Christine was relieved to find that, by the next morning, all awkwardness with Dustin had evaporated. He was waiting for her at the end of the driveway, already astride his bike. When she reached him, he offered her a large bag of candy corn. Christine immediately shoved her hand in the bag.

"Where'd this come from?"

"Mom went to Big Buy yesterday for Halloween candy."

"Does she know you're getting started early?"

"Hey, it's not my fault she always hides it in the same spot."

She couldn't argue with that.

They set off to school together at a steady pace. Both of them were juggling the candy and their handlebars, so neither sped ahead or looped back around. When Christine finished her first handful, Dustin offered her the bag again.

"You're still coming with us tomorrow, right?"

"Are you sure you want me to?" Christine asked. "I don't want to baby you."

Dustin rolled his eyes. "Halloween doesn't count! It's candy and fun for all ages. Besides, what would the Ghostbusters be without Slimer?"

"I am not dressing up as Slimer."

"Dana Barrett?"

Christine snorted. "Maybe."

"I don't get it," Dustin huffed. "How can you not know? The party's been planning these costumes for months, and you just—what—don't know what you're gonna be?"

"I know what I'm going to be. It's just a surprise."

He continued to pester her for answers her all the way to the main road, but before they split ways, he let her take one more handful of candy corn. Then he stuck his orange-stained tongue out at her and turned toward the middle school.

Christine biked in the opposite direction, wishing she was still wearing her overalls; it'd be a lot easier to grab the candy from the pouch instead of biking with one hand. It was a straight shot to the high school, but she was still another ten minutes away, which meant her hands were probably going to be stained yellow by the time she got there.

An engine revved behind her, and Christine looked back just in time to see a blue sports car before it screeched past her, pulling so close that the slipstream actually made her bike swerve off course. She dropped the candy corn into the grass and stumbled, trying not to follow suit. By the time she looked up again, the car was already disappearing into the distance.

"Asshole," Christine grumbled, glaring after it.

She looked forlornly down at the candy, mixed and crushed among the dead leaves. Well. That was one way to solve the problem.

Christine managed to make it to the high school without any more close calls. Even weaving between cars in the parking lot, she didn't have much trouble, though it did seem a little more crowded than usual. It could only be a few minutes until homeroom, and still the sidewalk was mobbed with students. Christine frowned as she locked up her bike.

"Morning!"

Nancy joined her at the bike rack, one arm hugging her books to her chest. The other was linked with Steve's, who was standing faithfully at her side. He was sporting a pair of Wayfarers, but Christine could still see his wink as he grinned at her.

"Hey, Chrissy."

"Hey," she echoed. "What's with the mob?"

"New students," Nancy answered, nodding to the parking lot. "Everyone wants the inside scoop. You remember what that's like, right?"

"Huh." Christine followed her gaze to the bright blue car. "The shithead in the Camaro?"

"You know him?" Steve asked.

"Sure. He just tried to ram his license plate up my ass on Main Street."

Steve promptly choked and went into a coughing fit. Nancy had to pat him on the back as he struggled to breathe.

"She means he almost ran her over…"

"Yeah—ack—no, I got that, just uh—ha—"

He threw a sidelong glance at Christine, still wheezing. They'd officially been friends for almost a year now. Still, her sense of humor seemed to take him by surprise sometimes. She wasn't sure if she was funnier than he realized, or if he was still getting used to her having a sense of humor at all. He seemed to be caught in an ongoing realization that nerds could be just as vulgar as the popular kids.

Christine grinned.

"Yeah, well he was a real fucking asshole. Hope he's a senior. Then we can chuck you both out next year."

"Oh, ha ha," Steve mocked. "Yeah, we get it. You're so funny."

"Yeah, she is," Nancy agreed with a giggle.

Steve pouted, but the warning bell cut off his snippy reply.

"Ah well, ladies, it's been lovely." He clapped Christine on the shoulder and gave her a small salute. "Chris, I'll see you in study hall. And you, Miss Wheeler…"

Christine turned her back before Steve could go in for a kiss. She was happy for him and Nancy, but their make-out sessions tended to drag on. Christine still hadn't gotten used to spectating.

She pushed her way through the crowd of people heading into the building. Steve patted her on the back again as he went jogging down the hall, and Nancy appeared at her shoulder a moment later. Her cheeks were flushed pink.

"Sorry," she said, still a bit breathless.

"Hey," said Christine with a shrug. "Don't mind me."

Nancy laughed sheepishly and didn't say anything else on the matter.

"I wanted to ask," she offered as they slid into their homeroom desks, "it's gonna start getting cold soon. Are you still thinking about getting a car."

"More like dreaming," Christine said dejectedly. "I cut back on my hours at The Hawk so I could focus on SAT prep, but less hours means less money and—honestly, at this rate, I'll probably be saving through college."

"Sorry. God, that sucks."

"Ha, tell me about it. I love my bike, just not skidding off the road every time it snows."

"Well…you know, if you ever needed a ride, I'm sure Jonathan would be happy to—"

"Oh my God," Christine groaned. "We are not having this conversation again!"

"What conversation?" Nancy asked innocently.

"The conversation where I remind you that I am not interested in dating Jonathan Byers."

"I didn't say anything about dating…"

Christine gave Nancy an extremely nasty, pointed look. Her friend deflated instantly.

"Come on, give him a chance," Nancy pleaded. "He's really a nice guy!"

"Just because someone's nice doesn't mean I have to date them. Besides, you act like Jonathan wants to go on a date with me. I'll have you know we mutually dislike each other."

"That is not true. You guys get along great."

"We coexist because we have to. We're both friends with you. We both hang out with the party. I look past some stuff because he saved our lives, and he tolerates me because of what I did for his brother. That's it."

"See? You guys have a lot in common!"

"Nancy," Christine said flatly. "I love you. I do. So do not make me do this in public."

"What? Talk about boys?"

"Talk about the real reason you're setting me up with Byers."

That shut her up real fast.

"Fine," Nancy said, shaking her head. "I'm done. For now."

"Of course," Christine replied, rolling her eyes.

She was saved by Mr. Vogler starting roll call. Christine waited impatiently for her name, and tried her best to listen to the announcements about the downtown Halloween celebration, but it was hard to put their conversation out of her mind.

Every few months, Nancy would get it in her head that the answer to all of their problems was for Christine to date Jonathan. That was the picture perfect ending to last year's trauma. The loose ends would be tied up, everything squared away. They could go on double dates and be happy and no one would ever feel guilty about anything ever again.

It didn't seem to matter that Christine kept shutting her down. It could go on for days, weeks, until Nancy finally relented. Christine could only hope she was torturing Jonathan just as much. Fair was fair, right?

What made it all worse the unspoken truth: Christine and Nancy both knew the real reason Nancy wanted Jonathan off the market.

To her credit, Nancy did drop the subject. As soon as homeroom was out, she started talking about Halloween and all the work she'd have to get done if she wanted to have any fun tomorrow. She and Steve were doing a couple's costume from Risky Business. It was a pretty simple outfit, but she still wanted Christine to come over and help her get ready. She even offered to lend Christine her notes for Lord of the Flies and go over it chapter by chapter. Which Christine appreciated, really. It was just difficult to ignore the feeling that Nancy was just buttering her up before she tried again.

The whole exchange nearly made her late for English—not that she minded all that much. It was her worst subject, and she'd only gotten worse since last year. It was inevitable with a teacher like Mrs. Appecella: a grouchy woman with frizzy hair who insisted that the key to understanding any story was a well-constructed mind map. Christine didn't think any kind of map was going to help her understand To Kill a Mockingbird; presently it only made her want to kill herself.

She hid in the last row of desks, keeping her head down and her eyes on the window. Of course, it wasn't just wacky teaching styles that were sending her grade down the drain. In the past, whenever she had a problem with English, she had someone to go to—someone who would go over the lecture notes, proofread her essays, lend her an annotated copy of the book. A year later, and Christine still didn't know how to pass English without Barb's help.

Fuck. A year. A whole year since Barbara Holland had disappeared, and the people of Hawkins were…fine. There had been no memorial, no vigil. People hardly even gossiped about her anymore. It was less like Barb had disappeared, and more like she'd been erased.

Christine knew it had been designed that way, to not raise suspicion, but it was hard not to be bitter. As far as the rest of the town was concerned, Barb had run away. Why did they need to worry about her? She'd done the one thing every repressed, angsty, small-town kid was too scared to do. She'd braved the outside world, gone off travelling, and left them all behind.

It was hard to decide which was worse: the people who had forgotten Barb completely, or the ones who talked about her like some kind of folk hero.

"Miss Walcott?"

Christine sat up straight in her desk, looking around as her classmates giggled. Mrs. Appecella was staring at her expectantly.

"Uh…sorry. What was the question?"

The giggles got louder, and Christine sank down in her seat. Mrs. Appecella frowned at her with that distinctly adult look that said, "I'm not mad, just disappointed."

"We're reviewing chapter twenty-seven," she sighed, straightening her glasses. "Would you care to open your book?"

Christine nodded hastily and fumbled with the pages. She wasn't just struggling in her classes because Barb wasn't around to help. She was floundering because she was too busy missing her friend to focus.

The day passed in a haze of boring lectures and routine gossip. Her only solace was science; she was taking college-level physics this year, something she was extremely invested in after last fall's adventure. Outside of that, the only thing she had to look forward to was study hall.

The Hawkins High School Library was pretty impressive given the size of the student body. Their collection was almost as large as the public library, and even though they didn't have any computers, they at least had their own microfiche reader. Private study rooms lined the walls for any overeager students who wanted to focus in silence. Of course, Christine had never seen one actually being used for studying. Normally they were used for private conversations and secret hookups.

Steve had planted himself at their usual table by the window. He was poring over a marked-up sheet of loose-leaf paper, concentrating so hard that he didn't even notice Christine walking over. She stole a peek over his shoulder, then grabbed the page before he could stop her.

"Hey! What—Christine, no!"

Everyone in the immediate area turned to look at them. Steve just waved an apologetic hand, more worried about trying to grab the page from Christine.

"Give it back," he hissed. "Seriously, Chris."

"No, I want to read it," she insisted, escaping to the other side of the table.

"Why? It's not good. At all."

"Then you could probably use another set of eyes."

"No," he said stoutly. "No, I'm not making you do that. No one should have to suffer through my shitty writing."

Christine sank into the chair opposite him. Steve had folded his arms over his chest and was frowning down at the table. She leaned over to pat his arm.

"Hey, you're not making me do anything, okay? I want to read it. Seriously."

"Well, then you're seriously deranged," Steve sighed, "cause that's probably the worst college admissions essay that's ever been written in the history of ever."

"I'll be the judge of that."

She tucked her legs up onto her chair, folding them underneath her and leaning forward on her elbows. It always helped to get comfortable before she tried to decipher Steve's handwriting.

Northwest of Iwo Jima

By Steve Harrington

The score is 44-42. It's the championship game against Northwestern, and we're trailing by two. Our team shouldn't even be here. We're mediocre at best, but here we are with a chance to win it all. I, Steve Harrington, have the ball. The crowd is going wild, but I only hear my own breath. The clock begins to tick down, and I have to make a choice. Do I play it safe and shoot a two-pointer, or do I go for the riskier three-point shot to win it all?

I dribble past half court and stall just before. I have a clear lane if I want to make a lay-up. But the clock is nearing zero. I pull up at the three-point line and shoot the ball in the net. I watch the ball spin through the top of the net and go in. At that moment, I know exactly how my grandad felt 39 years ago when he nuked the island of Iwo Jima.

Christine continued to read, all two pages of the essay, with a blank face. When she was done, she folded her hands delicately on top of the paper and looked to Steve.

"Okay," she began. "What do you need from me?"

"Honesty," he answered immediately. "Just—complete, brutal honesty."

"Are you sure?"

"Totally. Nancy already gave me the sweet, 'oh you just need to edit' crap this morning. The deadline is tomorrow. I need to know how screwed I am."

"Completely."

Steve groaned and let his head fall flat to the table.

"Sorry," she said with a grimace. "You're all over the place with your analogies. I know you, so I know it's your anxiety getting the better of you, but to an admissions officer? At best you come off a nervous kid who is desperately trying to make his small-town life seem impressive. At worst you sound like a total douchebag who doesn't understand the horrifying consequences of war."

"Great," Steve's muffled voice replied. "So the truth, basically."

"Stop it," Christine ordered. She'd already picked up a pen and started circling things. "I like your opening paragraph. It's a little heavy-handed on the imagery, but it shows how you felt in the moment. If I were you, I'd focus on the game. Everyone's got a grandfather that fought in a war. That doesn't make you special. But basketball is you."

"It's a basketball game, Christine," he huffed, peeking up from his arms. "I took the shot, we won. End of essay."

"It's an underdog story," she corrected. "You have it right here in the first paragraph. Hawkins had no right to be at the championship game because our basketball team sucks."

"Oh, thank you so much."

"You're welcome. So tell me how we got there. Tell me about the last shot. If you missed, we would've lost and everyone would've ragged on you forever, but you took it anyway. Tell me why. That's your essay."

She pushed the paper back to him with finality. Steve dragged himself up from the desk, running a hand through his hair and peering down at her markings.

"Are you sure you're not an English nerd? Because it sounds like you actually know what you're talking about."

"I like stories. I like writing. I just don't like Mrs. Appecella or mind maps or any of the books she tells us to read."

"Mind maps," he snickered. "Yeah, I do not miss that class."

"You sure?" Christine asked hopefully. "I'll write your essay if you write mine."

"Uh, no. No, I don't think that's a good idea for either of us. See, I'm gonna focus on this paper, and you—you are gonna focus on this one."

He reached into his bag, pulling out a bright orange flyer. He flourished it dramatically before sliding it across the table. It had a crudely drawn ghost and a bottle in the middle. The sloppy title declared, "Tina's Halloween Bash: Come and get sheet faced!"

"Are we talking about the graphic design?" Christine asked with a smirk. "There's definitely room for improvement."

"We're talking about getting you out of the house," Steve countered. "All you do is study, work, and babysit. You don't—"

"I don't know how to take a break," she finished dryly. "Yeah, I've heard that one before."

"No, I didn't mean—this is different—"

"Which is also what you said last time."

Steve paused and took a deep breath.

"Alright," he tried again, "I'm not telling you that you have to come. I'm asking if you would please come, because you are my friend, and I enjoy spending time with you. I didn't mean to offend you, or—or to make you feel like you—"

Christine graciously decided to put him out of his misery.

"Steve, relax. I'm just giving you shit."

She laughed as he rolled his eyes. "When are you not?"

And while he was acting annoyed, she could tell from his smile that he was just pretending.

"I appreciate the offer," she said, pushing the paper back at him, "but I have a previous engagement."

"Bullshit. What engagement?"

"I'm taking the boys trick-or-treating."

Steve laughed loudly, drawing another round of stares. Christine shrank down in her seat as a few girls at the next table began whispering. She was still getting used to the extra attention that came from hanging out with King Steve, but Steve didn't think anything of it.

"Please tell me you're joking," he said, thankfully lowering his voice. "You're not being serious right now."

"Why can't I be serious?" she asked. "Trick-or-treating means free candy."

"And a party means free booze."

"Please. We both know I can't hold my liquor."

"Fine! Then don't drink! Just come hang out with some people your own age!"

"I do hang out with people my own age," she defended. "I'm hanging out with you right now."

"Uh, no," he said indignantly. "No, school does not count."

"What does it matter? It's just one night."

"No, it's multiple nights, every week, and it matters because I cannot believe you are ditching your friends on Halloween of all days so you can hang out with—with that bunch of little gremlins."

"Okay, hold on," Christine giggled. "First off, I'm very proud of you for that film reference. Second, go easy on them. They're middle schoolers."

"Yeah," he seethed, "middle schoolers who deface private property."

"Steve, we've talked about this—"

"He looked me dead in the eye, Christine! The curly-haired bastard looked me dead in the eye and poured chocolate milk all over my windshield! Okay? And—and I know it was him that 'dropped' the blue Slurpee through my open window!"

"Actually that one was Lucas."

It was hilarious to watch Steve stammer and flounder in rage. He scoffed, laughed sarcastically, pulled a mocking face down at his essay, seemingly unable to express his indignation in words.

"Look, I'm sorry about your car," she offered, though it was hard to keep the amusement out of her voice. "But the boys are my friends too. They're young, and a little annoying, but…they can get protective. I talked to them about it, and they promised not to do it again."

"Right, and I'm definitely gonna believe that."

Christine smiled gently. "Friends don't lie."

"Whatever," Steve sighed. "It's your life. If you'd rather hang out with a bunch of ten-year-olds instead of your lab partner, that's your choice."

"Ex-lab partner," she corrected. "Someone decided to drop science senior year."

"Of course I'm not gonna take science," he scoffed. "I sucked at science. I've got all my credits, and you were the only good thing about that class. If you're not my lab partner then what's the point?"

Steve continued to grumble as he turned back to his college essay. Christine bit her lip, hiding a smile. Trying not to feel too pleased with herself, she pulled out her own books. Maybe if she was lucky, she'd be able to focus on her homework for just a couple of minutes.

Study hall always seemed to fly by. Steve was hard at work on his essay, occasionally asking for her opinion on a sentence or for help with a certain word. She had to work twice as hard to make sure he didn't distract her from her work. Not that it was his fault that he was infinitely more interesting than her English assignments. Finally, she switched to AP Physics and had a much easier time focusing.

The moment they were free from the library, Steve was back to ranting about Tina's Halloween party.

"What if you split the night?" he suggested as they walked toward her locker. "Spend some of it trick-or-treating and some of it with us! I'm sure the party's gonna be going for hours."

"Right. And show up to Tina's with a pillowcase full of candy and my Ghostbusters costume? I don't think so."

"Wait, what are dressing up as?" he asked in amusement. "Is it embarrassing?"

"I told you. It's a Ghostbusters costume."

"Yeah, but like are you a Ghostbuster? Are you a ghost?"

"What's it matter? Even if I tell you, you won't know what I'm talking about. You didn't see Ghostbusters."

"You can't know that," he scoffed. "There's no way for you to know that."

"Steve, I work at The Hawk. I know you didn't see it."

"You work there like, two days a week. That's plenty of time for me to see it."

"Okay, you're right. I'm so sorry. Did you see Ghostbusters?"

Christine raised her eyebrows and waited. Steve stuttered for a few seconds before pouting childishly. She threw her head back and laughed.

"Oh, I see! Yeah, that's what I thought. I know you want to be unknowable, mysterious King Steve, but next time I make a joke and I'm right? Maybe don't—"

"Sh, sh, sh!"

Steve jumped to the side of the hallway, pressing himself flat against the wall.

"Steve, what are you—"

"No! Shhh, come here!"

He grabbed her by the wrist and yanked her next to him. People were giving them weird looks, but that was the least of Christine's problems. Her heart was pounding with sudden alarm. The lights weren't flickering, the temperature hadn't dropped, she couldn't hear any monstrous roar…

Finally, Nancy's voice floated around the corner.

"Jonathan, just come. I mean, who knows? You might even meet somebody. I'm sure Christine's coming, and she'd love the compa—ahh!"

Steve leaped around the corner, grabbing Nancy around the waist and hoisting her into the air. She shrieked and squealed, which was quickly silenced as Steve pulled her into another deep kiss.

Christine deflated, turning to Jonathan.

"Exit stage right?"

"Please."

They headed down the hallway, turning their backs on the couple and their egregious PDA. But Christine couldn't help but glance back before they rounded the corner. And even though he tried to hide it, she saw Jonathan do it too.

"You too?" she asked, catching him off guard.

"What?" His face was full of panic, until Christine pointed at the orange flyer in his hands. "Oh uh—yeah. No."

"Me neither."

"Really?" He seemed genuinely surprised. "Costumes, horror, popular kids. Figured that would be your dream."

The subtle dig wasn't lost on her, but Christine elected to ignore it. She was well aware that Jonathan thought she was a hopeless wannabe. She thought he was a pretentious dick, but they sniped about it so much that the argument was pretty played out at this point.

"Yeah, well, parties and I don't get along great," she said bitterly. "And I don't want to third-wheel super couple back there. I'm not going if I can help it."

For some reason, this made Jonathan smirk.

"I guess this means you didn't actually beg Nancy to make me come?"

"Oh, come on," Christine snorted. "She did not say that."

"It was implied."

"Well, no worries. You're safe, Byers. Besides, I'm going trick-or-treating with the boys. So it looks like your schedule is free and clear."

"Yeah, about that…"

Christine's head whipped around to stare at him. Jonathan was still smiling, which only confirmed the worst.

"No, no, no!" She groaned and stamped her feet. "I thought we finally agreed I was going!"

"Sorry," he said, not sounding sorry at all. "I already told Nancy I was doing it."

"Well I already told Steve!"

"I promised my mom."

"And I promised Dustin!"

"No way," said Jonathan, shaking his head. "Mine way outweighs yours."

"Uh no, it doesn't," said Christine. "Your mom just wants someone there to look after Will. Which there will be, because I'm going."

They stopped at her locker, which she wrenched open with more force than was strictly necessary. The metal screeched dangerously, but Christine kept her jaw locked and collected the books she'd need for her history class. She was putting her foot down. She'd been the third wheel far too often, and she wasn't going to go to this party. Not when she finally had a good excuse.

She was fully ready to continue the argument, but by the time she slammed her locker shut, all Jonathan's fire seemed to be gone. He was frowning at the tiled floor, lost in thought.

"What's wrong?" she demanded. The words hadn't come out as gently as she'd intended.

"Nothing," said Jonathan, which was a blatant lie. "Just uh…I'm thinking it might not really matter."

"Why not?"

"Because of Will. He's got another appointment at the lab today."

Christine's hands balled into fists. This time, her fury wasn't Jonathan's fault. Her mind was miles away, beyond the forest and electrified fence that surrounded the Hawkins Laboratory for the Department of Energy.

"That's such bullshit," she spat, falling into step beside him again.

"I know," he sighed, "but we still don't know what's going on with him. And if anyone understands what the Upside Down could do to a person…"

"It's the creeps who opened it up," Christine finished. "I know, it's just…it's so messed up. No kid should ever have to go in there."

"No arguments here. Will hates it. But it's not like we have any other options."

Christine held her tongue. She knew that Jonathan was right. With all the nondisclosure agreements they'd signed, there really was no other option for anyone in Hawkins. Even if the Byers could go to a different doctor, what would they say? Will had been trapped in an alternate dimension for a week. It wasn't your average diagnosis.

It just wasn't fucking fair.

"Anyway," said Jonathan, side-stepping the monumental elephant, "Mom's waiting to hear back from the doctors. She's not even sure she wants him out trick-or-treating this year."

"What?"

Christine stopped dead and was immediately jabbed in the back by someone's binder. The girl gave her a nasty look and stomped around her, but Christine hardly noticed.

"He can't just not go! They've been talking about this for months! And your mom worked so hard on his costume."

"Yeah, but after his episode last night—"

"Hey, no, that was my fault. I take total responsibility for that. If that's what she's worried about—"

"Christine, stop," Jonathan sighed. "It's nobody's fault. It's just…just a fact. Will's getting worse."

He scuffed the floor with his worn sneakers as they walked. Christine chewed on her bottom lip. When she got the nerve, she nudged him with her elbow.

"For what it's worth, I'm pretty sure that part's normal. It's almost been a year. Everyone's thinking about it, and with the anniversary coming up, he's bound to have some setbacks."

"I know," Jonathan said again. "I just…I wish there was something more I could do about it, you know? He has these crazy nightmares and all the flashbacks. They happen anywhere, anytime, even when he's surrounded by people. I feel like I'm just following him around, waiting to catch him. And I know he thinks I'm being overprotective but—"

"But you don't want to let him out of your sight." Christine nodded, a pang in her chest. "Yeah. I know the feeling."

They lapsed into silence, stopping at Jonathan's locker before heading to history. The bell rang right before they got to the door. Jonathan muttered a curse, jogging the last few feet, but Christine grabbed his arm before he made it.

"The Stay Puff Marshmallow Man."

"…excuse me?"

"Your costume," she explained in resignation. "It's a coat and a hat, and I can bring it to your house after school."

"Uh…no. I'm not dressing up as the Stay Puff Marshmallow Man."

"Well tough tarts. I promised Dustin I would be part of the group costume, so if I'm giving you my spot, it's non-negotiable."

Jonathan shook his head with a disbelieving smile.

"Fine," he agreed. "You can bring it. But I'm not promising I'm gonna wear it."

"You better, asshole. I spent twenty bucks on that coat."

She brushed past him, but this time it was Jonathan who stopped.

"You know, we could both go trick-or-treating. We could probably make it one night without killing each other."

"Right, and end up with a hundred pictures of me dressed as the Marshmallow Man? I don't think so. I'd rather third-wheel." Jonathan snorted, and she offered him a small smile. "But thank you for the offer."

"Just as well," he sighed dramatically, opening the door for her. "I was only asking to be polite."

"Ouch. That really hurt my feelings."

"Miss Walcott," Mr. Edwards interrupted from his podium. "Mr. Byers, thank you for joining us. Would you like to stand in the doorway for a few more minutes, or would you care to take a seat?"

A few students chuckled, and Christine and Jonathan both ducked their heads. They nodded to each other, almost invisibly, and proceeded to their seats on opposite sides of the rooms. The moment was over. It was time to go back to reality.