Christine felt like her scalp was about to split and peel off of her skull. She glowered in the vanity mirror, glaring at the twenty-odd curlers that had been wrestled into her hair. She huffed, then winced in pain. Moving made the pins stab her in the head.

"It's your own fault," Nancy reminded her. Christine could see her laughing in the reflection.

She huffed again, accepting the pain. This had been a terrible fucking idea.

As promised, Christine had come over to the Wheelers to get ready for the party. Mrs. Wheeler had picked her up after dinner, once everyone's homework was done and Christine had packed a bag. It just had the essentials—her costume, some makeup, and some candy that she'd snuck from the bowl by the door.

The moment she'd pulled her clothes out on the bed, Nancy had laughed.

"Seriously?"

"What?" Christine demanded. "I had to give my Jonathan my other costume."

"I know. But you've worn that like six times already."

"I so have not," Christine said defensively. She flattened the tan shirt and shook out the flaps of her hat; the backpack had squashed in the sides. "Raiders of the Lost Ark has only been out for like, three years."

"You've worn it at least two Halloweens, Dustin's birthday party, and to the theater when you went to see the second one."

"…that's still not six…" Nancy laughed again, making Christine throw up her arms. "Screw you, okay? It's comfortable!"

"Fine! I'm shutting up!"

That didn't really instill Christine with confidence, but Nancy kept her word. She let Christine get dressed in peace, focusing on her own outfit instead. Nancy and Steve were going as Joel and Lana from Risky Business, and Mrs. Wheeler had found Nancy the perfect white sweater and sewn a black ribbon around the neck. Even the cuffs looked identical to the movie.

It was no surprise that Nancy looked perfect. The only surprise was that Mrs. Wheeler was letting her out of the house dressed as a fictional prostitute in the first place. But when she came up to Nancy's room to check on them, she practically squealed in delight.

"Oh, you look amazing!" she cheered, twirling Nancy around. "I just love the way this fits you. Ah! It looks so good!"

"Mom," Nancy giggled, rolling her eyes. "You made it."

"I know. But I'm allowed to celebrate." She kissed her daughter on the cheek and beamed at her in the mirror. "You look stunning, Nancy. You and Steve are going to be incredible."

Nancy shifted in discomfort, and gave her mother a sheepish smile. "Thanks, Mom."

"What about you, Chrissy?" Mrs. Wheeler asked, turning to where Christine was lounging on the bed. "Do you need any help getting dressed?"

"Nope! I'm ready to go."

"Oh…" Her smile faltered, eyes flitting over her outfit. "I'm so sorry, I didn't realize…"

"She's Indiana Jones," Nancy reminded her. "The Harrison Ford movies?"

"Right! No, of course, I just—I thought you girls were going as leading ladies together. Wouldn't that be so cute? You could be Sam Baker, or Stacy Hamilton or—oh! You could be Wonder Woman! You like comic books, right?"

"This is all I had on short notice," said Christine. She straightened her hat protectively. "Trust me, this is a lot more flattering than the Stay Puff Marshmallow Man."

"I'm still pissed I didn't get to see it," Nancy laughed. "You would've looked hilarious."

"I'm pissed I can't see Jonathan in it," Christine countered. "He's probably miserable. That would be hilarious."

"Chris!"

"What? Can you imagine him all wrapped up in that puffy coat I bought? Tell me he won't look like an idiot. I definitely did."

They dissolved into laughter. Christine had expected a gentle scolding from Mrs. Wheeler, but she barely seemed to be listening. She was looking at Christine with one hand on her chin. Her finger tapped her jaw, until her face lit up and she snapped in victory.

"Ooh! I've got it! Hang on just a second!"

She hurried out of the room, leaving Nancy and Christine equally bewildered. She was gone for almost ten minutes, but when she returned, her smile had doubled in size. In her hands, she held a pair of black leather pants.

Christine shuddered in horror. "What are those?"

"Pants!" Mrs. Wheeler shook them, as if that would explain all Christine's questions. "I am pretty certain they'll fit you. We might need a safety pin or two. And then I thought if I pinned the sleeves of a black shirt, lent you some shoes, you could be Sandy from Grease! We could do your hair and everything. Wouldn't that be cute?"

"Mom," Nancy laughed, "where did you even get those?"

"They were tucked in the back of my closet. Obviously, I haven't worn them in years…"

"They're yours?" Nancy's jaw dropped. "Mom!"

"What?" Mrs. Wheeler asked innocently. "I was young and reckless once."

"Well, I am not." Christine laughed awkwardly, shying away from the pants. "Thank you, Mrs. Wheeler, but I really don't think I could pull that off."

Mrs. Wheeler actually smirked at her.

"Really? So this isn't the Christine Walcott that snuck out of the house to go to a party at Steve Harrington's house last year?"

"I didn't sneak…"

"Or the Christine Walcott that broke a bully's nose?"

Christine rounded on Nancy, who already had her hands up. "I did not tell her that!"

"Of course you didn't," said Mrs. Wheeler. "Joyce did."

"Joyce?" Christine repeated. "How does Joyce know?"

"Well, how should I know? She just mentioned it when we were talking about you girls at lunch one day. Not that I'm judging—" she added, holding up her hands to mirror her daughter's "—it certainly sounds like the boy had it coming."

"Mom!"

"I'm just saying that you are more than capable of pulling off this look, Christine. You would be a total knockout. Which might be a little bonus if there's a senior boy you may or may not be interested in…"

Christine glowered at Nancy, who was grinning.

"Okay, that one was me."

"Alright, that's enough of that." Christine rolled her eyes, sitting up and perching herself on the end of the bed. "I don't need to dress up for a guy, or for anyone else for that matter. I'm just fine being Indiana Jones. So thank you, Mrs. Wheeler, but seriously, I'm okay."

Mrs. Wheeler sighed. She didn't even try to hide her disappointment.

"Fine. I get it. I guess I just…miss the old days. When you girls were younger and still needed my help. Like—oh gosh, do you remember the year you girls went as Charlie's Angels?"

"Eighth grade," said Nancy, with a wistful smile.

"Yes! And Christine, your dad—God bless him, he tried for hours to get your hair curled like Farrah Fawcett. He ended up dropping you off here, and your hair was just all over the place! You had to shower just to get it flat again. So Marsha brought over Barb, and we spent all morning doing hair and makeup and taking pictures. The three of you had so much fun."

"That was a good day," Nancy said softly.

She was gripping the back of her chair, eyes brimming with tears. Mrs. Wheeler stepped closer and laid a hand on top of Nancy's. She squeezed gently and gave her a supportive smile.

Christine's resolve had already broken. Tonight was supposed to be a distraction. They weren't supposed to be sitting here dwelling on what they couldn't change. They were supposed to go out, have fun, take risks. Nancy needed that…so Christine would take the first step.

Resigned, she took the hat off and grabbed pants from Mrs. Wheeler.

"I'll try them on. But I'm not making any promises."

Nancy and her mother both beamed.

And that was that. One yes led to another, until Christine had her hair yanked up in curlers and saturated in hairspray. The pants fit her awkwardly, too short in the leg and too wide on the hips, but Mrs. Wheeler could wield all kinds of magic with a safety pin. She took in the pants, styled a black T-shirt to have off-the-shoulder sleeves, and hid the straps of Christine's bra. It left the scar on her back exposed, the mark where she'd cut her shoulder to lure the Demogorgon last year, but Mrs. Wheeler assured her that no one was going to be looking at her back by the time they were done. They'd painted Christine's nails, fitted her with a pair of heels, and then Mrs. Wheeler had run off to find a camera while Nancy did Christine's makeup.

"Stop flinching," Nancy ordered after five minutes trying to complete her eyeliner.

"Stop stabbing me in the eye."

"I'll stop stabbing you in the eye when you stop flinching!"

She grabbed Christine's face, forcing her into a better position. The vanity light bled through Christine's eyelids, and she tried not to jump when the pencil touched her skin again. She couldn't decide if it was better or worse with her eyes closed.

"Can I ask you a question?" Nancy asked softly.

"Shoot."

"Why don't you do your makeup?"

"Ouch," Christine chuckled. "Point taken."

"Not what I meant!" Nancy slapped her arm before returning to the task at hand. "I just mean, you like how it looks, right? You always ask me to do it for you, but you used to do it all the time. You just kind of stopped."

"I don't know, really." Christine frowned. She furrowed her brow, which Nancy quickly pushed back into place so she could keep working. "I think I started doing it in eighth grade, when I had science up at the high school. I guess it made me feel grown up. And I liked it, but…it didn't really change how they saw me. I was still the weird brainiac in the wrong building. It didn't matter what I did. They all thought I was trying too hard."

"Sure. But if you like it, what does it matter?"

"I know, I know," said Christine, rolling her eyes and only narrowly avoiding the eyeliner pencil impaling her eyeball. "Blah, blah, blah, peer pressure. Don't worry about what other people think. You were always a lot better at that than me."

"You're getting better. You are," Nancy insisted when Christine snorted, "seriously. It takes practice but—look, you don't take Steve's shit anymore. You don't take shit from Carol, or Tommy H."

"Tommy doesn't give me shit to put up with anyway. Not since I broke his nose."

"Exactly! You stood your ground! Look, the point is that you're a badass. And the right people will always see that, no matter what you look like. Who knows? Maybe even—"

"If the next word out of your mouth is 'Billy,' that eyeliner is going up your ass."

"Why?" Nancy laughed. "It's just nice to see you take an interest in someone. You deserve to be happy. Both you and Jonathan."

Christine groaned. She grabbed Nancy's wrists and pulled them away from her face. With a shove, she pushed Nancy to the bed, then got up from the vanity chair to join her.

"Great," Christine huffed. "Guess we're having this conversation now."

"What conversation?" Nancy asked, bewildered.

"Yet another thrilling conversation about Jonathan Byers."

"Chris, I get your reservations. I do, but he's come so far, and you two get along so much better than—"

"This isn't about me, Nancy. We need to talk about you."

"Me…?"

"Yeah, you. And the way you compulsively try and set me up with Jonathan every time you and Steve have a fight."

Nancy gaped at her, stammering and shaking her head. It was almost funny. Christine should've guessed that Nancy hadn't put it together herself.

"That—that is not true," she said finally.

"Oh really?" Christine folded her arms over her chest. "What about when you and Steve first got back together, and you couldn't figure out where to go, so you dragged Jonathan and I bowling with you?"

"That wasn't—we were just hanging out!"

"It was a double date, and you know it."

"Please. We left after like, an hour."

"Yeah! When Jonathan and I got sick of how awkward it was! Or—or what about last spring when you and Steve got into it about junior prom, huh? And you were begging me to jump in Jonathan's car and road trip with you? Or when you had dinner with Steve's parents and spent the rest of the month asking me to bring Jonathan your book recommendations? Like you couldn't just pass them off at school."

"That's not—no. I didn't mean for it to—"

"Yeah, you did. And I get it, fine, but you can't keep shoving me at Byers like that's gonna fix your problem."

"My problem?" Nancy echoed derisively. "And what is that?"

"That you feel guilty for dating Steve when you still have feelings for Jonathan."

Her bluntness knocked the wind right out of Nancy's argument. Nancy pouted furiously for a few seconds, then wrapped her arms around her stomach. Christine reached over and pried one arm back. She squeezed Nancy's hand.

"Talk to me."

Nancy didn't answer immediately. The fight had drained out of her, and she was staring blankly at the wall. Christine waited, letting her process. After a few minutes, she wiggled her fingers in Nancy's hand. Nancy's lips twitched just the slightest, and she squeezed back.

"I don't want you to hate me," she whispered.

"Why would I hate you?"

"Because I know you still like Steve."

It was Christine's turn to flounder and pout. There was a half-formed excuse in her mouth, a half-hearted refusal, but Nancy looked over at her with a miserable, knowing smile, and Christine knew it was no use.

"Nancy, I am so—"

"It's fine, Chris," said Nancy. "I'm not mad."

"…you're not?"

"No." She shook her head and looked back at Christine with eyes full of guilt. "I'm supposed to be, right? But I'm just…not. I just feel awful. Like all I've done is let everyone down."

"What? No! How have you let anyone down?"

"How have I not? I mean…I let Jonathan down when I chose Steve. I'm letting Steve down because I still think about Jonathan. I'm letting you down because I chose Steve over you, and I can't even date him without thinking about some other guy. I feel like I'm always doing something wrong, or I'm not doing enough, and none of it's fair to you—not after everything we've been through. And then I can't talk to my parents about anything, and Mike won't talk to me, and Barbara—"

"Okay," Christine interrupted. "Let's just—let's hold on, okay? One thing at a time. We can't do anything about Barbara. We can't. Not tonight. So let's just focus on what we can do."

Nancy took a very shaky breath, but nodded. She gripped Christine's hand tighter, her knuckles as white as her skirt. Christine let her. It hurt less than the curlers, anyway.

"I know how much it sucks to not talk to your family," Christine offered. "Not telling my dad the truth is killing me. And you already know Dustin's pulling away from me too. Someone really smart told me that's because he's growing up."

She nudged Nancy's shoulder and was rewarded with the sliver of a smile.

"And I can't speak for Steve or Jonathan, but you've never let me down. Even when we were fighting. Plus, you didn't pick Steve over me, okay? I'm still here. Steve just picked you back. He adores the shit out of you."

"That just makes me feel worse," Nancy sighed.

Christine bit her lip. "You guys are fighting again?"

"Yeah. Well, no. Not exactly."

"About…?"

Nancy pulled her hand away and went to rub her face, then remembered she had a face full of makeup; then she tried to rake them through her hair, only to find she'd already pulled it back. Finally, she stretched her fingers out in front of her and pushed herself more comfortably on the bed.

"He didn't send in his college essay."

"What?" Christine's jaw dropped. "You're kidding. After all those edits?"

"He hated it," Nancy explained. "It didn't come out the way he wanted, and he was tired of rewriting it. He didn't think he was gonna get in, so he just…didn't submit it."

"Okay. Okay, but—but that was just early decision, right? He can still apply standard."

"Actually, he doesn't know if he's applying at all."

"What?"

Christine stared at Nancy, who merely shrugged. She was still staring at the wall, either resigned or shell shocked. So Christine tried again.

"Well, you gave him a piece of your mind, right?"

"No," Nancy said simply. "I just said…okay."

Christine gaped at her. She had to be joking. She had to be. She was being sarcastic, but she was so sad that it just wasn't reading. That was it. She hadn't genuinely told Steve that it was just okay if he didn't go to college…

But Nancy wasn't joking.

Christine reined herself in. She folded her hands in her lap and nodded with her best imitation of vague interest. "Wow."

"I'm a terrible person," Nancy said immediately. "I know it, I just—"

"You're not terrible, Nancy—"

"It all happened so fast! One minute I was giving him notes about the essay, and the next minute he was crumpling it into a ball! And then he started talking about working for his dad, and health insurance, and the future—"

"But he hates his dad."

"I know that! And he knows that! But now he's talking about taking a job there after he graduates so he can be in Hawkins for my senior year, and I don't want him to resent me! I don't want to resent him! Because first he stays home from college, and then I don't go to college, and then in two years we're married with a mortgage and a house at the end of the cul-de-sac. It's just—it's too much! I'm sixteen! I don't know what I want to do with the rest of my life!"

Christine was inclined to agree. The thought of college already terrified her. She couldn't imagine choosing one place to live with one person forever, not after she'd moved around so much with her father. But she didn't want to say the wrong thing and send Nancy further down her spiral, so she placed a gentle hand on her knee.

"Okay," said Christine. "Remember how I was just talking about what we can do right now? I don't think this is a problem that we need to tackle tonight."

"I know," Nancy groaned. "I know, I'm sorry, I just—"

"You don't have to apologize. I totally get it. I mean, as much as I can as someone who's never been in a relationship. You definitely need to talk to Steve about this, because right now he's totally clueless, but you have time, okay? You don't have a mortgage yet, Steve hasn't proposed, you haven't graduated, and he's still got time to go to college. So maybe, just for tonight, you can finish my makeup and we can go to this stupid party like a bunch of idiot teenagers. Because that's what we are."

"God, you sound like Steve."

"Well, Steve's an idiot, but he's been known to be right every now and then."

Nancy snorted, carefully wiping her eyes. She turned to Christine with a smile and grabbed her hand again.

"I love you, you know that?"

"I know," Christine said smugly, and winked.

Nancy snickered, which quickly grew into a giggle, and then a full-bodied laugh that had her clapping her hands over her mouth. Every time she looked back at Christine, it got worse. Christine looked on with a bewildered smile.

"What is wrong with you?" she laughed.

"Your—your face," Nancy wheezed. "God, I—I only finished one eye, and with the blush and the curlers—ha! It's like—like half a raccoon!"

Christine smacked her. That only made Nancy laugh harder, so Christine hit her again. She kept hitting, and Nancy kept laughing, until they were both wrestling on the bed in a pile of giggles. Christine was certain she was winning, until Nancy's stray hand smacked her on the head. The curling pins dug into her scalp and she yelped.

Mrs. Wheeler rushed into the room, only to find them both laughing through teary eyes.

"Will the two of you knock it off?" she ordered, hands on her hips. "Steve is going to be here in fifteen minutes to pick you up, and Christine's makeup isn't even done! Let's go, girls!"

It took the determination of both Wheeler women to get Christine ready in time. Nancy sat in front of her, fixing the makeup on her other eye, while Mrs. Wheeler teased out her curls and suffocated her with more hairspray. By the time they were done, Christine felt unrecognizable.

She stared at herself in the mirror, identifying her own face and figure, and yet somehow completely disconnected from her reflection. Nancy had given her dark smokey eyes and bright red lips, and her blonde curls stood out several inches in every direction. It felt strange to move her head, like she had a shrub growing out of her scalp.

"It's so…big…" she mused, prodding at one of the stiff curls.

To Mrs. Wheeler, that was a victory.

"Come on, come on!" she urged, dragging them into the living room. She wielded her Polaroid camera like a weapon. "Oh God, he's gonna be here any second, and I want to make sure I get some good ones!"

And so, for the second time that day, Christine was subjected to another photoshoot. She and Nancy hugged and danced and wrapped their arms around each other, pose after pose while Mrs. Wheeler's camera clicked non-stop. Mr. Wheeler poked his head in to see what all the fuss was about, and quickly retreated before his wife could drag him into the commotion. A few minutes later, Mike walked by looking just as annoyed. He did a double take when he saw them.

"Christine?" he asked, in a somewhat strangled voice. "What are you wearing?"

"She's Sandy!" Mrs. Wheeler explained, taking another photo. "From Grease? Oh, don't they just look incredible?"

Mike raised his eyebrows, but didn't respond. Mrs. Wheeler put her camera down and gave him a pointed look.

"Michael."

"Um, yeah," he said shiftily. "You look…really pretty."

He nodded to himself, then shuffled out of the room.

Mrs. Wheeler watched him go, then turned back to the girls with a scandalized smile.

"Would you believe it? I think he's a little flustered! Ha! Mike, nervous about a girl. I never thought I'd see the day."

She giggled to herself at the thought. Christine and Nancy shared a look.

"Hey, Mom? Would you be able to iron my skirt again? You were so right. I shouldn't have put it on before I did Chrissy's makeup."

"Oh, honestly, Nancy," Mrs. Wheeler sighed. She checked her watch, then threw her arms up in the air. "Alright! Fine! Let's move it!"

Nancy followed her mother out of the living room, leaving Christine alone. She promptly darted through the kitchen and made for the basement. She didn't bother knocking. It took her so long to get down the stairs in her heels that Mike had plenty of warning she was coming.

He was sitting on the couch, fiddling with one of his toy dinosaurs. It was a lame cover. He hadn't even bothered to fix the blankets from the fort when he got up. The supercomm was still sitting on the floor, the antenna fully extended.

Christine sighed and sat down next to him.

"You don't have to pretend, you know. I still do it too."

"Have you heard anything?" he asked weakly.

"No. But you're the first person I'd tell if I did."

"Me too." He twisted the tail of the T-Rex, spinning it around in circles. "I mean, I haven't heard anything. But if I did, I'd tell you."

Christine smiled. She'd never insult Mike by saying it out loud, but the sentiment meant a lot to her.

"You excited for tonight?" she prompted, nudging his knee with her own. "The guys'll probably be here soon, right?"

"Yeah," he said with a shrug. "I kind of wish you were still coming instead of Jonathan."

"Seriously?" she asked in surprise.

"Sure. I mean, you're part of the party, and he's not. Plus, it makes Will feel like a baby. At least when you're around you don't treat us like kids."

"Okay, first off, you are kids. And second, I feel like I get plenty of flack for babying you guys."

"Yeah, but that's not the same. That's just cause we wanna annoy you."

"Well, trust me, you do an incredible job." She chuckled, but trailed off thoughtfully. "Look, I know it's hard on you guys—Will especially—but it's hard for me too. And Jonathan, and Joyce. I still have to stop myself from picking up the walkie and doing a head count every night to make sure you all made it home okay. We're just trying to look out for you."

Mike shrugged again. He turned to her, frowning.

"Does your head hurt?"

"God, yes," Christine laughed. She patted her curls nervously. "I can't believe there are women who do this every day. What a nightmare."

"It seems like a lot of work for…that."

"I know. I look ridiculous."

"No," Mike corrected. "It looks weird. Not like bad weird, just…different."

"Um…thanks? I think."

The doorbell rang upstairs. Christine's heart sank into her stomach.

"And that'll be Steve," she groaned.

"Why are you going to the stupid party if you don't wanna go?"

"Because your sister doesn't want to go, and I'm trying to be a good friend."

Mike squinted at her. "That doesn't make any sense."

"Tell me about it."

Christine hauled herself to her feet. She made a show of stretching her arms and, when he let his guard down, darted to ruffle Mike's hair. He smacked her hands away with surprising force, and she jumped back laughing.

"Ouch, fine! Say hi to the party for me, okay? And have fun with whoever you're meeting up with."

"Wait, what?"

"Your new friends?" Christine asked. "Dustin said you guys were meeting up with some other people from class."

Mike just blinked at her. "I seriously don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, um…okay."

She hesitated. Mike seemed genuinely confused, but Dustin hadn't mentioned that it was a secret. Unless it had just been another lie because he didn't want her to come. She was getting tired of running in circles trying to follow the boys' drama. She thought middle school girls were supposed to be the petty ones.

"Well, just have fun, okay?" she said, brightly as she could manage. "And make sure Jonathan's in costume. If not, you have to tell me, because he owes me twenty bucks."

She shot him a smile and headed back to the stairs.

"Hey, Chrissy?" he called, just before she made it up. He was fiddling with the dinosaur again, barely meeting her eye. "You do look nice. Really."

Christine's heart swelled.

"Thanks, Mike."

And with her confidence a little higher, she returned upstairs.

The living room was still full of commotion. By the sounds of it, Mrs. Wheeler had picked up her camera again and was taking a couple hundred photos of Steve and Nancy in their matching costumes. Christine took advantage of the distraction to steal a piece of chocolate from the bowl by the door. Then she wandered back into the living room behind Mrs. Wheeler.

If Mike's compliment had boosted her ego, it was nothing compared to the reaction she got from Steve.

He was standing toe-to-toe with Nancy, both of them making silly faces at each other. He glanced over when Christine walked into the room and did a triple take. He stared at her slack jawed, and still Mrs. Wheeler was clicking away on her camera. Christine had to resist the urge to hide back in the basement.

"Oh, Christine!" Mrs. Wheeler cooed, once she'd noticed her again. "There you are! I'd wondered where you'd run off to."

"Bathroom," she excused. "The pants make it a surprisingly long project."

Steve wolf-whistled. "Damn, Walcott…"

Nancy swatted him on the arm.

"Ow! No, I mean, uh—you clean up great."

"Doesn't she?" Mrs. Wheeler said proudly. She beamed at Christine, who suddenly felt like an art project at a school fair. "Oh, go on, honey. Stand on Steve's other side so I can get a picture of all three of you."

Christine ducked her head as she followed directions. She could still feel Steve looking at her. She knew Nancy was watching too, but didn't have the stomach to meet her gaze. She planted herself next to Steve and tried not to jump when he wrapped an arm around her waist. The butterflies in her stomach were practically slamming themselves against the walls, trying to escape from the acidic guilt that was pooling below. It was agony.

"But seriously," Steve whispered to her as Mrs. Wheeler prepped her camera. "Damn, Chris."

Christine couldn't even squeak out a thank you. It was going to be a long fucking night.