TRIGGER WARNING: I'm being overly cautious with this one. This chapter will introduce Billy Hargrove, who is routinely off-putting and sexually forward. I know this character can be a grey area for some, so I want to put a warning on his first chapter. If anyone feels strongly about trigger warning him in the future, feel free to leave a review or message me privately. Please proceed with caution.

When the alarm rang the next morning, Christine slammed the snooze button with much more force than was necessary. She shoved her face back into her pillow. Five minutes wouldn't help much, but she'd take what she could get.

She lay motionless for a few more seconds. Then her eyes snapped open. It was Halloween.

Christine smiled as she jumped out of bed, suddenly energized and ready for the day. Sure, she didn't have plans anymore. She didn't want to suffer through hours of trick-or-treating in awkward silence with Jonathan. She didn't want to third wheel Steve and Nancy's couple costume. But just knowing it was Halloween, a day of candy and autumn and horror, was enough to get her going.

At the high school, no one wore costumes anymore—they were all too cool for that—but Christine didn't care what social capital it cost her: she would be damned if she wasn't going to at least dress festively. She pulled her hair up with a bright orange scrunchie and unearthed her Texas Chainsaw Massacre T-shirt, even though it had gotten her sent to the principal's office the last time she'd worn it to school. Apparently the shirt wasn't "school appropriate," which Christine might have understood if the shirt had Leatherface on it—a mass murderer wasn't exactly G-rated—but it was just the title and the film's female lead, Sally. Okay, Sally was bloody and screaming in horror, but it wasn't like it was anything explicit. She'd said as much to the principal, but he had written her up for "advertising an indecent depiction of women."

Frankly, Christine thought that was bullshit. Sally was a Scream Queen. She screamed and survived, and that was the whole point. You could be utterly terrified and still strong enough to survive. Why should that be indecent?

She was prepared to debate anyone who had an objection to that, but hopefully the staff would be a little more lenient on Halloween.

"Hope you're ready for your close-up," her father said as she joined him in the kitchen. "Claudia's had her camera ready for about twenty minutes."

"She's just taking pictures of Dusty." Christine kissed her dad on the cheek on her way to the freezer. She pulled out a box of Eggos and plopped two in the toaster. "He always has a photoshoot Halloween morning."

"She's already been over here twice to see if you're ready."

Christine groaned, making him laugh. He turned to comment, only to flinch and shield his eyes.

"God! Christine, are you really wearing that shirt again?"

"What's wrong with my shirt?"

"Why don't you ask your principal? He seemed to have quite a few ideas on the subject, as I recall."

"It's Halloween," she reminded him. "Just think of it as my costume. I'm a rebel."

"I don't care if you wear it. I just wish you'd—I don't know, sneak out of the house or something. This way when they call me about it, I can swear up and down that I didn't see you leave and I'd never approve. Save me the lecture."

"Oh, well in that case I'll just tell him that you bought it for me."

She stuck her tongue out at him. Her father responded in kind, pulling a grotesque face as he reached around her for his travel mug.

"Alright, bumblebee. I am late, so just pretend I had an outstanding speech about responsibility and respecting your elders."

"It was incredibly moving," Christine assured him. "I'll never break a rule again."

"Yeah, that'll be the day. Okay, I love you! Be safe! And Happy Halloween."

"Love you too, Dad!"

He grabbed his jacket and briefcase and rushed out the door. And just when Christine thought she was safe, she heard his voice ringing out across the lawn.

"Morning, Claudia! Chrissy's finally up if you're ready!"

Christine cursed and looked around the kitchen for an excuse. She had nothing against the Hendersons, but she didn't feel like having her picture taken at seven in the morning. She'd barely put on any makeup, and when Claudia got a camera in her hands, there was no stopping her. She was sure to get carried away and—

"Oh, there you are, sweetheart!" Claudia had let herself into the house. "Well, come on! Grab your things! It's the best day of the year, and I've got a whole roll of film I saved for you and Dusty!"

"Sure thing, Claudia! I'm just waiting on—"

Her waffles popped out of the toaster on cue. Christine pouted at them. She'd been hoping to buy herself a few more minutes, at least to tease her hair. But with her breakfast in one hand and her backpack in the other, there wasn't anything she could do to stop Claudia from ushering her out of the house.

Dustin more than made up for her lack of enthusiasm. Ever since his teeth had come in, he'd loved having his picture taken. Claudia had probably taken about fifty pictures of him inside and he was still grinning like a maniac. He was dressed in his brand-new Ghostbusters outfit and was attacking his bike with his proton blaster, as if on the hunt for a very haunted roller chain.

"Dusty!" Claudia sang, waving him over. "Come on! Come over here! I want to take a few of you two with the headstones."

"That's what you're wearing?" Dustin asked Christine, eyeing her outfit. "It's the best day of the year and you're not even gonna dress up?"

"No one dresses up in high school, Dust."

"That's so lame. Why not?"

"Because we all got old and boring, and everyone's worried about looking cool."

"Uh, costumes are cool. Just look at me! I look awesome."

He grinned at her and purred—a horrendous habit he'd picked up now that he had front teeth; he'd been doing it incessantly ever since he learned how. Christine raised an unimpressed eyebrow, but Claudia cheered him on wildly.

"Yes, you do! Ooh, here—pretend you're attacking the ghosts on the headstone! And Chrissy, you come over here by the one with the hat and you—just pretend you're screaming!"

She dragged them into position and went to town. Christine knew there were only about thirty pictures in one roll of film, but it felt like they took a hundred. They took photos by the headstones and with the carved pumpkins. They staged ones where Dustin was saving Christine and ones where he was attacking her. They posed together in a hug, lifting each other up, and standing back-to-back. Until finally the camera clicked, signaling that they were done.

"Oh dang nabbit," Claudia huffed, smacking the side of the lens. "I knew I should've gotten one more roll!"

"Mom, it's fine," Dustin assured her. "We've gotta take more pictures later, right? With Mews, and with your cat ears…"

"My ears!" Claudia yelped, and she clapped a hand on top of her head. "Oh my goodness, I've got to put on my ears!"

"And we've gotta get going," Christine added, heading for her bike. "Can't be late for school on the best day of the year!"

"Oh, alright. Ooh! But that reminds me! I have a little something for you both! Just stay right there!"

She scurried into the house while Christine and Dustin wheeled their bikes into the street.

"Remember," Dustin whispered to her. "You have to look surprised."

"Dude, I know. It's not my first rodeo, okay?"

When Claudia returned, she was holding a small bag of candy corn in each hand, tied up with black and orange ribbon.

"Now, I know it's still a little early, but I just had to put something together for my two favorite trick-or-treaters!"

"Whaaaaat?" Dustin sang. "Oh, wow, Mom! Thanks!"

"Wow!" Christine gasped. "Oh my gosh, thank you, Claudia! These are so cute!"

"You're—You're just the best, Mom."

"Candy corn is my favorite. This is amazing."

"Oh stop it, you two," Claudia giggled. She waved them off, then pouted thoughtfully at the gift bags. "You know, it's the strangest thing. I could've sworn those big bags came with more candy in them. I think I better make another run to Big Buy, just in case."

"You do that, Mom," said Dustin. "Okay, we gotta go now! Love you! You're awesome! Get going!"

Claudia hurried back to the house to get her keys, and Christine and Dustin pushed off into the street, both laughing to themselves.

"So," Dustin said, after they'd biked the first few blocks, "about tonight…"

"Right," Christine sighed. "Look, Dust, I talked to Jonathan and—"

"No, hang on. I wanna go first."

She frowned at him. "Um…okay?"

"I know I've been kind of pushy about you coming trick-or-treating, and I know you were arguing with Jonathan about it or whatever, but it turns out that we're gonna meet—well, we're gonna ask—we're trying to meet up with someone—with some other kids from our class so like if—if you don't want to come then you really don't have to."

Christine's frowned deepened. "So you don't want me to come anymore?"

"That's not what I said," Dustin assured her. "I just mean like, you know if you have other plans, or if you didn't want to see Jonathan or walk around with us all night, then it's okay. Cause we're gonna be in a bigger group, you know? We won't be alone."

"Right." She nodded, staring at the road ahead. "Right, yeah so I'll just…I'll go do something else."

"Yeah! I figured you'd want to hang with Nancy or something. The world is your oyster!"

Christine stole a sidelong glance at him. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"God! Yes! I'm fine! Will you stop asking if I'm okay?"

"No! I'll stop asking if you're okay when you stop being weird."

"I'm always weird!"

There was a beat. Christine bit her lip, waiting. Dustin glared stubbornly at his handlebars. One block, two blocks, and then he huffed.

"I realize…that was not the right thing to say. That didn't come out right."

"Hey, you said it, weirdo."

"Shut up, Chrissy."

He flipped her off, ignored her scolding comment, and changed the subject to what route the party would take trick-or-treating. The big houses on the edges of town always had the best candy, but it would be impossible to make it all the way around Hawkins on foot. Christine followed along, letting him rant and throwing in the odd comment without pushing the subject.

They split on the main road, leaving Christine alone with her troubling thoughts. She wanted to know what was going on with Dustin. He'd been hot and cold all summer, asking her to hang out one day and then refusing to talk to her the next. She couldn't make any sense of it. Lucas had promised that she hadn't done anything wrong, that the party was still happy to have her, but he also hadn't given her any real explanation. She knew there was something they weren't telling her. She just hoped it was normal middle school drama this time, and not another interdimensional portal.

An engine revved behind her. Christine steeled herself, ready this time. She looked over her shoulder, glared at the blue Camaro, and held up her middle finger as the car caught up, passed, and overtook her. As it went speeding by, she could just hear the sound of laughter over the obnoxiously loud rock music.

"Asshole," she spat at the taillights. But they were already gone.

The high school parking lot was crowded with students; it always was on holidays. Christine saw a handful of girls in bright makeup, dressed up as much like Madonna or Cyndi Lauper as they could manage without breaking the dress code. A group of boys huddled under a tree, trying to fan away the thick smoke coming from the middle of their circle. Others passed flasks back and forth between cars, trying to get tipsy before class. All in all, an average Hawkins High Halloween.

Christine locked her bike up on the rack and headed for her locker. She needed a new plan for tonight. She didn't want to push things too much with Dustin. If he didn't want her to come trick-or-treating, then she wouldn't go, but she wasn't looking forward to Tina's party as an alternative. She supposed she could just stay home and watch horror movies, but it was a lot less fun on her own. And her dad was too much of a wimp to watch with her, unless she let—

"You have got to be the hottest twelve-year-old I've ever seen."

Christine blinked. There was a boy leaning next to her locker. He was tall, with blonde hair that brushed his shoulders, and an earring shaped like a dagger glinting beneath his curls. A pack of cigarettes peeked out of the front pocket of his oversized denim jacket. This, she realized, must be the new guy. And he was staring right at her.

In spite of herself, Christine looked around to check.

"Excuse me?"

"Well, you're twelve, right?" he asked innocently. "I mean, I have been wracking my brain trying to figure out why a teenage girl would still be biking to school and—man, I just came up blank. I figured you must be too young. You a preteen genius or something?"

"Um…no."

"There's gotta be some catch. Is there something wrong with you? Your friends don't want to drive you, your—I don't know, your boyfriend?"

Christine frowned. She did not like the way this conversation was going. She tucked the last of her textbooks into her bag and slammed her locker shut with finality.

"I like riding my bike," she informed him. "There's no traffic, no fighting for parking. And if I'm really lucky, I can almost get run over by an asshole in a blue Camaro. Those are my favorite days, obviously."

She glared at him, but it only made him laugh. It was a full body action; he threw his head back and rocked on his feet, his laugh loud enough that several people turned to look at them; that didn't seem to bother him either. He just pushed himself off the wall and turned closer to her. Christine flattened her back against her locker.

"Fair enough," he chuckled, flicking his hair out of his face. "You know, that blue Camaro is uh…a lot more spacious than it looks. Backseat and everything. So if you ever get tired of biking I could…give you a lift. Take you for a ride."

"Oh, uh…uh, thanks but…no thanks."

It was his turn to blink at her. If he was disappointed, he didn't show it; he just squinted at her for a few seconds. Then he offered her a wide smile, tongue between his teeth, and rocked back on his feet again. It gave her more room to breathe.

"Suit yourself."

She expected that to be the end of it, but he didn't leave. He stood there, looking down on her. His eyes slid from her face down to her hips and all the way back. She had to fight the impulse to fold her arms over her chest. God, she hoped she wasn't blushing…

"Like your shirt," he said finally, a gleam in his eye. Then he winked, clicked his tongue, and walked away.

Christine had to look down to remind herself what she was wearing. She wasn't sure what he was getting at—unless he was also a fan of Texas Chainsaw Massacre—but by the time she looked up, he was lost in the crowded hallway. He moved fast. Just like his car.

"You okay?"

Christine jumped. Nancy was standing next to her, hugging her books to her chest with her lips pulled into a shameless smirk.

"Uh yeah," said Christine. She tucked her hair behind her ear and double checked that her locker was closed. "Yeah, let's—let's go."

They started off toward homeroom. Christine, still reeling from her strange morning, was trying to decide how much she wanted to tell Nancy. But of course, Nancy didn't give her that chance.

"That's it?" she laughed as they sat down at their desks. "You don't have anything to say?"

"About what?" Christine asked. It was a weak response and she knew it.

"Um, about the new guy flirting with you at your locker?"

"He was not flirting."

"Chris," Nancy deadpanned. "He was absolutely flirting."

"I'm honestly not sure," Christine countered. "I mean, he almost runs me over twice, refuses to apologize. He asked me if I was twelve years old, demanded to know what was wrong with me, and then suddenly he's offering to drive me to school. I am…extremely confused."

"What is there to be confused about? He wants to drive you! He wants to see more of youuu…"

She sang the last word, poking Christine repeatedly on the arm. Christine snorted and beat her away.

"Okay, do I need to repeat the part where he almost hit me with his car?"

"Please," Nancy scoffed. "That's like, the teenage boy equivalent of tugging on your pigtails. He's trying to get your attention."

"Nance!" Christine gaped at her. "It's a car!"

"I didn't say it was a good way to get your attention…" When Christine continued to glare, Nancy waved the objection aside. "Whatever! So what did you say to him?"

"I said no, obviously."

"What?"

"Car, Nancy."

"Yeah, I know it's just…" She chewed on her bottom lip for a moment, then waved her hands again. "No. You know what? Good for you. I like your bike."

Christine narrowed her eyes at her. "What is it?"

"Nothing! Really, I'm glad you stood up for yourself."

"But?"

Nancy hesitated. She was trying to hide another smirk, but wasn't doing a very good job.

"I guess I'm just surprised. I mean, I get it—definitely—but he's totally your type."

Christine's jaw fell open. Her mouth opened and closed, and Nancy began to laugh. It only made it harder to form a response.

"What? Uh, no. No, he's—I'm not—I do not have a type."

"You so do! Let's think: tall, charming, popular, great hair…"

"Stop," Christine growled. "That's not funny."

"Come on," Nancy giggled. "That's exactly what Steve used to be like."

"No. No, Steve was—Steve was never like that."

"Christine, it's fine," Nancy assured her. "I get it. We both liked Steve back then. And he knows he was kind of a dick."

She laughed and patted Christine's hand. Christine's stomach tumbled guiltily.

For eleven months, she'd been friends with Steve Harrington. That was her job. She helped him with his homework. He showed her new music. They'd watch the occasional movie at the Hawk. And when he went back to dating Nancy, they still did those things—sometimes just the two of them, sometimes all together. Christine had known then that it would be tough, but she'd thought that things would get easier over time. He was trying so hard to be a better person. She didn't want to discourage him by shoving him out of her life.

Only things had never gotten easier. Steve had gotten nicer, more thoughtful, more sensitive, and it had only made everything worse. Christine still got butterflies when he laughed at her jokes. She still dressed up when he came over to study. She'd gotten better at talking to him, sure—she didn't fumble or stutter or constantly feel like an idiot—but the more she talked to him, the more she liked him, and the vicious cycle kept going until it was almost too easy to talk to him. She hadn't realized how close they'd gotten until it was too late.

The worst part about it was that she was alone. Last year, pining over King Steve had meant gossiping with Nancy and Barb and gushing about every word he'd said to her in class. Now that he was dating Nancy, Christine was careful to keep those feelings to herself. She wasn't going to come between Steve and Nancy again. She would be the supportive friend, and maybe—just maybe—if she never talked about them, her feelings would fade.

So she held her tongue. She didn't talk to Nancy about it. She didn't talk to her dad, or Dustin. There was only one person she would've told, one person she would trust with that confession. Barb would've taken that secret to the grave, counselled her and consoled her.

But there was no Barb anymore.

"Oh my God!"

Nancy's voice made Christine jump again, and she blurted out a panicked, "What?"

"Chrissy," Nancy said with a Cheshire Cat smile. "Now you have to come to Tina's party!"

"What?" Christine wrinkled her nose. "Why?"

"Cause he's totally gonna be there! And Jonathan already told me that he's taking the kids trick-or-treating, so now you really don't have an excuse."

"Nance," Christine whined, but Nancy shook her head.

"No. You are coming. I cannot let you sit at home all night by yourself. That's unacceptable."

"Dad's home for a few more days…"

"And we both know he's gonna come home from work, order dinner, suffer through whatever horror movie you put on until he's done eating, and then go straight to bed. Unacceptable."

Christine snorted, because she wasn't wrong there, but decided to strategically change the subject.

"Hey, did Mike say anything about tonight? A change in plans or something?"

"Um, no," Nancy answered. "Not that he really tells me much anyway. Why?"

"I don't know. Dustin's been…off lately. He said they were going to meet up with some other kids, so I didn't have to come trick-or-treating anymore."

"I don't get it. Why is that weird?"

"Because he's been nagging me about coming for months. And all of the sudden he just…doesn't want me around. Lucas swears I didn't do anything but…I don't know. I worry about him."

"I'm sure he's fine," Nancy offered soothingly. "They're just growing up. Mike barely talks at home. He's always fighting with my parents or hiding in the basement. His mood swings are driving Mom up the wall."

"Yeah, that sounds familiar."

"Just give him some space. Privacy. You remember how weird middle school was. It's all gossip and puberty. Crushes, bullies, and especially for those kids…"

"I know," said Christine. "It's been a weird year for everyone. I just wish he'd tell me what was wrong."

"Welcome to the joys of being an older sister," Nancy laughed.

"Yeah, except I'm not actually Dustin's sister."

"You are to him. You're older and you're cool, but you're also nosy and annoying. They want your advice, but they don't want to tell you anything. They love you, but they don't want anything to do with you."

Christine cocked her head in assent. "I don't know. I guess I'd hoped that not actually being related meant that Dustin and I could skip that part. That being part of the party meant that he really trusted me."

"Dustin does trust you. He's a good kid. When it comes down to it, he'll tell you."

Nancy smiled supportively just as the homeroom bell rang. The classroom door closed, and Christine turned grudgingly toward the podium.

She knew that Nancy was right, but that didn't make it any easier to hear: give him privacy and focus on yourself for a while. Whatever the hell that meant.

When it was time for study hall, Christine headed back to the library. She found Steve in the same position he'd been in the day before, hunched over a piece of paper with a surly look on his face. She peered over his shoulder, ready to make a grab for it, but was disappointed to find a math worksheet instead of the edited loose-leaf.

"How's your essay?" she asked, sitting down across from him.

"Garbage," Steve answered. He threw down his pencil, taking advantage of the distraction. "How's your Halloween costume?"

"With Jonathan. He's borrowing it."

Steve squinted at her, torn between confusion and disgust. Christine snorted and quickly ducked her head. She wished he wouldn't be so goddamn funny. It was a real pain.

"Okay," Steve said slowly. "I have a lot of questions about that, but most importantly: if Jonathan has your Halloween costume, then what are you wearing to Tina's party?"

"Steve…"

"Christine," he mocked. "Look, we both know how this ends. I'm gonna beg and plead, you're gonna say no, then Nancy's gonna lay a guilt trip on you about being her best friend and you'll agree to come. So can't we just skip to the end?"

"No. I told you. I have plans."

"Oh really? Cause you just told me that Jonathan's got your Halloween costume, so I guess he's the one going trick-or-treating."

"I…" She opened her mouth, then closed it again. "Maybe we're both going."

"Okay. Are you both going?"

"…No."

"Right. Hey, what were you saying yesterday about making a joke and being right?"

He shot her a self-satisfied smirk that made her cheeks burn. Christine flipped him the bird, but that only made his smirk widen. He popped the collar on his vest in victory. It took a considerable amount of her energy not to reach over and grab the lapels herself, though she wasn't sure if she was repressing the urge to kiss him or to smash his face into the table.

"Anyway," he said, oblivious to her internal debate, "if you won't do it for me, then do it for Nancy. She's really not looking forward to it."

"Nancy?" Christine repeated. "Nancy hasn't stopped talking about this party for like, two days."

"Yeah, 'cause she wants you to come. If you're not there with her, she's gonna be miserable. Well. She might be miserable anyway, but—"

"Hang on," said Christine, shaking her head. "If Nancy doesn't want to go, and I don't want to go, then why are we even going?"

"Because I want to go," Steve whined, "and because it's a distraction, which is something both of you desperately need."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means it's better to go out and do something than to sit at home obsessing over what you can't do!"

"Like what?"

"Like—" Steve hesitated. He checked around the room to make sure no one was listening, then leaned forward and lowered his voice. "Like tell people the truth about Barb."

Christine's eyes fluttered shut as she sighed. Of course that's what this was about.

"God, I'm an idiot…"

"Uh, yeah," Steve said pointedly. "Nancy was still all kinds of messed up when we left dinner last night. She told me about the conversation you had in Barb's room. I mean, telling her parents?"

"For the record, I was the one who was against it."

"No, I know that. I know, and that's—that's exactly what I'm talking about."

He seemed to think that spoke for itself, but Christine was still deeply confused. She raised her eyebrows, waiting for him to go on. Steve huffed. He checked once more over his shoulder and leaned in, flattening himself against the table to lean closer. When he spoke, his words were stunted, each one chosen carefully.

"Look. I know I wasn't really there for Nancy last year. There's still a lot I don't understand. Honestly, I feel like I didn't even need to sign any paperwork, because I wouldn't be able to explain shit anyway, but—but that's not the point because I know you guys did. You went through this—this thing, and you were both there, and you both get it, because you were both friends with Barb. And I wasn't.

"Nancy, she talks about her all the time, and how unfair it is and how much she hates the lab and like, I feel fucking awful. But I don't—I don't know—I don't know what to say, you know? 'Cause I don't understand. And I try to comfort her, and remind her what's at stake, but it just—it's like you were saying with my essay. When I talk about shit I don't understand, I always sound like an insensitive asshole. So I put my foot in my mouth, and then we fight, or Nancy blows me off, and I have no idea what she's thinking, or how to fix it, because she doesn't talk to me anymore, and then I get frustrated because Nancy…like, she's my girlfriend, but she's supposed to be my friend too, you know? But apparently I have no idea how to talk to her."

"That's not true," said Christine. "It's just…it's a hard thing to talk about. I don't think any of us know what to say."

"You do," he insisted. "You talked her down last night. And she wasn't mad or frustrated or pissed at you because you both get it. And I think she needs that, 'cause she's—God, she's been…I'm just worried about her." And then, more quietly, "About us."

Steve shook his head. His hair flopped around as he did, almost hiding the miserable look on his face. It was gut-wrenching to watch, not only because Christine knew what Nancy was going through, but because it was so clear that Steve was trying as hard as he could to fix things—things Christine hadn't realized were broken.

She chewed on her lip, fiddling with her pen.

"You don't, you know."

"What?" Steve looked up, almost surprised. Like he'd forgotten she was even there. "I don't what?"

"Sound like an insensitive asshole. At least, not all the time."

"…great."

"Yeah," she offered with a smirk, "I tend to think of you as a very thoughtful, very sensitive asshole."

Steve breathed a laugh, blowing a lock of hair out of his face. "Wow. Well, thanks for the ringing endorsement."

"Any time." She tried to keep smiling, to keep up the light, teasing tone she'd created. But the moment was short lived. "Nancy just needs time. I don't know how much, but she'll figure it out. She has to do things her way."

"Yeah, what else is new?" Steve ruffled his hair and frowned at her. "What about you?"

"Me?"

"Yeah. How are you holding up?"

Christine took a second to think about that. People asked her how she was doing all the time. She always said she was fine. Even with people she could've talked to about the trauma of the last year. She dodged those conversations at all costs. When was really the last time she'd done a self-inventory?

"I'm angry," she said finally. "Not just about Barb. About everything, all the time. I've fought more with my dad in the last few months than I have in the last six years. I'm worried about Nancy. I'm worried about Dustin. He won't talk to me, and—and I'm just so paranoid that there's something I'm doing wrong, something I'm missing, and by the time I figure out what it is, something terrible will have happened to him, just like last year. Like Barb, or…or El. Only this time it will be worse, because I should've known better, I should've done something, and after everything I still couldn't. I'm angry and irritated and scared and…tired."

Steve considered her, nodding thoughtfully.

"So basically, you're having a blast."

"Yup," Christine snorted. "So much fun I can't stand it."

"Maybe you should try something less fun. Like maybe…I don't know—going to a social event you don't wanna go to?"

Christine rolled her eyes, but her smile was genuine.

"Okay. I will come to Tina's party on two conditions."

"Anything," Steve replied instantly.

"I'm riding with you and Nancy."

"That's a given."

"And I get to choose the music on the way there."

"Actually…no. Never mind, you don't need to come."

"Hey!" She threw a ball of paper at him, earning her a dirty look from the librarian. "You like my music. Don't even try to deny it."

"I like some of your music, on occasion, in the privacy of your house. We're not blasting that crap when we roll up to a high school party. The whole senior class is gonna be there!"

Christine was already balling up another sheet of paper when another thought occurred to her.

"Hey, speaking of seniors, that uh…that new kid. Did he end up being in your class?"

"Oh. Yeah." The distaste in Steve's voice was staggering. "Billy Hargrove. He's a real asshole."

"So?" Christine prodded. "What's his story?"

"I told you, he's an asshole. That's pretty much it. He moved here from California, won't tell anyone why. He tried to flirt with Miss Griffiths like sixty seconds after the bell. He wears way too much cologne, and he's always got—I don't know, his tongue is always hanging out of his mouth, like he's allergic to his own saliva or something. Seriously, he's a certified, grade-A, world-class asshole."

Christine nodded and looked down at her notebook. It wasn't like she'd expected that he would secretly be a great guy. She already knew he was an asshole. Everything in Steve's description seemed unrelentingly on brand for someone who drove a blue sports car at three times the legal speed limit.

And yet somehow, she was almost disappointed…

"Why?" Steve asked, squinting at her. "Did something happen?"

"No," she said too quickly. "I mean, he almost hit me with his car again, but that's nothing new. I guess I just wanted to know what everyone was talking about. Tina certainly hasn't shut up about him."

"Yeah, well, there's your warning right there. Tina's never had good taste in anything." He laughed at his own joke, turning back to his math homework. Then as an afterthought, he looked back and jabbed his pencil at Christine. "But we are still going to her party."

Satisfied, he returned to his math.

Christine didn't argue. She still didn't know how she felt about this Halloween party. She understood where Nancy was coming from: there had been so much going on that stopping to go to a party seemed absurd. What if the boys needed her? Who were they meeting up with? Were they ditching Jonathan like they'd ditched her? What if Hawkins Lab found out they were out alone? And what about the Hollands? What kind of leads did their detective have? Was he just some quack draining a mourning couple of their money? Or had he actually stumbled on a trail left by Hawkins Lab? If so, he and the Hollands were all in danger, more than they'd bargained for.

But what was she going to do about it? Hadn't she just finished telling Nancy that they were no match for the government? They couldn't tell the Hollands the truth, so they couldn't stop them from looking for answers. And even if the kids did wander off on their own, how much help would Christine be between four thirteen-year-olds and armed government agents?

Maybe Steve was right. She wouldn't be any use to anybody sitting at home worrying. That was all she seemed to do lately, and it was exhausting. She needed a distraction—to have some fun without worrying about the consequences.

She held in a snort as she started her homework. If getting trashed at Tina's Halloween Bash was her best option for fun without consequence, her life was more messed up than she'd thought.

A/N: Hi everyone! Welcome back to Season 2! I went through the new season twice in like 36 hours, and I have laughed, cried, and complained profusely about the things I didn't like. Thankfully, that's what fanfiction is for, and I have some cute ideas for what Chrissy will be up to in Season 4. This story has a lot to say about Halloween (obviously, because it's me) so I hope the "Halloween Saga" of Inside Out can tide you all over until Volume 2 drops.

Thank you for reading, whether you've been here in the past or are just arriving for a fanfic binge. I'd love to hear what you think, and I'm super excited for the next few chapters. Keep it classy, nerds!

-Brittney