Steve hadn't made any special plans for the weekend. If someone had asked him last week, he would've said that he planned on recovering from Tina's Halloween party. He'd have a chill movie night with Christine and Nancy, maybe go out for a nice dinner to take Nancy's mind off the one year anniversary of last November's nightmare, and go sleep knowing he was doing his part to make their relationship work.

That had changed after Halloween, obviously. If someone had asked him about his plans then, he probably would've said that he'd be moping in his room after getting dumped. Well, he wouldn't have said that to anyone, but that's what he'd expected.

He certainly hadn't expected to find himself driving Chrissy out to the woods at the edge of town with three large buckets of raw meat in the trunk and her kid neighbor in the backseat with a shotgun.

Foreigner was playing on the car stereo. It was fucking surreal.

They pulled up to the first checkpoint on the east side of the forest, and Steve parked on the shoulder. Chrissy turned around in her seat to fix the kid with a stern look.

"Remember," she started, "you keep the comms on at all times. I'm not kidding, Dustin. Stay on the tracks and they'll take you straight to Cloud City. You've got your compass, so if you get turned around just call me, and—"

"Christine, relax," Dustin assured her. "I got this. I'll take good care of him."

Steve whipped around in his seat. "I'm sorry, what?"

He felt like "what" was the only word he'd said for the past twelve hours, repeating himself over and over again, but no matter how many times he asked, he didn't understand any better. His confusion made the kid break into a devilish grin, and Christine looked almost as concerned as Steve felt.

"Dustin…"

"What?" he asked innocently. "I'm going with Steve, right?"

"Uh, no," Steve said at once. "No, you're not."

"Well, you can't go by yourself," Dustin countered. "You've never been to Cloud City. You'll get lost."

"Great, then I'll take Chrissy."

"Oh, really? So, you've got the bat, she's got the shotgun, and you want to send the unarmed child into the woods by himself, totally defenseless?"

"You were fine keeping the thing in your room for the last three days."

"Yeah, before he ate my cat! Who knows how big he is now? He could eat me!"

"Kinda hope he does."

"Hey—"

"Both of you stop," Chrissy snapped.

Dustin grumpily folded his arms over his chest and Steve rolled his eyes. He was about to make a crack about the lizard being the kid's responsibility when he caught the look Chrissy was giving him; his heart plummeted.

"Chris, no way. Come on—"

"He's right," she sighed. "I can't let him walk around by himself. He knows the way, and he has the walkie if you need me. Just keep an eye on him and I'll meet you there, okay?"

Steve actually whined. "Seriously?"

"Yes, seriously." She turned around in her seat again, jabbing a finger into Dustin's face. "You. You just—don't—be nice."

"Don't be nice? I can—OW!" He yelped as she smacked the bill of his hat, causing his headset to tangle in his curls and yank his hair. "Shit, Christine! I got it! Whatever!"

That didn't seem to reassure her, which reassured Steve even less, but he wasn't about to pick another fight with Chrissy, especially in front of the demon child. He wasn't sure which one of them would hit him first, but he knew it would hurt.

Chrissy slipped out of the passenger door, disappearing to the trunk to retrieve her portion of supplies. She yanked the back door open, snatched the shotgun out of Dustin's hands, brandished another finger in his face, and then slammed the door closed again. Steve hurriedly rolled down the window as she pushed up her sleeves and pulled on yellow gloves.

"Hey, hey—Chrissy, uh…are you sure about this?"

"Uh, no," she said mildly, "but this is all we've got, so. I know he's a handful, but try not to kill him, or permanently disfigure him, and…please don't believe anything he says about me."

She cracked a tiny smile, and Steve felt the tension he'd been carrying in his chest ease. Things had been rough since their fight yesterday, and with the shit Dustin had dropped in their laps, they hadn't had a lot of time to talk things over. Steve knew that he'd royally fucked up—yet again—letting his temper and his insecurities get the better of him and dragging Chrissy down with him. He knew he had more work to do in order to make it up to her, but if she was joking around with him…they'd be okay. Hopefully.

"Good luck," she offered, still with that tiny smile to distract from the mildly terrified look in her eye.

He smiled back, wanting to reassure her, but as he watched her walk away—shotgun on one shoulder, backpack on the other, walkie talkie on her hip, and bucket of beef in one hand—he began chewing his lip. It was a relief to know that she was scared too, but if Christine was freaking out, what chance did he have?

Only when she'd finally disappeared through the trees did he force himself to turn away.

"Alright, shithead. Where—Jesus!"

He jumped and grabbed his chest in surprise. Dustin had stealthily moved up into the passenger seat while Steve was talking to Chrissy, and was now watching Steve intently with a big, unsettling smile. Steve knew that look; it was the same look Dustin had given him last spring—right before he'd poured chocolate milk all over the damn windshield.

"You good to go?" he asked, in an innocent voice that Steve didn't trust for a second.

"Yeah," he said stiffly. "Yeah, let's…let's go."

He gritted his teeth as he pulled back onto the road. No, this wasn't how he'd seen his weekend going at all.

If Steve had learned one thing in the last twelve hours, it was that Dustin was a chatterbox. He'd talked non-stop since barging into Chrissy's house, barely pausing to breathe as he told the story of his weird "pet lizard." He'd argued with his mom through dinner, argued with Steve through breakfast, and argued with himself as he tried to figure out what kind of meat Dart would like the most. Hell, the only time the kid hadn't been talking was when he was unconscious—and now.

The car was unnaturally quiet as Steve drove. He kept his eyes on the road, but he was hyperaware of the way Dustin was glaring at him from the passenger seat. No insults, no curses, no smart-ass remarks. He just glowered from under his mess of curls and crooked baseball cap. The only time he spoke was when he told Steve to pull over, when he radioed Chrissy to let her know they'd reached their destination, and when one of his little friends called him on the radio.

"Dustin? This is Lucas. Do you copy? Dustin?!"

Dustin rolled his eyes, stepping away from the car to answer the call. Steve began loading his supplies into his backpack, one ear listening into the conversation; it wasn't eavesdropping when the kid was three feet away.

"Well, well, well," Dustin sighed. "Look who it is."

"Sorry, man. My stupid sister turned it off."

"Well, when you were having sister problems, Dart grew again, he escaped, and I'm pretty sure he's a baby Demogorgon."

"Wait. What?"

Steve smirked to himself as he zipped the gasoline in his bag. It was nice to know he wasn't the only one desperately confused.

"I'll explain later," Dustin said dismissively. "Just meet us at the old junkyard."

"Us? Who's us?"

"Me, Chrissy, and Steve. And bring your binoculars and your wrist rocket."

"Wait, Steve?" The other boy repeated his name incredulously, sounding almost insulted. "You seriously asked Steve for help?"

"No, of course I didn't. I found him at Chrissy's, and none of you assholes were picking up."

"Dust—"

Steve slammed the trunk closed, cutting off the conversation. "Alright. Let's go."

For once, Dustin listened.

"Just be there, stat. Over and out."

He turned the volume down on the radio, snatched one of the buckets off the pavement, and stomped into the woods without another word. Steve sighed heavily, locking the car before trailing after him, glad to know he wasn't the only one Dustin hated at the moment.

The first leg of the trip was rough. It was a tough hike, tripping on roots and slipping on dead leaves, weaving through trees and bushes as branches smacked him in the face and got caught in his hair. Steve focused on pure survival while Dustin took the lead. A few times, he stopped to check the compass he had in his pocket. Steve didn't really understand how knowing which way was north was all that useful, but it seemed to tell Dustin where he was going.

At long last, they found the train tracks that led to the junkyard. When there had ever been a train in Hawkins was its own mystery. Steve didn't know how old the tracks were, or how long it had been since they were used. They might've talked about it in the local unit of his History class, but he barely showed up to that class as it was. It was a miracle he hadn't failed more than once.

Walking on the tracks was easier than walking through the woods, but somehow, Steve was even more uncomfortable. Now that he didn't need to focus on his feet, all he had to keep him occupied was mindlessly dropping beef chunks on the ground in the silence. Dustin had gone quiet again, keeping to himself as he walked a couple yards ahead, which should've been a relief, but it just felt weird.

"What's up with Lucas?"

Dustin actually stopped walking to look back at Steve. "What?"

"It's Lucas, right?" he asked. "The one you were on the thing with?"

"It's not a thing. It's a TRC-214 supercomm."

"Right…" Steve pursed his lips. He was already regretting trying to make conversation. "So, you couldn't get ahold of him yesterday?"

"I told you," Dustin groaned, "I couldn't get ahold of anyone yesterday—Mike, Chrissy, Will. Apparently Erica turned off Lucas's radio, but that's bull because he would've known it was off if he just looked at it, which means he spent the whole day blowing us off without checking in anyway."

"Wait," said Steve, shaking his head, "didn't you say the other guys were like freaking out 'cause they thought Dart was from the—the other—"

"The Upside Down. And yeah."

"Okay, and they knew it was loose in town somewhere and they just…didn't ask about it?"

"Yup."

"…Dude, that blows."

Dustin's steps faltered and he looked back at Steve.

"Wha—yeah—yeah, it does blow! Thank you!" He nodded to himself and chucked the next chunk of meat far down the path in front of them. It got some air, but Dustin just sighed. "Whatever. I know finding Dart is the important thing, but…woulda been nice to have help."

"I still don't understand why you didn't wanna tell Chrissy," said Steve.

"I told you," Dustin repeated in exasperation, "she would've made me get rid of him."

"Yeah, because you knew it was dangerous and she has a brain. Anyway, what about before you realized what he was? When you thought it was just a cool little lizard?"

"Well, I—he—actually he was more like a pollywog at first."

"Excuse me?"

"Like a tadpole, or a slug. I just—I didn't want to show her until—until I knew what he was. For sure."

Steve scoffed at his stammered excuse. "You shoved the thing in your backpack and took him to school 'cause you were so excited to show your other friends. Anyway, isn't Chrissy supposed to be part of your little club?"

"It's not a club, it's a party!"

"What's the difference? You can't talk to girls?"

"No! I—I can talk to girls! I do talk to girls! I showed Dart to a girl, and she—"

Dustin froze. He clamped his mouth shut and looked at Steve with eyes so wide, so horrified, that it was impossible not to laugh.

"Jeez, relax," Steve said with a grin. "I get it. I've been there."

"Shut up. You don't get anything."

"Hey, I might not get parallel dimensions or physics or any of this other shit, but girls are the one thing I do get…most of the time."

Steve reeled that thought back in and scuffed his heels through the dead leaves. He'd always thought he understood girls. He got them enough to get them, anyway, and a year or two ago, that was all that mattered to him. Having friends that were girls should have made things easier; he should have understood more, but instead, he felt like he understood less by the day. He had refused to accept that his own girlfriend wasn't in love with him, his best friend was falling for an asshole despite knowing full well that he was an asshole, and Steve was so pissed about it all that he had somehow inadvertently become the biggest asshole of all.

It was like the first year he'd taken algebra. He'd been fine at math in middle school; not great, but fine. The moment they'd started adding letters into the mix, it was like he forgot how to add and subtract. He had more information and somehow it made things worse.

"I just wanted her to think I was cool."

Dustin's voice was quiet and dejected. His head hung low, as if he was inspecting the rough cuts of beef in his bucket, but he was no longer leaving a trail. Steve looked around the forest on the off-chance someone else might materialize to deal with the situation. Chrissy wouldn't have batted an eye—just taken the problem in stride, tossed Dustin a few golden nuggets of sage advice, then cracked a joke to get him smiling again—but Steve didn't understand people the way she did. He half-hoped Dustin's stupid baby Demogorgon might jump out and attack them, just to provide an interruption.

But the two of them were out here alone, so it looked like they were really having this conversation.

"Uh…what's her name?" Steve asked uncertainly.

"You wouldn't know her," Dustin sighed. "She just moved here. She's new."

"New?"

Steve frowned. Hawkins was a pretty small town. With the exception of the half-dozen deaths and disappearances last year, there wasn't much breaking news around town. New kids usually caused a scene, but the only new kid he knew was…

"Shit," he groaned. "Did she move here from California?"

Dustin's head rocketed up so fast that it looked painful. "You know her?!"

"No, just her brother," Steve said bitterly. He spiked the next chunk of meat into the leaves below. "Unfortunately."

"Oh." Dustin relaxed a bit, his face scrunched up in thought. "Does he drive that blue car? The one that always drives super crazy on Main Street?"

"Yup. That's him. Because he's an asshole."

"Yeah, that makes sense. He tried to run us off the road on Halloween."

"Wait, what?" Steve grabbed Dustin by the shoulder and yanked him to a halt. "Are you serious?"

"Yeah," he answered with an unperturbed shrug. "The four of us were biking home and he just came up behind us, like right up our asses. We all went skidding into the bushes so we wouldn't get turned into a road pancake."

"Did you tell Chrissy?"

"No…? Why would I?"

Steve opened his mouth, then huffed and looked away. Why wouldn't the kid have told her? From the sound of it, he'd almost died and then just skipped off on his way. If he'd told someone, Billy could've faced some damn consequences: a ticket, detention, jail time if he was lucky. At the very least, Christine would knock it off with all this doe-eyed crush and realize that Billy was just some guy who was a dick to children.

"Okay, hold on," Steve continued, shaking his head. "Is that why you've been so weird with Chrissy lately?"

"What?" Dustin looked at him sharply. "No, I—I haven't been weird."

"Uh, yeah, you have. She's been complaining about it for weeks. You want her there, you don't want her there, you ask for advice, but don't tell her why. She's worried about you, man. If you only found the slug on Halloween—"

"Pollywog. And it's more complicated than that," Dustin sighed, "but…yeah. Part of it's that I didn't want to tell her about Max."

"Why not?"

"Because she'll make it weird and it's none of her business. It's none of your business!"

Steve held up a gloved hand in submission. Dustin grumbled to himself as they continued off on the path, and Steve gave him a few seconds before pushing again.

"So…her name is Max?"

"Yeah. Mad Max."

Dustin had taken the lead, so Steve couldn't see his face, but there was a smile in his voice. Steve could've clocked the dopey way he was swinging his bucket back and forth from a mile off.

"She's really, really cool. She skateboards and plays video games—and she's good at them too! She beat my high score in Dig Dug, which I was pretty mad about, but it's also pretty awesome, you know? We want to induct her into the party, but Mike's being kind of a dick about it because he misses Eleven. She came trick-or-treating with us on Halloween though! And she likes horror movies and science, so I wanted to show her Dart because he was a brand-new species, and that would be a huge discovery for—"

"Alright, so let me get this straight," Steve interrupted. "You kept something you knew was probably dangerous in order to impress a girl who…who you just met?"

"Again, that's—that's grossly oversimplifying things."

"I mean, why would a girl like some nasty slug anyway?"

"An interdimensional slug?" Dustin laughed. "Because it's awesome."

Steve wrinkled his nose. He didn't think any kind of slug was awesome, whether it had slimed in from another town or teleported in from a different planet. Slugs were just gross, but he didn't want to waste time on that argument when there were more important things to talk about.

"Well, even if she thought it was cool, which she didn't, I—I just…I don't know, I just feel like you're trying way too hard."

"Well not everyone can have your perfect hair, alright?"

"It's not about the hair, man. The key with girls is just…just acting like you don't care."

Dustin faltered in his step again. This time, he didn't look angry or scared; he stood up straight as he thought it over, intently focused. "Even if you do?"

"Yeah, exactly," Steve said with a shrug. "It drives them nuts."

"Wait, hold on," said Dustin. "Act like you don't like like them, or act like you don't care about them at all?"

"Well, obviously you treat her like a person," Steve amended, tossing some more beef on the tracks behind them. "You don't need to be an asshole about it. But yeah, if you pretend you don't notice them, then for some reason they care a lot more about what you think. Then they just come to you. So, you don't let on that she's got your attention—ever. Always works for me."

"Huh. I thought girls liked you because you were suave."

Steve was the one who faltered this time. "Excuse me?"

"I uh…was told that girls like you because you're suave," Dustin explained. "Confident."

He was inspecting the meat in his bucket again, refusing to look up even as Steve stared at him. The standoff lasted for several seconds before Steve tentatively replied.

"Well…yeah, okay. I guess that's part of it. You've gotta pretend like you don't care what she thinks of you. What anyone thinks of you."

"Do you?" Dustin asked. "Care what people think about you?"

"I don't know. Some people I guess."

"Like who?"

Steve squinted at him suspiciously. "Who told you that I was suave?"

"No one," Dustin said at once.

"You just said that you were told I was suave."

"I said that I might have been told that maybe some people may or may not think that you appear to be suave."

"…Yeah…isn't that—?"

"So, what do you do then?" Dustin asked. "After you pretend like you don't care?"

Steve sighed and fell into step beside him. "You just wait until uh…until you feel it."

He gave Dustin a light nudge on the shoulder, smirking. Dustin blinked at him in confusion.

"Feel what?"

"It's like before it's gonna storm, you know?" Steve explained. "You can't see it, but you can feel it, like this uh—electricity, you know?"

"Oh, like in the electromagnetic field when the clouds in the atmosphere—"

"No. No, no, no, no," he interrupted, drowning out the kid's nerdy rambling. "Like—like a—like a sexual electricity."

"…Oh…"

"You feel that and then you make your move."

Dustin nodded dutifully as he followed along. "So that's when you kiss her?"

"No, woah!" Steve exclaimed, holding up a hand. "Woah, slow down, Romeo."

Dustin mumbled an apology as Steve took the lead on the tracks. He felt better now that they were in familiar territory. He still had no idea where they were walking, obviously, but girls were a topic he could talk about for hours.

"Sure," he allowed as he continued his lecture. "Okay, some girls—yeah, they want you to be aggressive. You know: strong, hot and heavy, like a—I don't know, like a lion. But others, you gotta be slow, you gotta be stealthy, like a…like a ninja."

He grinned, pleased with the comparison. Until Dustin opened his mouth again.

"What type is Nancy?"

Steve deflated. So much for familiar territory.

"Nancy's different," he said, glancing half-heartedly over his shoulder. "She's different than the other girls."

"Yeah," Dustin agreed. "She seems pretty special, I guess."

"Yeah…yeah, she is."

"But this girl's special too, you know? It's just like, something about her—"

"Woah woah woah—hey hey hey—" Steve reached his arm out across Dustin's shoulders and brought them both to a screeching halt. Dustin looked back at him with innocent confusion, which only made Steve fiercer. "You're not falling in love with this girl, are you?"

"Uh—no," he said, looking downright scared. "No."

"Okay, good—don't."

"I won't."

"She's only gonna break your heart, and you're way too young for that shit."

Steve tossed a cube of meat on the ground with finality.

In the back of his brain, a nagging voice was already berating him. He was being a jackass again, taking out his frustrations on everyone else because he was still pissed about Nancy. It wasn't exactly a shock that she'd dumped him, or that Chrissy was furious with him. How could he claim to be the authority on women?

The truth was that when he was in middle school, he'd probably been as clueless as Dustin. Well, maybe not just as clueless—he never would've tried to gift a girl a slug—but he'd made more than his fair share of mistakes. In seventh grade he'd signed up for art as an extracurricular so he'd have a reason to talk to Jordan Mullins. That had been a disaster on so many levels: he sucked at art; his dad had lectured him on taking a useless class; he and Jordan hadn't even ended up in the same period.

In the end, he'd dropped the class for study hall, which was where he'd met Kayla Fortgang. She was a year ahead of him, a cheerleader, and the top of her class. Steve had tried reading big books to impress her, but that only got him so far when he didn't understand half of what he was reading. Then he'd tried carrying big books to impress her, only then he looked like an idiot because he didn't know what he was talking about.

Eventually, in a desperate attempt to avoid failing his History final, he'd asked Kayla for help studying. He was terrified of looking stupid, but she'd been more than happy to help. A week later, they were making out in her bedroom and definitely not studying.

That was when he had his first breakthrough: he didn't need to pretend to be smart to talk to girls. It was actually a lot easier to be dumb and ask them for help.

That had started him down the road to becoming King Steve. Tutoring taught him as much about girls as it did about school. Some girls thought it was endearing that he had no clue what was going on in class, or the way he'd compliment them for being so much smarter than he was. The more he practiced, the easier it was to talk to girls, then to charm them. He became more confident, joined the basketball team, got a nice car, perfected his hairstyle—and the rest was history.

Steve dropped another piece of meat on the tracks behind them, and tossed a sidelong glance at Dustin. The kid was walking solemnly, unusually quiet again. Only this time he wasn't quiet because he was pissed. It looked like he was just sad.

Steve hesitated. He started to say something, then thought better of it and shut his trap. It wasn't his job to make the kid feel better, and he wasn't going to humiliate himself trying. But somehow, the word came out anyway.

"Fabergé."

Dustin looked up at him in confusion. "What?"

"It's…Fabergé Organics." Steve reluctantly pointed to his hair in explanation. "Use the shampoo and the conditioner, and when your hair's damp—not wet, okay?—when it's damp—"

"Damp."

"You do four puffs of the Farrah Fawcett spray."

There was a beat of silence before Dustin giggled. "…Farrah Fawcett spray?"

"Yeah, Farrah Fawcett," Steve hissed. He came to a dead stop and shoved one yellow, gloved finger into the kid's face. "You tell anyone I just told you that? And your ass is grass. You're dead, Henderson. Do you understand?"

"Yup," Dustin agreed at once.

To his credit, he actually managed to keep a straight face as he nodded. Steve narrowed his eyes into slits, sussing out any remaining laughter or judgement. When he was satisfied that Dustin was being genuine, he chuckled wryly.

"…Okay."

They continued down the path, each of them focused on the task at hand. Steve hoped they might be able to drop the subject along with the chunks of beef, but Dustin wasn't through torturing him yet.

"Farrah Fawcett, really?"

Steve repressed a sigh. "Look, it works, okay? And I mean, she's hot!"

"Yeah." Dustin nodded thoughtfully for a few seconds. "What about Christine?"

"Uh, no." Steve's heart leapt in a panic. "You cannot tell Christine. God, she makes fun of me enough as it is. If she knew that I—"

"Not the hairspray, dumbass. I'm asking if you think she's hot."

Steve's head whipped around so fast that he pulled something in his neck. He yelped, clapped a hand to the back of his head, then recoiled from the cold meat-juice all over his gloves. He wound up twisting and tripping over the tracks in an attempt to shake it off while Dustin watched him flounder, one eyebrow raised until Steve got his shit together again.

"Woah, okay you're like—you're thirteen, dude."

"Yeah? And you're the one talking about sexual electricity with a middle schooler."

"That's….yeah, fair. Okay."

"So?" Dustin pushed, watching him closely.

Steve tossed his head to the side as he debated his response. Dustin had made it exceedingly clear that he didn't like Steve; no one in his little club did—hence the chocolate milk and Slurpees and general verbal abuse. Christine had always explained it as the boys being "protective" of her. She'd never gone into more detail than that, but Steve didn't need her to. He knew that, roughly, it must translate to, "They know how you emotionally manipulated me into doing your homework and hooking you up with Nancy, and while I've forgiven you for being a piece of human garbage, they haven't." And really, could he blame them for that?

If anything had become clear to Steve in the last twelve hours, it was just how close Christine and Dustin were. It wasn't pity or babysitting money that had her ditching her high school friends to hang out with him. The kid was like her brother, which meant Steve had to be extremely careful how he answered. Not that Steve thought Chrissy was ugly—far from it—but if he talked her up too much, he'd wind up back on Dustin's shit list, Slurpees and all.

"I—I don't know," he said hesitantly. "She's…cute, I guess."

It was the best response he could come up with under the circumstances. Dustin watched him for a few more seconds before nodding in approval. He chucked another piece of beef over his shoulder and continued, "What type of girl do you think she is? The lion or the ninja?"

"Uh, I don't know," Steve said again. "I guess the…uh—nah, I—I haven't really thought about it."

The chunk of beef he was carrying slipped out of his hand before he could put any real direction behind it. He'd been about to say "ninja" when he remembered the way Chrissy had blushed while she was talking to Billy outside the gym. Billy definitely fell into the lion category. Just the thought made Steve bristle.

"I don't think she's either," said Dustin, oblivious to Steve's internal debate. "Chrissy's pretty special too. Like, the most special."

"Uh huh?"

"Yeah! I mean, she really looks out for me, you know? Even though she's way older than me and could just be like, 'Oh, you're just a kid.' She always takes me seriously—even before everything that happened last year. Then we found Eleven and she basically spent the whole week with us, and she didn't rat us out to the adults, and she believed us when we started talking about the Upside Down and Eleven's superpowers. And even though she doesn't have to protect us anymore, she still hangs out with us. She buys me video games, takes me to the movies, pitches in with our party's campaigns. Chrissy's like the most special person I know."

Steve glanced at Dustin out of the corner of his eye. "Are you sure you don't have a crush on her?"

"What?" Dustin actually jumped off the ground with the strength of his yelp. "No!"

"Because I heard what your mom said, and if you have the hots for your babysitter that's seriously messed up, dude."

"I—no! Gross!"

Dustin's face screwed up in disgust and he promptly pegged Steve in the chest with a piece of beef. Outraged, Steve chucked the piece in his hand at Dustin's head. Dustin ducked just in time, but nearly fell over as he tried to regain his footing.

"Hey! Watch it!"

"You started it, shithead!"

"No, you—fine! Whatever." Dustin rolled his eyes and straightened his hat. "I mean, Chrissy's not gross. She's great, but…she's like my sister. So no."

"Right. Good."

Each of them nodded stiffly. This time, even Dustin seemed to think things were too awkward to continue the conversation. He left Steve to his thoughts as they continued down the train tracks, falling into a silence that was remarkably comfortable compared to the rest of the morning.

Steve wanted to put the whole conversation out of his mind. He knew there were more important things to worry about—monsters on the loose eating cats and forest animals, Jonathan's brother going in and out of a mental breakdown, Nancy and Jonathan disappearing off the face of the earth without any kind of warning—but something Dustin had asked was nagging at the back of his brain.

"Do you? Care what people think about you?"

The obvious answer was yes. Of course he cared what people thought about him. Most of the time, he cared way too much what everyone thought of him, which was his fucking problem. He wanted girls to like him. He wanted guys to think he was cool. The cooler people thought he was, the more people would like him, and the more people liked him, the cooler he looked. It was a never-ending cycle.

But at some point, it all stopped meaning anything. What did it matter if Carol and Tommy H. thought he was cool? They thought skipping ninth period to smoke behind the diner made them cool. The bar wasn't exactly sky high.

That was one thing that had drawn him to Nancy. She was still his type—gorgeous, smart, just rebellious enough to be swayed by his charm—but she didn't care about "cool" things. She cared about getting good grades, making a future for herself, taking care of her friends. Knowing that she liked him felt way better than knowing Carol or Tommy did.

Of course, Nancy had made it clear she liked him a lot less than she had originally, so that was nothing to brag about.

But that wasn't what he was focused on at the moment, because Dustin had asked another interesting question.

"What about Christine?"

Steve was already in middle school the year Chrissy moved to Hawkins. She was a year behind him, so back then he only knew her in passing. It was impossible for anyone new to come to Hawkins without causing a stir, and since his mother was on just about every committee in town, she prided herself on knowing everything about everyone. Sit-down meals were rare at the Harrington household, but on the rare occasion they were all home, she was relentless at the dinner table, recounting all the gossip and rumors she'd collected like it was a full-time job. Steve knew she'd probably given him a full debrief about the Walcotts, but seeing as he'd been eleven, he hadn't cared or remembered any of it.

It wasn't until Chrissy showed up in his science class freshman year that he really paid any attention to her. She'd turned out to be some kind of brainiac and gotten shipped up to the high school for a science class that could actually challenge her. She'd looked comically young shuffling into the classroom, but even with her brand-new jeans and perfectly curled hair, she'd been labelled a nerd the moment she sat down—and any self-respecting cool kid knew not to associate with nerds.

Being honest with himself was still relatively new for him, but if he thought about it, he'd always cared what Chrissy thought about him—before the Upside Down, before Nancy, before Physics. He couldn't remember exactly when he'd realized she had a crush on him. She'd always been smiley and a little awkward, but it was a while before he noticed it was worse when he was around. A few of his friends had teased him about it, but Steve didn't mind. He'd liked knowing that Chrissy liked him. Not because he liked the attention…okay, not just because he liked the attention, but because Christine was different. She wasn't like Carol or Tina or Nicole. She was like Nancy: genuine. She cared about real things, not just gossip and popularity, so if she liked him…there had to be something genuine about him too, right?

At least, that's what he told himself. The reality, he figured, was that somewhere along the way, he'd gotten too good at his game. He was tricking people left and right, letting them think he was cool and charming when all he was doing was playing into what other people thought of him. The reality was that he was just…bullshit.

That had been his wake up call last year: sitting in the parking lot of the convenience store, icing his face on a can of beer, listening to Tommy and Carol laugh about how Jonathan was a pervert and Nancy was a slut and Chrissy was a psycho. But they weren't any of those things. They were real, and they were probably the only real people Steve knew.

It had been a snap decision to get his act together, to clean up the graffiti, to apologize to Jonathan. It had been a snap decision to stay and fight when a six-foot slime monster threw his lab partner across the room and almost broke her in half. But if that was what he had to do to be genuine, to be the person he so desperately wanted everyone to think he was, then he figured he should at least give it a shot.

That was why he'd gone to Christine's house a few weeks later to apologize. He came clean about all the bullshit he'd done, the things he'd said, the things he'd done wrong, and then waited for her to start screaming at him. But she hadn't. Instead, she told him that she'd known he'd been manipulating her the whole time and just…went along with it.

Well, that had made him feel even worse. At the same time, he almost felt…relieved. He hadn't fooled her with his nice smile and perfect hair. She hadn't mindlessly agreed with what everyone else thought of him. She knew he was an asshole. Chrissy had known the worst of it and, when he asked, still wanted to be his friend. That meant everything to him. Maybe even more than Nancy taking him back.

Of course he cared what Christine thought of him. That was how she'd become his best friend.

Steve couldn't say how much time had passed while he'd been absorbed in his own thoughts, but when he looked up, the train tracks were giving way to a wide clearing. He wasn't sure why they were calling it Cloud City when there wasn't a cloud in the bright afternoon sky. The place was just a junkyard of old cars and crushed beer cans from long-forgotten parties. An abandoned school bus sat on the edge of the tree line, surrounded by large sheets of scrap metal and rusty old barrels. Still, it was a wide-open space that was miles away from the population of Hawkins—which was exactly what they needed.

"Oh yeah," said Steve, surveying the yard. "Yeah, this'll work. This'll do just fine. Good call, dude."

"Thanks," Dustin said with a wide smile. "It's pretty cool."

"Yeah, it's nice…very nice…"

Steve slid his sunglasses down his nose to get a better look.

The emergency hatch on top of the school bus had popped open, spitting out a heavy backpack, followed by the barrel of a shotgun. Chrissy heaved herself up onto the roof and dusted her hands off on her flannel shirt. She'd tied it around her waist, where it hung low on her hips over her jeans, leaving her in a black tank top. As she bent down to sift through her backpack, the hem rode up her back.

Steve wolf-whistled without thinking twice.

Chrissy jumped in surprise, but relaxed when she spotted Steve and Dustin on the horizon. She raised one hand and flipped him the bird.

"Took you guys long enough! You gonna help or what?"

"I don't know," Steve said with a smirk. "You look like you've got it under control—ow!"

He rubbed his side where Dustin had elbowed him in the ribs. The kid gave him a dirty look before marching off to the bus to help. Apparently, whatever bonding they'd done on the way here wasn't enough to make up for the rest of Dustin's concerns about him.

Steve pushed his glasses back up his nose, one eye still on the school bus as Chrissy stood on top. Maybe it was time he asked himself what he thought about Christine Walcott.

A/N: Hi everyone! This is one of the chapters I was most excited to post; you know I couldn't resist the train track scene. I also wanted to take a beat to address some of the concerns people have voiced in their reviews: yes, Steve is mistreating Christine, and yes, she let him off too easy last chapter. That's because, and this is from my own personal experience, a lot of times it's easier to swallow the hurt your friends cause you than addressing it directly. We carry that with us until it hurts too much and comes up again, and over time, those things heal or—to use Kali's favorite word—fester. There's work to be done between Steve and Christine, and they both know it. There will be more missteps and arguments and heart-to-hearts in the coming chapters as they start on that work.

I understand that not every story is meant for every reader. However, this is Christine's story, and I hope you'll follow along for more.

All the best,

Brittney.