Christine did not get a lot of sleep. She was uncomfortable on the floor, and her anxiety kept waking her up. It was silly anxiety too. Nothing about Will or Barb or big scary monsters. She woke up every twenty minutes, just to make sure the sound of her alarm clock wouldn't scare Eleven.

At six o'clock, the clock beeped loudly and Christine pounced. With practiced discipline, she slammed her pillow over the speaker, pressed snooze, and then flipped the alarm button off. There was a beat of silence as she waited. But Eleven didn't stir.

Feeling exceedingly proud of herself, Christine got to her feet and stretched her arms far up over her head. She went to grab some clothes, only to jump herself. Eleven was watching her from the bed, doing a very poor job of smothering her amused smile.

"What are you doing awake?" Christine scolded quietly.

Eleven shrugged, her smile growing.

Christine narrowed her eyes. "Alright, troublemaker. Then you can get up."

She'd been expecting something of an argument—as much of an argument as you could have with someone who spoke in one word sentences—but Eleven didn't put up much of a fight. She seemed content enough to follow Christine to the bathroom and copy her morning routine. Christine had been half afraid Eleven might not know how to brush her teeth. But it seemed wherever she'd grown up, she'd been taught basic hygiene at least. When given the choice between her sweats from yesterday and an old pair of Christine's jeans, Eleven had meekly gravitated toward Mike's clothes. Christine smiled, but didn't comment.

There was no discussion wasted on breakfast. Christine put two waffles in the toaster for Eleven, and ate her fill of Cheerios while she waited.

At six thirty, they snuck out through the back door. Christine led the way next door, creeping along the side of the Henderson house until she got to the window she wanted. The problem being, of course, that Dustin's bedroom did not have regular windows. They were up high, only about a foot and a half tall. If they wanted to talk to Dustin, they'd have to be creative.

"Alright," said Christine, lacing her fingers together. "Just like we talked about."

Eleven nodded nervously, and placed her foot into Christine's hands. They counted to three, and Eleven hoisted herself up. She swung a leg around Christine's neck so she was sitting on her shoulders, her hands steadying herself on the side of the house.

"You okay?" There was a small hum of approval, and Christine tentatively stepped closer to the house. "Okay. Go ahead."

Eleven raised a hand and tentatively rapped on the glass. It took her a few times to get a response. But when she did, there was no way Christine could miss it.

"AAAHHHHHHH!"

Dustin's screams could be heard clear through the brick wall, which means they could definitely be heard through the rest of the house. Christine heard a door slam, and bent her knees just in time to whip Eleven out of sight.

"Dusty?" Mrs. Henderson's voice was muffled through the closed window. "Dusty, what's wrong? Are you okay?"

"Oh my God—um—uh—yeah! Yeah, Mom, I just had…I was having a nightmare."

"Aw, sweetheart. I know that with everything going on…"

"It's fine, Mom! I—I really don't want to talk about it."

"Are you sure, Dusty? I don't want you to bottle this up. We need to be able to talk about things like this. You're growing up so fast, and I don't want you to feel closed off from me."

"Fine! I'll—Mom, I promise I'll tell you about it later, but right now it's—goddamn, it's six thirty in the morning?!"

"Dusty! Language!"

"Sorry, ah—I just mean, I'm—I'm really tired, so I—I wanna go back to bed."

"Are you going to be alright, honey? Are you sure you can fall asleep?"

"Yes, Mom!"

"Do you want some warm milk?"

"No, Mom! I just wanna go to bed!"

"Okay! Alright, but I'm here if you need anything, sweetie pie. Always."

"Thanks. Thank you, Mom. I love you!"

"I love you too, Dusty."

Christine waited until she heard the door close to straighten her aching legs. It was good that Eleven was so thin. If she were any bigger Christine was sure her legs would have broken mid-squat.

The window slid open overhead, and Dustin's voice floated through.

"Are you trying to give me a heart attack? What the hell are you guys doing?"

"Dustin," Christine called up, keeping her voice as low as she could. "Listen, it's about Will!"

"Christine, I don't want to talk about it. I'm serious!"

"Well suck it up, dude! Mike was right!"

"About what?" he hissed. "That we were wasting our time last night? My legs feel like they're gonna fall off."

"No! About Eleven. She knows where Will is!"

"Well clearly she doesn't!" He huffed, and started to close the window again. "I'm going back to bed."

"Dustin, wait! You were right, okay? El has powers. She showed me."

The window stopped moving.

"You showed her?" he asked Eleven, who must have nodded. "What did you do?"

"It's like I was saying with the TV," Christine explained to the house siding. "I think she can control radio waves. Last night, she was staring at Will's picture and then I heard his voice through my stereo."

"He was talking to you?"

"No, he—he was singing. That song by The Clash. It sounded like he was just humming to himself."

"So she was like, channeling him? Like a ghost? Is Will a ghost?"

"Dustin, I don't know. I just know that—that you were right. Something weird is going on, and we need to figure out what."

There was a pause as Dustin considered the information.

"I don't know, Christine. If Will really is dead, then we can't bring him back. It would upset the cosmic balance."

Christine rolled her eyes. "If Will is dead and his spirit's roaming the earth, don't you want to make sure he's put to rest?"

There were a few more seconds of consideration.

"Sure. What do you need me to do?"

"Call Mike and Lucas," Christine instructed, hoisting Eleven a little higher on her shoulders. "You guys need to come to my place stat."

"Okay. Please hold."

They waited patiently for Dustin to turn on his supercomm, and listened as he tried his best to get Lucas's attention.

"Lucas, this is Dustin. Do you copy? …Lucas, this is Dustin. Do you copy? …Lucas, this is Dustin. I asked if you goddamn copied!"

"Dustin," Lucas's tinny voice sighed from the radio. "Leave me alone."

"No can-do, ranger. This is a mission issue, and all party members have to report immediately. Over."

"I'm not in the mood, Dustin. Over and out."

"Lucas! Lucas, don't you hand up on me! I'm serious, dude! I'm gonna steal your wrist rocket! I'm gonna take your prized Spider-Man issue and give it to Erica as a coloring book! Lucas!"

"Give me the radio," Christine demanded.

"What? No," Dustin said protectively. "This is for bard-use only. Get your own!"

"Dustin. Give me. The God. Damn. Radio."

Wordlessly, Dustin passed the walkie to Eleven, who handed it down to Christine. She had to shift Eleven on her shoulders again, jamming the call button down with slightly too much force.

"Lucas, this is Christine. Do you copy?"

"Christine?"

"Of course he answers," Dustin grumbled somewhere above her.

"Why do you have Dustin's walkie? I thought it was bard-use only. Over."

"Cause this is an emergency, Lucas. I need you to call Mike. Party meeting at my house. Over."

"What? Why? Over."

"It doesn't matter why. Because I told you to. Over!"

"I don't know, Christine. After last night…I don't really want to have any party meetings. And I don't think Mike does either. Over."

Christine let out a strangled noise of frustration.

"Lucas. Would I, Christine Walcott, have called a party meeting if it wasn't important? Over."

"…I guess not…Over."

"And would I, Christine Walcott, have taken Dustin's walkie if it wasn't important? Over."

"…No. Over."

"Great. So you can call Mike and tell him that there is a mandatory party meeting at my house. And if you two aren't here by eight, I'm gonna call all your parents and tell them how you were lying about AV club yesterday, and how you broke police curfew twice. Over."

"Christine!"

"Eight o'clock, Lucas. Over and out."

She passed the walkie back up to Eleven, who handed it to Dustin, who very slowly retracted it into the house.

"Woah," he breathed in awe. "Shit just got really real."

"Hop to it, Dustin," said Christine, helping Eleven down from her shoulders. "Eight o'clock."

Needless to say, the party had not been pleased by the surprise meeting. Dustin had wandered over without a fuss, telling his mom he was leaving for school. Then he walked next door and parked himself on Christine's couch, digging through the box of Pop Tarts he'd stolen. Lucas had shown up next, sullen and bleary eyed, but present. Mike, of course, had gone off the moment the front door closed.

"Just who do you think you are?" he demanded of Christine, yelling in the front hall. "You're not a part of the party, Christine! You don't get to call party meetings! You don't get to use the supercomms, and you definitely don't get to blackmail us!"

"Are you done?" Christine asked coolly.

"No! Because last night sucked, and you're just trying to drag the whole thing out! We don't want to talk about it! We just want to be alone, and think about our friend, and…"

"Will's alive," Christine interrupted. "At least, I think he is. Eleven showed me her powers, and I think it's something you should all hear. Okay?"

Mike stared at her, mouth agape. When he could not muster a new argument, Christine smiled. She dragged him into the living room and deposited him on the couch between Lucas and Dustin. Eleven sat in the corner, next to the stereo, and Christine began to pace.

It took her a few minutes to get through the story again. The boys kept interrupting, already speculating about what she had heard or how Eleven was doing it before she could get the whole description out. Despite how output Mike had been the night before, he was the first to change his tune at her story.

"That's Will's song!" he exclaimed after Christine had hummed a few bars. "It's his favorite! It's gotta be him!"

"No, it doesn't," Lucas sighed in exasperation. "Loads of people like that song."

"No they don't. It's weird."

"Will is not the only one who likes it, otherwise they wouldn't have made it! I'm just saying Christine could have picked up a transmission of someone else singing the stupid song."

"But it sounded like Will, right?" asked Mike.

"I mean, yeah," Christine said with a shrug. "It sounded like him to me."

"What good does that do us?" Lucas demanded. "No offense, Chrissy, but it's not like you hang out with us all the time. How are you supposed to know what Will sounds like?"

"Um, hello?" Dustin interrupted. "Are we gonna talk about the fact that Eleven was using Christine's stereo as a walkie talkie? Like, how insane is that?"

"We already knew she was insane," Lucas scoffed.

"Hey," Mike snapped. "Take that back."

"Me? You were the one asking what was wrong with her last night!"

"Yeah, well I was wrong!"

"No, we weren't! She tried to bring us to Will's house, and he's not there! Even if he was alive, how is she supposed to help us find him?"

"Shut up," Christine ordered. "We don't know how Eleven's powers work. Which is why we're—carefully—gonna test them today."

"We are?" asked Dustin.

"Yeah. I think if we use the supercomms, something that's actually designed for communication, we could get a better read. And even if El can't see where Will is, we might be able to hear something else. We can listen to what he's saying, what we hear in the background…"

"Context clues," Mike agreed excitedly. "That could tell us where he is!"

"Great," said Lucas flatly. "Even if that was a solid plan, it sounds like it's gonna take a while. And we're supposed to be at school."

"School?" Christine repeated incredulously. "Fuck school!"

The boys gasped, staring up at her in awe. Christine rolled her eyes and continued.

"You guys have the—the craziest opportunity right now. Your friend is missing, and you have the chance to prove that he's not dead. You can save him! Just like you save each other in all your campaigns. You can save someone's life, and that—that is so much more important than learning how to read trick questions on tests or fill in the bubbles on Scantrons! School will still be there tomorrow. But if we're not careful, Will won't be. So are we gonna do this or not?"

She turned back to the couch. All three boys were still gaping at her, clearly absorbing little to nothing she'd said after the cuss.

"Boys!"

"Sorry!" Dustin yelped, as if she'd smacked him. "Yes. I'm in."

"Thank you. Mike?"

"Yeah. Let's do it."

Everyone turned to look at Lucas, who was still frowned at the carpet.

"Come on, man," Dustin said imploringly. "What's one more day of hoping?"

Lucas grit his teeth, but nodded. "For Will."

"Awesome," Christine said, smiling for the first time since she'd started. "You've all got your comms, right? It can take some time, so we need the one with the highest charge."

They boys all turned to their backpacks, but before they could start comparing walkies, Eleven spoke up from the corner.

"Chrissy?" She pointed at Mike's watch, which was still around her wrist. "Eight-three-zero."

"Shit," Christine sighed, deflating on the spot.

"Shit what?" asked Dustin. "What happens at eight-three-zero?"

"Nothing. I've gotta go to school."

"School?" Mike demanded. "What happened to 'fuck school'?!"

"Language, Mike."

"You said it first!"

"Look," she snapped, "I'm not going to school for school. I have to go talk to the cops."

This explanation only inspired outrage.

"The cops?!" Mike yelled. "Are you insane?!"

"What happened to no grown-ups?" asked Lucas.

"You said you'd be cool, Christine!" screeched Dustin. "This is not cool!"

"Relax!" she yelled over all of them. "It's not about Eleven. This is something else."

"Will could be dead," Mike snarled at her. "What's more important than this?"

Christine wasn't sure if she had the heart to answer. Thankfully, someone else did it for her.

"Barb," Eleven said softly.

"You mean your friend Barb?" Dustin asked, scrunching up his nose. "Like you, Nancy and Barb, Barb? What's wrong with her?"

"Gone."

Christine bit her lip, enduring the silence that followed Eleven's succinct explanation.

"She's gone?" asked Mike slowly. "Gone…like Will?"

"We don't know," Christine sighed. "But no one's heard from her in a few days, and…knowing what we do…"

Everyone exchanged a dark look. Knowing what they knew, there was a good chance Barb was in trouble. Trapped or injured at the very least, and if not…

"Go." Lucas stood from the couch, nodding firmly to Christine. "We can take care of this."

"Yeah," Dustin agreed, standing up as well. "Sometimes the party has to divide and conquer to complete a quest. Find out what you can about Barb, and we'll find out about Will."

Christine raised an eyebrow at Mike, who took his place between them. He nodded sincerely, and Christine nodded back.

"Okay. But the four of you stay here okay? The last thing I need to worry about is you guys getting sniffed out by mad scientists or monsters or something. I shouldn't be gone for more than an hour or two. I'm just gonna go to school, give my statement, and come back. Keep the doors locked, and the curtains closed. Don't open the door for anyone except me, got it?"

There was a murmur of agreement. It didn't exactly instill confidence, but what other choice did she have? Will had three extremely determined friends in his corner. Barb couldn't say the same. Christine was the closest to knowing the truth, so she'd have to give it everything she had.

She grabbed her backpack, lingering by the door as the boys compared their walkie talkies. Eleven was still sitting by the stereo. She was watching Christine, looking just as nervous as when they'd met. Only now Christine was leaving instead of getting too close.

"I'll be back soon," she assured her. "Promise."

"We get it, Chrissy," said Mike, rolling his eyes. "We're not kids, okay?"

Christine threw him a look of annoyance and twirled her keys around her finger. "Fine. Just take care of each other, okay? And remember. This door stays locked."

The boys waved her off. So with one final smile at Eleven, Christine headed out to the driveway.

Her journey to Hawkins High was shorter than it had ever been before. She cruised fearlessly through traffic, ignoring angry honks from cars and forcing people to scatter on the sidewalk. She didn't care if she looked like an idiot. She just wanted to get in, get out, and get the whole thing over with.

Out of habit, Christine walked to her locker. She already had the stupid thing open by the time she remembered she didn't actually want to go to class. The best thing to do would be to go to homeroom and wait until someone came to interview her. That would be the least suspicious thing to do, anyway. But as the memory of last night's phone call with Nancy swam in her mind, she made a firm decision. She was not going to go to any class.

She slammed her locker shut, and jumped in surprise.

"Steve!"

"Hey, stranger." He was leaning casually on the wall next to her, though his smirk faded at her jumpiness. "Woah, you okay? You look like you saw a ghost."

Christine withheld a joke about finding a dead body the night before.

"Yeah, I'm—I'm fine. You just surprised me. I didn't think you knew where my locker was."

"Give me some credit. I notice things." He winced at her pointed look. "Okay, so I got lucky. I just wanted check on you. Not like my studious lab partner to skip school."

"Yeah," she sighed with a dry laugh. "Let's just say I won't be touching the whiskey again anytime soon."

"Aw, that's a shame. I thought you took it like a champ. Didn't know you were such a party animal."

"Unfortunately, my stomach would disagree."

"But the aspirin helped, right?"

That made Christine pause. "…Aspirin?"

"Yeah," he said plainly. "I left some out on the table. Was gone when I woke up, so I figured you must've found it."

"Wait," she said, shaking her head as if the thought would fall into place. She'd almost forgotten about the meds and the mysterious blanket. "That was you?"

"Well, yeah. I woke up around two to take a leak and found you on the couch. Figured it was the least I could do, considering…uh…"

"That my friends ditched me," she said sourly. "Yeah. Thanks."

"I mean…well, yeah, I guess…" He scratched the back of his neck until another thought occurred to him. "Oh! That actually reminds me…"

Steve fished into his bag, pulling out a single page of paper. They were physics notes, half-hearted ones anyway. He'd doodled little magnets and compasses in the corners, more worried about drawing than capturing the information of the lecture. But she supposed it was the thought that counted. Her anger from Tuesday was suddenly a distant memory.

"I know they're not as good as yours, but…"

"Wow," she said, unable to hide a grin. "Thanks a lot."

"Well, you know me," he said, popping the color of his striped polo. "I'm just your regular scholar… On an unrelated note, you are coming to class today, right? I don't think I can manage that two days in a row."

"Sorry, partner. You're gonna have to survive alone." He groaned as she tucked the paper into her bag, and she offered him a small smirk of her own. "I'm uh…just here to talk to the cops. Then I'm going home again."

"Oh, right. Barbara. So you talked to Nancy, then."

"Uh, yeah. That's one word for it."

"Yeah." To her surprise, Steve scoffed and leaned his head back against the lockers. "She kinda freaked on me too."

"Why?" Christine asked curiously.

"Eh, it's nothing. With all these cops and stuff, I'm just worried about my old man finding out the party. He's seriously gonna hand me my ass if word gets out. And she…I don't know. She said I was being insensitive. That I didn't care enough about Barb."

Christine bit her lip. Privately, she thought that Nancy was probably a little bit right. But the last thing she wanted to do was agree with her, and Steve looked legitimately dejected. So she leaned her shoulder next to him.

"Well, it's not like you can't care about two things at once, right?"

"Yes! Exactly! But she just totally blew me off. I didn't even get a chance to explain."

"She's just worried. All of us are."

"Yeah, I know. I do! I—I know."

He nodded to himself, and Christine let herself get caught up in watching the way his hair bounced. Maybe that's why she was so caught off guard when he turned to face her, ducking his head low.

"Can you just do me a favor?" he pleaded lowly. "When you talk to the cops, just—just don't mention the beers. Or the whiskey."

"Oh…I don't know, Steve…"

"Come on, Chrissy. It's just as much for Barbara as it is for me. Tell me the cops aren't gonna hear 'drunk teens' and just stop asking questions. If something really happened to her, people have to take us seriously. So…please, please, please just…don't say anything. You can just say you brought a movie to my house and we were all chilling together. You'd be saving Barb's life, and mine."

She hated how close he was standing. It made it very hard to process the words when all she could think about was the way he smelled. She shivered involuntarily, trying to kick her brain back into motion. He had a point. Somewhere, she was pretty sure he had a point. Barb was gone. It would be better if the police didn't think they were just a bunch of dumb, drunk kids.

"Yeah," Christine breathed, blinking hard as she forced the words out. "Yeah, no, I—I totally get it. You're right."

Steve gave her a blinding smile, which did not do much to help her breathing.

"God, you're the best. Have I told you lately that you're the best? You're the best." He patted the wall of lockers, and with a wink, jogged away from her down the hallway. "Anyway, feel better! See ya around!"

He was gone in a matter of seconds, leaving Christine to wonder if Steve had ever told her that she was the best at all. She damned her fluttering heart and banged her head into her locker. Having a crush totally sucked.

Christine did not want to go to homeroom, but there was another problem she had to face. She did not know when the police would get to the high school, or where they'd be interviewing students. Figuring she'd try her luck in the office, she marched toward the front of the school. Thankfully, it was one of the few times this week she'd been lucky.

"Jackpot," she whispered, peering through the window.

Two men in blue uniforms were signing in at the front desk. Christine didn't give herself time to think or second guess. She just walked into the office, and tapped the closest man on the shoulder.

"Can I help you?" he asked, sounding slightly annoyed by the intrusion. He was the older of the two—Powell, if his badge name was right.

"Yeah," said Christine. "You guys are here to ask about Barb, right? Barbara Holland?"

"And?" He squinted down at her suspiciously. "What's it to you?"

"Barb's my friend. I just want to help."

"That's great," said his partner, a slightly weedier man with glasses, "but you're just gonna have to wait your turn, kid. Aren't you gonna be late for class?"

The bell rang on cue. A few lingering students in the hallway scrambled, and the two officers chuckled.

"Welp," Officer Powell sighed. "Looks like you're late now."

"Oh, I'm not going to class," Christine assured them.

The men exchanged a look. The second officer cleared his throat, whispering to Powell. "Did she just tell two cops that she's skipping class?"

"I have to." Christine tried to swallow her nerves, keeping her face blank as she lied her ass off. "I've been super sick the past few days. I went to the doctor and I'm supposed to be on bedrest, but…this is really important."

"Right," Powell said doubtfully. "Well, can't help you either way. You're a minor. Means we're gonna need a parent or guardian present before we talk to you. So why don't you head to class until your dad or whoever…?"

"Yeah, that's not gonna work. My dad's on a business trip in Atlanta for the rest of the week."

"Then you can wait for your mom."

"Not exactly an option."

The officers looked at each other again. She couldn't tell if they were debating the situation, her story or her stupidity. Any which way, she didn't have time for it.

"Look, I don't care, okay? I waive my right to a guardian or whatever. I just want to help find Barb."

"I don't think that's how it works," said the one with the glasses.

"Why not?" Christine demanded. "It's just a customary interview, right? People waive their own rights all the time."

"Well people are stupid," Powell bit in annoyance. "Look. What's your name, kid?"

"Christine Walcott."

Powell had been about to say something, but he stopped himself. Suddenly, his expression was a lot more serious. His partner pulled out a notebook, flipping through a couple pages to read.

"Walcott?" he asked, and Christine nodded. "Well, shit."

"Yeah, you're telling me," grumbled Powell. "You wanna call the chief or should I?"

"Uh, no. I'm…I'm gonna let you do that."

"Chicken."

Powell walked away without an explanation, tugging the radio from his belt. Christine made to follow him, only for the other man to step into her way. She finally got a look at his nametag, which named him Callahan.

"What's going on?" she asked, trying to peer over his shoulder. "Telling the chief what?"

"Nothing you've got to be concerned about," he said as he herded her back to the desk. "Are you sure you can't just go to class?"

"No."

Callahan sighed, readjusting his wide-brimmed hat. "You know, I wish someone had told me what a hassle this job was gonna be. This was supposed to be an easy paycheck, you know? Write a couple parking tickets, patrol a few streets…"

He rambled on, but Christine was not listening. She squinted over his shoulder, trying to hear what Powell was saying into the radio. His back was turned, but she could make out enough to guess.

"Walcott," he repeated. Something, something, something, and then, "last one who saw her alive."

Somehow, the grainy response on the radio came through even clearer.

"Hey, I've got enough on my plate without walking you idiots through procedure. If she says she wants to talk, then let her talk. Just take the statement and move on."

"Alright," sighed Powell, shaking his head. "But I ain't doin' the paperwork."

Christine smiled victoriously. Either that or Powell's heavy sigh alerted Callahan to the conclusion, and he let out a pissy groan. "Seriously?"

"Hopper says it's a go," Powell said with a shrug. "Hey, don't look at me. Peggy, you got somewhere quiet we can set up?"

A few minutes later, Christine was following Officers Powell and Callahan down the halls to the cafeteria. It almost felt strange to be there. She'd been avoiding it for a week, after all. The long tables were already set up, chairs neatly tucked in by the janitors the night before. They made a terrible, echoing screech when Christine tried to sit down, making her wince.

"So, Miss Walcott," Powell started, folding his hands on the lunch table. "Just to be clear, you are knowingly waiving your right to have a parent or guardian present during this conversation?"

"Am I under arrest or something?" Christine asked doubtfully.

"Should you be?"

Christine's stomach lurched. She was already regretting coming.

"Look, I just want to find my friend," she said, shaking her head. "So yeah. I waive my right. Whatever."

Callahan laid out his notebook, hastily jotting that down. It didn't help to put her at ease.

"Alright. Why don't we start with the last time you saw your friend?"

"Tuesday night," Christine answered. "Probably around ten o'clock?"

"And where were you?" asked Powell.

"We were at the Harringtons' place. Just hanging out with a couple of friends."

"Hanging out?" Callahan repeated. "Ten o'clock on a school night? So, would you say it was like a party?"

"Not really," Christine said carefully. She was trying to calculate how much the police could already know. "I mean, Steve's parents weren't home, yeah. But it just meant we could listen to music really loud. We were watching movies, talking. Normal stuff."

Another skeptical look. Christine did not acknowledge it.

"And where was Barbara the last time you saw her?" asked Powell.

"Sitting next to me on the couch," she said honestly. "I…wasn't feeling well. So she was taking care of me, and I kind of passed out."

"You were at this party, and you fell asleep on the couch?" Callahan clarified. "At this boy—Steve's house? Where was everyone else?"

"Well…Barb and I were downstairs. Everyone else had been messing around in the pool, so as far as I know they just went upstairs to…change."

"Who is everyone else?"

"Um, Steve, Carol, and Tommy H. And Nancy."

"You said everyone went in the pool," said Powell. "Why not you? What were you and Barbara doing?"

Christine bit her lip. This part of the story was hard to tell without the beers.

"Well, I got to Steve's house a little late. Probably not until like, nine o'clock, nine thirty. And we were all hanging around by the pool. I wasn't really paying attention, but I think Barb…fell. There's a lot of woods in the backyard, so she accidentally cut herself on a rock. Her hand was bleeding pretty bad. I took her inside to find the bathroom, and that's when everyone jumped in the pool. By the time we got the bleeding to slow down, everyone was already getting out again. And then…"

She trailed off. What had happened next was not something she particularly wanted to relive. She wasn't proud of the part she'd played in her last moments with Barb, and she wasn't thrilled about the way things had gone with Nancy either. Surely the police didn't need to know all of that.

Nancy's voice echoed around Christine's head.

"It's not my fault you decided to have a breakdown on the couch. If you'd left together, none of this would have happened."

"And then?" Powell prompted her.

Christine's jaw clenched.

"I came out to ask Steve if he had a first aid kit anywhere. He went to go find one, and Tommy and Carol went upstairs together. Then I kind of got into a fight with Nancy because—well, she thought I was overreacting about Barb's cut, but I thought it looked really bad. Like she could need stitches or something. And I tried to tell her that, but she wouldn't listen. And then she went upstairs to change and…and she…she didn't come back down."

There was a pang of guilt as the officers exchanged another look. But she wasn't entirely sorry.

"And that's about the time you started feeling sick?" Callahan asked her.

The double meaning wasn't lost on her, but all she could do was shrug.

"Yeah. I went to lie down on the couch, and Barb…like I said, she was comforting me. And then I fell asleep. When I woke up, it was about six in the morning? Tommy and Carol had gone home, there was no Nancy, and…I couldn't find Barb anywhere."

Callahan nodded, scribbling something onto his notepad. "And you said you went to Steve's alone, right? You didn't arrive with Nancy and Barbara?"

"Yeah. I rode my bike there later."

"So you don't know how they got to the party?"

"Well, I talked to Barb before she left," Christine offered. "Like, after dinner. She said she had to go pick Nancy up. She's the only one of us who has a car, so she usually drives everywhere. But I didn't see her car when I got there anyway."

"Nowhere?" asked Powell. "And you don't know where she would've parked?"

"No. I figured she might've walked the last few blocks just in case…um…well. Because her car wasn't at the house and she was, you know. But I didn't actually see it."

"And you didn't look for it in the morning?"

"No? Like I said, I couldn't find anyone. I just figured she drove Nancy home."

"Right." Powell nodded, stroking his chin thoughtfully. "Well, your friend Nancy says that she went back to look for the car when she noticed Miss Holland was missing. She said that as of four o'clock yesterday, the car was still there, but…we haven't been able to find any trace of it. You wouldn't happen to know anything about that?"

Christine shook her head. It hadn't even occurred to her to look for Barb's car, though that would have been a good place to start. She wondered why Nancy hadn't mentioned it on the phone.

"Miss Wheeler also stopped by the Harrington house yesterday," said Callahan, and he narrowed his eyes at a particular line on his book. "She wanted to search the woods behind the house, and said that she saw 'a man or a bear or something, something big that growled at her.' Do you remember seeing anything matching that description?"

She shook her head again. That Nancy definitely hadn't mentioned on the phone.

"Do you know if Nancy's ever been under the influence? Maybe smoking suspect cigarettes?"

Callahan yelled at the sharp elbow he got from Powell.

"Christine," Powell continued, "has Miss Holland ever talked to you about leaving Hawkins? Maybe running away, or where she might go to get some alone time?"

"Not really," Christine said feebly. "Out of all of us, I felt like Barbara was most comfortable in Hawkins. She wanted to go to college, but she was only gonna go as far as Tech. She never wanted to live in the city or move to the country. She liked things here."

"Do you think the party could have changed that?" asked Callahan. "Maybe she felt like your friend group was struggling? Maybe she was a little…I don't know, jealous that Nancy went upstairs to change her clothes, while she was stuck—I mean—when she was comforting you instead?"

"No. Seriously," she added, before they could exchange another look. "Barb was never really into boy gossip. She didn't like Steve. She was only really there because Nancy dragged her."

"I see. And you don't think that maybe she…was jealous of Steve?"

That line of questioning was shut down by Powell, who sent a death glare to his partner.

"One last thing, Miss Walcott," he said, sitting farther forward in his chair. "Now, we know that you probably don't have anything to do with your friend's disappearance. We know everyone's taking this really hard, and that things have been a little…dramatic around town lately. But we've got to check all our boxes. So we had a chat with the attendance office. Can you tell us why you skipped your last classes before the party? And why you skipped the entire day after?"

A montage of her own moping played back in her head, followed by a resurging wave of nausea and the stress headache she'd been putting off since taking in Eleven. There were a lot of reasons she'd skipped school in the last week. She didn't plan on going into detail about any of them with the cops.

"I told you," she said flatly. "I've been really sick."

"Right," Callahan said flippantly. "Well you've gotta know that it looks a little weird. You're the last person that saw Barbara, and you conveniently skip the next two days of school. Not to mention you don't look all that sick."

"It's not a cold. I'm having…stomach problems."

"Uh huh," said Powell. "Alcohol-induced stomach problems?"

"No, they're…female-induced stomach problems…" The men stared at her blankly, and Christine gave a dramatic wince. "Um…girl problems?"

The officers immediately recoiled.

"Oh! Oh, no, that's not…"

"You don't gotta tell us about that."

"No, yeah, that's…"

"Well you need an alibi or something, right?" Christine asked, feigning confusion. "I've been getting these awful cramps. Like, I can't even get out of bed unless…"

"Woah, woah, woah!" Callahan waved a hand. "That's—You know, I think that's probably a really personal issue? And without a parent or guardian here…"

"Exactly," Powell agreed.

"Yeah, you—you probably shouldn't discuss that with anyone. We'll—We'll just take note of it."

"Suit yourself." Christine gave them a tight smile. "Anything else?"

"No," said Powell with a weary shake of his head. "No, if we think of anything else, we'll contact you."

"Great."

She collected her things and headed for the door, somehow even angrier and more anxious than she'd been before. She didn't know what she expected. The police were not going to find Barbara, because Barbara hadn't just run away. She was like Will. If she did something, she did it with the support of her friends. She wouldn't have gone off alone. If she was gone, something had happened to her, and it looked like the police weren't ready to believe that just yet.

Christine ignored the concerned looks of teachers as she marched back out the door. She grabbed and mounted her bike in one swift motion, barely needing to stop. If anyone could find Barbara, it was Eleven. And that mean she needed to get home immediately.