from under his sleeve when he went to light a cigarette. Christine had thought it was an odd choice, such a bright blue with his otherwise brown and khaki wardrobe, but she'd never asked about it. She didn't want to.
It certainly made things a little clearer: the long nights he'd spent talking to her dad, the lengths he'd gone to making sure Joyce wouldn't lose Will, his deep paranoia about putting Eleven in danger. Christine wasn't sure she was ready to forgive him for using El as collateral, but he'd kept her safe. He'd lied about it all year, but he'd been taking care of her like his own daughter.
"Don't tell?" El pleaded, meeting Christine's eye in the mirror again.
"I won't tell," Christine assured her. "I promise."
Eleven relaxed, the sadness slowly fading from her smile as she went back to listening to the music. She continued to twirl the bracelet around her wrist as Christine finished her hair.
After hair was makeup, something Christine was even more nervous about. Thankfully, this was Eleven, so she wasn't looking for anything grand or elaborate. Christine spread some powder and blush on her face, then showed El how to put on her own eyeshadow. El enthusiastically spread the glittery pink around her eyes, so all Christine had to do was even it out and soften the edges. After some lip gloss and the tiniest bit of mascara, Christine spun Eleven around to look at herself in the mirror.
"What do you think?" she asked. "I think together you and I make a pretty decent makeup artist."
Eleven didn't speak. She cautiously got to her feet and approached the dresser, captivated by her reflection. She turned her head one way, then the other, then reached out to touch the mirror. Slowly, her lips pulled into a wide smile. She whirled around and barreled into Christine, seizing her in a hug and burying her face into her shirt.
"Hey, careful! Careful," Christine giggled, easing El back, "otherwise we'll have to start all over again."
El shuffled back and, before she could apologize, Christine leaned down to pull her into a proper hug, keeping El's head tucked safely on her shoulder. They stayed that way for while nearly a whole song played on the cassette, squeezing the life out of each other. With Barb's funeral, it had been weeks since they'd seen each other, and there was still a part of Christine that was terrified to let go. It was only the sight of the clock that made her pull away.
"Okay," she said shakily, "alright, we've gotta get moving. I brought stockings and shoes—they might be a little big, but I can shove a sock in there or something if we need to. I'll help you with—"
"I can do it," El said confidently. She'd already picked up the dress again and was hugging it to her chest.
"Are you sure?" Christine asked. "I don't mind."
"I'm sure. Go. Surprise."
El ushered Christine toward the door and pushed her into the living room, giving her one final smile before she closed the door. Christine stood there at a total loss. It was the second time that day she'd had the door shut in her face.
"Kicked you out, huh?" asked Hopper. "Welcome to my world."
Christine rolled her eyes, a quip ready on her tongue, but she forgot it the moment she turned around. Hopper was at the dining room table, fiddling with an old Polaroid camera and trying to get the film loaded in properly—but it wasn't the camera that surprised her. Hopper had changed out of his uniform and into a button-down shirt. It was nearly wrinkle-free and had thin stripes that matched the forest green tie hanging crookedly around his neck.
"Oh…um…" Christine fought to keep a straight face. "Yeah, she's—uh, she's getting dressed now."
She tried to hide the smile that was tugging at her lips, but Hopper must have heard it in her voice because he narrowed his eyes at her. "What?"
"Nothing. No, I just…you look nice."
Immediately, Hopper swore and dropped the camera. "I knew this was stupid."
"What?" Christine laughed as he stormed past her. "No, I didn't say—"
"Well, your face did. Shut up, Slim."
There wasn't really anywhere for him to go in the one-room cabin, but he marched around the couch to his cot and ripped the tie from his collar. Christine snickered to herself and took a seat at the table, helping herself to some of the chips that Hopper had been eating. She grabbed the camera, looking over the mechanisms to puzzle out how it worked. Her nail tapped anxiously against the plastic, working on the problem as she debated her next move.
"Uh…hey," she called after a few seconds of silence. "I just wanted to say thanks—for driving me over, planning around my dad, letting me help out. It's…really nice, being able to do this."
She could feel his curious look from across the room, but she kept her focus on the camera. With a few tentative clicks, she managed to pop the film in and secure the door. Hopper huffed in amusement as he sat down across from her.
"Yeah, well…thanks for helping, I guess. I knew how much she wanted to go, but I'll be damned if I can do any of this stuff."
"If it helps, I don't do much of it either," Christine admitted. "I tried for a while, in middle school, and sometimes it's fun but…I'm a lot more comfortable in jeans and a tee shirt."
Hopper cracked a grin and lifted his beer. "I'll drink to that."
It wasn't long after that Eleven decided she was ready to make an appearance. She knocked on the door to let them know she was coming out, and waited a few seconds before shuffling through the door. Christine knew what she would look like, but it didn't stop her from breaking into a wide smile.
The dress was a little big on El, its puffy shoulders lopsided on her petite frame, but that hardly mattered when she looked so happy. It was the same look she'd had when Christine first saw her in the pink dress and blonde wig—but then, Eleven had been in disguise. Today, she could be herself.
Christine volunteered to man the camera, taking dozens of pictures of Eleven as she walked into the room and twirled. She took just as many pictures of Hopper, determined to catch it on film if he started to cry. He didn't, but Christine pocketed a few where he looked teary-eyed.
They took pictures of El, pictures of El and Hop, pictures of El and Christine, and then, finally, it was time to go. Christine climbed into the backseat of the truck, letting Eleven sit shotgun so she wouldn't wrinkle her dress.
"You sure you wanna do this?" Hopper asked El.
"Yes," she answered confidently.
Hopper sighed, wiped a hand down his face, and nodded bitterly, grumbling to himself as he kicked the truck into gear and backed into the forest. Christine was sure he hadn't expected anything else, but apparently he wasn't above hoping El had changed her mind. Honestly, that was more far-fetched than parallel dimensions.
A/N: Hi, everyone! We're reaching the end of our season two journey. Next week will be the final chapter of this installment. I can't thank you enough for reading, reviewing, and messaging me about this story. I promise I'm already working hard on what comes next!
Also, changed its notification system, so if you're still interested in getting email updates about this story, make sure you go into your account settings and opt-in to email notifications. Thankfully, we've only got one week to go anyway.
-Brittney
