TRIGGER WARNING: This chapter contains situations with underaged drinking, and blood and drama as shown in Stranger Things 1.02. Please proceed with caution.

She was going to unplug the phone from the wall.

Christine had skipped the rest of her classes. She'd been home for hours, and it seemed like the phone hadn't stopped ringing. On one hand, she knew it could be important. Will was missing, and another glance at the news told her a man had been found dead at a diner near the edge of town. Dustin might be calling her, ready to give her all sorts of bad news. More likely, it was Barb or Nancy—and Christine didn't have enough energy to deal with any of those options.

But the constant ringing was starting to grate on her nerves. She had a strict regimen of moping to complete, barricaded in her room. The plan was to curl up in bed and listen to her cassettes until she cried herself to sleep—maybe with a small break for dinner.

Unfortunately, the phone had started ringing around four o'clock, now in perfect working order, and it hadn't stopped since. Christine had moved her phone to the floor, buried under laundry and pillows, and turned up the volume on her Walkman until the music was more piercing than enjoyable. It was all futile. The repetitive ringing kept weaving its way through the beats, insistent as the people calling.

The sound started up again, and Christine finally yanked off her headphones and dove for the floor. Pillows and sweaters went flying, and she fumbled with the receiver in rage.

"WHAT?"

"Woah! Hey! Everything alright, sweetheart?"

Christine shuddered. All her energy drained out from her as she collapsed into the pile of clothes on the floor. "Sorry, Daddy. Bad day."

"I'll say." He chuckled, and the sounds helped to put her at ease. "Can I ask who you were expecting?"

"Nancy. Or Barb."

"And…we don't like them now?"

"I just don't want to talk to them," she huffed, pressing her face into a discarded pair of jeans. "It's all just stupid."

"Ah. So we've reached the years of teenage drama."

"Dad."

"No, it's alright. I knew they'd be coming at some point. So what's going on? Is this about a boy?"

Christine did not respond, which was as good as a written confession.

"Okay, that's a yes. Is it that boy you and Nancy are always talking about? Stephen something?"

"Steve," Christine said reluctantly. "His name is Steve."

"Alright, Steve." Her father cleared his throat on the other end of the line, and Christine wondered how much effort it was taking him to sound so casual. "So what's the problem? You both like him?"

"Well, Nancy's dating him now so…"

"Ah. Well then, he's an idiot."

"Dad!"

"Is that not what I'm supposed to say?"

"It's not that," she sighed. She rolled onto her back and kicked her feet up on the edge of her mattress. "Well, it kinda is. We weren't fighting about it at first, but now there's this party at his house or whatever, and Nancy's gonna drag Barb, which means Barb is gonna want me to go so she's not alone, only I don't wanna go because it's gonna be awkward, and Steve and Nancy are gonna be all over each other, and I'm not gonna have any fun. But Nancy kept pushing me about it, because for some reason she doesn't get why I'm upset, and thinks we should just keep going on like nothing ever happened, even though Steve really hurt my feelings and she clearly doesn't give a crap. And then she started yelling, and I called her a bitch, and…now I'm avoiding all of them."

There were several seconds of silence, broken by small hums as her father processed the load of information. Ultimately, all he was able to come up with was, "Sounds like you've been busy."

Christine rolled her eyes, kicking her bed. "Yeah. You could say that."

"Alright, I don't want to get it wrong this time. What would you like me to say to make you feel better?"

"I don't know. How about that I have every right to be upset and I don't have to go to this stupid party?"

"Okay. You have every right to be upset. Teenage heartbreak is rough, and it's gonna take time to get over that. You might never recover. And that's okay. But I'm not sure you're right about the party."

"Excuse me?"

"Well, it doesn't sound like the worst idea. I think maybe you should go."

"…You want me to go to an unchaperoned house party with the boy that I have a crush on?"

"Just hear me out," he said with a smile in his voice. "I know that you…well. You've always had trouble making friends."

"Only because we moved so much," she said defensively. "You'd have trouble making friends too if you moved around the country three times a year."

"I did move around the country three times a year. We did that together."

"It's different when you're a kid."

"Alright," he conceded. "We'll say you don't have a lot of practice keeping friends. And I think it'd be a shame to let some junior boy ruin everything you've built here."

"It's not Steve's fault," said Christine, for what felt like the hundredth time. "It's Nancy. She's supposed to be my friend. She's supposed to care how I feel. And dating the guy we both like without talking to me doesn't really show a tremendous amount of concern for my feelings."

"Then think about Barb. You don't want to go to this party because you think it will be awkward. If she has to go without you, she's gonna suffer through that all alone. And to her, it will seem like you care more about being mad at Nancy than being supportive of her."

"Well maybe she should understand why I'm upset and not ask me to put myself in that situation."

"Maybe. But that's what friendship is about. Sometimes you've got to suffer through a stupid party to make your friend feel better, so that when you need it, they'll be willing to help you too."

Christine frowned, squeezing the phone cord in her hand. "Yeah…I guess…"

"And maybe it won't be so bad," her father added. "Put on a brave face in front of Nancy and Steve, focus on hanging out with Barb. Show them you don't need either of them to have fun. Who knows? Maybe you'll walk out with a few more friends."

"Dad," she snorted, "I don't think you'd want me to be friends with the people going to this party. I'm fine with the ones I've already got."

"You mean the two you're not talking to?"

"Nancy and Barb aren't my only friends. I've got…I don't know. Dustin."

"Wow," her father laughed. "Well, I wasn't including twelve-year-olds in the count, but sure. How's Dustin doing?"

"He's fine. Well, as fine as he can be, considering…I don't know if you've been watching the news…"

"Yeah, I heard about the Byers kid," he said solemnly. "Part of the reason I wanted to check in on you. Makes me feel a little better, at least."

"You sure you want me going out and partying?"

"Nice try, kid. Crazy as it sounds, I'd feel better knowing you were with your friends than sitting at home alone. Least then someone's keeping an eye on you."

Christine pouted, and let her legs slip to the floor with a dull thunk. "Spoil sport."

"Just think about what I said, alright? You can go to this thing and still have fun. Your life doesn't depend on one guy, or one friend. It's about you."

"Yeah, okay. I'll think about it." She let out a slow breath, and pressed the phone closer to her ear. "I love you, Dad. Come back safe."

"I will. Love you too, bumblebee."

Reluctantly, Christine hung up the phone. She stayed on the floor for a few more minutes, watching the shadows growing on her ceiling. Lying in the mismatched pile of clothes, her father's voice still ringing in her ears, she almost managed to feel peaceful.

The phone rang again.

"Hello?"

"Finally! Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, Barb. Nothing a few hours of sulking couldn't fix."

"Listen, Nancy told me what happened, and…"

"Barbara, I love you, and I don't want to stick you in the middle of this. But if you're calling to ask me to see Nancy's side of things, I am actually going to explode."

"No, no," she said quickly. "I'm with you on this. Nancy was way out of line saying that to you."

"Oh. Well…thanks."

"Look, I'm still not sure how I feel about her dating Steve. But I know what she said to you was wrong."

"Well, she wasn't wrong," Christine said, picking at the phone cord. "It just hurt."

"I hate this." Barb's confession was sharp, and her voice broke as she gushed on. "I hate that the two of you are fighting over some stupid jock. I hate that it's turning into some twisted competition. I hate that Nancy won't see reason, and that she's acting like some Carol wannabe. I hate that you're upset. It all just—It sucks."

"Yeah. It sucks."

For a while, neither of them said anything. Christine turned back to the ceiling, where lights were dancing as a car drove by outside. She longed for a simpler time, when things weren't so complicated and tense. When Barb had first gotten her license and the three of them would cruise aimlessly for hours just enjoying the little bit of freedom and adulthood they had.

"Hey, do you wanna go to the drive-in?" she asked impulsively. "The one over in Grover? There's this new comedy that just came out with the guy from Vacation. We could get burgers, make ourselves sick on popcorn again. We could even swing by that diner you like on the highway. The one with the killer milkshakes?"

"That is such a low blow, Chris. I can't believe you're bribing me with milkshakes from Rockets."

"What can I say? You're my best friend, Barbara Holland. I know what you like. I just figured, you know, let's go out and do something. Forget any of this bullshit even happened. Escape Hawkins while we can."

"I can't," Barb sighed. "Trust me, there's nothing I want more than a rainbow deluxe strawberry shake right now, but Nancy wants me to drive her. Part of me just wants to drop her off, but…I can't let her go over there alone. Even if she's being dumb."

Christine's heart clenched at the sadness in her voice. "Barb, I'm so sorry. I'd go with you, but…"

"No way. The way you left things with Nancy? Plus, Tommy and Carol are gonna be there. I wouldn't want you to do that. I'll be fine."

Barb's voice was calm and sympathetic, but Christine could still hear the twinge of regret that came with them. She hesitated, stretching the phone cord between her fingers as she toyed with her next words.

"I was talking to my dad before," she offered softly. "He thinks I should go. Just chill with you and show them that I still know how to have a good time."

"Yeah, well your dad may be chill, but he's also a lunatic," Barb laughed. "It's gonna be awkward enough for me. If you come, you'll probably be miserable. You don't have to do that for me."

"Fair enough."

"I've got to go pick up Nance," she sighed. "But if I survive I'll try and call you when I get home, okay?"

"Sounds good. I'll talk to you later."

"Night, Chrissy."

Barb ended the call, and Christine returned the phone to its cradle. Barb was right. Going to Steve's party was almost certainly going to end in disaster. She and Nancy were both already on edge. Pushing them into the same room with a bunch of alcohol and a smiling Steve Harrington might as well be putting tin foil in the microwave. It would be explosive.

Christine tried to put it out of her mind. She got off the floor and placed the phone on the nightstand. She needed all the time to herself that she could get if she was going to face school tomorrow.

For an hour or two, she put on her music. She put away the laundry that was on the floor, and straightened up the papers on her desk. The stack of missing posters sat forlornly in the corner. She'd been too depressed to go down to the shops to put up the rest of them. But she'd get up early and do it tomorrow, before school. Right now she was going to make some lame ass mac and cheese and watch a movie.

She sat on the couch, poking at the pasta in her bowl and glaring at the TV. She wasn't even sure what she was watching. She'd just turned the TV on and stared at the picture as she ate. Her father's words were still nagging at the back of her brain. Was she making this all about her? Was she being petty to put her needs over Barb's?

She stood up abruptly. She marched back to her room and grabbed the Walkman off of her bed, sliding the tape into the stereo instead. The guitar of "Big Shot" began blaring right where she left off, and Christine turned the volume up. It was loud enough that she could feel it in her bones. It was perfect.

She danced her way to the kitchen, throwing open the cabinets and pulling cups down onto the counter. She found her father's "I Heart New York" mug on the shelf, and fished out the silver key that was sitting inside. Then she walked over to the small cabinet in the corner, buried under a pile of unopened mail.

Her father hardly used the liquor cabinet, as far as she knew. He'd have a drink sometimes after a tough day at work, or on a Friday night to celebrate the weekend, but she'd never actually seen the inside of the cabinet. There were only a few bottles—some vodka and one or two bottles of wine. Christine pushed them aside, not wanting to repeat her experience with the punch. Instead, she opted for something new. She selected a medium flask of whiskey. Partly because it was already open, and partly because it said "cinnamon" on the label. That couldn't be too bad, right?

She was wrong, of course. The liquor burned her throat and made her eyes water the instant it touched her tongue. But it felt warmer than the slimy punch, so she shook herself off and forced another mouthful down her throat.

Christine focused on the music as she drank, singing and sliding around her house. "Big Shot" bled into "Honesty," which she quickly fast forwarded through. "My Life" was much safer to belt, then "Zanzibar" and "Stiletto," and by the time 52nd Street was petering out, Christine had drunk herself into a comfortable flush. She fumbled with her tapes, slipping in Glass Houses instead. The sound of breaking glass rumbled from her speakers, and Christine propelled herself up onto her bed to sing, the whiskey bottle her microphone.

"Friday night I crashed your party! Saturday I said, 'I'm sorry!' Sunday came and trashed me out again! I was only having fun! Wasn't hurting anyone! And we all enjoyed the weekend for a change! Wooh!"

Jumping to the floor, she nearly stumbled into her closet. She put her bottle aside and flung the doors open wide. She was met with varying flannels and sweaters, a few sundresses she rarely ever wore. A couple of days ago, she'd stared into the abyss for hours trying to find something she liked. Something everyone else would like. Today, she wouldn't be bothered. She grabbed a T-shirt and a pair of overalls, cuffing them at the ankle over her high tops. She probably should have grabbed a jacket, but after all the whiskey, she could feel her body temperature rising.

She giggled to herself as she changed into her new outfit. Her father was right. Screw Steve, and screw Nancy. It was clear that the only person in this town who cared about her was Barb. Christine would be damned if Barb went through this torture alone. She'd go to the party, and she'd show Steve and Tommy and Carol and Nancy exactly how much she knew about letting loose. She didn't need anyone to teach her how to have fun. She didn't need to follow anyone around or beg for attention. She was the farthest thing from pathetic.

Steve's house was a bit further away than Jenny Fischer's. Christine had never officially been there, of course, but she'd biked around the neighborhood enough to know where it was. There had been summers when she'd rode by nearly every day, hoping to catch Steve in the front yard, or hear him splashing in the pool with his friends.

But this time, she was biking right up the driveway and walking to the front door.

There was music blasting inside, some Trooper song she'd heard on the radio before. The volume cut dramatically when she rang the doorbell, and there was some scrambling inside. A few seconds later, the double doors swung open.

Steve's sheepish expression dropped instantly, traded in for one of confusion. "Christine, hey. I thought you said you were babysitting?"

"Yeah, well. I lied." She smiled, holding up the bottle of whiskey. "Sorry I'm late. I brought booze."

"Hey, alcohol's always a free pass. Come on in."

He stepped aside, letting her into the house. It was just as big as she'd imagined, a wide hall that led to a wide open living room. Through an arch she glimpsed a giant dining table, at least twice the length of her own. The stairs led up to a balcony, overlooking the living room and wrapping around the second floor. It was a fancy house for sure, pumped with money. It might have been the open space, but it almost didn't feel real.

"Do you live in a catalogue?" she asked, spinning around the living room.

"Eh, it's not that great." Steve patted her back, brushing past her. "We're all out back. You sure you don't need a coat?"

"Nah, I'm fine."

He cranked the stereo again as they walked by, and jogged out onto the patio with his hands in the air.

"Relax, everyone! It is not the cops."

"Then who is it?" Tommy laughed as Christine stepped out of the house, throwing his arms up in the air. "Ay, it's Psycho Bitch! What's up?"

"Hey, watch it," said Steve. He pointed at him in warning, and grabbed a beer from the twelve-pack by the pool. "Otherwise she won't let you have any of the good stuff."

Christine shook the half-empty bottle, earning herself an impressed onceover from Tommy.

"Damn, Walcott goes hard."

"Where'd you get it?" asked Carol, leaning into his side.

"My dad's liquor cabinet," said Christine with a shrug. "I'm not huge on beer."

"Oh, but you like whiskey now?"

Christine turned, not surprised to find Nancy frowning at her from one of the lawn chairs. She looked at least half as happy to see her as Christine had expected. Barb was sitting in the chair next to her, looking back and forth between the two rapidly. Like she was waiting to see who would pounce first.

"Figured I'd try something new," Christine said evenly. "Want some?"

Nancy pursed her lips. "I'm good. Thanks."

"Suit yourself."

"Yo, I'll take some," said Tommy, clearly oblivious to the tension in the yard.

Christine held the bottle out to him, and he rushed over to grab it. She waited until he was only two steps away, then spun out of his path, pulling the bottle to her chest.

"Oh, sorry. I thought you said Gobstoppers."

Carol snorted—either at the terrible joke or the even worse delivery. Either way, Tommy rushed her instead, scooping her up in his arms and pretending to throw her in the pool. Carol screeched loudly, and Christine used the distraction to plop down on the ground next to Barb.

"What are you doing here?" she hissed, leaning down to Christine's ear. "Are you insane?"

"I don't think so," Christine offered. "But you may be right."

She snickered to herself, only increasing Barb's concern. "God, you really must be drunk."

"I'm working on it." She bumped the whiskey into Barb's knee and took another sip. "But really. I was just sitting at home, you know, being pathetic. And I just figured if we were both gonna be miserable, we might as well suffer together."

Barb scoffed, but Christine caught the tiniest smile on her lips. She fully intended on cracking a few more jokes to draw it out into the open, but they were interrupted by a sharp hiss.

They both turned to see Steve standing by the edge of the pool, his mouth glued to the bottom of a beer can. His back arched as he drained it, the edge of his green sweater riding up above his hip. Christine held her breath instinctively, her own mouth agape. Barb jolted her with her knee, rolling her eyes.

The can clattered to the bricks, and Steve took a dramatic gasp of air as he collapsed in the chair next to Nancy. He whipped out a lighter, pulling a cigarette out from behind his ear and trapping it between his teeth.

"Is that supposed to impress me?" Nancy asked with a smirk.

Steve looked over at her, perplexed. "You're not?"

Nancy laughed outright. "You are a cliché. You do realize that?"

"You are a cliché," he countered, "what with your—your grades and your band practice."

"I am so not in band!"

"Okay, party girl. Why don't you just, uh, show us how it's done, then?"

Steve held out his pocket knife, offering it to Nancy with a smug smile on his face.

It was something she normally never would have done. Out of all of them, Nancy had always seemed the least susceptible to peer pressure. She did what she wanted, when she wanted, despite what anyone else thought about her. It had always been what made her such a great friend.

And Nancy might not have wanted to shotgun the beer. But she definitely wanted the boy holding it.

She took the knife from Steve, and Christine dropped her head. She wasn't here to watch Steve and Nancy hang all over each other. She'd come to hang out with Barb, to support her. She didn't even have to pay attention to Nancy if she didn't want to.

But Barb was watching too. It was almost impossible to ignore, as Steve chuckled some instructions and Nancy proudly waved him off. Tommy and Carol were laughing, wandering over to watch. Tommy crushed a beer can against his head, and it hit Christine on the shoulder.

Nancy pierced the can like an expert, and held it up to her mouth.

"Chug, chug, chug," Steve started to chant, Thing One and Thing Two quickly joining in. "Chug, chug, chug, chug!"

The yard erupted into cheers as Nancy finished, letting the can clatter to the ground and taking a bow. Carol was actually clapping, as Tommy absolutely lost his shit. Christine saw Barb roll her eyes, but didn't get a chance to mimic her before Steve cleared his throat.

"Alright, okay, you got me. You got me! One down, and two to go. Who's up next? Chrissy?"

Steve tossed her a can, which she barely caught by the tips of her fingers. Suddenly everyone's eyes were on her. And almost every one of them had the same look—haughty doubt.

Christine turned to Barb, her sole anchor. She gave an imperceptible shake of her head, her eyes pleading, and Christine bit her lip.

"I don't think so," she said, trying to laugh it off. "Not this time."

"Aw, come on," Steve groaned. "Chug, chug, chug…"

"Yeah, cause that went so well last time."

"You sure?" asked Nancy. She smiled, which made her look strange as she brandished the pocket knife. "It's like, super easy."

Christine forced herself to smile back. "Like I said. I'm all set."

She tossed the beer back at Nancy, and help up her personal bottle. She ignored Barb's hushed warning, tilting her head back and taking one, two, three, four gulps of the amber liquid. It was a miracle she didn't gag or vomit, especially when Tommy clapped her on the back so hard it hurt. But she swallowed hard, enjoying Nancy's infuriated shock even if she hated the taste of the alcohol.

"Alright, take it easy there, badass," Steve chuckled, holding his hands up in surrender. "If someone gets sick on the carpet my mom's gonna skin me."

"Barb, you wanna try?" asked Nancy, offering her the beer can.

Barb stared at the foreign object, looking at Nancy incredulously. "What? No."

"It's fun!"

"No, I don't want to. Thanks."

"Come on," said Nancy in a singsong voice, and the rest of the teens began laughing around her.

"Nancy," Christine snapped, sitting up a bit straighter. "She said no."

"Nance, I don't want to."

"It's fun! Just try…"

"Nancy, knock it off."

"Just give it a shot."

"What the hell, Nancy? Back off!"

The laughter around them stopped abruptly as Christine got to her feet. She was steadier than she thought she'd be, possibly because her body was full of more rage than alcohol. She glared at Nancy, whose surprise was already morphing back into annoyance.

"She said she didn't want to," Christine said clearly. "So stop."

"I was just asking if she wanted to do it."

"No, you were telling her to do it, in front of a bunch of people she doesn't know."

They glowered at each other, everyone watching with rapt attention. Tommy giggled into the silence.

"Uh oh. Cat fight. I got ten bucks on Psycho."

"You're so on," Carol snorted.

"You know what?"

Christine rounded on them, fully ready to charge, fully ready to grab Tommy H by the shirt and figure out the rest later. Anything if it meant she didn't have to hear his stupid wheezing laugh or Carol's nasally voice for the rest of the night. Luckily, Barb intervened.

"Hey! Christine, it's fine, hey." She grabbed her arm before she could get more than a few steps, and quickly got to her feet. "It's whatever. I'll try it."

She took the can and pocket knife from Nancy, shuffling into an open space on the patio. Christine was steaming, and if she hadn't been, she would have started when she saw Steve and Nancy exchange a small smile—like they were proud of this, like they were excited for the show.

Barb inspected the can of beer, tilting it in her hands. "So what, you just…?"

She angled the knife, pushed, and missed.

The can fell to the ground with a heavy thud, and Christine rushed forward to grab Barbara's arm as she doubled over. She was gagging, and a moment later, so was Christine—Barb's hand was beginning to spew dark red blood.

"Gnarly," Tommy chuckled, peering over Christine's shoulder.

She elbowed him square in the stomach. "Shut the fuck up, Tommy."

There was no time to cherish his groan of pain as Nancy hurried forward, trying to take a place at Barb's side. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah."

"Barb, you're bleeding."

"I'm fine," Barb insisted, though she shirked away from Nancy's hand.

"Yeah, clearly," Christine scoffed. She wrapped an arm around Barb's shoulder, turning to Steve. "Where's your bathroom?"

"Oh, it's uh—it's down past the kitchen, to the left." He scrambled out of his seat, shadowing them to the backdoor. "You got it? You good?"

"We're good," she said tersely, and pulled Barb inside of the house.

Christine marched down the hallway, half-dragging Barb in her urgency. They passed the ornate, overly-pristine kitchen and turned left, where a small bathroom was tucked in the corner. She pushed Barb onto the toilet seat and began rifling through the drawers, looking for some kind of gauze or bandages.

"Chrissy, I'm fine," Barb winced, cradling her hand close to her chest. "You should go back to the party. It's okay."

A loud splash punctuated her sentence, followed by shrieks of laughter. Three more bodies hit the water, and then the incessant sound of giggles and whooping.

Christine rolled her eyes. "Yeah, they sound real broken up about it. Let's get you cleaned up."

She ducked under the sink, sifting through loose rolls of toilet paper and bottles of mouthwash and cans upon cans of some kind of designer hairspray. In the back she finally managed to find a bottle or rubbing alcohol, but nothing to actually cover the wound. She huffed, standing up too-quickly and swaying on her feet. She froze as her vision clouded—the brightly lit marble bathroom disappearing in a static gray haze.

Barb's free hand closed around one of her wrists. "Chrissy? You okay?"

"Yeah, fine. Just—Just—Fluids."

"What?"

Christine squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for her sight to return before she ducked out of the bathroom. She felt like she was gliding as she doubled back to the kitchen. The fridge offered nothing that would be immediately helpful, so she moved onto the cabinets to find a glass. She poured herself some tap water and chugged. It wasn't as immediately helpful as it had been when Dustin poured it for her. Still, she hoped that it might do her some good later. The memory of Cheerios flickered in her brain, but she wasn't prepared to go foraging in the Harringtons' kitchen for food.

She grabbed a dish towel off the counter, and headed back to the bathroom, still feeling unsteady.

Barb had left her seat, and was rinsing her hand in the sink. She gasped a bit as she poured the alcohol over it, muttering a soft curse.

Christine handed her the towel. "How bad is it?"

"It's fine."

"Barb, stop deflecting. You might need stitches. I could drive you to the hospital if…"

"No way," Barb laughed, catching her eye in the mirror. "I'd rather live, thanks."

"Hey," she pouted, crossing her arms. "I am not a bad driver."

"Even if you did have a license, you're drunk as a skunk, Chris. That's enough for me."

"Even if the alternative is losing your hand?"

"They won't cut off my hand. My thumb, at most."

Christine watched as Barb wrapped her hand in the dish towel. It was rapidly turning red, offering almost no help to the injury, but Barb still strained a smile. Her hand was gushing blood, and she was still standing, laughing at her own jokes and trying not to cause any problems.

"I'm sorry," Christine said weakly, and Barb shook her head.

"It's not your fault. I stabbed myself."

"I know, but…you were rushing cause I was pissed, and I was pissed cause Nancy was pushing, and she probably wouldn't be such a hardass if I wasn't here. So I'm sorry."

"It's whatever."

"Seriously, Barb. I'm so…"

"You don't have to apologize," she said resolutely, turning to face her head on. "I know you feel bad. If you didn't, you wouldn't have come to this stupid party."

"Yeah. Guess that was a pretty stupid move, huh?"

"You may be right." They both chuckled wryly, and Barb nodded. "But I appreciated the gesture."

"God," Christine scoffed, kicking the sink. "I can't believe these people are this rich and don't have a freaking first aid kit. Does no one in this family get papercuts?"

"You could always ask." Barb pushed her, cutting her off before she could even argue. "Go on. I bet Steve looks like a drowned rat with his hair wet."

"Yeah, right."

Reluctantly, Christine left her in the bathroom. Everyone else was already beginning to file into the living room, wrapped in towels but still sopping wet. Apparently, not even a heated pool was enough to stave off the cold of early November.

"I'm freezing," Carol complained as Steve turned the music down.

Tommy hummed, backing down the hallway with a smirk. "Well, I heard his mom's room has a fireplace."

He and Carol ran away giggling and Steve yelled after them. "Are you kidding? Okay, well, you know, you are cleaning the sheets!"

Christine coughed to cover her gag, alerting the other two to her presence.

"Chrissy, hey," Steve said, ruffling his hair with his towel. He looked more like a movie star than a drowned rat. "How's Barb?"

"Fine, uh…do you have a first aid kit? I couldn't find anything downstairs."

"Oh yeah, sure. Just gimme a sec."

He winked at Nancy and jogged out of the room, his feet pounding on the stairs. They both watched him round the balcony, and disappear into one of the rooms on the second floor.

Nancy cleared her throat. "So…Barb's okay?"

"She's insisting she's fine," sighed Christine. "I offered to drive her to the hospital, but she won't budge."

"Ha, well…I'm sure it's not that bad."

"Yeah, well, you didn't really look at it, so…"

Nancy stopped laughing, but the smile remained. It was a bitter expression, exasperated, proud. Nancy pulled the towel tighter around her shoulders.

"You know, I'm—I'm cold, so I'm gonna go change."

"Yeah. I think you should do that."

Nancy nodded, not bothering to hide a disbelieving scoff. She barged out of the room, heading after Steve.

"Chris? Did you find…? Nance." Barb appeared at Christine's shoulder, rushing past her to follow Nancy down the hall. "Nancy? Where are you going?"

Christine trailed after them, looking up at Nancy as she paused on the stairs. She turned to face them, smiling innocently, obliviously, happily.

"Nowhere! Just…upstairs. To change. I fell in the pool."

"Well you're coming back, right? I mean, Christine just got here."

"Yeah, late," said Nancy. "I don't know what we're doing. We'll figure it out."

"You don't know, right," Christine said tightly. "And what about Barb? Do you care about her at all?"

"Chris," Barb scolded.

"I'm not a doctor, Christine," Nancy snapped, glaring down. "She said she's fine. I don't know what you expect me to do about it."

"I expect you to care! Or at least pretend. But I guess that's a pretty tall order these days, since you're in such a hurry to get to Steve's room and figure things out."

"Christine!"

She pursed her lips, and she and Nancy were still glowering at each other when Steve came back to the balcony. He hesitated, looking nervously between the two of them. At a loss for anything to say, he held up the first aid kid.

"Hey, I uh…found this under my sink. I'm not sure how old it is, but uh…there should be some bandaids in there or something."

"Thanks, Steve," said Barb, nodding awkwardly.

He tossed the kit down to her, still watching them curiously. He stepped over the Nancy, tucking her hair back behind her ear. "Hey, you okay? I've got a sweatshirt if you want."

Nancy's eyes never left Christine's, but she reached up and grabbed Steve's hand, lacing their fingers together.

"Yeah, you know, that'd be great." She turned to smile at him, and took a few steps down the hall before she turned back. "Barb, I can probably catch a ride home if you want to head out."

"Nance…" Barb looked at her pleadingly, unable to say anything else in front of Steve.

"Really! I'm fine. I think you should take Christine home."

Nancy's eyes drifted to Christine again, and she set her jaw—defiant. Then she squeezed Steve's hand, and let him lead her down the hallway to his room.

Christine stared at the empty balcony. Her chest felt like it had been hollowed out, and was preparing to cave itself in.

"Chrissy…Chris, it's okay."

She didn't notice she was crying until Barb brushed her shoulder. It instantly became impossible to stop.

"Sorry. I'm sorry," she choked, rubbing furiously at the tears on her cheeks. "Fuck. I'm so sorry."

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

Barb herded her away from the stairs, back into the living room so she could collapse on the couch. It was hard to breathe. It was hard to think. She knew she was over-reacting, that she was drunk and too fragile to think straight. But every time she thought it, she became more infuriated with herself, and began to sob harder.

And on the floor next to her was Barb, whispering comforting words, stroking Christine's hair with her uninjured hand. It made her feel all the worse. She should be comforting Barb, not the other way around. She didn't deserve to be comforted—no more than barb deserved to be sitting on the floor bleeding in a stranger's house. Barb should be at the hospital, or at home where her hand never would have been injured in the first place. Not holding Christine's hand as she her sobbing turned to sniffling, her sniffling to yawns.

Christine kept trying to say this, but it was difficult. Barb must have understood though, because she'd simply hush her and squeeze her hand a little tighter.

She had been stupid to come to the party. She'd said she was going to support Barb, but it had never been about her. It had all been about winning. It was about sticking it to Nancy because she was been hurt. She'd made it all about herself anyway.

In the end, it was all Christine's fault.