10. Rumours

"Are you sure you've got everything?"

"I am sure this time."

"Dad, are you sure you're sure?"

"Yes, Christine. I am sure. Don't patronize me."

Christine raised her hands in surrender, rolling her eyes at her cereal. "Okay! But if you forget your wallet again, I'm keeping it."

"…Alright, that's fair."

Her father patted his pants pockets and, a moment later, jogged down the hall to his bedroom. Predictable.

The first Friday in November meant Pete Walcott had a plane to catch. Normally, he took an evening flight, but this year he'd been forced to leave in the afternoon. He didn't seem all that bothered, but Christine was exceedingly nervous. Afternoons meant she would be at school, and if her dad forgot something, there would be no one to chase him to the airport.

"Did you talk to Claudia?" she called from the dining room. "At least so she knows to be on standby if you—"

"No, no one needs to be on standby because I'm not forgetting anything," he huffed as he marched back into the room. He held up his wallet in victory. "See? I've got it."

"Tickets?"

"Yes."

"Suit?"

"Yes."

"Toothbrush?"

"Don't you have to go to school or something?"

She glanced at the clock and grinned. "Not yet. For once, we're both on time."

"Watch it," her father warned. "You'll jinx us."

Christine hurried to finish her breakfast so she could help her dad load the car. It really did seem like he had everything this time. Still, that didn't ease the anxious knot she got in her stomach when he had to go away. She always worried about him when he left, but lately, she worried a lot more. She knew she was being paranoid, but she was hyperaware of the fact that every time she walked out the door, it might be the last time she saw him.

Once everything was squared away, her father pulled her into a hug. Christine squeezed him tight and pressed her face into his chest, praying that he'd make it back safe. He pressed a kiss to her blonde hair before tousling it.

"Alright, house rules," he said, clapping his hands together. "Hotel number is on the fridge, Claudia is next door if you need anything—"

"Emergency funds in the bread box, key to the liquor cabinet in your mug. I got it, Dad. I promise."

"Don't interrupt me. Now, where was I, uh…Claudia next door, money, alcohol, fridge is stocked, and…I asked Hopper to check in on you every now and then—"

"Dad!"

"I know, I know. I'm awful, you hate him, he sucks. You don't need to report to him or anything, but last year I came home and you'd been hospitalized, okay? I worry about you. I just let him know I was gonna be out of town, in case you need anything. He can keep an eye on you."

"Yeah," Christine grumbled. "That's for damn sure."

Her father sighed wearily. It would have been a great opportunity for a lecture, some grand speech wherein he reminded her that Hopper was the Chief of Police, that she should respect her elders, that he was a stand-up guy. Instead, her dad screwed up his face in a grimace and braced himself like she might hit him.

"Was that the final straw? You gonna disown me? Tell me to fly to New Orleans and not come back?"

Christine cracked a smile. "You leave me here alone with Hopper forever and I will disown you."

"I hate to burst your bubble, but I'm pretty sure it's redundant at that point, bumblebee." She shoved him and, laughing, he pulled her into another hug. "Try to stay out of trouble, alright? I love you."

"I love you, too. Be safe."

Christine hugged her father extra tight and gave him an extra kiss. She watched as he walked to the car and waved as he pulled out into the street. Even then she stood in the doorway, arms wrapped around her waist. She hadn't been able to promise that she'd stay out of trouble. Frankly, she wasn't sure that was possible in Hawkins.

After securing the front door, she walked straight to the stereo and slipped in her favorite Fleetwood Mac tape. As long as she had the house to herself, she was taking full advantage of the volume control.

She sang along to Rumours as she got ready for school. It was sunnier today than it had been yesterday, but she stuck to her guns and pulled on a pair of jeans, braided her hair, and snuggled into one of her chunky sweaters, the hem tucked into her pants. She even lingered in the bathroom to try her makeup again. Unfortunately, it was more time-consuming than she was prepared for, largely because she kept starting over because she felt like a damn clown. By the time she'd finally settled on something in the realm of "good enough," she was running behind schedule.

Her dad was right; she'd jinxed them.

Christine snatched her backpack and ran out of the house, staying only long enough to double check that the door was locked.

"FINALLY! Are you kidding me? If you took any longer, I was gonna break in!"

The loud voice made her jump. Dustin was perched on his bike, waiting at the end of her driveway. He looked unbelievably annoyed, but the sight of him still made her grin.

"Did you actually wait for me?"

"Obviously," he snapped. "Otherwise I wouldn't be standing here, huh?"

"Okay, I—sorry. You could have knocked, you know."

"I did knock. Several times, actually. I think you were too busy performing into your hairbrush."

"Shut it, ankle biter."

Dustin took off ahead of her, letting out a few loud whoops as he stood tall on his bike. Christine gave him a bemused smile as he circled back to her side.

"You're certainly in a good mood."

"Just really awake," he said with a shrug. "Sorry that I didn't ride with you yesterday."

"It's fine. You were on a mission. How was trick-or-treating with your new friends?"

"What? My—oh. Yeah, it was fun. Great. Tubular, even."

Christine raised her eyebrows. "Tubular…?"

"Yeah, it means cool, or awesome. At least, most of the night was awesome…"

The smile dropped off his face, and Christine promptly forgot about her confusion.

"Did something happen?"

Dustin glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, then looked back at the ground. It took everything in her not to start hounding him, even though she knew it wouldn't to work. She was supposed to give him his space; apparently, everyone needed space.

"Sorry," she said, defeated. "You don't have to tell me. I'm not trying to interrogate you or anything—"

"No, it's not that."

Dustin hesitated, his legs swinging back and forth as he coasted for a few yards. Finally, he moved his feet back to the pedals to brace himself.

"Will had another episode. We were out trick-or-treating, we turned around, and he was just gone. He was hiding in this little alley, curled up into a ball, and he—he was like really scared. And then yesterday he had another episode, but it was even worse. He was just standing there on the field with his eyes closed, shaking and—he couldn't even hear us. And when he woke up he just…didn't remember anything. He didn't know why he was out there, and that…that kinda scares me…"

Christine's heart sank. These were the worst problems Dustin could bring to her: the ones she couldn't do anything about.

"I would've been scared too," she offered gently. "Will's been through a lot. This time of year is probably always gonna be hard on him. He's stuck thinking about everything that happened, reliving all of it in his head."

"Yeah, but what if he's not? What if he's seeing something real?"

"Seeing? What is he seeing?"

"I don't know. He doesn't always remember, and he doesn't like talking about it. I just…what if things get bad again?"

"Well…then you grab the super comms, I'll grab my dad's shotgun, and we stick together. Like last time."

He turned to look at her, eyes full of doubt. Christine gave him an encouraging smile and, after a few seconds, he was able to muster one back. He nodded, pedaling a little harder.

"Anyway," he said, more confidently. "How was your Halloween?"

"Eh, it was fine," she lied. "Got dragged to a party. Probably would have had more fun if I'd gone with you."

"Well, duh," Dustin said with a grin. "I'm awesome. Still—seems like you had an eventful night."

Christine frowned at him. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means I know you had a sleepover with Steve."

The insufferably smug look on his face was enough to make her blush.

"I did not have—"

"Ah! I checked out the window when I got up to go to the bathroom. His car was still there at like four in the morning."

It was hard to avoid his probing stare. Dustin was far too nosy for his own good. It had already gotten him in plenty of trouble, but one of these days, it was gonna be trouble he couldn't talk his way out of. She didn't trust him with the truth—the last thing they needed was the party gossiping about Nancy when she was already so upset—so she gave him half of the truth.

"Fine. Yes, he crashed at my place, but just because I didn't want him to drink and drive. He came over to watch Halloween and we snuck a few beers from the fridge."

Dustin tutted loudly and shook his head. "Degenerate."

"Baby."

He aimed a kick at her front wheel, which she had to swerve to dodge. It led to several blocks of bike tag, each of them trying to smack the other without being unseated or hit by a passing vehicle. Dustin was winning for once, but a few blocks before the main road, he abruptly stopped his attacks.

"Hey, can I ask you something?"

"Sure," she said with a shrug. "What's up?"

"Do you still like Steve? Even though he's with Nancy?"

Christine's heart skipped a beat. She floundered for a few seconds, then sighed. On top of being nosy, Dustin was also annoyingly perceptive; she hated it.

"I'm not gonna say anything," he assured her when he caught her expression. "I just don't get why you like him so much."

"Because he's a good guy," Christine said defensively. "He stayed and helped us fight the Demogorgon, even when he had no idea what was going on. He's working really hard on getting better at school and being nicer to people. He really wants to be a better person and make up for all the things he did."

"Yeah, but you liked him when he was still doing bad things too. He treated you like shit."

"Dustin—"

"I mean, what's so great about him? Why'd you ever like him in the first place?"

Christine huffed and glowered at the horizon. She didn't need this. She didn't need to sit here and defend herself to a thirteen-year-old boy. What room did Dustin have to judge her? Fine, he sometimes impressed her with his emotional intelligence. He was smart and surprisingly mature for his age, when he wasn't making fart jokes and arguing about comic books. And of course, Christine knew his heart was in the right place; it always was. He cared about her, didn't like seeing her get hurt. How could she be upset with him for that?

"I don't know," she admitted tentatively. "I guess at first it was because he was cute. He's always been cute."

"You mean his hair."

"No. Well—yeah—but that's just part of it. Obviously, he's hot, but he was also…confident."

"Yeah," Dustin said, as if this were obvious, "because he's hot."

"Fine! It's partially because he's hot, but it was also because he always knew what to say. He's good at talking to people, making you feel special."

"Okay, but he was making you feel special so he could get shit from you."

"I know. It still made me feel special, though, because…it meant he noticed me, when not a lot of people did. And it wasn't just me. I mean, he was popular because he could make anyone feel special. Everyone wanted him to notice them. He was funny, he was charming, and…I don't know. Suave."

"Suave." Dustin repeated the word experimentally, staring into the distance. "I could be suave."

Christine did a double take. "Excuse me?"

"So that's what girls like?" he asked, ignoring her interruption. "Suave?"

"Um…I guess. Some of them do, yeah…"

"Cool. Suave. I can do that." He nodded to himself as they approached the main road. "Thanks, Chrissy. I'll see you later."

He winked, purred, and took off toward the middle school without another word, leaving Christine standing at the intersection, completely dumbfounded and more than a little amused. When she finally collected herself, she snorted, shaking her head as she turned the opposite direction. He was certainly growing up fast.

Perplexing as her conversation with Dustin had been, it had given her a bit of clarity—not about Steve, but Jonathan. If Will had had two episodes in two days, it was no wonder his brother hadn't come back to school. Most likely, he was either sitting at home hovering outside Will's bedroom or sitting in an uncomfortable waiting room at Hawkins Laboratory. She didn't envy him that.

As for Nancy, that mystery had been solved last night.

Christine had shown an incredible amount of restraint by not storming the Wheeler house the moment school was out. Instead, she had let Steve take her to the grocery store. After he dropped her off back home, she'd dropped the food and marched into her bedroom, grabbing her walkie talkie so she could to call the boys. No one had answered her. That wasn't a surprise, seeing as they'd quarantined her to her own channel and forbidden her to change it. On the other hand, ensuring that Nancy hadn't been eaten or kidnapped qualified as an urgent matter, so she hadn't feel too bad about bending the rules.

"Hello, this is Christine. Does anyone copy? Over. This is Christine, does anyone copy?"

This time, the response was much faster.

"CODE PINK! WE HAVE A CODE PINK!"

"Chrissy?! What are you doing on—"

"We told you not to use this channel! This is a complete breach of party rules!"

"How—how long have you been listening to—"

"CODE PINK! P-I-N-K—"

"Oh my God, would all of you relax? No one was answering me on the other channel!"

"Yeah, that's because we were in the middle of a serious party discussion!" Mike's voice shouted. "You can't just barge in to eavesdrop on us!"

"I wasn't eavesdropping. I just need to talk to you, Mike."

"Fine! Then go back to your channel and wait! Over!"

Christine rolled her eyes, but complied. Boys could be so pushy sometimes.

It wasn't long before Mike joined her on the preset channel, petulant and annoyed as ever.

"What do you want, Christine?"

"Is Nancy home?"

There was a long beat; then Mike was shouting again.

"Are you serious?! That's what you needed to talk about?! I thought it was something important! I thought this was about El, or the lab, or—"

"Mike, is she home or not?"

"I don't know! Just call the house like a normal person!"

"I know, but—look, I—she disappeared in the middle of the school day, and I panicked, okay? I don't know where she is and I don't know if she's in trouble, and if she's not, I don't want to get her in trouble, so will you please just check if she's home?"

"…Fine. Hang on."

Christine closed her eyes and pressed the radio against her forehead. It was easier to pretend that everything was normal while she was in public; when she was alone with her thoughts, it got harder to breathe. She counted the seconds until the radio crackled to life again.

"You can relax. She's in her room. The door's locked, but she yelled at me to go away, so she's in there."

Christine relaxed, slumping over onto the bed in relief and pressing her face into the blankets.

"Thanks, Mike. Seriously."

"Are you okay?" Mike sounded more doubtful than concerned, like he was wrinkling his nose at her. "Did something happen?"

"No. No, nothing happened. Just me being paranoid, as usual. Sorry for interrupting."

"Okay. We'll talk to you later. Just stay on your channel. I'm serious this time."

"Sure…but did you have to call it Code Pink just cause I'm a girl?"

"Over and out, Christine!"

It wasn't a full explanation, but it had been enough to reassure Christine for a few hours: Nancy was alive and, for the moment, safe at home. It looked like she really had skipped class to avoid Steve. If she felt like she needed space, Christine would give it to her…grudgingly.

Still, she'd called Nancy before she went to bed—partially to check up on her, partially to berate her for disappearing without warning in a place as screwed up as Hawkins. At least, she'd intended to, but Nancy had sounded so desperately despondent that Christine didn't have the heart to be mad. She'd listened as Nancy rehashed her argument with Steve at school, the fuzzy memories that were coming back to her from last night, and the guilt that had resurfaced about the Hollands.

In less than a week, it would be the anniversary of Steve's ill-fated house party. A year since Christine and Nancy had been at each other's throats fighting over Steve. A year since Jonathan had taken his creepy pictures. A year since Barb had disappeared. The anniversary was hitting all of them hard, but it seemed like Nancy had finally reached her limit. She couldn't come to school and pretend that everything was alright. Christine had offered up her house as a hiding place, but even that was too much for Nancy. She'd just tell her mom that she wasn't feeling well and…well, that was the truth.

Honestly, Christine had considered skipping school too. It was just one day, and what teacher actually expected them to be productive on a Friday? In the end, she'd decided to go to school anyway. She could survive one day without Nancy.

She was already starting to regret her decision.

It started innocently enough. She was minding her own business, waiting for English to start, when Robin caught her attention.

"Hey, you said Harrington's still dating Nancy Wheeler, right?"

Christine frowned at her. "Yeah…?"

"Okay. That's what I thought."

Robin nodded, fiddling with her necklaces again as she turned toward the front of the room.

Christine watched her with narrowed eyes. Robin had never been shy about the fact that she didn't like Steve, or Nancy for that matter. Whenever the subject came up, she would roll her eyes, pretend to vomit, sometimes make the sign of the cross as if she were afraid she would be possessed. Today she hadn't even wrinkled her nose. Her casual tone made Christine more suspicious than the question itself.

When Robin didn't elaborate, Christine prompted her.

"Why do you ask?"

"Oh, nothing," Robin replied. "I mean, I heard Tammy Thompson—s-she and some of her friends were talking in the bathroom this morning. One of them said something about how they'd broke up, and I thought that was weird because you were just saying you were their third wheel, so…thought I'd ask."

She shrugged, but didn't offer any more explanation than that. Christine didn't ask. She had a feeling she wouldn't like the answer.

She was hoping that science might turn her mood around, but second period wasn't any better.

"Hey, Kate," Christine offered as she slid into her seat.

Kate Capetta was Christine's new lab partner, and the only other junior in class. Christine had a sneaking suspicion that was the exact reason they were lab partners: they were two girls banished to the proverbial kids' table.

The main difference between them was that Christine was in advanced physics because she loved science and picked it up fast. Kate was in advanced everything because she was brainy and competitive. It was certainly different from being Steve's lab partner. Last year, Christine had been pulling most of the weight, even when Steve was trying his hardest. This semester, she kept having to remind Kate that she existed so she could get a turn at the lab table.

"Morning, Chrissy!" Kate greeted brightly. "Are you feeling okay?"

For the second time that morning, Christine frowned in confusion. "Yeah…? Do I look that bad?"

"Oh gosh, no! Nothing like that." Kate laughed and waved her off. "I just know you're friends with Nancy Wheeler. She's usually in my first period class, but I guess she's out sick, so I wanted to see how you were."

"Oh. Well, thanks, but I feel fine."

"That's good!" She smiled, then leaned in conspiratorially. "I'm starting to worry that there's a bug going around or something."

"…Why?"

"Just because Nancy's not the only person out. I'm pretty sure Jonathan Byers is sick too. I just hope they're okay."

Christine clenched her jaw. So that was her angle.

"Actually, I'm pretty sure Jonathan's taking care of his brother," she informed Kate stiffly.

"Oh my God, Will?" Kate gasped. "Is he okay?"

"As far as I know. He's had some respiratory problems ever since last year—you know, when he almost died. Actually, now that you mention it, maybe there is something going around. How are you feeling?"

She shot a pointed look at Kate, who blinked in surprise.

"I'm—I'm fine. Thanks, though."

"That's good."

Christine smiled and slammed her textbook open.

In retrospect, she should have expected this. King Steve might have been a thing of the past, but it wasn't like he'd shed his appearance along with his title. Steve was still Steve, and plenty of their classmates still had crushes on him. It seemed like every girl in Hawkins had gotten a psychic memo about his fight with Nancy; there had been a disturbance in the Force, and everyone wanted to know why.

Suffice to say, Christine was anxious to get to study hall. The test she was taking the period before probably hadn't gone too well, of course. She rushed through it so she could hand it in and leave a few minutes early. Then, instead of heading to the library, she booked it to the gym so she could wait for Steve to get out of class.

Even without looking inside the gymnasium, she could tell class had already wrapped up. There was no rhythmic bouncing of basketballs or ear-splitting screeches of sneakers on the polished wood floor. Christine leaned back against the ugly tiger mural outside the double doors and rummaged in her bag, planning on listening to her Walkman while she waited. Unfortunately, she was interrupted before she could grab her headphones.

"Oh my God! Would you look at this adorable little stray?"

Christine tensed. She recognized that annoying, nasally voice, and knew that it could only mean trouble. Part of her considered running, but it was too late for that; from the sounds of it, she'd already been spotted.

Carol was prowling down the hallway, flanked by Nicole and Tina. Christine could only assume they'd skipped class for a smoke. Nicole was still subtly trying to clear her throat, Tina rearranging her hair from the wind outside. Carol had her sights set on Christine.

"Well, aren't you just the most loyal puppy dog out there?" she pouted mockingly, eyes wide with fake adoration. "Are you waiting for your owner?"

Tina gave a scandalized gasp and dissolved into giggles. "Oh my God, Carol…"

"What? Tell me she doesn't look like a shelter mutt. All stringy and sad."

"Careful, Carol," Christine said coolly. "I can always call animal control."

She raised a heavily-penciled eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

"Animal control? They're usually the ones responsible for catching a bitch off her leash, so…"

Carol pursed her lips with a glare. Nicole and Tina stayed by her side, but even they were holding back snickers. Christine was careful not to look too proud. She'd actually thought of that comeback in the shower a few weeks ago and had been waiting for an opportunity, so it was nice to see it get a response.

After a few seconds, Carol recovered. She smirked and folded her arms across her ugly striped sweater. "Ouch. And here I was thinking you'd be in a good mood."

Christine squinted at her. "Why?"

"Come on," she laughed. "King Steve and Princess Wheeler on the rocks, Psycho Bitch waiting in the wings. It might finally be your time to shine!"

"Right. Of course." Christine rolled her eyes and tried to ignore the heavy pit in her stomach. "Look, I don't know what you've heard about Steve and Nancy, but it's not true. They're not—"

"Please, you can drop the act," Tina scoffed. "They had a blowout fight in the middle of my kitchen on Halloween. They weren't exactly subtle."

"Neither were you," Nicole added, eyeing Christine closely.

This time, it was a little harder to ignore the pit in her stomach. For a fleeting moment, she was standing in Tina's kitchen again, back pressed to the counter, two blue eyes boring into her over the rim of her cup…

"What is that supposed to mean?" Christine demanded.

"Your fight with Byers," said Nicole. "Everyone saw you two shouting at each other in the yard."

"Hold on, let me get this straight," Carol sneered, holding up her fingers to tick off the facts. "You have an argument with the Pervert, the Princess has a fight with Harrington, the Princess skips school and runs off with the Pervert for two days, and now you're here to pick Steve up from class?"

All three of them giggled, and Christine stiffened.

"No, it's—that's not what happened."

"Hey, it's okay."

Christine was about to snap at Nicole, but she paused. For a gossip, her face was surprisingly earnest.

"Byers is a creep," Nicole continued, shaking her head. "I don't know what Nancy's thinking going off with him, especially after last year, but if she dumped Steve…honestly, good for you."

Christine felt her cheeks sear. "I'm not—he isn't—"

"I would be doing the same thing," Tina assured her with a smile, "especially with Steve. King or not, he's hot. And everyone knows basketball players always go for the rebound."

This time it was Carol who let out a scandalized squeal before all three of them burst into laughter. Christine floundered for a response, her face getting hotter with every second. Thankfully, the gym doors swung open, and the first group of boys poured out of the locker room, Tommy H amongst them. He pounced on Carol for a sloppy kiss and then, without another look back, the lot of them were heading down the hallway away from her.

Christine sagged back against the wall, almost winded. For some reason she felt…she wasn't sure how she felt—dirty and overexposed and relieved all at the same time. Was it wrong for her to walk Steve to class? It had been a long week, and she wanted to see him, but that was a totally normal thing to do as his friend. Just because she liked him didn't mean she couldn't be nice. She wanted to make sure people weren't hounding him the way they'd been hounding her all day, desperate for the latest gossip. She just wanted to support him. That wasn't an ulterior motive…right?

"You waiting for me?"

She jumped to attention, her head whipping up so fast it almost hurt. She relaxed when she realized that it was not, in fact, Steve. It was just Billy.

Then she tensed again. Because it was Billy.

"What? No!" Christine blurted the words so fast that they were barely intelligible. "No, I—I'm just—it's good to—sorry, uh…"

"Relax," Billy chuckled. "Blush any harder and you might pass out."

He smirked and gave her a wink. It was turning out to be his signature move.

The flirty quip snapped Christine out of it. Instead of melting into a puddle, she stood taller and raised her chin in defiance.

"Don't flatter yourself. I'm not waiting for you."

"I figured that much. Harrington, right?"

Christine expected the question to come with another playful wink, or the probing stare that everyone else had been giving her. But Billy didn't seem all that interested in her answer. He leaned on the wall next to her and tucked his thumbs through his beltloops. He flicked a piece of hair out of his face, still damp from the showers, and when he shook his head, his curls bounced along—just like Steve's did.

"Rough day for him, huh? Seems like that Wheeler chick really screwed him over."

"That's not what happened," said Christine, for what felt like the hundredth time.

"Come on," Billy scoffed. "They duke it out and she disappears with another guy for two days? You're the genius, right? You should be smart enough to put two and two together."

"Yeah, well, I guess I'm not," she snapped. "I get that you're new here, but you don't know me, and you don't know Nancy. You have no idea what's going on or what we've been through, so instead of just assuming that every girl is a slut, why don't you try being smart enough to not jump to conclusions?"

Billy didn't even flinch. He just stared at her, still smirking, his eyebrows arched high; he looked more expectant than surprised. Christine glowered at him, trying to hold her ground, but something about those blue eyes wore her down.

She sighed and wiped a hand down her face. "Sorry. Today's just been—"

"You should come over."

Christine froze. She gaped at him, but still, Billy hadn't moved. He was slouched on the wall next to her, perfectly casual, perfectly at ease, and still watching her with that subtle spark in his eye. It was enough to make her squirm.

"E-excuse me?" she managed to squeak out.

"Come over," he repeated. "My place. Tonight."

"No. I mean—I can't. Fridays I have work."

"So come over after."

"I work late."

"Well, you're not gonna sleep there, are you?"

Christine choked out a disbelieving laugh. For some reason, she was smiling, at a complete loss for a real response. Just the insinuation was enough to make her brain stop in its tracks.

Billy's smirk widened as he turned to face her. He planted one arm on the mural over her head, boxing her in against the wall.

"What?" he asked, peering down his nose at her. "You're hot—feisty—scares most guys off. But it takes more than a little fire to scare me, sweetheart."

To her absolute fury, Christine felt her cheeks searing. She could only watch, entranced, as Billy's tongue slipped across his lower lip—lips she was now staring at. She stopped herself and forced her gaze up to his eyes, but she knew she'd already been caught. Billy was looking at her expectantly again, bright blue eyes trailing over her face and leaving fire in their wake.

The bell rang. Billy took a step back as the hallway began to fill with people.

"See you around, Sandra Dee."

He winked once more and, before she could recover, disappeared around the corner.

Christine swallowed hard. She shook her head in an attempt to bring herself back to reality. No. No, she wasn't going to go there. Not there—not that she was going to his house either. She wouldn't even think about his house, and she wasn't going to think about Billy either. That was a bad idea, and she already had enough bad ideas in her life. She didn't need to add anything else to her plate.

Her insides squirmed again. She wasn't going to do it, but…it was okay to imagine it, right?

"Chris, you okay?"

She blinked. Steve was standing in front of her, frowning in concern. Right. Steve.

"Uh—yeah. I'm fine."

He nodded, not looking entirely convinced. His eyes flicked down the hall the way Billy had gone.

"Did he say something to you?"

"No," Christine answered at once. "Now, come on. You took forever."

She brushed past him, buying herself a few more seconds to compose her face. She didn't want to tell Steve about Billy. It wasn't like she'd done anything wrong, but at the same time, she didn't want to hear that Billy was bad news. She knew that Billy was bad news; she didn't need a lecture. She just wanted to keep the daydream alive for a little longer.

Steve followed close behind her on the way to the library, but didn't make conversation. Even as they settled in at their usual table, he was distant. Christine recognized the far-off look in his eye and cleared her throat. Steve beat her to the punch.

"You think it's true?"

Christine hesitated. "Do I think what's true?"

Steve broke off his staring match with the tabletop to glare at her.

"I'm not an idiot. The whole school is talking about it. You know, Jason Carver actually came up and apologized to me first period? Like, 'Hey man, sorry to hear your girlfriend ditched you and ran off with that Byers dude. That's wack.' Like, he actually said wack. Who does that?"

"Steve," Christine said gently. "You know that's not what happened."

"Do I? Cause everyone else seems pretty damn sure."

"Everyone else doesn't know the real story. I talked to Nancy last night, okay? Yes, she's skipping, and yes, it's partially because she's avoiding you, but mostly it's about Barb."

"Right," he huffed, rolling his eyes. "Because we killed her. Right."

"Because we miss her," Christine growled. "It'll be a year next week and we're the only ones who know and…every day it gets harder. Sometimes, I feel like the worst part is that no one's even thinking about her. Then someone will casually bring her up in conversation, or ask where she ran off to, if she sends postcards and…it's so, so much worse. Nancy doesn't want to deal with it right now."

"But Jonathan—"

"Jonathan's out because his brother is out. Dustin said that Will's had two episodes this week: one on Halloween and one at school."

Steve's face fell at once. "Shit. Is he okay?"

"Are any of us?" she asked dryly. "Honestly, it'll be a miracle if Joyce lets either of them out of the house this weekend. And I don't blame her."

Reluctantly, Steve nodded, and his eyes sunk back to the table; he was clearly thinking the words over, but not quite believing them. Christine leaned forward to catch his eye.

"Hey," she whispered, "the anniversary's hitting all of us hard. It sucks, but she did not run off with Jonathan. Nancy wouldn't do that to you. Okay?"

She held Steve's gaze, willing him to believe her. It took a few seconds, but she watched as the doubt slowly drained out of his chocolate brown eyes. It wasn't entirely gone, but for the moment, it was buried. She figured that was a start.

"Okay," Steve agreed quietly. "Thanks."

"Anytime." Christine gave him a tentative smile. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure. I guess."

"…Do you bring a hairdryer to school?"

He gawked at her. Then he snorted so loudly that it drew glares from the surrounding tables. He clapped a hand over his face, shaking his head in disbelief as he struggled to form a response.

"No! No, I don't bring—what—why would you even ask that?!"

"Your hair," she said with a shrug. "It's fluffy and dry, but you just got out of gym. So unless you didn't shower—"

"Of course I showered!"

"Then why is your hair dry?"

Steve clamped his mouth shut and sank down in his seat. It seemed the hilarity of the random question had worn off fast. Now he looked distinctly outraged by the accusation, furious with her for asking. He mumbled a quick response, so quiet that she couldn't hear.

"What was that?" she asked innocently.

He glowered at her, his cheeks tinged pink. "I…I sit under the hand dryer…"

Christine blinked at him. Slowly, a smile started to spread across her face, and Steve's eyes widened in horror.

"Don't you dare—"

But it was too late. Christine burst into laughter, grabbing her stomach and gasping for breath. She knew that people were staring at them. She knew that she was being way too loud for the library, that Steve was frantically hissing at her to shut up before they got kicked out, but it hardly seemed to matter. The image of King Steve Harrington—hunched over on the ground in his gym shorts, trying to dry his hair in the bathroom so it would be perfectly coiffed before he had to go to class, hanging upside down to get more volume—was enough to bring her to tears.

It took her a few minutes to calm down. She actually had to bite her forearm and stifle her giggles with her sweater, lest they actually get banned for the semester. By the time she had collected herself and wiped the tears from her eyes, Steve was red as a tomato.

"Oh, man," she sighed, shaking her head. "I'm sorry. That's just—that's incredible."

"I hate you." Steve shook his head with his arms folded across his chest. "You're a real shitty best friend, you know?"

He quickly turned away, still shaking his head as if that might disguise his grudging smile. Christine beamed.

It was the reassurance that she needed. They worked comfortably for the rest of the period, talking about mild things like classwork or the next swim meet. Christine was content to keep the conversation light if it made Steve feel better. She wanted him to be okay, but that wasn't just because she had a crush on him; it was because she was his best friend.

When the bell rang, they collected their things and parted ways. Christine even dared to ruffle his hair, sprinting down the hall before he could retaliate. She continued on to her locker, giggling all the while, hanging onto the mental image of Steve desperately trying to style his hair in the crowded locker room. She was so caught up in the vision, she almost missed the square of paper that fell out of her locker.

Christine scrambled to catch it before it hit the ground. She looked up and down the hallway in confusion, but no one was paying any attention to her. She unfolded the note with curiosity.

"In case you change your mind: 4819 Cherry Lane"

She didn't recognize the handwriting: sharp and surprisingly neat, all the letters capitalized. Steve's writing was nigh unreadable sometimes, and since Nancy and Jonathan weren't in school…

Christine looked up and down the hallway again. There was no sign of curly blonde hair, no blue eyes watching her from around a corner. Still, holding the note in her hand made her feel…exposed somehow, yet confident at the same time.

She shoved the note into her bag, forcing herself to focus as she collected her history books. She wasn't going. It didn't matter that he thought she was hot. It didn't matter that he'd asked around about her and casually called her a genius. It didn't matter that she'd turned him down and he'd voluntarily given her his address, on the off-chance she might stop by. None of it mattered, because Billy Hargrove was bad news, and Christine was too smart to fall for it again.

…Probably…