-Eleven-

Dinner has never dragged on so long.

I twirl my fork around my spaghetti and take a bite, but I'm so concentrated on rehearsing my lines that I barely process the taste. I throw a subtle glance at my parents' half-finished plates. Then I make eye contact with my brother. Although we've only lived together for three years, we've developed a telepathy that many blood-related siblings never achieve. Will's expression hardly changes, but he holds my stare for a half-second longer than usual, and I see the slightest twitch of his eyebrows.

Showtime.

Straightening in my chair, I turn to our mom and set the plan in motion. "Thank you for taking me shopping again yesterday," I bring up happily, like the thought hasn't been swimming in my mind for the past ten minutes. "You'll really have the dress finished by tonight?"

Joyce matches my bright smile. "I think I can manage. It'll be a pretty easy hem."

"And you're basically a professional by now, with all the Halloween costumes you've made over the years," Will chimes in.

Her smile turns wry as she points her fork at him. "Don't forget all the patches I've sewn! How you and Jonathan always managed to put holes in your clothes is beyond me. Especially Jonathan when he was little..."

Wistfulness flickers in her eyes as they drift to the empty chair at the end of the table. My older brother moved out not too long ago, and we're all still adjusting. His calm, quiet disposition - and the way he seemed content to fade into the background until something needed done - made it easy not to notice him. But now that he's gone, the house feels a little too quiet.

Will wisely steers the conversation to a lighter topic. "I'm just glad you found something in time."

Playfulness overtakes Joyce's sadness as she wiggles her eyebrows at me. "We did cut it close, didn't we?"

"I wanted it to be perfect," I admit.

"It is perfect. You looked beautiful," she gushes. A sigh escapes her as she stabs at her food. "I can't believe senior prom is only a week away. You two are growing up too fast."

"Well, I can't wait," I enthuse, smiling at the man sitting across the table. "Hey Dad, do you want me to show you my dress when it's finished?"

His surprised blink makes my grin widen. Although Hopper adopted me over five years ago, he's still not used to being called 'Dad'. Will and Jonathan refer to him by name, and I generally avoid using those titles, since my other parental relationships were...complicated. But in my head, I'm constantly cycling between 'Joyce and Hop' and 'Mom and Dad'. Sometimes, it slips out. This time, it was intentional.

"I'd love that," he answers fondly. Then he furrows his brows and adds, "But you better not look too good, or I'll have to bring my revolver when I come to supervise."

"You bring it everywhere anyway," Will teases him.

"Well, I don't usually threaten teenagers with it - and I don't think the other supervisors would appreciate that," he responds, scowling like he's imagining the scene.

"But you wouldn't threaten Mike," I interject in an innocent tone. The statement comes off as more of a question.

As Dad gives a vague grunt and takes another bite of pasta, Will and I make eye contact again. Now's our chance to move to phase two.

"Speaking of Mike," Will mentions lightly, "he invited us to go to his house after."

"Oh, did he?" Hop murmurs, pausing with his fork hovering above his plate. I can practically see the switch in his brain flipping to detective mode. It's hard to keep my composure when he brings out that calculating glare. Without changing his tone, he fires off his first question: "Who else did he invite?"

"The usual: Max, Lucas, Dustin, and Jesse," Will answers calmly. As Hop continues to watch him, he adds, "Mike just got Super Mario Bros for the NES. We're going to have a marathon - switch off between levels and see who's the best."

Joyce smiles at him and agrees, "Sounds like fun."

But Hop doesn't seem sold. "You want to go to Mike's house, after your senior prom, to play video games," he sums up slowly.

Will combats his suspicion with cool confidence. "Yep."

Hop puts his fork down and props his elbows on the table. As he rests his chin on his folded hands, he directs a pensive frown at me. "You like those kinds of games too?"

"Yeah. I'm not very good at them, but they're still fun," I tell him with a slightly forced smile.

Hop seems to sense my nervousness. After a second or two, he shrugs it off and returns his attention to his food. "It's fine by me, as long as you can wrap it up by ten."

"Actually, everyone else was planning on staying the night," Will explains, glancing away.

Hopper's eyebrows crawl up his forehead, and he puts his fork down. "Ahh. So it's a sleepover," he acknowledges, and his wary gaze drifts to me. He raises his eyebrows at Joyce, who's biting her lip like she's thinking. Then he leans back in his chair and swivels his wrist like he's looping Will and me together. "This makes a lot more sense now." As we both give him confused frowns, he taps the place on his shirt where his badge would be. "Did you think I wouldn't notice?"

The next look Will and I share is one of helpless frustration. So much for all that practice.

"Should I be concerned that you two were plotting against me?" Hop goes on warily.

"It's not like that," Will insists. "It's just been a while since all of us hung out together, and we knew you'd be against it."

"Max and I would sleep in Nancy's room, and the boys would sleep in the basement," I tack on earnestly. "Also, Mr. and Mrs. Wheeler are going to be home the whole time."

"Uh-huh. And I'm sure they'd notice if any of you decided to sneak up to Mike's room instead," Hop remarks flatly. Heat rushes to my face at the insinuation. Joyce gives him a disgruntled look in my defense, which only encourages him. "What? Is that so unlikely? All I'm saying is there would be two couples and two empty bedrooms. I don't like how this is adding up."

Three couples, I correct in my head, and a sly glance at Will tells me he's thinking the same thing. He grimaces and looks away. Luckily, our parents are too busy debating to notice.

"They're good kids, Hop," Mom reasons, but Dad shakes his head.

"It doesn't matter, because they're still kids - and there's only one thing that co-ed sleepovers are good for." As she sighs, he directs an expectant look at us. "Does anyone want to take a guess? I'll give you a hint: it's two words. One starts with a 't', and the other starts with a 'p'."

That puzzles me so much that I forget all the arguments I'm gathering. I was expecting the letter 's' to crop up at least once.

Will catches on a little quicker. I get the impression that he's trying not to roll his eyes as he suggests dryly, "Teenage pregnancy?"

Hop points at him like he won a prize. "Exactly."

"Oh, my god," I mumble, embarrassed for so many reasons.

"We're not stupid," Will snaps.

"Smart people can still do stupid things," Hop points out grimly.

Joyce purses her lips, but she doesn't argue this time. I wonder if she's thinking about when she got pregnant at eighteen.

As Will and I put on identical stubborn scowls, Hop sighs and rubs his face. "Look, I know you mean well, but I also know what I was like when I was your age." He jabs a finger at me. "Take it from me: teenage boys are the worst." Will wrinkles his nose, and Hop gives him a shooing motion. "Maybe not you. But the vast majority of them are rebellious little shits with no impulse control."

Offended on my boyfriend's behalf, I snap, "Mike is not the worst, and he's not like you."

My dad raises his hands, but his scowl tells me he's not really surrendering. "Okay. He's not as bad as I was; I'll give you that." I cross my arms as he continues, "Believe it or not, I like Mike. But that doesn't mean I trust him not to capitalize on some alone time in his bedroom with my daughter."

"That's not...he...we wouldn't do that," I stammer, blushing again. It's hard to form a coherent response when my imagination is getting the best of me - because Mike and I have gotten close to doing exactly what my dad is referring to. For a second, I wonder if my boyfriend had another reason for hosting this sleepover. No. He would've told me...right?

As I'm mulling that over, I feel Will's eyes on me. When I glance at him, he looks ready to keep arguing, but that fire flickers as he takes in my expression. I quickly turn my head. I think he glimpsed my doubt, though, because I hear it in his voice when he brings up his next point: "This isn't a big deal. We've had plenty of sleepovers at Mike's before."

"You mean you and the other boys?" Hopper checks. When Will stays quiet, he goes on, "Yeah, see, that's not the part that worries me. I'm perfectly fine with you staying the night, as long as your mom's okay with it." He directs his frown at me. "You, not so much."

"What?" I blurt, affronted. When my dad's glare doesn't waver, I protest heatedly, "That is so unfair! Just because I'm a girl, I can't go?"

"You can still go," he corrects me, "but I'm picking you up at ten."

Blood rushes to my ears. "The dance ends at eight! I might as well go straight home!"

Hop tries to act calm, but I can see his temper rising behind his eyes. "Sounds good to me."

I throw a beseeching look at Joyce, but the reluctant agreement in her eyes tells me it's a lost cause. "Max is allowed to stay over," I try, restraining an urge to cry or throw something.

"I'm not Max's dad," Hop retorts coldly, "and I'm not Lucas's or Mike's dad either."

"It's not fair," I say again, clenching my fists as a familiar pressure builds behind my forehead.

Losing his patience, he shoots back, "Life's not fair, kid - but that's how this works. While you're living with me, you go by my rules. Once you're old enough to go out on your own, you can have as many sleepovers with your boyfriend as you want."

His phrasing slams a hard truth in my face - one that makes me feel even more frustrated. Without thinking, I point out the hypocrisy: "But for now, only Will's allowed to do that?"

As soon as the spiteful words leave my mouth, the pressure behind my eyes fades. When I see the alarm in my brother's eyes, my anger is suffocated by guilt.

Uh, oh.

Fortunately, Hop doesn't catch my real meaning. He seems to think I'm still referring to my boyfriend, because he says in a matter-of-fact way, "Yeah, pretty much."

A wave of relief dilutes my fear. I try to cover up the emotions with a scowl, but it's not easy. I know I'm supposed to be angry - and I still am - but I've completely lost my train of thought. Now, I'm less worried that my plans for my prom night are ruined and more worried that I've just made a terrible mistake. The air feels charged now, like there's a storm about to break.

And for once, I'm afraid to look at Will.

My heart jumps out of rhythm as Hop's frustration gradually melts into suspicion. "What?" He asks, raising his eyebrows at the two of us. I guess I'm not the only one who can feel the tension.

"Nothing. Forget it," I say in a snippy tone, but I don't think he's buying it.

Hop's narrowed eyes come to rest on Will, who's having trouble looking innocent. His tone turns dangerously stoic as he questions, "Is there something you'd like to share?"

Panic flashes in Will's eyes, but he covers it up with annoyance. "What are you talking about?"

"Who else is invited to this thing?"

"I already told you," he responds impatiently, but I can see the cracks spreading through his façade. He seems jittery - which is understandable, with the way Dad is interrogating him. It's like watching a lion creep up on an injured gazelle.

"And is there anyone you didn't mention?"

"No."

Exasperated by Hop's unchanging stare, Will turns to Joyce, but he stiffens when he notices the way she's frowning at him. It's clear that she can sense that he's hiding something too. She's expresses herself more tactfully than Hopper, though. Her tone is calm and gentle, a cross between disappointment and concern - and she only says one word: "Will."

"I'm not lying," he states firmly, but the tremor in his voice betrays him. I think his mother's plea rattled him more than anything Hopper could say.

At that point, I just want to sink under the table and disappear. I don't see any way this conversation could end well.

Hop nods, but it seems like he's concluding his own thought process rather than showing agreement. "Alright. Here's the deal," he announces briskly. "Until one of you tells the truth, neither of you are allowed to go to Mike's at all. Does that sound fair?"

I cringe, but that's not much worse than the deal I got before. When I risk a glance at Will, I almost shudder. I'm not used to seeing him so angry. It makes me feel thankful that his glare is directed at Hopper and not me. "No, not really," he says frankly. "What do you think we're trying to do? Have a big party, get drunk, and do drugs? Maybe get arrested?"

"I don't think that," Hopper tells him, clearly restraining himself.

"Then quit acting like you do," Will snaps. "You want us to be honest with you, but you're treating us like delinquents who you just brought into the station. We didn't do anything wrong."

When Hopper answers, his voice is low, and it sounds every word is taking more effort than usual. "I'm not trying to be a cop. I'm trying to be a father."

"Well, you can cut that act too."

The silence that follows feels deafening. Will's stubborn glare is acidic enough to melt through metal, and Hopper's scowl is twitching. I throw a nervous look at Joyce. Judging by her startled expression, this was a confrontation that neither of us expected to happen. The two of them generally get along alright. Even when they disagreed in the past, Will's aversion to conflict and Hopper's laid back nature would result in them dismissing the topic rather than arguing about it. But it doesn't seem like either of them are willing to let this go.

After a long moment, Hop purses his lips and exhales through his nose. "Okay. Fine," he decides in a voice that's too airy. "You can go by whatever your mother says. But I'm not going to 'cut the act' - because unlike your real dad, I actually give a shit about you."

Will lets out a sarcastic breath of laughter and mutters, "You have a funny way of showing it."

Before Hopper can answer, Will gets up and takes his empty plate to the sink. "Hey," the police chief starts firmly, but my brother sasses him:

"What? Am I not allowed to go to my room?"

As Hopper simmers, Joyce gives Will an uneasy look. His expression softens when he meets her eyes. "Thanks for dinner," he tells her halfheartedly. Then he leaves without another word - or a single glance in my direction.

Joyce sighs as the slam of his bedroom door travels down the hall. Hopper goes back to his food, but he's still scowling, and his movements are awkward and forceful. Dispirited, I poke at my last clump of noodles. The guilt churning in my gut is ruining my appetite. Desperate to get rid of it, I decide to follow Will's lead.

Joyce frowns as I stand up. "You're done already?"

I try to keep my tone light for her sake. "I wasn't very hungry anyway."

Then I retreat from the dinner table and set off for my brother's room, hoping to at least salvage something from this disaster.