November 4, 1983
By 8:00 PM, most of Hawkins, Indiana was getting ready to turn in for the night. Orange streetlamps buzzed faintly against the dark blue sky, kitchen lights turning off after dishes were washed, and the faint blue light of the television catching the curtains of some families' front windows. Cars were carefully stowed away for the evening, and children argued with their parents that they could stay up just a little bit longer.
But one house, at least, was still wide awake.
"Are you sure you've got everything?" a teenage girl asked, eyeing her father's suitcases.
"Pretty darned," he replied. He rounded the corner to the front room, dropping another bag into the pile so he could pull on his coat. "Suits are already in the car. Got my files, got my toothbrush…"
"Are you sure, Dad?"
"Christine, I'm a forty-year-old man. I know how to pack for a business trip."
"Right," she said with a curt nod, "and last time you just forgot your briefcase, so I had to hitch a ride to the airport to drop it off for you."
"Well, at least I won't make that mistake again, will I?"
He grinned at her until she broke. When her pout turned into a grudging smile, he tugged her forward to place a kiss into her blonde hair.
"Give me some credit. Kitchen is stocked, hotel number is on the fridge, Claudia is next door if you need anything, emergency funds are in the bread box, and the key to the liquor cabinet is in my 'I Heart New York' mug."
"Dad, I don't…"
"Ah, ah, ah!" He waved his hands vehemently, squeezing his eyes shut. "I don't want you to lie to me. Just promise me you'll drink responsibly."
"I'm serious, Dad. I don't…"
"Say it to make me feel better, come on. Please."
"Fine," she laughed. "Yes, I promise we'll drink loads, and we'll do it responsibly."
"That's my girl." He kissed her swiftly on the cheek and picked up his bags. "I'll be back next Monday. Call me if you need anything."
"I will. Love you, Dad."
"Love you too, bumblebee." He winked, and stuck his head around the corner to the living room. "Goodnight, girls! Give your parents my best!"
"Night, Mr. Walcott!"
"Have a safe flight!"
With one last pat on his daughter's head, he ducked out of the house and closed the door behind him.
Christine peered through the window, one hand ready on the doorknob in case he came running back to grab something. But her father climbed into the car and backed out without incident. She waved as he pulled onto the road, and then headed back into the living room to rejoin her friends.
"I love your dad," said Nancy from her seat on the floor. "He's just so…"
"Cool," Christine finished, rolling her eyes. "Yeah, we get it, Nance. You love my dad. You adore my dad. You are weirdly obsessed with my dad."
"Shut up! I didn't mean it like that." Barb snorted next to her, and Nancy's jaw dropped further. "I am not obsessed with her dad!"
"Sure," Barb said with a shrug. She picked another potato chip from the bowl and inspected it closely to avoid Nancy's death glare. "But you do bring him up literally every time we come over here."
"Why, thank you, Barb," said Christine smugly.
They cackled, watching Nancy blush furiously. Eventually, even she had to chuckle.
"I just think you're lucky to have a dad that's so understanding," she explained. "If I brought up drinking to my dad, I think he'd go into cardiac arrest."
"Uh, no," Barb corrected, "your mom would go into cardiac arrest."
"And then your dad would complain about the inconvenience on the way to the hospital," finished Christine.
"Exactly! They'd get crazy upset, and still somehow manage to make it all about them. It's ridiculous!"
"She's got a point," said Barb. "Your dad is pretty chill."
Christine waved a hand in defeat. "Ugh, fine, whatever. My dad's the bomb. Are we getting pizza or what?"
Nancy and Barb both raised their hands, and Christine retreated to the kitchen. As she plugged the number into the wall phone, she noticed a dark square sitting on the kitchen counter. She picked it up, flipping it open to review her father's driver's license, bank card, library card, assorted cash…
"Yeah, nice going, Dad," she mumbled, pinning the phone to her shoulder. "Sorry, hi! I was looking to place an order for delivery?"
She ordered their normal pies—one extra cheese, one pepperoni—and weighed the wallet in her hand. The easiest thing would probably be to ask Barb to drive her to the airport. If they were lucky, the might even catch up to her dad on the road. She'd have to pay for the gas money, of course, but she could always take a few bills from the wallet…
Thankfully, it didn't come to that. She was just rattling off her address when a set of headlights pulled into the driveway. The car door slammed, pounding feet jogged up to the house, and her father tumbled through the front door.
"Sweetheart? Have you seen my…?"
Christine whistled, leaning around the corner to toss him the wallet. He grinned, gave her a small salute, and ducked out of the house once more.
This was standard routine at the Walcott house. Not that her father was particularly forgetful, or that Christine was especially organized. They just kept each other in check. The two of them had a system, and it had been that way for years. It was part of the reason she hated it so much when he had to go away.
She was getting better though. Every business trip was offset by a sleepover with her two closest friends. They gossiped, ate junk food, stayed up far too late, and watched movies they had no business watching before bed.
"I can't believe you made me bring this again," Barb complained, once they were settled in the living room with their pizza and sodas. She pulled a videotape out of her bag, and pushed herself up on her knees to insert it into the machine. "Can't we watch something new?"
"Hey, my house, my rules." Christine stretched out a leg to kick Barb in the butt, and Nancy giggled. "We watch comedies at your house, chick flicks at Nancy's. My house is the horror house."
"Yeah, I know," Barb sighed. She pressed a button, and the previews began to fly by on the screen. "I just don't get why you guys like horror movies. They're all skinny girls who don't know how to run and skeevy guys trying to get in their pants."
"They're not all like that," said Nancy. "I really liked Jaws."
"Right. The one with the skinny girls who can't swim, and the skeevy guys trying to get in their bathing suits."
Christine threw a handful of popcorn at her, laughing when a piece got wedged underneath her glasses.
"Come on, Barb. That's the whole point!"
"What? That guys are dumb and girls are dumber?"
"No, that stupidity gets punished." Christine leaned against the seat of the couch, setting the popcorn bowl aside. "That's the whole thing that gets overlooked in horror movies. There's a structure to them. Skeevy guys, girls that sleep around, bullies, assholes—they're all first on the chopping block. If you don't do stupid shit, then you don't get killed."
"Oh, right," Nancy said with an exaggerated nod. "So you like horror movies because they make you feel better about being a virgin?"
"Um, yeah. Obviously. What about you, Nance?"
"Me? Definitely the blood. I just—I love watching massive amounts of gore. Totally."
"Funny," Barb snorted. "I thought you guys just liked this movie cause that one guy looks like Steve Harrington."
Nancy and Christine both squealed in protest.
"Oh my God, he does not!"
"Woah, hey, Jack looks nothing like Steve!"
"Right? You're so right!"
"Nothing! Absolutely."
They nodded at each other firmly in the silence, lips pursed in determination. Barb raised an eyebrow to meet her red curls. Nancy hesitantly pressed a hand over her mouth, trying to hold in her laughter, but the damage had already been done.
"Alright, except for the hair," she admitted, kicking Christine's leg.
"And the running shorts," Christine added with a wink.
Both girls dissolved into giggles, unhindered by their friend's unimpressed gaze. But the laughter was contagious, and after a few seconds even Barb was wiping her eyes and clutching her sides.
"Okay, okay," she wheezed, struggling to maintain her mature composure. "Let's just watch your dumb camp slasher."
"It's called Friday the Thirteenth, and it's incredible, thank you very much."
"Whatever, Chris."
Things settled down as they got into the movie. Christine had already seen it at least eight times since it had come out, but it was still thoroughly entertaining. She liked the anticipation in horror movies—not knowing who'd be next, when the killer would get them or how they were gonna go. But as the crowd of characters thinned out on screen, her interest began to drift. Nancy had tuned out the moment the boy named Jack had been stabbed in the throat, and Barb had been more interested in her pizza than the film since the title card.
Which brought the trio to the inevitable second phase of their sleepover.
"Nancy, truth or dare?" asked Barb.
Nancy swirled the remnants of her Coke around the bottle, deliberating before deciding, "Dare."
Barb smirked victoriously.
"Alright. I dare you to tell Christine who your real first crush was."
"Excuse me?" Christine gaped, as Nancy's jaw dropped.
"No! No, no, no! You can't use dares to force truths! That's against the rules!"
"Wait, your real first crush?" Christine repeated. "I thought it was Ethan Hart? That guy in my English class?"
"It was," Nancy insisted, as Barb shook her head.
"No, it was not."
"Who was it?" Christine demanded. "Nancy Wheeler, who was it?"
"I'm not doing this," Nancy laughed, shaking her head. "Nope, nope, nope!"
"Nancy, if you don't tell her I'm going to."
"Barb!"
"Who was it, who was it, who was it, tell me, tell me, tell me, tell me…"
"Shut up! Fine! It was Peter Jorgins!"
Nancy immediately buried her face in her hands as Barb and Christine erupted into laughter.
"Oh my God, Peter Jorgins?" Christine asked. "Isn't he the one who kept that Princess Leia picture in his wallet?"
"Yup," said Barb, nodding sagely. "Metal bikini and all."
"Ugh, I know," Nancy whined, peeking out between her fingers. "He wasn't always such a perv. This was back in like, first grade. Way before you moved here."
"Still, I'm hurt," said Christine, laying a hand over her chest. "It's like five years of friendship means nothing to you."
"Very funny. Truth or dare, Chrissy?"
"Fine. Truth."
Nancy narrowed her eyes, visibly mulling over a few ideas before breaking out into a smile.
"Alright. So you said horror movies have rules, right? Like if you hook up with someone then you have to die?"
"Yeah, and?"
"If you were in a horror movie, would you rather be a loner and survive the film, or make out with Steve Harrington?"
"Oof, brutal," said Barb, pointing at the girl across from her. "Good one."
Christine chewed on her lip, sagging back against the couch as she began her internal debate. It was difficult to push aside her daydreams of what it would actually be like to make out with King Steve Harrington—the most popular boy at Hawkins High School. She could easily spend all night thinking about it and never answer the question.
It was a stupid question, she knew—make out with one boy or not die? But still. Not every boy was Steve Harrington.
"Chrissy, you can't be serious," Barb said, after nearly a full minute of silence. "No guy is worth dying for. Not even King Steve."
"Well it's just making out, right?" Christine said meekly. "I mean, they couldn't kill me for making out with him. It's not sex."
"No way," said Barb. "You'd rather get chased by a crazy psycho with a knife than miss the chance to kiss Steve Harrington?"
"I can run pretty fast…"
Christine shrugged, and Nancy cackled next to her. She shook her long brown hair out of her face, fighting for breath as she held up a finger.
"Okay, wait, but what if you did sleep with him? Survive the crazy psycho monster, or sex with Steve?"
"Are you kidding me?" Christine laughed. "Have you heard the way Becky Dern talks about him? And they only dated like, a month. I'm pretty sure it would be worth it."
"So worth it," Nancy agreed.
They turned to Barb, who was watching them both skeptically. She rolled her eyes—her signature move—and grinned. "Well, I guess there are worse ways to go."
There was another round of giggles, and everyone helped themselves to second helpings of pizza.
"Anyway," Barb continued, "you're one step closer than the rest of us to finding out, Miss Advanced Placement."
"God, you're so lucky," Nancy sighed, downing the rest of her Coke. "I'm literally so jealous."
"There's nothing to be jealous of," Christine insisted, though she could feel her cheeks heating up. "I see Steve one period a day, two tops."
"But you're his lab partner! That's like, infinite opportunities to hang out. Lab questions, last minute reports, study dates…"
"I don't think it sounds that glamorous," said Barb. "Especially since he keeps slacking off."
Her disapproving face was back in place, making Christine defensive.
"He's been busy. I mean, between school and basketball practice…"
"Yeah? Well you've got a job."
"It's only been two reports," Christine reasoned. "And he really tries in class, so it's just the write up that I'm doing. Besides, I don't mind. I really like physics."
"Right. Physics."
Christine did her best not to let that sting. She knew Barb was just looking out for her. She was a classic realist, probably the most sensible, grounded person in their group. Still, her protective streak could be a real downer.
"Hey," Nancy said gently. "Maybe it's not Steve's fault, you know? Maybe Chrissy's just hogging all the work for herself. She's a science hog."
"Excuse me?" Christine asked with a playful glare.
Nancy shrugged. "A science hog. That's why you're in upper placement, right? You just love science so much, and you want to do everything yourself. You are a big nerd."
"Right. This coming from the straight-A student."
"Hate all you want, but straight-A isn't upper placement."
"Of course not," Barb scoffed. "Just top of your class in English, and trigonometry, and chemistry…"
"Oh crap," Nancy sighed, all jokes forgotten. "We've got a chem test next week. I completely forgot."
"It's next week," said Christine, waving a hand. "You'll be fine."
"No, no—Mr. Kaminsky is like crazy hard. I swear half of the last test wasn't even on the review sheet."
"God, don't remind me," Barb groaned, and her head fell back toward the ceiling. "I actually had nightmares about the periodic table."
"Exactly. And I might have passed the last one, but I have got to seriously ace this test if I want to be on track this semester. My mom tried to have this whole heart-to-heart because it's not like me to just pass, or whatever, and…"
"Alright, okay, I get it," Christine laughed. She leaned over, patting Nancy's ankle. "But you're gonna do great, Nance. You always do. If you want, I'll help you study tomorrow, after I get off work. Promise. Just try not to worry about it for now, alright?"
Nancy bit her lip, glancing torn at the screen where the movie credits were still playing. She brandished a finger at Christine.
"Fine. But I'm serious, Chrissy, I need at least half an hour of flashcards."
"Deal. Until then—Barb, truth or dare?"
"Truth."
"Who was your real first crush?"
The living room filled with laughter once more, and they settled back into their lighthearted game. Worrying could wait for another day. For now, all they had to worry about was being teenagers—watching movies, eating junk food, and talking about love and music and movies until they fell asleep on the floor.
A/N: Thank you so much for taking the time to read this chapter and note. Welcome to any new readers, and welcome back to any returning. Before anyone gets concerned, this story is not replacing my Supernatural story Gospel of the Chosen. I simply like being able to publish every week, so I whipped this up to post while I'm writing for Kat.
Inside Out will update every Sunday. This story is rated T, mostly for language, underage drinking and descriptions of science-fantasy violence. Nothing will be above that seen on Stranger Things, but if a chapter contains anything I consider to be especially sensitive, I will add a trigger warning at the beginning of the chapter. If there's anything specific you feel should be tagged, please let me know. For visual aids, playlists, and additional content, you can visit this story's tumblr page at insideoutstory.
I'm so excited to finally be able to share this story with you all. I've been working on Christine for about three years now, and the first installment is finally, finally complete. I cannot wait to hear what you all think. Thank you again!
-Brittney