6. Psycho Bitch

TRIGGER WARNING: This chapter contains scenes of underage drinking and suggestive behavior. Please proceed with caution.

As promised, Steve did not let Christine pick the music in the car. They compromised by putting on Queen; it was the one band Steve always had on hand that he, Christine and Nancy could all agree on without bloodshed. "Don't Stop Me Now" blasted from the speakers as the BMW pulled up to Tina's house, rolling to a stop on the curb several feet away from the mouth of the roundabout driveway, which was already packed with cars.

Christine smirked. Steve always parked away from the crowd, if he could help it. He couldn't risk anyone scratching his precious Beemer. As he killed the engine, she peeked out the back window for a preview of what fresh hell was waiting for them.

It certainly looked like hell. The lawn was like a minefield, grass strewn with crushed beer cans and abandoned Solo cups and broken bottles. Dozens of teenagers spilled out of the sprawling, modern house, dancing to the music, screaming to their friends, drinking, smoking, making out. Someone was already hurling into the well-kept hedges under the living room window. It was a wonder no one had called the police yet.

Christine shrank down in the back seat. "Maybe I'll just—"

"You are not staying in the car," Steve said, cutting off her excuse. "The last thing I need is for you to try and make a break for it and crash into a tree."

"I'm not gonna leave. I'll just listen to music."

"Oh, so you just want to drain the battery while you hide out for a few hours! Great, yeah, that's loads better."

"Christine." Nancy twisted around in her seat. Her voice was sweet, but left no room for argument as she said, "You are coming into the house. It's Halloween, you need a break, and you look hot. You have nothing to worry about."

"I disagree," Christine grumbled. She tugged on the black T-shirt, wishing she'd brought a leather jacket. Her arms were insisting that she was going to die from exposure, even though it wasn't that cold.

"I don't get it," Steve huffed. "You've got no problem jumping head-first into a portal to another dimension, but now you're scared?"

"Yeah, well, the Demogorgon wasn't exactly looking at what kind of pants I was wearing, Steve! It just wanted to eat me. Nice and straightforward. I didn't have to worry about being dragged into an awkward conversation of back-handed compliments and catty gossip."

"Chris, no one in there is thinking about you, I promise. The only things they're focused on are drinking and hooking up."

"Yeah, don't remind me..."

"Seriously, what is so bad about a house party?"

Nancy elbowed Steve, putting an end to his preaching with a furtive look. It wasn't subtle enough to escape Christine's notice, but that was alright. She was happy to have Nancy step in for her. The truth was that Christine hadn't been to a real house party since Jenny Fischer's rager almost a year ago—and that hadn't worked out so well. She wasn't looking to rehash those memories with Nancy and Steve.

"Come on," Nancy urged with a fixed smile. "Let's do this."

She waved Steve out the driver's side and hopped out of the passenger seat so she could ope the door for Christine. When Christine wouldn't slide out, Nancy reached in, grabbed her by the wrist, and pried her out of the vehicle with a stern glare.

"It'll be different this time," Nancy promised. "You've got me, and you've got Steve, and we're not gonna leave you. No surprises."

"Right," Christine scoffed. "Because that always works…"

But she knew that her options were limited. She couldn't go home, she couldn't wait in the car, and it was too cold to stand outside for the next several hours. She was just going to have to grin and bear it.

So, with Nancy on one arm and Steve on the other, Christine let her friends drag her inside.

Entering the house was like walking into a war zone. The music was loud enough that the picture frames were shaking on the wall. She couldn't even figure out what was playing, beyond a vaguely familiar bass line. Kids were packed into the living room, where toilet paper hung from the ceiling like streamers and cigarette smoke swirled in the dim lights. Almost as soon as they stepped inside, the three of them had to squeeze back against the front door as two brawling freshmen boys went tumbling past them. Immediately after, several girls caught in a vicious cat fight pushed their way in the opposite direction, and Christine only narrowly avoided having her stiff curls yanked out of her head by a stray hand.

Nancy's grip tightened around Christine's wrist as she began towing them to the kitchen.

The party had only been going for about half an hour, but the counter was already hidden under piles of paper plates, used cups, and stray pretzels. Just like Jenny's party, the food had been the first thing to go, but luckily, Tina had a wider variety of drinks. It only took one look at the large punch bowl for Christine's head to begin pounding with bad memories.

Nancy steered clear of the punch, dropping Christine's hand in favor for a handle of rum, which she began pouring into three separate plastic cups.

"Oh, no," Christine called over the music, "I don't think I'm drinking tonight!"

"Just one," Nancy countered, measuring out soda on top of the alcohol.

"Nance…"

"Chris, you already look like you're gonna puke or cry. What's the worst that could happen? You start sooner?"

Christine glowered at her, her frown only deepening as Steve patted her on the back. "She's got a point."

Reluctantly, Christine accepted the drink.

"So…cheers," offered Nancy, lifting her plastic cup in front of her. "Here's to…one night of normality."

"Cheers," Steve said enthusiastically, "to a horrifying experience that led to some pretty good friends."

He winked at Nancy, who laid an honored hand on her chest. Christine rolled her eyes.

"To the hundreds of bobby pins that made this look possible," she said, adding her cup to the ring. "I'm sure I'll continue to find them in my hair for the entire month of November."

"Oh, shut up," Nancy laughed. "It was not that bad."

"Um, yes it was. One of them might've gone through my skull, actually. Don't be surprised when my whole personality starts to change because I've sustained brain damage."

"Okay, who cares," Steve interrupted. "Drink! Drink, drink, drink!"

All three of them threw their heads back. Christine nearly choked on hers, which only made her flashbacks worse, but she was relieved to hear Nancy coughing next to her. Even Steve had his face screwed up in distaste.

"Ack! Jesus Christ, Nance…"

"Too much?"

"Uh, yeah, I think that was too much. You're cut off from mixing your own drinks like, ever."

The music cut out abruptly, and a chorus of complaints rose from the people in the living room. Christine's heart leapt; maybe someone had actually called the cops. It would be the one time in her life she'd be happy to see Chief Hopper. She strained her ears, but instead of sirens she heard the sound of a door creaking open, followed by a wolf's howl. Christine groaned just as Steve thrust his hands up into the air.

"Yes! Yes, oh, come on! This is music. Okay, let's go! Nancy, come on! Christine!"

He grabbed Nancy by the arm, tugging her toward the makeshift dance floor while she giggled and struggled to finish her drink. Christine shook her head and leaned back against the counter, lifting her cup in salute.

"You two go ahead. I'm gonna nurse this for a while."

"What? No!" Steve stopped short. "Chrissy, come on. This is your song!"

"This is not my song, Steve."

"Yes, it is your song. It's—it's zombies and werewolves and horror and you! It's like Tina knows you just showed up! We are dancing to this! Come on!"

The beat to the music kicked in again. Steve was doing a stupid little dance along with the bass, which had Nancy shaking her head. She reached back to grab Christine's hand again, giving her a look that clearly read, I am not dealing with this alone.

Christine huffed. "You know, I hate you for making me listen to pop music."

"This is Michael Jackson," Steve insisted. "You should be thanking me! Who the hell doesn't listen to Michael Jackson?"

Christine happily would have told him, but she was already being sucked into the crowd with her friends.

She liked to complain, but she also knew that Steve was right: it was good music. Maybe not for biking, or for lying on her bed and doing her homework, but here in the crowd—pressed between her classmates and jumping up and down in borrowed clothes she'd never buy for herself in a hundred years—she was having a lot of fun. She was surrounded by people, but it was the first time in a long time that Christine didn't feel like she was being watched. For a whole year she'd been worried about the surveillance by Hopper and the men at the lab, about her classmates finding out the truth, about the boys in the party who suddenly looked up to her as a role model, about her dad prying into her life, about her friends discovering just how far she was from fine. But here, there were too many people for anyone to be watching her. She could laugh and dance and sing, and what did it matter? For just a little while, she could be herself and not worry about the consequences.

Even being around Steve and Nancy was easier than she'd thought it was going to be. They were being less excruciating than usual out of respect for Christine. They danced together and even kissed from time to time, but then Steve would take a moment to pull Christine into a twirl, or Nancy would grab her face so they could scream-sing lyrics into each other's faces. One song turned into a couple turned into a dozen, until Christine frankly lost track. But through it all, Nancy and Steve kept their word: they didn't abandon her.

The only way Christine could even vaguely keep track of time was by counting drinks. Whenever their cups ran dry, they took it in turns to get refills for the group. Christine had stuck to her guns, switching to soda after her first drink. Steve kept drinking a little longer, alternating between soda and beer, while Nancy was still going strong. As time slipped by, she got louder, wilder, and drunker—well past her usual limits.

Christine and Steve had shared more than one surreptitious look, each silently asking the other if Nancy had reached her max, but Christine was hesitant to make the call. Maybe letting Nancy get trashed wasn't a smart idea, but they'd come out with the intention of being stupid, drunk teenagers, to deal with a different set of problems. If that meant Nancy needed to drink herself into a stupor for one night—well—tomorrow, Christine would be there with a glass of water, some aspirin, and a box of Cheerios, ready to support Nancy the way Nancy was supporting her now.

Steve was less willing to sit back.

"Hey!" he called to Christine over the music, one of his arms wrapped around Nancy's waist to keep her from wandering. "I'm gonna take her outside to get some air. You good?"

"Yeah, go ahead," Christine assured him. "I'm gonna find the bathroom."

Steve saluted her, flicking his hair out of his face in the process, and began towing Nancy toward the back door. Christine steeled herself and pushed her way in the opposite direction.

She'd been putting it off as long as she could, but there was only so many sodas a girl could drink. Even as Christine ducked into the bathroom, her back sagging against the door in a moment of peace, she couldn't stop the feeling of dread pooling in her stomach. At Jenny's party, her trip to the bathroom had been a tipping point. She'd returned to find Nancy and Steve making out, leaving Christine drunk and alone, and the night had just spiraled out of control. The whole week, really, since Will had gone missing the very next day.

Christine rushed past the mirror on the way in and stared intently at her hands as she washed them. Only when all the soap and water had disappeared from the drain did she chance a glance up at her reflection.

She looked…fine. Her meticulous curls were beginning to stray, even with all the bobby pins and hairspray to hold them in place, but Christine found that she didn't mind; they looked softer now, less rigid and unnatural. Her face was flushed, her makeup a little smudged from all the dancing, but one swipe of her finger was all it took to fix her wayward lipstick. Maybe it was because she had started the night looking so different from her normal self, but the girl staring back at her from the mirror looked more comfortable than the one she'd seen in Nancy's vanity.

Christine smiled experimentally, inspecting her teeth. The soda wasn't doing much for her stomach, but at least it wasn't staining her mouth the way the punch had. She could still remember that smeared, washed-out version of herself, the one who had stood shaking in Jenny Fischer's bathroom. She'd half-expected that Christine to be waiting for her in the mirror. But that wasn't who she was anymore. Not today.

Fuck. Maybe she had actually learned something.

Feeling cautiously optimistic, Christine exited the bathroom and side-stepped the frantic couple pushing their way inside. She returned to the kitchen to pour herself another Coke and survey the crowd. She didn't see Steve's floppy hair or Nancy's bright white sweater, so she could only assume they were still outside. Or they'd found a couch to make out on, just like old times.

Everyone else was still partying hard. A lot of the girls were in leotards and leg warmers, done up in the style of Madonna or the girl from Flashdance. The guys had a little more variety: caveman, toga, soldier, Santa, Spock, even a guy she was fairly certain was dressed up as Elton John. She vaguely recognized the vampire in the corner as Eddie Munson, a super senior who'd been held back last year. She wondered if it had anything to do with the pot he was not-so-secretly passing off to a cheerleader dressed as an angel.

Of course, most guys came without any costume at all. They could just put on a silly hat and call it a day. Christine spotted one guy in the living room with a crown, another in a top hat, one with wild blonde curls who was looking straight at her—

Fuck.

Christine actually ducked, nearly choking on her drink in surprise. It was Billy. It was Billy and he'd been looking right at her and he'd seen her looking at him and could probably see her trying to hide and it just had to be the one time all night that Steve and Nancy had left her alone. They'd promised they weren't going to leave her alone!

Desperate for something to do, Christine turned her back and walked to the other counter. She chugged her soda and poured herself another one, trying to look extremely busy with the glass bottle and the plastic cups. She was being stupid. He probably wasn't even walking over. There were like, a hundred people at this party, and he was the popular new senior boy. Everyone wanted to talk to him and he had his pick of girls in the room. Tina had probably been throwing herself at him all night, just like Carol and Nicole. Even if Billy did try and walk over, someone would distract him before he could make his way across the room.

She'd known in her gut she was wrong, but she was still caught off-guard by the voice in her ear.

"Hey there, Sandra Dee."

Christine whirled around and promptly pressed herself back against the counter. Billy was standing behind her, practically on top of her in the small kitchen, his lips curled into a teasing smirk directly at her eye level. She shouldn't be staring at his mouth. She dropped her gaze, then frantically lifted it again to look him in the eye.

"Oh uh…hi."

"I dig your costume," he offered, his own unabashed gaze raking over her figure.

"Yeah. You too."

This was a very stupid thing to say. Billy clearly wasn't wearing a costume. He wasn't even wearing a shirt—just a heavy leather jacket left open over his glistening chest. Christine wondered what he'd been doing to make him so sweaty. The fleeting thought made her blush, something Billy noticed right away, and as his wolfish grin grew even more dangerous, Christine only blushed harder. Why did she keep blushing?

"You like it?" he asked, tugging on the jacket to give her a flash of his pecs. "I'm a Boy Scout."

Christine opened her mouth, failed to find a proper response, and promptly closed it again. Billy seemed pleased by her speechlessness and, with a wink, pulled her soda cup out of her hands. He took a sip without invitation; his face promptly screwed up in disgust.

"Sorry," he choked out, "didn't realize you hadn't spiked that yet."

He reached across the counter, shoving a younger boy out of the way to grab a stray handle of vodka. Before she could stop him, he dumped a dizzying portion into her Coke.

Christine spluttered. "Oh, no, I'm not—I'm—I'm not drinking."

"Sure you are," Billy said dismissively, and he took a swig of vodka straight from the bottle. He smacked his lips, whooped loudly, and poured another shot into her cup. "You owe me at least one drink, don't you think? For lying."

He handed the cup back to her with a smug gleam in his eye, challenging her to contradict him. And Christine was going to—not because she couldn't back down from a challenge, but because she was just that confused.

"Lying about what?"

"Yourself," he said plainly. "I asked if you were a genius, and you said no."

"I'm not…"

"Then what's a junior doing in college science?"

"Oh, that. Well, I moved around a lot so—"

Christine stopped short. She'd had the briefest moment of clarity when she realized what he was talking about, but it vanished as quick as it had come. She furrowed her brow, squinting up at him in suspicion.

"How do you know I'm in college science?"

There was a beat as Billy considered her. Then he shrugged. "It's a small town. Everyone knows about everyone, ya know? Plus, those sweet old ladies in the office were all too happy to help out the poor new kid."

"Wait, so—so you actually went to the office and…asked about me?"

Christine gaped at him. Her first instinct was to feel violated. Any normal person would've just asked her, or maybe another student if they weren't shy. Billy had actually walked up to the school receptionist and asked about her, asked enough questions to get a look at her schedule or her records. That…that was weird, right?

At the same time, underneath all her anxiety, there was a weird, twisted feeling of flattery. She'd said all of five sentences to Billy, but somehow left enough of an impression that he'd asked around to find out who she was. Just the thought made her squirm.

Billy didn't address her question directly. He just took another swig of vodka and pushed past the implication.

"Well word on the street, Christine—" He locked eyes with her as he said her name, and her stomach flopped "—is that you were the last newbie in Hawkins. So what gives? How come I didn't get the welcome wagon?"

Christine laughed in disbelief. "Ha! Well, uh, pro tip? Next time you want the welcome wagon, don't hit the conductor with your car."

"Come on," he chuckled, "I didn't hit you. But it got your attention, didn't it?"

He raised an eyebrow, his blue eyes boring into hers with such intensity that Christine retreated into her drink. She took a long gulp and tried not to wince at the taste. Screw Nancy and her all-knowing boy advice.

"So," Billy prompted. "Genius. Why?"

"Not a genius," Christine repeated. "It's just science, and I only skipped a year because I moved so much as a kid. I bounced between schools in different states, picked up too many credits, so Hawkins didn't know what to do with me."

Billy was smirking again. "Huh. Didn't take you for an army brat."

"Oh, God no," Christine giggled. "My dad's a business consultant, white collar contractor…"

"Oh, so he's boring."

"Um…I guess…"

Billy laughed and she bit her lip, not entirely sure what was so funny. She could see what Steve had meant about Billy's tongue; every few seconds he seemed to run it over his teeth, poke it out between his lips. It was absurd, but somehow, she couldn't stop watching.

"What about you?" she asked him, in an attempt to keep the conversation moving.

"What about me?"

"Your dad, is he…? Are you an army brat? Did your family just want a fresh start? No one seems to know why you moved from California."

"No one, huh?" Billy's eyebrows climbed up higher under his curls, and he took a small step even closer so he could grin down at her. "Looks like I'm not the only one asking around."

Christine could have kicked herself. Hyperaware of the fact that her face was probably as red as her lipstick, she took another sip from her drink to avoid having to look at him. She probably would've downed the whole thing in one go if Billy hadn't stopped her, resting two fingers on the rim of her cup. Hypnotized, she let him push the drink away from her mouth, prompting her to look up at him once more.

"How about this?" he asked in a low, husky voice. "I'll give you the scoop, if you do something for me."

It was a miracle she found the strength to answer. "Oh, like…like what?"

"I'm thinking you and I finish these drinks, ditch this party, and—"

"Hey, Billy!"

A loud voice interrupted the moment, and Christine tried to step back only to remember that she was still wedged in the corner of the counter. Tommy H. was bounding over to them, his hair combed and spiky behind a karate bandana. It was lucky that Christine was so flustered, otherwise she might've laughed outright. He was dressed as a Cobra Kai fighter, from The Karate Kid. Even on Halloween, he couldn't pretend to be a good guy.

"Hey, man," he said once he'd finally reached them, "Jason's 'bout to pop open another keg if you're down. Think you can go for forty-four?"

Tommy clapped a hand on Billy's shoulder, practically bouncing on his feet. It got worse as he waited, but Billy didn't answer him. He was still staring directly at Christine. When Tommy finally picked up on what was holding Billy's attention, he did a double take.

"Holy shit! Is that you in there, Walcott?" He cackled with glee and tugged on one of Christine's curls. "Damn, check you out! Who let you out of the psych ward?"

Christine smiled with all the venom she could muster. "Drop dead, Tommy."

"Aw, you're so sweet. Anyway, Billy, you down?"

"I'm busy," Billy growled, without so much as blinking.

Tommy blinked in surprise, looked between Billy and Christine again, and then burst into laughter. "Fuck, with Walcott? Dude, that is not a good idea. They call her Psycho Bitch for a reason."

He shook Billy's shoulder jovially, as if he'd made the world's funniest joke. It was an overly familiar gesture, but one that managed to get Billy's attention. Slowly he turned to Tommy, with eyes so hollow even Christine had to suppress a shiver.

"What is it?"

Tommy stopped, taken aback. "…what?"

"The reason," Billy enunciated precisely. "What is it?"

"Cause she's a fucking psycho," Tommy said, as if that were an answer enough. He chuckled and fixed Christine with an imperious look. "Besides, everyone knows Christine's just Harrington's lap dog. Always has been."

Christine's stomach dropped. She'd pretty much hated Tommy from the moment she'd moved to Hawkins, but this was pushing it. She felt her blood boil as he nudged Billy in the ribs—Billy, who was now looking at her with a whole new kind of curiosity.

"That so?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Yeah, dude," Tommy snorted. "Trust me. You are barking up the wrong tree."

In a stroke of genius, he actually barked in Christine's face, then patted Billy on the chest and tried to lead him away.

"That's rich coming from you."

Tommy stopped short, turning back to her with a wide, incredulous smile. "Excuse me?"

"Calling me Steve's lap dog," Christine explained coolly. "Funny, since you've been his sidekick for the last six years."

"Sidekick? Please. Harrington's not man enough to take me. Everyone knows I dethroned that pathetic asshole."

"Did you? I don't hear anyone calling you King Tommy."

It was so incredibly satisfying to watch his smile fall. His eyes flicked back to Billy, trying to gauge his reaction, but Billy was watching them with a passive expression. Christine might have thought he was bored, if not for the subtle spark of interest in his eyes. She'd managed to turn the tables again.

"Hey, I get it," she said, before Tommy could recover. Her voice was thick with feigned sympathy. "You and Steve break up, life's hard, so you go running to the first alpha male that'll have you. That is why you're up Billy's ass all of a sudden, right?"

That touched a nerve. Tommy crowded her into the corner, shoving a finger into her face. "Watch it, bitch."

"Or what? You'll punch me?" Christine demanded, with more confidence than she had any right to. She pushed herself off the counter, crowding him right back and lowering her voice. "Go ahead, Tommy. Let's show Billy how you really broke your nose last year."

She savored the momentary flicker of fear in his eyes. For a second, she thought he might actually try and fight her, but Billy interrupted before Tommy could build up the gall.

"Alrighty, boys and girls, I think that's enough."

He stepped between them, slinging one of his long arms around each of their shoulders and pulling them to his sides. Christine was so busy glaring at Tommy that she forgot to be embarrassed, even as her bare arm pressed against Billy's sweaty torso.

"Tommy-boy, why don't you go tap that keg, huh?" Billy encouraged, shaking him by the shoulders. "I'm right behind you. Go on, now."

Tommy might have been stupid, but he knew when he was being dismissed. Not willing to push his luck, he sent Christine one last glare before walking away, shoving his way through the crowd and out into the backyard. Christine's eyes followed him through the house, glowering at his back, at the top of his head, and finally the space where he'd disappeared.

"I hate that fucking asshole," she grumbled.

It took her a few moments to snap out of it, but the feeling of Billy's hand snaking around her waist would've been enough to snap her out of a coma. She stifled a gasp and looked up to find him staring down his nose at her, watching her with that same intent spark in his eye.

"So?"

"So what?" she asked, trying not to get distracted.

"You really break his nose?"

Christine studied Billy's face just like Tommy had, trying to get a read on him. But just like with Tommy, Billy's face was impassive.

Still, he had his arm around her hips, right?

She shrugged. "It's like he said. They call me Psycho Bitch for a reason."

Billy let out a low whistle. He released her to pull a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, and almost immediately, Christine missed the warmth. She buried the feeling, instead wiping his sweat off the arm that had been tucked against his chest. She wrinkled her nose in disgust, but Billy didn't catch it. He was too busy lighting up, blowing a long, narrow cloud of smoke up into the air, where it swirled over the crowd. He wasn't looking at her anymore. She wasn't sure if it was benign or if he'd lost interest.

"Is that a problem?" she challenged him. At least, she hoped it sounded like a challenge, and not like the thinly veiled search for approval it was.

It must not have worked, because when Billy looked back, he was wearing a smile a mile wide. He ducked down to whisper to her, close enough that she could've sucked the smoke off his breath.

"Nothing wrong with being a psycho," he assured her. "Just means you haven't had the crazy fucked out of you yet. All that pent-up energy…"

He clicked his tongue, winked, and vanished into the crowd before Christine could even remember how to breathe. Even after he was gone, she stared into space in horror, fury, and awe.

What the fuck had just happened?

"There you are!"

Christine jumped again, whirling around to find herself tangled in the arms of her best friend.

"We've been looking everywhere for you!" Nancy declared, in a voice far too loud to be sober. "Why are you just standing here? Come dance with me! What are you doing?"

"Uh—um—nothing. I'm—I was just—soda."

Nancy might've been drunk, but she was sharp enough to see through that flimsy excuse. She grabbed Christine's face in both her hands, turning her head back and forth and inspecting her cheeks.

"Ohmigod, Chrissy, why are you so red? Are you blushing? Were you talking to Billy?"

"What? No! No, I was just—"

"You were! Chrissy! Oh my god! Where did he go? What were you talking about? Were you flirting?"

Christine wanted to be angry, but Nancy's drunken giggling was contagious. Now Christine was laughing too, swatting Nancy's hands away from her face and retrieving her spiked soda from the counter.

"Nance, stop, seriously. He was just making me a drink."

"I thought you weren't drinking?"

Steve had finally caught up and was watching them in disapproval. Christine cleared her throat, trying to maintain a passive face while simultaneously smothering Nancy's chanting of, "Billy, Billy, Billy, Billy…"

"Okay, it's just one drink, Dad," Christine joked, offering Steve a good-natured smile. "I can handle a two-drink limit."

"Yeah, Dad, let her live!" Nancy whined.

As if to prove her point, she grabbed the cup out of Christine's hands and chugged the rest of the contents, ignoring Steve's attempt to stop her. She waved him off, and looked ready to start shouting before the next track came on the stereo. She gasped comically and dropped the empty cup on the ground.

"Come on! I love this song!"

She rushed off into the crowd without waiting for a response, leaving a baffled Christine and a dejected Steve standing in the kitchen.

Christine let out a low whistle. "So she's…"

"Plastered, yeah," Steve sighed. "I'm actually starting to get kinda worried."

"She's gonna be fine," Christine assured him. "She'll have a hell of a hangover, but she'll live. Just keep an eye on her and try and give her some space."

"Space? Are you kidding me? While—while she drinks herself to death?"

"Steve," Christine said firmly, "you've gotta remember: we dragged her here. This was supposed to be about making bad choices and forgetting all the trauma. So just let her work things out for herself. All you can do is be there for her."

Steve scoffed, clearly not loving that answer but not having the words to argue. He folded his arms and leaned on the counter next to her, still looking stormy. "Was Billy giving you an issue?"

"What?" Her voice came out too high, and she had to cough to cover for herself. "Oh, uh—no. Honestly, if anyone was giving me a problem, it was Tommy."

"What happened?" he demanded. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, Steve. Really. I just…gave him a problem right back."

Steve narrowed his eyes at her. "Okay…I'm not really following, but I'm also not sure I want to know."

Christine grinned and shoved him.

"It means I'm okay. It's like you said, right? If I can take down a ten-foot Demogorgon, I can handle a couple of rowdy high school boys."

"Oh, trust me, I am…well aware." He gave her a rueful smile and ruffled the front of his hair. "Alright, badass, what d'ya say we hit the dancefloor and find Nancy before she pukes on Tina's couch?"

"You go ahead. I'm gonna duck outside, get some air."

That earned her another suspicious look from Steve. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"Oh my God, yes, Dad. I'm fine!"

"Okay! Sorry, I'm going." He made a move toward the living room, doubling back as an afterthought to add, "Hey, don't—don't call me Dad."

Christine rolled her eyes and pushed her way to the front door. She needed to clear her head.

The night had gotten colder, even as the house grew more crowded. It seemed as though there were twice as many cars parked out front, and whoever had decorated the living room in toilet paper had moved outside to bedeck the trees. A nearby group of boys was passing around a joint while two different couples made out shamelessly against their cars. Then again, that wasn't any worse than the car on the lawn that was rocking back and forth while two kids went at it in the backseat.

Christine averted her eyes, shivering; she wished again that she'd brought a coat. Her mind strayed to the open leather jacket on Billy's chest, and she hurriedly banished the thought. She could survive the cold. It felt nice on her searing, red cheeks.

She had to keep reminding herself: she did not like Billy. She could blush at something he'd said, or get flustered when he stood too close. That could happen with anyone. It was unnerving, embarrassing. It didn't mean she had a crush on him.

On top of that, now she had proof that Billy and Steve were not the same. Nancy could talk all she wanted, but that wouldn't make it true. Billy was a bad boy; Steve was a boy who had done bad things. Steve had certainly never tried to run a girl off the road to get her attention, or whispered obscene things to unsuspecting partygoers…well, not to her knowledge, anyway. What did she know? Steve had never liked her.

Furious, Christine banished thought again. Billy didn't like her. He was probably just toying with her because he liked getting a reaction, because he knew he could get a reaction, and if that's what he wanted, she wasn't going to give it to him. She was not going to fall back into last year's old habits. She was better than that now.

Christine wrapped her arms tighter around her torso in the breeze. Just as she was debating heading back inside, something caught her eye: a familiar tan Ford with a beat-up hood, and next to it, an even more familiar head of mousy brown hair.

Her insides froze.

"Jonathan?"

He turned around as she ran toward him, his eyes squinting in confusion. Just like everyone else who'd seen her tonight, his jaw dropped when he recognized her.

"Christine? Wow, uh, you look—"

"What happened?" she demanded, only increasing his confusion.

"What?"

"Did something happen? Are the boys okay? Did Will have another episode? Shit, I knew I should've gone with them! I've had this terrible feeling in my chest—"

"Woah, woah, Christine, it's fine!" He laid a hand on her shoulder, then quickly pulled away when he realized he was touching her skin. "The boys are fine."

"Well then, where are they?"

"Trick-or-treating."

"…here?"

"No, out by Loch Nora. Apparently that's where they've got the best candy, so…"

Christine could only stare at him. Jonathan fidgeted under her gaze, straightening his jacket and then shoving his hands in his pockets. He pulled them out again to fix his hair, then shoved them back in. Still Christine stared. Finally, Jonathan sighed.

"Look, I know you're—"

"Are you fucking kidding me, Jonathan? After all the shit you gave me about wanting to keep an eye on Will, about how he wasn't going to be able to go trick-or-treating without you, about how you didn't want to come to this stupid party, that I had to come to this stupid party because it was safer for you to go with the boys—"

"Hey, I never said—"

"—after all of that, you just let the four of them wander off together without any kind of supervision?"

"They're thirteen, Christine. They're old enough to go trick-or-treating by themselves."

"They're not normal thirteen-year-olds," Christine hissed at him. "What if the lab has just been waiting for them to be alone? What if something happens and we're not there to—"

"To what?" Jonathan challenged. "To save them from a bunch of armed, military agents? Abducting them from the busiest street in Hawkins on Halloween?"

"Oh, shut up, Jonathan. As if they couldn't manage that, after everything else they've done. I've got every right to be paranoid."

Jonathan deflated. He mumbled his agreement, but made no move to leave. Instead, he leaned back against his shitty car, scuffing his sneakers in the grass.

"You know what they call him? At the middle school?"

Christine reluctantly shook her head.

"Zombie Boy," he informed her. "Will gets…notes in his locker. Kids shove him in the hallway. Because he survived. It's fucking messed up."

"Jonathan," she said, as gently as her rage would let her, "that's exactly why one of us should be there with them."

"You think I don't know that? I wanted to stay with him. But Will doesn't care about being safe. He wants to be normal. And whether it's you, or me, or Nancy, he's always gonna feel like he's being babied, like we're waiting for something to set him off. None of the other kids have babysitters on Halloween, and he was just so…depressed. So, yeah. I let him go off on his own, and maybe he's gonna get into trouble, but…at least he gets to be free for a while."

He nodded to himself, confident in his decision. Christine had to actively stop herself from screaming. She was ready to throttle him, but she couldn't do it in front of so many witnesses. And…hadn't Nancy said the same thing? Christine was petrified of leaving Dustin alone, but he had told her not to come. The boys were growing up, demanding their own space. She couldn't protect them forever.

Maybe Nancy and Jonathan were right—just a little—but even if Christine understood where they was coming from, that didn't mean she had to like it.

Dejected, she leaned on the car next to him. "You should've at least worn the costume."

"No way," Jonathan snorted. "That was the other reason I left. I'm not wearing that coat."

"Fine, then you owe me twenty dollars."

"Not if I give you the coat back, right?"

"Uh, no. Nope, that costume was a one-night only deal. I'm not wearing it anywhere else, so you can pay me the twenty dollars."

They laughed together for a moment, albeit uneasily. Christine tried in vain to push the feelings from her mind. Tonight had been about feeling like normal kids, for all of them. For one night, she had to let go of all the fear and dread and paranoia. Otherwise, she was going to go crazy.

She turned back to Jonathan only for him to hurriedly look away from her. Christine raised an eyebrow.

"What?"

"Nothing, just uh…your costume, that's…a choice…"

"Oh, yeah," said Christine, glancing down at the alien, leather pants. "Well, different mistake, same excuse. I figured letting Nancy and her mom play Dress Up Christine might help distract them from…everything."

"Did it work?"

"Ha. Not really…"

Jonathan hesitated, but nodded to the house. "How is she?"

"Drunk," Christine admitted. "Very, very drunk. Which is the whole reason Steve wanted to bring us out in the first place—"

"To get her drunk?"

There was an unmistakable edge in his voice that made Christine glare at him.

"To help her forget," she said tersely, "however she needed to. Between worrying about Mike, worrying about school, about the Hollands—she just needed a break. We all did. To feel normal for a while?"

"Okay, this is so not the same thing," Jonathan bit back. "I didn't leave Will behind to get alcohol poisoning."

"No, of course not. Just to have an episode in public and get beat up by bullies."

"Oh, 'cause you would've done so much better."

"You know? I would have!"

They were shouting again, drawing looks from the other teens. One of the couples even stopped making out to gawk at the scene.

"You're still a babysitter, Christine," he spat, as if that were an insult. "Will knows that. You're there to spy on him for my mom. It's the same thing as me going."

"Yeah, except the rest of the boys actually want me there! They asked me to be there, and they were pissed that I didn't go."

"Then why didn't you? Huh?"

"Because you wanted to go instead! I was doing you a favor!"

"Well next time don't do me any favors!"

The front door of the house opened and slammed shut, startling everyone in the yard. Christine tore herself away from her argument with Jonathan, glaring at the interruption, and stopped short.

It was Steve marching out of the house. He blew right past them, heading for the BMW.

"Steve?"

He ignored her, too busy fumbling with the car keys.

"That doesn't look good," Jonathan said under his breath.

Christine pushed him toward the house. "Go find Nancy."

It was one command he didn't have trouble following. Jonathan hurried toward the house while Christine ran in the other direction. She caught up to Steve just before he could get in the car, stumbling in front of him so she could grab him by the shoulders and force him to look her in the eye. He tried to shrug her hands away, but Christine held firm.

"Hey, hey, Steve! It's me!"

"Oh, hey, um—" He wiped hurriedly at his face, his voice breaking. "Hey, Chris."

Gently as she could, Christine grabbed his wrists, prying his hands away from his face. She'd expected to see cuts and bruises, some evidence of a fist fight with Billy or Tommy, but there was nothing wrong with Steve's face, no injuries besides his puffy, red eyes.

"Steve, what happened?"

"Nothing," he insisted in a strangled voice. "Nothing, I just—Chris, I gotta—just let me go!"

"Go? What, you're just leaving?"

"No, I just—can I just get one goddamn second to myself? I just want to be alone for a minute! Christ!"

He ripped his hands out of Christine's grip and pushed past her, leaving her stunned. He jumped into the Beemer, slammed the door shut, and started up the engine. The stereo blasted to life, Queen picking up right where it had left off, and in an uncontrolled rage, Steve slammed his hands on the dash until the music stopped. Then he slumped down in his seat, hair hanging in his face.

Cautiously, Christine tugged his door open. She waited for Steve to start screaming again, but he didn't. He just sat there, defeated, glaring holes into his steering wheel.

"Hey," she said, squatting next to the driver's seat. "It's totally okay if you don't want to talk to me. I'm gonna go find Nancy, and then we can leave, okay?"

She stood to go back to the house, only for Steve to grab her wrist in a panic.

"No!" he blurted. "No, just…no…"

"Steve, we both know she's trashed—"

"I can't be around her right now, okay? I just can't!"

"Why not?"

Steve didn't answer. He only laughed, hollow and empty, raking his hands through his hair the way he always did when he was stressed. Christine frowned down at him. She'd only been gone for five minutes, tops. What could've happened in five minutes to leave him so broken?

"Do you want to go home?" she asked softly.

Steve started to shake his head, but after a few seconds, it morphed into a weary nod. "Yeah. Yeah, I wanna go home."

"Then go."

"I can't," he said with another wry smile. "Chris, I drove you here. You're stranded, Nancy's wasted and—and sad and upset. I just—I came out here to clear my head. I'm not gonna abandon you guys."

"Hey, no one's abandoning anyone," Christine assured him. "I'll take care of Nancy. I can call my dad, or I'll catch a ride home with Jonathan."

Steve sighed heavily. This time, his head moved in reverse, nodding in agreement before shaking in confusion. "Fine. Okay, just—wait, no. Wait, Jonathan?"

He looked around the yard, finally spotting the telltale Ford. Christine had expected the shock and surprise on his face. What she hadn't expected was the anger.

"Of course," he scoffed, smacking the steering. "Of fucking course. Sure, he'll be real happy to drive her home."

Christine bit her lip, watching him with worry. "Steve—"

"No, you're right. Nancy's in the bathroom. Go make sure she's okay, and call me when you get home. Someone's gotta take care of her and…you're obviously a lot better at it than I am."

"Steve," she tried again, "are…are you sure you're okay?"

"No," he said plainly. When he finally looked up at her, it was with wide, desperate eyes. "Christine, I—I can't be here right now. I promise we'll talk later, but…will you please, please go make sure she's okay?"

At his insistence, Christine nodded. Slowly, she backed away from the car and walked back to the house, looking over her shoulder as he kicked the car into gear and drove off.

Steve's response had given her a pretty good idea what this was all about. She just hoped that she was wrong.