I got a frantic call from Robin on Saturday morning, begging me for a lift to her job.

"I can't reach Steve and if I don't get there in the next twenty I'll get docked!" Robin spluttered over the phone. "He's usually good about giving me a ride but right now he's a no-show and I'll never ask again, Fi, but pleeeeeease?"

"I got your back," I told her, and three minutes later she was climbing into Mom's Corolla, out of breath but smiling.

"You are a lifesaver!" Robin blurted, pulling on her seatbelt. "Okay, I'm good."

"So what do you think happened?"

"No clue," she sighed. "He's usually reliable. I mean, he's gotten more reliable, but he's still Steve Harrington which means his focus isn't exactly where it's supposed to be. So what are you and Eddie doing for French? Figured out your presentation yet?"

"It's a work in progress," I replied, not wanting to get into it. "Hey, I found out that my mom went to school with Eddie's dad and uncle. Kind of wild."

Robin considered that for a second. "Wild," she agreed. "Did they graduate?"

"I'm sure his uncle did. Not so sure about his dad. Okay, here we are . . ." I pulled into Family Video just as another car pulled up next to us.

Steve's car.

We all climbed out, and Robin was about to lay into him when we both saw the grime across his sweater. He held up two dirty hands in supplication. "Robin, I'm sorry, man. Got a flat tire just past the turn on Cornwallis."

She gave a nod and a smile. "It's legit. I'm glad you're okay."

Steve shot me a glance and nodded; he knew me, mostly through Robin. "Hey."

"So, Robin will get a ride home with you?" I asked.

"Yeah, sure," Steve nodded.

I looked at Robin. "Hey, what are your thoughts on Casablanca?"

"Uhhhh," she gave me a startled look, but it was Steve who spoke up.

"Kind of slow and talky, but Bogart's a badass," he murmured. "I liked the parts with the police chief. He was one cynical little dude."

Robin's eyes got so big that for a moment she looked like a cartoon. "You watched Casablanca?" She demanded in a squeaky voice. "By choice?"

Steve looked a little uncomfortable as he shrugged. "Robin, we work in a VIDEO store. We watch movies all the time!"

"Yeah but your sort of viewing leans towards Body Heat, and Dressed to Kill," Robin blurted. "Things with lots of exposed female flesh."

Now he REALLY looked uncomfortable, but I spoke up.

"We watched it last night, and I was surprised how good it was."

Steve nodded. "Yeah, me too." He glared at Robin, who was still staring at him. "Ah come on, Robin. I DO have other movies in my rotation, you know. And Dressed to Kill is a classic thriller. Best De Palma movie ever!"

She shook her head. "Blow Out was better, by far. More about the predatory nature of the film industry . . ."

I watched them walk in, still debating and grinned. Back at the start of the year, when Robin first told me she was actually friends with Steve, I had found it hard to believe.

"He's like, a major ladie's man, all surface, no depth!" I pointed out.

Robin just shook her head. "He gives that impression, yeah, and it even fooled me for a while, but after working with him, after . . . well, that disaster with StarCourt Mall . . . let's just say there's sterner, nicer stuff inside him. And he's cool. With me. Being, you know."

"He is?" That brought me up short.

Robin gave a gentle smile. "Yeah. I never thought I'd find a guy who was supportive, but I guess miracles happen, even here in Hawkins."

So I was giving Steve Harrington the benefit of the doubt, and it was so good to see Robin comfortable. She and I had been friends since elementary, and I was one of the first people she'd told, so I felt kind of protective of her. I was glad to see someone else was too.

I took Mom to the pharmacy and while she was waiting for her meds, I wandered around the store, not really shopping. Around the corner near the stationary, I nearly bumped into someone vaguely familar at the comic book spinner.

The freshman kid in Hellfire Club—Dustin.

He recognized me and smiled; I smiled back. Taking that as encouragement I guess, he leaned closer and asked, "Are you Eddie's girlfriend?"

Time for some fun.

"Yes, one of hundreds," I kept my face as straight as I could. "Thousands, actually. We of the Munsonian sect all worship him and would fight anyone to the death on his behalf."

For a second he goggled, and then he cracked up. "Yeah, I'm going to tell him you said that!"

"Come on, do you want his ego to get any bigger than it already is?" I teased. "I'm Fi, by the way."

"Dustin," his handshake was warm.

"And no, I'm not Eddie's girlfriend," I assured him. "Despite what he may tell you."

For a minute he looked sceptical, but I shrugged. "So you're in Hellfire Club. First year of D&D?"

"Nah, Mike, Lucas and I have been playing for years," he replied. "Will did too, before he moved to California."

"So you're all experienced players," I mused. "That's good. Once Eddie graduates, at least the club will keep going."

"Here's hoping," he told me just as Mom came up, white bag in hand.

We headed home, and Mom rubbed her forehead. "I may just take a nap," she informed me. "Good idea?"

"Great idea," I agreed, and got her settled in on the sofa before I got to work on the lyrics in my room.

-oo00oo—

On Sunday, when I stepped into the Multipurpose room, a wave of nostalgia hit me. I'd spent a lot of time here in Middle School—chorus, and various assemblies. I'd even gone to the Snow Ball, although that wasn't the greatest memory. Shaking away my thoughts, I made my way through the big space to where Eddie was straddling his amp and tuning his guitar.

He looked up when I approached. "What—exactly- did you tell Henderson?" Eddie's expression was decidedly impish, which was a good look for him.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Munson," I bluffed. "Not a thing."

"Hundreds of girlfriends? Thousands? An army of Munsonites, ready to fight to the death for me?" he rolled out, waving his hand dramatically.

"More importantly," I stared at him, "what did YOU tell Henderson?"

Eddie gave a sigh, his expression a little embarrassed. "Well after that, I told him you were right, of course, and that you were there as my bodyguard before I dismissed you."

I giggled. "Somehow I don't think he believed either one of us."

"Probably not, but it's fun messing with his head," Eddie agreed. "One of the few perks of being the DM."

"Riiiiight. So, uh, I guess we ought to get started. How do you want to do this?" I set my backpack down and dug out the xeroxed copies of the music and lyrics. Eddie glanced at it, running his hand over the page and studying it intently. "Four four, so march time, key of E sharp . . . Yeah, we can do this. Let me warm up a little."

He slammed out a pretty good version of Hell's Bells while I set out the music and hummed along. The multipurpose room had great acoustics, so the sound really carried. When Eddie was done, I gave him an approving nod.

"Now I can see why you liked Casablanca so much," I told him. "You're a musician."

"Nah," he protested, but I could see his face get a little pink along his cheekbones. "I play, but there's a loooong way to go before I can call myself that."

"But you're in a band," I pointed out. "The Coffin one, right? You have a couple of gigs at the Hideaway? I've seen the flyers."

"Corroded Coffin," Eddie nodded. "Me, Gareth, Jeff, and Dwayne. We're . . . not bad."

It was weird to see Eddie be humble, but I appreciated his honesty. I nodded to the sheet music. "Okay, can you play it through?"

He did, messing up a few times, but correcting himself and going back over the notes a second time before gritting his teeth. "yeah, so, wanna jump in here and see how it sounds with a voice?"

I nodded. He adjusted his stance and started, giving me a nod to cue me in.

I sang. A little shaky, but I picked it up and the first run through wasn't too bad. I don't think anyone would have recognized it, but we made it to the end at the same time, which meant we hadn't gotten lost.

"That was . . . crap," Eddie announced. "Fi, you're gonna have to sing loud, babe. Like, crank it to at least eight here because you're competing with the amp and I'm telling you right now that the amp is winning."

I nodded. "And I don't think Mrs. Lydecker is going to let me use a microphone."

We did it again, and it was better, but I was slow, and the pace dragged. Eddie started stamping his right foot to keep the time and that helped.

"Allons en-FANT de LAAAAA patRIE, la jour de GLOIRE est ARRIVÉ!" he bellowed. "Like that! Get it up all in their faces, like they did in the cafe, Fi! It's about the defiance, man! The one chance we have to show them we ain't backing down!"

I put more into the volume, but also made sure I was singing and not just yelling. By the time we hit "Nos sillons, sillons" at the end, the room was vibrating.

Eddie laughed. "Shit, we might end up recruiting the whole damn class with a banger like that one!"

Someone was applauding; we looked over to see Mr. Clarke at the double doors, grinning.

"Michelle Leydecker is going to lose her mind," he predicted.

I blushed, and even Eddie looked embarrassed, but Mr. Clarke just waved and headed back out. Eddie bumped my shoulder with his, eyes bright.

"Oh yeah, we're acing French this year," he assured me. "On gére!"