The basement of Hawkins High was just one long, low room filled with stacks of chairs and desks and old filing cabinets. According to Nancy, the night Fred had died, they'd been working together on a late project for the school paper. When she couldn't find him and the lights building-wide started flickering, she'd run—shouting for him—all over the area until she eventually found him. Dead. On the floor, in the basement.

In that same spot, later on, there had been what looked like a big stretch of black, bluish mold. Like a bruise on the dirty white tiles. When the gang had broken into the school last night, the first thing they'd done was to seek out that bruise. Dustin, Nancy, Steve, and Lucas had hacked and slashed at the mold until it split open. It became a gaping hole, and if you looked straight inside it, standing above it, you'd see a mirror image of the same room. A nasty, corrupt, eternally-nighttime version with black moist crap all over the ground and foul-smelling particles floating everywhere. Not something you liked gazing into before bed.

Now they were all in a circle around the gate again, everyone but Chrissy and Eddie (and possibly Nancy) having gotten a bit of sleep under their belts this time.

"So how does this work?" Robin asked, leaning forward a little to stare into the maw of the Upside Down. "I mean—he'll know we're there, right? You said it's all a hive mind," she added, glancing at Nancy.

"As far as I understand it," agreed Nancy. "But that's just it, that's why we're not going in without a plan."

Eddie eyed the gate with growing unease. His fist knocked and knocked against his side, in a way he hoped was barely-perceptible. Cigarettes weren't going to do anything for him. Not now that he was right here, right next to the place. The thing that had murdered Fred, murdered Patrick, tried to murder Max and Chrissy—he was in there somewhere. In the old Creel House, specifically, if Nancy and Robin were right. And they usually were, he was learning. What was to stop him taking any one of them?

And a hive mind? Everything inside that dimension was controlled, connected, to the rubbery pink serial killer? This was a bigger job than he'd realized. Maybe even a bigger job than any of this seasoned group of crazy people realized. Not only would they have to fight Vecna himself; they'd have to go toe-to-toe with every other living thing down there. Through there. In there.

He cursed, fast, several times. Varying volumes. Fist wouldn't stop knocking.

"We know Vecna's distracted when he's in his mindscape," Dustin was saying, pacing around the edge of the hole. Periodically, Steve would put his arm out to stop the kid if he got too close. "His strengths are the same as El's, his weaknesses are the same as El's—Eleven's body is totally vulnerable when she's connecting with someone telepathically."

"Eleven?" Chrissy, standing beside Eddie, lifted the left ear of her headset, eyebrows pinching in confusion.

"Girl with superpowers," everyone, including Eddie, said at once.

"Yeah, they have one of those," he muttered to her out of the side of his mouth. Dustin had mentioned Eleven during his extra debriefing to Eddie after Chrissy had gone home, the night Vecna attacked her. He had also mentioned something about Nancy being 'contacted', Vecna being a Henry, and also a number. He remembered thinking fleetingly that there was nothing less metal than the name Henry, and then rushing out onto the trailer porch to throw up.

"El's a friend of ours," Max explained to Chrissy. She hadn't taken her eyes off the gate since they'd come into the room.

"But she's not here anymore," Lucas added. "She's in Cali."

Chrissy stared at them, one after the other. "Okay."

Eddie could tell she had stopped listening quite so intently after that. Reckoning with the demon realm was one thing. Coming to believe there also happened to be a superpowered teenager somewhere on the Gold Coast was another. It wasn't as if they had any choice, obviously; they couldn't deny anything now.

"So all we have to do is find a way to distract his mind while we take out his body. And we know where that is." Dustin snapped his fingers, pointing at Nancy.

"The Creels' attic." Nancy nodded, glancing toward Steve. "We go through the gate; we get to the attic—"

Steve grunted. "We stab him, shoot him, slice his head off—"

"All of the above," Lucas offered.

"Okay, but we're missing two big things here," said Robin. "Three, actually, if you count the first one being that we're all barely fully grown and we're considering taking on an ultra-powerful child-killing psycho with no external backup—"

"Inhale," Steve interrupted.

Robin sucked in a huge breath. "Second, we are crazy outnumbered in there. Like—not only do we have Vecna/Henry/One to deal with, but aren't there dangerous monsters where he's at? And—just—you said it's a hive mind, so doesn't that mean the dangerous monsters will be on us the second we go in?"

Eddie cursed again. Loudly. He shoved a hand through his hair, willing his heart to stop racing. If she said 'dangerous monsters' one more time, in that fire-alarm type of tone, he wasn't sure he could remain standing. Levitating cheerleaders, dead jocks, apocalyptic Wheeler visions—he thought he'd been doing pretty well up until this point. Considering. But he might have to draw the line at a hive mind, at entering the actual, tangible Upside Down.

He caught Chrissy watching him out of the corner of his eye. Eddie tried to swallow the bile rising in his throat, tried not to look like he was sweating through his club tee. He wasn't sure if it was hormones, maybe the desire to appear calmer than he really was in front of the opposite gender. More likely it was because she'd kept doing that all night. Further back, really. She'd done it at his trailer, she'd done it in the woods, she'd done it ever since they'd staked out the school. Chrissy would turn and pin her eyes to him, to him, whenever something remotely intense was happening or being discussed. It probably had something to do with the fact that from the beginning of this living nightmare, they had more or less been connected by the experience—or lack thereof.

And if she was going to keep staring, keep looking around for him when she was freaking out, he had to at least make an effort not to run at top speed back to the van. Back to his trailer and Wayne and weed. Back to alcohol and extreme denial. Chrissy had, for whatever reason, decided that among these implausibly-qualified Ghostbusters, Eddie Munson was the guy she felt safest with. It was senseless. She had no idea.

But he wasn't about to give her a clue. Eddie steeled his hands and stood stiff as a pole, gaze fixed on the others as the planning continued. Chrissy followed his lead.

"We're just gonna have to come up with a way to deal with the monsters, too," said Dustin, arms up.

"So you're saying we distract Vecna's mind, we deal with the hive, we kill Vecna's—Henry's—whatever's body—and this brings me to my third and final big thing we're missing: has anybody thought of how exactly we sidetrack him long enough to do all this?" Robin demanded.

"I think…" Max shifted her weight, hands in her hoodie pocket. "I think I have a way."

Everyone turned to look at her. Eddie saw Sinclair's face slacken, the way Wayne's always did before he opened one of those thin white envelopes that usually contained water bills or lot rent reminders. Lucas' mouth tightened the moment Max started talking, and Eddie found himself staring hard at Red's face, feeling the atmosphere thicken around them. Max seemed to prickle and get stiffer under all the attention.

"He needs to kill again, right?" Max began. "Four chimes, four kills till the end of the world? Well, he still needs two more, I mean—" She glanced at Chrissy, and then quickly diverted her gaze, as though sorry she had. "It's not like he was…expecting to miss two of us. I can still feel him."

Eddie heard Chrissy make a strange sound beside him. He glanced quickly at her; she was watching Mayfield with a strained, pale expression. Her hand was twisting and twisting her '86 pendant. The whiter her face got, the darker her scant freckles became. He saw her swallow. Then she turned to do that safety-stare thing again, head twitching toward Eddie, and he quickly went back to focusing on the redhead across from them.

"Max—" began Lucas, low under his breath.

Max held up a hand vaguely in his direction, voice getting louder, harder. "I can still feel him," she repeated, "so I know he's not done. If I give myself up—"

Eddie felt his stomach drop.

"Woah, woah, woah—" Dustin spoke over her.

"No, absolutely not," Steve was already arguing. "No way—"

"If I give myself up—" Max tried to continue, shouting now. "Just listen—"

"You can't," Lucas was competing now with the others, breathing quickly, "you saw what happened to Patrick—"

"—talk this out and find a better solution—" Dustin was saying.

"—is no way in Hell—" Harrington again.

"Guys!" Nancy bellowed over all of them. Somehow, her tiny frame carried more volume than the four other contenders combined. "Let her finish."

Steve looked ready to kick something. Eddie was suddenly preoccupied, watching Harrington start to pace slightly, eyes stuck on Red, jaw working. It was almost like he really, really cared about the kid. Mr. Cool was restless as Max continued, maybe even as shaken up as Sinclair, hands tight on his hips like a soccer mom watching the ref berate his little star. He kept opening his mouth to interject, but Robin's hand flicked to his shoulder every time, and that seemed to slow him down. Eddie tried to conceal his fascination, but it was tempting to let it swamp the sick feeling he was struggling with. The idea of the girl who lived a yard from him selling her soul to the devil—it was brave, yes, but it was stupid and she looked so small, standing there….

Max waited until there was absolute silence before continuing, icy blue eyes daring any of them to interrupt. "I can keep him busy long enough for you to strike, okay? I have Kate Bush, I escaped once—I can do it again."

They all waited a few beats after she'd paused, as if not sure whether they were allowed to speak. Lucas broke the barrier first.

"We don't even know if it'll work a second time," he said. "If you let him take you and Kate Bush doesn't come through? If you can't get out? He'll kill you."

"And then he's one step closer to winning," Dustin added. Privately Eddie thought that might actually have more of an impact on Max. Little shrimp knew how to argue.

"I can do this," said Max. "And—if I don't, everything goes to hell anyway, so—I have to at least try. I mean, we don't have another option, right?"

"Yes we do."

All heads snapped toward Chrissy. To his surprise, Eddie's heart decided to go berserk. He thought this might be what it felt like to go into cardiac arrest, actually. His entire body had a very sudden reaction to her words. Max offering herself up had made him sick. Chrissy, standing there, arms tight and impossibly thin around herself, about to say what she definitely should not have been about to say—somehow that was making him short of breath.

"I escaped too," Chrissy was mumbling. "I…got out. I can let him take me instead."

And there it was. He wondered if the rest of them were noticing the extreme wobble in her voice. If the rest of them noticed how her fingers tightened on the arms of Carver's hoodie. Eddie's eyes dug into her profile; he hoped she could feel them pushing at her, willing her to stop talking, take it back. Her? With her twiggy frame, her total lack of experience, her big eyes and bigger smile—she couldn't take on Vecna. It would be like a mouse offering to stand in the lion's mouth and dare it not to eat her.

Max was, of course, the first to object. She scowled across at Chrissy, head ducking. "No. That makes no sense. I mean, I'm the one who figured out the music thing first, I'm the—"

"Actually, that was us," Robin interjected, jabbing a thumb between herself and Nancy.

"Whatever," Max waved a hand at them. "It has to be me."

Chrissy didn't flinch beneath the junior's blunt tone. She was shaking, slightly, and her words came out too fast, but her eyes were exactly as steely as Mayfield's. "But—it doesn't. I got away because of music, too. Because of Eddie, because of the stereo." She glanced at him again, then, as she spoke. Her huge blues were very obviously stretching out for assistance.

Eddie licked his lips, head slowly starting to wag back and forth. "Nahh, don't look at me. You are not goin' in there." He waved a shaking finger at Max, quickly adding, "She's not goin' in there. This is stupid, this is—it's crazy—"

Chrissy's face contorted, a flash of surprise and indignance spreading across it. Max was already cussing him out. Suddenly it seemed every person was talking, every person was yay or nay, and you couldn't hear the thunder or the weird echoes coming from beyond the gate anymore for all the arguing.

"Okay, shut up, shut up!" Steve yelled, using a voice Eddie was absolutely sure every suburban father perfected during the third trimester. Harrington was ahead of the game. Everyone obeyed, albeit sulkily. "First of all, let's…come up with a way to actually kill this creep before we decide on making any human sacrifices. All right?"

Nancy nodded, watching Steve with an embarrassingly-obvious casserole of admiration and agreement written all over her face. "Right. Exactly. We have to figure out what to do once he is distracted. My guns back home aren't gonna be enough, we have—"

"Your guns?" Eddie interrupted. "Guns? Plural?"

"In your house?" Chrissy asked, eyes scrunching up in disbelief. "Really?"

Nancy ignored them. "We have to stock up. We need as much ammunition as we can get, because when we do this…" She looked around at the group for emphasis, and the hole in the floor suddenly seemed bigger, louder. "It has to stick."

Eddie saw Max roll her eyes, turning her shoulder slightly toward the group. She was still irritated that anyone had opposed her idea—she might even have plans to be irritated for the rest of the day. Same-old same-old, then. Chrissy, for her part, didn't seem too peeved, but she was no longer trembling. He wanted to throttle them both. Who in their right mind would willingly hand themselves over to die? For a plan that may very well fail, in a hundred different ways? He knew the kids were insane, but Chrissy?

Either way, if they were determined to take Vecna on, Nancy was right. They would need all the help they could get.

Heaving a breath, Eddie said, "I think I know a place."

Forty-five minutes later, everyone was packed into the van, parked behind The Warzone. Eddie remembered being seven, following his dad around the giant warehouse. Munson Senior's shoulders had been tense the entire time, huge hands jittering as he inspected the merchandise.

When he'd asked his old man what kind of store it was, his dad had grunted "Arms store." When Eddie had asked what an arms store was, dad had replied, "Place has everything a man needs for killing something."

Then he'd stolen a shotgun, taken it back home, sawed it off, and Episode 1 of the Family Troubles series began, starring Eddie Munson as Confused Minor.

Being back in the store, tailing a group of teenagers who were anxiety-riddled and full of righteous intent, was a completely surreal experience. Eddie got the expected, manly shiver of this place is awesome mixed with why would anyone invent those as they slouched through the aisles. Nancy made a beeline for the wall of guns. It was intimidating (and more than a little attractive), watching her stride with full confidence toward that particular corner. She had the same look in her eye other teenage girls used to have at Starcourt, drooling over high heels, except Wheeler was locked down on a row of assorted weaponry.

Everyone else scattered, looking for anything that might be useful. Lucas grabbed a cart, moving as quickly as possible down the knives section, Robin at his side. Steve had opted to remain in the car with Chrissy and Max, on MC Watch. It was obvious that the group was a bit more on edge now that the two girls had basically been on the verge of a catfight over who got to die first. Steve had insisted they stay in the van, as if convinced one of them was going to telephone Vecna the moment they were left unattended.

Eddie lingered around the ammunition shelves. He picked up a blue-lined box of Peter's shotshells, shaking it slightly to hear the rattle. He'd never bought so much as a pocketknife. Why would he, when he had Wayne's multitool? He was metal, he was a freak, he gloried in violence on the battlefield of a D&D map, but in reality, he was no killer. The boyish charm of aiming and strategizing was quickly fading. Nothing in this store spoke to his blood, nothing shot serotonin through his head the way it was obviously doing to the hick several rows away. Guy was practically convulsing next to an AKM on display.

A flash of movement near the survival kits, set up on a bookend, caught his eye. Henderson was examining a shiny new compass with the expression of a mother inspecting fruit at the supermarket. Eddie felt a twitch in the corners of his mouth. He slipped around the shelves, reaching for one of the stuffed, taxidermic, snarling badgers on display. He glanced at the nearest employee behind a counter, then picked up the entire thing, fingers close to the furry hind paws.

Eddie crept down the aisles until he was right behind Dustin, moving on the balls of his feet so as not to make a sound. Dustin didn't notice. He edged lazily around in a standing circle, still staring at the compass, until the badger seemed to flicker in his peripherals.

Dustin looked up and made eye contact with the dead, growling animal.

"Holy mother of—"

The freshman stumbled backward and let loose a girlish shriek. At the same time, Eddie made what he hoped was a badger-ish roar.

Heads turned. Eddie quickly put the badger on the ground, grinning snakelike into Dustin's beet-red face.

Dustin swore, heaving for breath, shoulders bobbing. He gave Eddie a half-hearted shove in the chest. "Seriously? Are you seriously making jokes right now, you piece of—"

"Manners, Henderson," Eddie chided, bouncing his eyebrows toward a family of three nearby. A mother with a hideous perm and two twin toddlers scowled in their general direction.

Dustin lifted a hand to the lady. "Sorry. Sorry. He's deranged," he said conversationally, offering a big smile and thumb toward Eddie. "We're putting him down today."

Eddie kept grinning at Henderson, sticking his tongue out slightly. The perm woman ushered her children out of their eyeline, making a face like she'd just drank spoiled milk. Eddie had that effect on the ladies.

The shrimp shook his head, stuffing the compass back on the shelf. "Find anything good?"

"Nope. But then again, I must admit I wasn't looking all that hard." Eddie leaned back against the nearest stand, arms limp at his sides. "What about you? Gonna brain Vecna with an ice pack?" He nodded to the survival kits.

Dustin shook his head again, harder. "We're gonna be up against more than just Vecna. Nancy's right, we have to be prepared."

"How long exactly are you planning on us all being down there?"

"As long as it takes, I guess." Dustin picked up a first aid kit, turning it over in his hands. "I've never actually been in the Upside Down—"

"No, huh?" Eddie felt his leg start to bounce, faster and faster.

"—no, but Nancy did once, and Will—he's El's brother—and as far as I can tell, we're gonna need one hell of a commotion to draw the monsters away." Dustin grunted out a little laugh.

Eddie stared at him, marveling at the ease with which the kid spoke of monsters and deadly dimensions. Maybe it was easier if you'd done this sort of thing before. Eddie didn't know whether to wish he had more experience, or wish he'd never agreed to sell Chrissy Cunningham anything in the woods that afternoon. Then he wouldn't be here. He wouldn't know. Not about Vecna, not about the Upside Down. He wouldn't be standing in The Warzone while his mental friends stocked up on demon-killing merch and two girls waited in his van to be led to the slaughter.

"You okay?" Dustin's eyebrows knit; he was watching Eddie's leg bounce with growing concern.

"Yeah," Eddie said through his teeth, forcing another grin. "Yeah, man, I'm great, you know? I just, uh—" Screw it. He let the grin fall, let his voice get hushed. "Look, I do not wanna head into the Great Unknown this time, dude, I gotta tell you. D&D, that's easy, this? This is a freaking—hellhole you guys wanna just jump right into, and me, I'm not good with danger. Not in the real world."

Dustin was watching him with open bewilderment. "What are you talking about, man, you're great with danger."

"No, no, no I'm not," Eddie laughed, a barking, bitter sound. "Okay? I see it and I turn heel. I run away."

"You saved Chrissy."

"Wayne's stereo saved Chrissy, Dustin." Eddie scoffed. "Me? I just knocked the thing over on my way to anywhere but there."

"But you stayed." Dustin raised his palms. "After we got there, after Max called us. You stuck around, right? And you're here now."

Eddie grunted. "Yeah, lucky me."

"Nobody wants to go in there," Dustin assured him. "All right? None of us wants to be in the Upside Down. Trust me." He lowered his hands, steady and slow, like he was calming a wild animal. "But a member of the party is in danger—two of 'em, if you count Chrissy. I mean, we kinda have to now. And you never leave a member of the party behind, right?"

Eddie looked him in the eyes, wanting to laugh again at the absurd comparison. But Dustin's gaze was deadly serious. He meant every word he was saying. He wasn't living in some fantasy world; he wasn't romanticizing their circumstances the way only a nerd could. He believed this was their only choice, that there wasn't even a choice. The same fire Chrissy had had in her when they'd retrieved luggage from the van. The same hard tones Max had taken, certain she was their perfect bait.

"It's rule number one." Dustin held up a finger. "If we don't slay Vecna, he gets Max. He gets Chrissy. He takes over the world. We can't let that happen. Right?" he repeated, taking a step closer to keep looking his friend in the eye.

Eddie pursed his lips. You never leave a member of the party behind. "…Right."

They were all gonna die.

Eddie had gone back to the van, relieving Harrington on MC Watch. He'd needed air—or something familiar to ground him, something besides smoking, which frankly was becoming less helpful by the hour. When he'd opened the doors, Max had been sitting in the back, Steve across from her, and they both turned to look at him like he'd interrupted some kind of heart-to-heart. But Steve had taken that opportunity to join the others inside The Warzone, and Max slid her headphones back on. She closed her eyes and leaned back against the van's side, arms crossed over her knees. Eddie paused, half-crouched on his way past her, raising a hand and wondering if he should say something. Maybe continue her chat with Harrington. It only took him two seconds to remind himself that Kate Bush was a better comfort than he'd probably ever be. Eddie clenched the hand and headed to the front seat, slinging his feet up on the dash and breathing in deep through his nose.

Chrissy was perched in the passenger seat, cross-legged. She'd changed her hair. It was half-up, half-down. Had she been wearing hoop earrings this whole time? And if she hadn't, had she been carrying hoop earrings this whole time? It seemed the only thing she hadn't tweaked since they'd left the school was that ridiculous, oversized hoodie.

When he sat down, she turned to offer him a tiny partial wave.

Eddie lifted a cluster of bent fingers in return, knowing she wouldn't hear him over her headset if he spoke.

Immediately, she took them off. "Are they…almost done?"

"Uh…" Eddie craned, trying to see past her to the store's exit. "Not yet. Too many toys to play with. I came here with my old man once—took him an hour before we got outta there." Without buying anything. Smuggling a shotgun. Driving away with a very loud screeching of tires that spelled out in a cloud of dust: something illegal is happening.

"Feels like it shouldn't be taking them this long." Chrissy slid down in her seat, sliding her hands under her arms.

Eddie played with the car keys, turning them over and over in his hand. For spring, the air today was muggier, meaning the van was almost stifling. People filtered back and forth to their cars around them, chatting, carrying large brown paper bags or big boxes full of equipment. For a second he could fool himself into believing Hawkins sensed something was coming, and that they'd have a bit of a fighting chance against an Upside Down invasion should he and his friends fail. Of course, they were probably just stocking up because of the dead, gnarled bodies recently found in town. No one was expecting anything less than a human threat.

Speaking of threats—

"Hey," he said, and it came out a lot more commanding than he'd meant it to.

Chrissy turned, giving him her full attention. That was a lot of mascara.

"Before." Eddie rolled the tip of his thumb back and forth along the key's grooves. "When you said that stuff about…" he sat up straighter, pulling his legs down, "…getting taken."

She shut her eyes briefly, going very still.

"You're not seriously gonna make yourself bait. Right?" He tossed the keys from hand to hand, trying to keep his tone even. He couldn't understand it. He couldn't relate. Why would she throw herself in the furnace like that?

It seemed like at least six minutes before she spoke. Probably just one, in reality. "It's…"

Chrissy turned, very slightly, to glance at Max in the back. Eddie let his head tilt that way, moving mainly his eyes, until he could just make out the edge of the girl's shoulder.

"There's no reason she should do it," Chrissy continued, facing forward again, "when I'm right here, and I…I've been through the same thing. It doesn't seem…" She chewed on her lip for a second, staring at her hands. It took her a few seconds before she settled on the right word. "Right. That's all."

Eddie felt his eyebrows sinking. He looked between Max's arched frame and Chrissy's hunched one, trying to understand the difference between the two when it came to dangling on a hook. From what he could tell, Max was motivated by some kind of righteous anger, whereas Chrissy—Chrissy hardly ever appeared angry. She was offering herself up for no superior reason he could figure out.

So he shifted in his seat, mumbling in as nonchalant a tone he could: "Okay."

They didn't talk for a few heartbeats after that. Eddie filed through about a million things he wanted to say in his head. Why did it have to be Chrissy? Why did it have to be little Red Riding Hood, either, for that matter? Couldn't they have found a different way to distract Vecna? How many earrings were on her person at that moment? What did she mean it didn't seem right? Did any of this seem right to her? How could she be considering this? Where did she find the strength to even suggest it?

Finally, chair squeaking beneath him, Eddie swerved and tucked so that his whole body was facing her. His legs alone took up all the room between the two front seats. "Sorry, it's just—"

Chrissy snapped to attention again.

"If we were friends," Eddie began, "I'd probably take this opportunity to say this is a really bad idea. You know? Like—" He leaned forward, using the same expository tone he took when teaching someone how to roll a joint. "I know if it were me? If I had the big ol'…" He flapped uselessly with one hand, blanking on a solid gesture. "Grandfather-clock-shaped target on my back?"

Chrissy was listening intently; he could tell by the way her fingers unclenched and the way her mouth went slack.

Eddie clapped his hands together, letting one palm shoot out past the other. "I would run like Hell in the opposite direction." He let the mirth drop out of his voice, risking meeting her eyeline dead-on. "I'd get as far away from Vecna and that…crapfest back at the school as I could. Just superglue myself to the Walkman and not look back." He cocked his head. "Though…definitely would be listening to something stronger than Uptown Girl."

She didn't smile with him. She watched him as he paused, rubbing the heel of her hand against a knee. There was something kind in her posture, in the slightly-parted lips, the way her eyes squinted. But she didn't respond.

Eddie tried again for a smile. "And—again—if we were friends, you'd say you're right or I concur or okay, Eddie—or—sure thing, yes, my Liege, something like that." Still quiet in the other seat. He resumed his former position, feet on the dash, back against the driver's side. "Or just…y'know. Don't take my advice, I mean, it's not like my life choices have gotten me anywhere fun over the years, so—"

Chrissy, at last, snorted out a laugh. It was a little derisive, a little loud, but it pulled away the lizard feeling that was trying to reemerge in his chest.

Then she lowered her head. Smiled. Met his gaze, and said slowly, chucklingly, teasingly—deliberately, Lord help him: "Okay, Eddie."

Oof. Eddie showed all his teeth in a massive, automatic grin. He wouldn't tone it down. Chrissy Cunningham was claiming him as a friend. It was so intentional, everything about the moment, the lizard was replaced with something strangely fluttery and a little scary. A little dated, for him, too, but not unfamiliar. He had been tentatively, idiotically offering a contract of sorts and she was signing it with both hands.

She didn't put the smile away, and she didn't shift her glance, but she did follow this up with, "But…I…I can't just leave. I'm—here, I'm able…"

He narrowed his eyes, nodding.

"Jason…he's always saying if you can figure out how to win, you do what needs to be done. That's what they're doing, right?" She flapped a hand toward The Warzone, indicating their group.

Eddie's eyebrows knit together. "Winners find a way to win, Chrissy!" he told her jauntily, pushing off with his feet to sit higher, forcing the cheesiness in his tone, the airiness. Any impression of Jason Carver coming from him was automatically hinting at a soprano.

She almost spat on him, giggling, hand flying to her mouth to cover her betrayal. Eddie basked in the sound, giving her an over-exaggerated pout, like Jason was crushed by her levity. He was prepared to extend the Carver bit, prepared to keep her headphones obsolete and explore the territory of an official, coveted friendship with Miss Hawkins High, but just then the door slammed open.

"We need to go," Dustin shouted. "Right now!"

"Step on it!" Steve added, shoving Henderson further into the van. Robin was right behind him.

Eddie scrambled to get the key into the ignition, wondering how many pedestrians he'd hit if he backed out without looking. Chrissy yanked on her seatbelt.

Max rocketed off the van wall, ripping down her headset. "What is it? What's happening?"

Nancy was the last to enter the car, Lucas frantically shoving brown paper bags into a corner on her left. "Take the back roads," she ordered Eddie. "Break the speed limit."

"Yes ma'am," said Eddie, cranking Accept and flooring it. With a squeal of tires not unlike the one his father had induced last time they'd been here, the gang was on their way out of The Warzone parking lot.

Nancy gripped the back of Chrissy's chair, steadying herself, yelling over the music. "Where do your parents think you are?"

Chrissy's entire face twisted in confusion. "What?"

"Your parents!" Nancy repeated, shooting the radio a glare. "Where did you tell them you were?"

"The—the lake," Chrissy shouted back, shaking her head as if to dislodge the information. "With Sammie Sutherland! Her family owns a cabin!"

"And where does your boyfriend think you are?" demanded Wheeler.

Chrissy's expression contorted even further. "I told him I was sick!"

"Sick?" Dustin shrieked. He began a steady stream of swearing.

"I said mom was quarantining me in my room. No visitors," Chrissy explained, louder. A panicked set of eyes locked themselves onto Nancy. "Why?"

"Well, somehow the cat's out of the bag," Robin cut in, grimacing. "He's going crazy, looking for you, he says you might be the next big Hawkins murder victim—"

"What are you talking about?" snapped Chrissy, voice squeaking. "Where did you see Jason?"

"He was inside," Steve said. "Guy thinks you've been kidnapped; he started some witch hunt—"

"He was buying a rifle," Lucas added. "He looked like hell—"

"And," finished Nancy, waving a hand at the boys to quiet them, "Eddie is his number one suspect."