8. Winter Air

To say that Christine did not get a good night's sleep would have been an understatement. There were too many thoughts rolling around her head: concern about Nancy, guilt over Barb, worry for Will, lingering unease from Tina's party. Halloween had certainly been more stressful than usual.

And then there was the fact that Steve Harrington was sleeping on the floor of her bedroom. She was glad he'd chosen to stay, but…it pretty much negated the possibility of sleep. What if her dad walked in? What if she snored? What if she talked in her sleep? What if she farted? There were too many uncontrollable variables. She wasn't sure she could handle the stress of being unconscious around Steve, even if they were friends.

Despite her reservations, she did fall asleep at some point, because when her alarm clock went off the next morning, the sun was up, the house was quiet, and she was alone in her bedroom.

Christine's heart dropped as she looked frantically around the floor. Her first thought was that the whole thing had been an incredibly vivid dream, but—no. The blankets in Eleven's fort were definitely out of place. Her second thought was more troublesome: had Steve been taken? She'd fallen asleep the same way before Barb disappeared. Was the Demogorgon back? Was it the men from Hawkins Lab? But if it was, why would they take Steve, of all people, and leave her behind? He knew a lot less than she did, and his disappearance was sure to raise more questions.

She rushed to untangle herself from the sheets and was halfway out of bed before something made her pause; a piece of paper was tucked away on her nightstand, half-hidden under her phone. Christine slid it out and unfolded the note with curiosity.

Dipped early in case your dad flipped. Pick you up for school. Thanks.

It wasn't signed, but Christine would have recognized the messy handwriting anywhere.

She sighed and flopped back onto her bed. He was okay…probably. The lab could have staged the note, but at least Steve hadn't been eaten. And on the plus side, she hadn't been dreaming or hallucinating. She wasn't out of her mind just yet.

Of course, that meant she had a different problem. If it wasn't a dream, then Steve and Nancy's fight had been very, very real. Today probably wouldn't be any easier than yesterday had been.

It took some time to drag herself out of bed and get dressed. From the sounds of it, her dad had already left for work. That was typical for this time of year. The first week of November meant business conferences, which in turn meant putting in extra time at the office to finish his work. Last year he'd flown to Atlanta, and this year they were sending him to New Orleans. It was a couple hundred miles farther than Georgia, and Christine would've been lying if she said that didn't worry her. She just had to pray that Hawkins would be less eventful this time around.

The November air was bitterly cold, like the world knew that Halloween had passed and the fun was over. It was still fall for now, but winter was clearly on its way. Christine shivered as she scurried to the end of the driveway to retrieve the garbage cans. She was just snapping the lids back into place when she heard a front door slam.

Dustin stopped short on his porch, hands gripping his backpack straps in a death grip, staring at Christine. Christine paused at the end of the driveway, staring at Dustin.

"You're up early," she observed.

"So are you. What are you doing?" Christine gestured to the garbage cans, and he grimaced. "Right, I'm—me too."

Very slowly, Dustin walked to the end of his driveway to grab the cans from the curb. He looked inside each one before securing the lids. Then, matching her pace, he mirrored her as they dragged the cans back to the house. He stowed his on the Hendersons' front porch, then stopped to watch her again. Christine should have continued to the backyard to put her cans by her back door, but Dustin's bizarre behavior made her pause again. She squinted at him, and he fidgeted under her gaze. He stole a look at his bike, waiting for him in the driveway.

"Going somewhere?"

"Hm?" Dustin's eyes snapped back to her. "Yes. Um…library."

"The library," she repeated. "Now?"

"Yes, now. I need some books before I go to school."

"For what?"

"…Fun."

Christine's eyebrows climbed higher. She knew that tone of voice all too well. That was Dustin's telling-a-bad-lie-so-he-can't-get-in-trouble voice.

"What are you—"

"Why was Steve's car here last night?" Dustin asked abruptly.

Now it was Christine's turn to fidget. "What? No, it wasn't."

"Um, yes it was. It's a red BMW, Christine. Not easy to miss."

"I—fine. Yes, he…came over to watch a movie."

"A movie," Dustin repeated. "He was here for like…a really long time."

"And?"

"Isn't he still dating Nancy?"

"Oh, shut up, Dustin."

"You shut up!"

"Fine!"

"Fine!"

They glared challengingly at each other for a few more seconds. Dustin hoisted his backpack higher on his shoulders. He took a cautious sidestep, then speedily jumped on his bike. Christine could only watch with narrowed eyes as he tore out of the driveway.

"Hey!" she called after him. "Don't be late for school!"

"You don't be late for school!"

She huffed, shaking her head as she continued to the backyard. He was getting weirder by the day. If this was normal puberty stuff, they were in for a rough couple of years.

Dustin was right about one thing: Steve's car wasn't easy to miss. When he returned to pick her up for school, she could hear the rumble of the stereo from inside the house. Christine cursed and checked her reflection in the mirror.

Since she'd showered the night before and hadn't needed to fight her dad for use of the bathroom, she had more time than usual to get ready. She'd actually done her makeup today—not as bold as Nancy had done her up yesterday, but more than she usually put on. Her hair had dried in loose curls from being in a bun all night long, and for some unfathomable reason, she'd grabbed a denim skirt and stockings instead of her jeans. She knew she was going to be cold, and her long-sleeved Star Wars shirt wasn't exactly classy, but it was a change of pace.

Steve tapped on the horn outside, and Christine cursed again. Whatever had prompted the change, it was too late to change it again.

She grabbed her bag and double checked the lock on the front door, then hurried down the path to Steve's car. She opened the back door, only to have him shout at her over the music.

"What am I, a chauffeur? Hop up front."

Christine frowned, but complied. She wasn't about to start a fight with him after he had such a rough night.

She'd been bracing herself for the worst—an awkward ride to school with a dejected Steve who could barely bring himself to talk. But Steve seemed…fine. His hair was back to its usual volume, black Wayfarers perched on his nose, lips spread in a smile as he drummed on the steering wheel. Fleetingly, she wondered if last night had been a dream after all.

"Wait," she said, doing a double take at the stereo. It sounded so natural to her ears that she hadn't noticed at first. "Are you seriously listening to—"

"The Stranger. I told you I got my own copy." Christine gaped at him, which only made his smile grow. He raised a warning finger as he continued, "Don't get used to it. Now would you put on your seatbelt? We've got places to be."

Once the car got rolling, it was easier to relax; this was familiar territory. Steve had driven her to school a lot last year, first while her leg had been in the cast, then just to be nice. They both ignored the elephant in the backseat, strictly talking about school and what movies had come out recently. Christine was still working weekends at The Hawk, so she filled the time by complaining about the new action film they'd gotten in on Friday. She was struggling to explain the time-travel aspect of the plot when Steve took a wrong turn.

"Oh, hey, you missed Maple," she advised him. "We've still gotta pick up Nancy."

Steve clicked his tongue but didn't reply. Christine stared at him, waiting for him to turn the car around, her heart slowly sinking.

"Steve…"

"So she's from the future?" Steve asked, ignoring her interruption. "Or—no he's from the future, but he knows her from the future, because like, she keeps living. That's so confusing."

"Steve."

He sighed, taking off his sunglasses and dropping them in his lap. "Look, I'm just not ready, okay? I know she was drunk, and she might not have meant it, but maybe she did. Excuse me for wanting to put off that confrontation."

"Did you at least call with an excuse?"

Again, Steve gave no reply, save for sinking down a few inches in his seat. Christine groaned and pressed her face into her hands.

"God, Steve—"

"What, so now it's my fault?!"

"Kinda!"

"Fine!" he shouted back at her. "Well, you know what? Screw you, too!"

Christine huffed, raking her hands back through her hair. She focused on the sound of Billy Joel whistling through the speakers, trying to rein herself back in. She knew today was going to be tough, but she hadn't counted on the drama starting so early. Eventually, she sighed and leaned back in her seat.

"You have every right to be mad at Nancy, but part of the reason you're mad is because of poor communication."

"Uh, nope," he scoffed, "I think she was communicating just fine."

"She was harsh, and angry, and it came completely out of left field. It was a shitty thing to do. My point is, you being shitty back isn't gonna solve anything. You need to talk to her."

Steve hummed noncommittally, but didn't argue.

They spent the last few minutes of the drive in uncomfortable silence. The music, which had started off so strong, wasn't helping matters. They got about halfway through a slow love song when Steve tried to flip the tape. When the other side also turned out to be a slow love song, he ejected it entirely and put on Queen again. Christine managed to keep her petty snickering to herself, but she had to hide her smirk in her hand as she gazed out the window.

By the time Steve had pulled into his usual parking spot, it seemed he was ready to admit defeat.

"Sorry," he grumbled, toying with the arms of his sunglasses.

"Hey, don't apologize to me," said Christine. "Call Nancy. If you use the payphone, she might have time to make it before first period."

He sagged even further in his seat. "Can't you call her?"

"You're joking, right?" She glared at him. "I'm not getting in the middle of this. Deal with your own shit, Steve."

"Chris—"

"Don't worry about driving me home," Christine scoffed. "Take care of Nancy and I'll ride with Dustin."

She didn't stick around to listen to his response, just grabbed her backpack, slammed the door to his precious BMW, and marched into the building. The day was not off to a good start.

It wasn't long before the guilt started to set in. She should have called Nancy herself. What if Steve chickened out again and just avoided the situation? Christine didn't want to insert herself into the middle of their drama, but…hadn't she already done that by inviting Steve over? She'd been so caught up in comforting him, she hadn't given Nancy a second thought. A good friend would have called Nancy first thing in the morning, if only to see how she was feeling after regurgitating all that punch.

What was the damn point? Everything felt like a losing battle these days.

Christine trudged through her English classroom to a desk at the very back, sullenly plopping down in her seat. As she unpacked her books, a muffled voice greeted her from the next row over.

"Abandon hope, all ye who enter here."

Christine smirked at the girl, who was sitting slumped over with her face pressed into her binder. "Robin, if you have hope to abandon, you're doing better than most of us."

The girl snorted into her loose-leaf paper but did not lift her head.

Robin Buckley was one of the few girls at Hawkins High who still rode her bike to school. That alone wasn't enough to make them friends, exactly, but there was a familiarity that came with parking next to the same handlebars every day. Then, late last November, Robin had started working at The Hawk. They didn't have a lot of shifts together—Robin mainly worked weeknights, while Christine worked weekends—but it was enough to break the ice. They'd had a few fun shifts debating music and movies behind the concessions counter…until Robin left the projector unattended one day and melted their only copy of Sixteen Candles. She'd been fired on the spot, but privately, Christine thought it was the best thing that had happened in months. Sixteen Candles was garbage, and she had a long list of reasons why.

"How was your Halloween?" she asked Robin as she opened her books.

The other girl dragged herself up from the desktop to flop back in her seat. "Deplorably average. Band party, listening to Milton drunk-cry about Wendy, playing third wheel to Kate and her boyfriend. You?"

"Reluctantly eventful. Tina's rager, listening to Tommy H's grating voice, playing third wheel to Nancy and Steve."

Robin took this opportunity to fake hurl into her binder and Christine cracked a smile. Robin vehemently opposed everything about the social hierarchy of Hawkins High School. She wasn't necessarily rude about it, but she never sugar-coated her opinions of Christine's other friends. It made things awkward sometimes, but at least she had someone to complain to when she was pissed.

"Yeah, it was a train wreck," Christine said dryly, replaying the night in her head. "Actually, I guess I ended up as a fourth wheel."

"Wait, seriously?" Robin frowned at her, looking alarmed. "You and Byers?"

"God, no." She shook her head vehemently. "I mean—yeah, it was Jonathan but—he was just another third wheel. We were just both third wheels…differently. Apart."

"Oh…so the three of them are a Fisher-Price tricycle, and you're the spare wheel bungee-corded to the back."

"…Uh…I guess…"

Robin nodded sagely, fiddling with one of her several necklaces. "The riveting whirlwind of teenage romance. The only thing that passes as entertainment in a town this boring."

Christine chuckled, but quickly ducked her head. Hawkins had been anything but boring in the last year. Then again, if half the stories she'd heard about Robin were true, her sophomore year had been just as exciting. Christine might've been to a different dimension, but Robin had totaled four cars breaking into the spring prom. She might've been more intimidating than the Demogorgon.

Thankfully, English passed without too much excitement. Mrs. Appecella lulled them all into drowsiness with a discussion of legal proceedings in the 1930s South, which of course, led into an exercise where they had to draw a map of Atticus's court case. By the time the bell rang, Christine was positively sleepwalking. She drifted to her locker in a distracted haze…but she was in for a rude awakening.

"There you are!"

Christine snapped out of her trance. Nancy was waiting for her at her locker, looking much more awake than the night before…and much angrier.

"What is going on?" she demanded. "Steve never came to pick me up. My mom had to drive me to school, and I was late for first period."

"Did he call you?" Christine asked at once. "I told him to call you."

"Well yeah, but not until homeroom started! He gave my mom some bullshit excuse about food poisoning and…wait a second." Nancy glowered as her brain caught up with her. "Did you know he wasn't picking me up?"

"No. No, I didn't know we weren't picking you up until we didn't pick you up."

"We?"

"Wait, okay, I—"

Christine sighed and squeezed her eyes shut, trying to get her thoughts in order. This wasn't the way she'd envisioned the conversation going. She knew she should have called Nancy herself. All the same, she didn't appreciate being stuck with the emotional labor of explaining Steve's neurosis.

"Look," she began, "I promise I was going to tell you all of this, just in a different order. I…I let Steve crash at my place last night, because he was really torn up about your fight and I didn't think he should be alone. We just watched a movie and talked for a while; I promise. Then this morning, he offered to drive me to school, and I thought it was just because he didn't want to be alone with you—you know, like he wanted a buffer—but then when he drove past your house, I started yelling at him and—"

"Wait, wait, hold on." Nancy was shaking her head, eyes narrowed. "What fight?"

Christine stopped to blink at her. This was a plot twist she hadn't seen coming.

"What do you mean 'what fight?' Do…do you seriously not remember what happened at the party?"

"I mean…I remember a little." Nancy voice was defensive at first. She frowned, rubbing her head as if it might help the memories fall into place. "Steve took me outside to get some air. We came back and found you in the kitchen. Then you went to get some air and…I spilled punch on myself, Steve flipped, and you guys cleaned me up in the bathroom."

Christine's heart sank further in her chest. They'd both made some poor decisions when it came to alcohol, but this was taking things to a whole new level. She'd wanted to take Nancy's mind off the stress of living in Hawkins, not get her blackout drunk.

The dread must have been apparent on her face, because Nancy's frown deepened.

"Why? What did we fight about?"

"You—well, I don't know anything for sure. I wasn't there, and Steve didn't want to talk about it. Like, really didn't want to talk about it. I got bits and pieces from him later, but—"

"Christine."

She winced. Just once she wished that Nancy would let her off the hook; but she supposed it was better to hear it from her than a heartbroken Steve. She looked up and down the hallway before lowering her voice.

"Apparently," she said, choosing her words carefully, "you told him that…your relationship was a lie, he was full of shit, and that…you don't really love him. I—I don't know for sure if Jonathan's name came up, but…it seems pretty likely…"

It was painful to watch the confusion drain from Nancy's face, leaving nothing but cold horror in its place; well, almost nothing. Christine could have spotted the guilt in her eyes from a mile away. It was the first thing Nancy hid, squeezing her eyes shut and pressing her head back into the lockers.

"Damnit."

"You were drunk," Christine defended at once. "You were mad at him for trying to control you, and so you said it to hurt him and get him off your back. That's all."

"Yeah, except it's not all," Nancy groaned. "We both know that, and now…I guess he does, too."

"That's not true. Cut yourself some slack, okay? Just because you're conflicted about Jonathan doesn't mean you don't love Steve."

Nancy didn't respond, just sagged further against the wall. Christine hesitated before she continued; she didn't want to dump too much on Nancy at once, but she didn't want to drag it out either.

"Speaking of…there's something else you should know."

"God, there's more?" Nancy choked out.

"I know, but…Steve wasn't the one who helped me clean you up. That was Jonathan."

"What? Why was Jonathan there?"

The bell saved Christine from having to answer, which was lucky, because she wasn't sure she had the energy or the patience.

She cursed, fumbling with her locker to get her remaining books. Nancy jumped to attention, but she only made it two steps down the hallway before she came pacing back, distraught.

"God, Chrissy, what am I doing? What am I even supposed to say to him?"

"I don't know," Christine answered honestly. "I guess…it depends what you want."

Nancy didn't respond to that either, but Christine hadn't expected her to. It was a heavy question, one she'd been helping Nancy work through for months. If she hadn't decided after all that time, Christine doubted the answer would come to her in the middle of history class.

She closed her locker and grabbed Nancy by the shoulders, giving her the most bracing look she could muster.

"Hey, I'm not trying to push you into anything, but…try to talk to him soon, okay? Even if it's just to tell him that you need time. He's spiraling and…I don't think putting it off will make it any easier."

"I know. Yeah, I…I know."

She nodded feebly, and Christine pressed a quick kiss to her forehead. Then, reluctantly, she scurried off to class.

Now that the sun was up, it was harder to be bitter about Nancy's situation. Christine might have been jealous of the attention that Nancy received, but she certainly didn't envy her predicament. Last year had left Christine heartbroken, traumatized, battered, and bruised. She still had nightmares about the Upside Down. She still jumped at the sound of static and felt her heart beat harder when the lights went out. She didn't need a complicated love life to top it off.

But last year had also taught Christine that her friends were some of the most important things in her life. If that meant standing by Nancy as she navigated her way out of a love triangle, then Christine was going to do everything in her power to help.

Her first task was to talk to Steve again. Christine had never been blackout drunk before, but it seemed like an important factor. Nancy hadn't just been drunk when she fought with Steve; she'd been beyond drunk, which also meant that she'd been beyond logic. It didn't change what she'd said, but hopefully Steve would cut her a little slack once he realized how far her worries had pushed her.

Unfortunately, when Christine sped into the library for study hall, she couldn't find Steve anywhere. He wasn't at their usual table, or hiding in the stacks, or crying in one of the private study rooms. Christine assumed her usual seat and waited, hoping that he might just be running late, but her hopes weren't high. By halfway through the period, it seemed safe to assume he wasn't coming. Either he'd skipped school to avoid Nancy, or he was skipping study hall to avoid Christine; there was no way to tell.

Without much of a choice, she shifted to task number two: talk to Jonathan. This wasn't a step that Christine was particularly excited about, but she figured it was the right thing to do. It wasn't a secret that Jonathan liked Nancy, and it seemed like it was becoming less of a secret that Nancy liked him. After everything that had happened last night, Christine felt like she should at least try to warn him that Nancy wouldn't remember any of it. She might not like Jonathan most days, but she wasn't going to stand by and watch him get hurt.

The problem was that Christine had study hall with Steve at the same time Jonathan had English with Nancy. If he'd tried to talk to her about anything she'd said, it might already be too late. Still, the thought urged Christine to walk faster as she made her way to History.

She made sure to get there early but didn't go inside. She didn't want to draw attention to herself by sitting down, waiting for Jonathan to get to his desk, then getting up and walking across the room to talk to him. No, she would just stand by the door and catch him on his way in. Her classmates sent her weird looks as they brushed past her, but Christine was too busy scanning the hallway for Jonathan's mousy brown hair. In fact, she was so busy that she almost didn't hear the bell ring.

Christine frowned at the empty hall, then back inside the classroom. His usual desk sat by the window, conspicuously empty. Jonathan wasn't a nerd, but it wasn't like him to skip class. It wasn't like him at all.

She didn't hear a word of Mr. Edward's lecture; she was too worried to think about the Constitution. Her eyes stayed fixed on the clock, watching the minutes crawl by in agony. Her books were in her arms before the bell rang, and she was out the door before the echo faded away. She knew that sprinting through the hallways wouldn't change what was waiting for her in Math class, but she held on to her slim hope. She would get to Math, find Nancy, and realize that everything was fine.

She did get to her classroom in record time. Yet even as her classmates filed in, giggling and gossiping and amazingly still hungover halfway through the day, Christine felt a heavy weight in her gut. She wasn't surprised to find Nancy's desk empty. Nancy wasn't coming. And Christine realized that everything must not be fine.

The familiar anxiety flooded into her brain, filling her ears with static. She clenched her eyes shut and dug her nails into the heels of her hands in a desperate attempt to ground herself. She needed to focus. She needed to breathe, but it was hard when it felt like her throat was swelling shut in panic. It was almost like an allergic reaction, a defense against the worst memories from last year.

It wasn't the first time this had happened. It had started right as things were settling down, near the end of November. Christine would sit in bed with her walkie talkie, trying to remember the last time she'd heard each boy's voice. She'd listen to a channel's static until the sound was embedded in her ears, and then stare at the ceiling until she managed to fall asleep—if she managed to fall asleep. It had been annoying, but she told herself that she was still getting over the whole ordeal. It would go away eventually.

Only, it hadn't gone away. In December, her father had blown a fuse putting up the Christmas lights, and Christine had screamed loud enough to be heard down the block. In January, she'd brought home her first failed test. She'd been halfway through an English exam when her heart started beating so hard, she genuinely thought she was about to kick the bucket. She'd white-knuckled her desk, trying to focus on her breathing and then, in a blink, the period was over. In June, Steve had invited them all to a pool party. The moment Christine stepped into the driveway, she was overcome with nausea, and had to sit on the curb for twenty minutes before she felt strong enough to stand.

At that point, it had become impossible to ignore. Christine did everything she could to put off her panic attacks, but it wasn't something she could predict. That was kind of the problem.

She couldn't have known that all of her friends would disappear in the middle of the day. She had no idea if they were fist-fighting in the parking lot over who got to date Nancy, handcuffed to tables underneath Hawkins Lab, or lying dead in a second dimension. The only thing she could do was coach her body through breathing again. She needed enough oxygen in her brain so she could think clearly and figure out the next steps.

Steps. The first step. One at a time. Okay.

The first thing she needed to do was check on the boys. If the government was abducting people, then they would be high on the list. If it was another Demogorgon, another portal, then she needed to make sure they were safe…and she would need their help. Young and annoying as they all were, they'd made it through last year as a team. The party needed to stick together.

The first problem was that Christine didn't have her bike. She could try and walk to the middle school, but by the time she made it, it could be too late. She'd be stranded and exhausted, which was the last thing she needed if something was hunting them.

So, new first thing: find a ride. She would go to the parking lot, look for familiar cars, and…and what? She couldn't drive without car keys. And what would searching the parking lot do? If she couldn't find Steve or Jonathan's cars, it was confirmation that they'd left in a hurry, which was bad news. If she did find their cars, it might mean they hadn't left of their own volition, which was also bad news. She couldn't risk calling Nancy's house, and she refused to call Hopper at the station—

Joyce. She would call Joyce. If something was going on, Joyce Byers would know. If it turned out to be nothing, at least she'd understand why Christine had been worried. Jonathan might get in trouble for skipping, but Christine could live with that. It was Jonathan.

It took her the rest of class to get her breathing under control, but by the time the lunch bell rang, she was determined and on her feet. She joined the stream of people headed for the front doors, those who loitered outside or left campus for lunch. Once she hit the sidewalk, she made a beeline for the payphones. She was just lucky that she had some quarters left over from the arcade.

Christine's hands shook as she fed the coins into the machine. She'd memorized the Byers' number in case of emergencies, and while she hadn't actually called all that frequently, her fingers moved swiftly across the numbers. Then they moved swiftly to fidgeting, twisting around the phone cord and playing with the ends of her hair. Her curls had disappeared over the course of the day; now she only had lifeless, lank waves hanging around her shoulders. It made her feel more ridiculous, somehow, with her makeup and her denim skirt. Who was she trying to fool?

"Hey, you've reached the Byers. We're sorry we can't come to the phone—"

"Come on," Christine groaned. "Come on, Joyce, please…"

She fed in a few more coins and dialed again. The phone rang and rang, and rang a few more times before another thought occurred to her: it was a weekday. It was Thursday afternoon, which meant that Joyce was probably at work. Christine had done her due diligence by memorizing the Byers' home number, but she didn't know the number for Melvald's General Store.

"Damnit!" She slammed the phone back onto the hook, wincing at the loud clatter of change. "Okay. Okay, what now? Damnit. Damnit, damnit—"

"Chrissy?"

She whirled around in surprise. Steve was standing at the curb, a brown paper bag in his hands. He pushed his sunglasses on top of his head and looked at her in concern.

"What's wrong? Did something—"

"Where the hell have you been?"

"Uh…class?"

"No, I—you weren't in study hall."

"Yeah, well, that I skipped. After…I needed to…I figured you wouldn't care anyway."

"Are you kidding me?" Christine demanded. She glanced up and down the sidewalk as she stormed over to him. "When I couldn't find any of you, I freaked out! Anything could have happened! I thought that…"

The rest of the sentence escaped her. Now that Steve was in front of her, some of the adrenaline was leaving her system. It didn't mean that Nancy and Jonathan weren't in trouble, but it certainly changed things. If Nancy and Jonathan had skipped together, after last night…

"Sorry," Christine sighed, pressing a hand to her head. "I didn't mean—Nancy's just—"

"Gone." Steve nodded and offered her a bitter smile. "It's fine. I know they both skipped."

"Did they?" she asked. "I mean, is everything okay?"

"Yeah. Well, no. That's fine—as far as I know, anyway. Not that anyone tells me shit. If Nancy skipped out, it's probably my fault."

"Why?"

Steve sighed and, much like Christine had, pressed the heel of his hand to his head. He pursed his lips, shook his head, and huffed in finality. "You want half a bagel?"

"…what?"

"A bagel," he repeated. "For lunch. Come on, I'm starving."

He didn't offer her any more of an explanation before walking away. There wasn't much she could do but trail after him.

They walked around the school building and back to the football field. Steve took the bleacher stairs two a time to get to the top row, then plopped down with his back to the chain-link fence. Christine took a seat on the bench below him, one leg tucked beneath her and looked around curiously. It wasn't as if students weren't allowed, but Christine had never been out here without a crowd of people. A gaggle of band kids sat at the opposite end of the bleachers, their voices loud enough to carry the length of the field. Down on the grass, a few metalheads were sat in a circle, passing around a joint or else sprawled out on their backs and wildly playing air guitar. When there wasn't a game, the field belonged to the burnouts, apparently.

Steve rustled through a brown paper bag, unearthing his usual breakfast sandwich. He offered half to Christine, who accepted it hesitantly. She might have asked if he was sure if he hadn't immediately begun devouring his half. Stray sesame seeds clattered against the metal bench as he tore through his bacon and eggs. Christine tucked into hers a little more timidly; questions could wait until they'd eaten.

But even after she'd finished, Christine didn't say anything. She closed her eyes and leaned back on the bleachers, letting her head fall back onto the last bench. It felt nice to be outside after such a stressful morning. The sun was weak, and it was still freezing cold, but it was easier to breathe than it had been inside. She focused on the feeling of the winter air in her lungs, the cold metal against her legs. It'd been stupid to wear a skirt. Tomorrow she'd go back to jeans.

"I talked to Nancy."

Christine lifted her head to look at Steve. He was avoiding her eyes, picking at a bag of chips. Despite his claim of being starved, he didn't look particularly interested in them.

"I tried to talk to her, anyway," he continued. "I tracked her down before third period and said we needed to talk. Only she didn't want to talk, which pissed me off because—obviously I needed to talk. I'm glad she was fine with walking around all day like nothing happened, but I wasn't—"

"Steve, that's not—"

"So I put my foot down and I told her that we had to talk about last night, and she told me that she couldn't remember, and—well, I stopped to ask if she was alright, because blacking out is no joke. And she said that she was fine, and that she'd talked to you, which—again, like—okay, so she can talk to you about it, but not me. And she said she was sorry and then…then she said she needed time to think…"

He stared down at the bag in his hands. His jaw was tight, his eyes dark, neither was which was a good sign. But Christine asked anyway.

"And…?"

"And I…ha, I flipped. Because if she knew what she said, then what was there to think about, right? So I asked if she blamed me for Barb and she said no, and I asked if she thought I was full of shit and she said no, and I asked if she loved me and…she…she didn't say anything…she just stood there and looked at me with these big, sad eyes and…I knew. I knew what the answer was, so…I told her I thought she was bullshit and I skipped. And I got this stupid bagel. And I came back to school so I could pretend everything was fine, but Nancy's gone, and Jonathan's gone, which—ha, that's great, and now I'm eating these stupid chips which kinda suck so—"

He crushed the remainder into a ball with a satisfying crunch, then hurled it toward the garbage can at the bottom of the stairs. It fell short and clattered through the bleachers to the ground. Steve groaned, slamming his back into the fence again.

"Story of my life…"

Christine watched him forlornly. She had no idea what to say. She'd known that Nancy was conflicted about their relationship, that she felt guilty for liking Jonathan. She'd known that Nancy sometimes fought with Steve, that she was scared the future was coming too fast. But not once had Nancy ever mentioned doubting her feelings for Steve. Then again…had Christine ever asked? Had Nancy asked herself? Had she even known before Steve dropped the question in the open?

"I'm sorry," said Christine.

Steve nodded. "Thanks."

It was a lame offering and a lame response. But what was there to say?

They didn't talk much for the rest of the period. Christine tried in vain to review her notes on gravitational pressure. Steve pretended to be working on his history paper without making much progress. When the warning bell rang, they collected their things and trudged back toward the school.

Christine glanced at Steve out of the corner of her eye, then cleared her throat.

"Hey, can I drop some of my stuff in your car?"

"What?" He faltered in his step, frowning at her. "Why?"

"So I don't have to go back for it later. Duh."

"You said you were riding with your neighbor."

"You're joking, right?" Christine raised an eyebrow at him. "You think I want to ride home on a thirteen-year-old's bike pegs? Dustin's still being weird, and he doesn't want anything to do with me. Anyway, I need you to drive me to the grocery store."

"The grocery—excuse me? H-hey!" He spluttered as she marched past him, overtaking him on her way to the parking lot. "Who says I'm taking you anywhere? Any why do you have to go to the grocery store?"

"For food," she answered, ignoring his first question. "Dad's leaving for his business trip tomorrow, and we always cook the night before he leaves."

"Right. I forget you guys actually like each other. Wild."

She stuck her tongue out at him and grinned. "Alright, I know it's out of the way, but can you please drive me? I'll get you another bag of chips. Ones that don't suck."

"God, fine. Whatever. But if you're late, I'm leaving you. I've got a life, you know."

He scoffed in annoyance, but didn't bother to hide his smile. It was a welcome sight after their dismal lunch—like the winter air after being unable to breathe. Christine would do what she could to keep it there, whatever it took.

In the meantime, she needed to figure out what was going on with Nancy.

A/N: Hello all! Sorry this is a little bit later in the day. I went to the mall and bought an egregious amount of Stranger Things merch to cope with my Season 4 Volume 2 nerves. Godspeed to everyone on Friday. Pray for your faves, pray for me, and know that whatever happens, we'll have fanfiction to fix it!

-Brittney