Just Call My Name (And I'll Hear You Scream): Chapter 4

A Stranger Things Fanfic

Trigger warning: mentions of eating disorders

Chrissy was dreaming. It was the only explanation, really, because Eddie couldn’t be standing there in front of her motel room. She hadn’t told anyone where she was going, so it must be a dream.

Except–except her dreams were never this detailed (well, except the Visions, but those didn’t count). She could feel the denim of his vest as she twisted her fingers in it, the leather of the jacket her face pressed into. She smelled smoke on his jacket and felt the zipper digging into her face, leaving pink marks she couldn’t quite wish away. And then Eddie wrapped his arms around her, squeezing so tightly that for a moment she couldn’t breathe.

He was here. Eddie had come for her. Again.

“Chrissy Cunningham?” an incredulous voice asked, and Chrissy remembered the other boy who had been standing with Eddie. She hadn’t paid enough attention to see who it was, but now she pulled away slightly, still gripping the sleeves of Eddie’s jacket and peeked up at . . . Jonathan Byers. Okay then.

“Are you okay?” Eddie asked, grabbing her arms and thrusting her at arm’s length.

“I, um, yes, I’m fine, but–”

“You might be okay for now, but you really shouldn’t be at a place like this by yourself,” Jonathan said, glancing past her towards the room. “I’m pretty sure anyone could jimmy that door open.”

“Good point,” Eddie said, pointing at the other boy, but he kept his eyes firmly on her.

“You should come with us,” Jonathan continued.

“Yes,” Eddie agreed, then blinked and turned to him. “What?”

“Mom’s not going to want her here alone, and those guys are going to come looking for us eventually. Isn’t she the one who–” Jonathan broke off suddenly and gave Eddie a pointed look.

“The one who what?” Eddie asked. Jonathan stared harder and Eddie shifted from one foot to the other and dropped his eyes. “Oh, yeah, she–yeah.” Jonathan folded his arms and gave Eddie a look that said “my point exactly”.

“I’m right here, you know,” Chrissy said because they kept talking over her head (quite literally) and nothing was making sense.

“Sorry.” Jonathan turned to her. “We’re trying to get out of town for a while for, um, reasons.” He gave Eddie a sideways look Chrissy couldn’t interpret. “And if the people looking for us found you, they’d, uh, they’d be very interested to learn about your spring break.”

Chrissy shivered and looked back up at Eddie, wondering what sort of trouble he was in this time. She could easily imagine the town being quick to accuse him of yet another crime since so many still believed he killed Patrick and Fred, but she couldn’t understand what had led Jonathan Byers to become his “partner in crime”, especially since, last she’d heard, he was in California.

Eddie opened his mouth, then stopped. He shrugged and shook his head before asking, “do you want to come?”

It wasn’t a decision really. She pulled away from him. “Give me one second.”

She turned back to her room, grabbed her pajamas from the bed, her book from the desk, and her toothbrush from the sink, stuffed them all in her backpack, and slid on her shoes.

“Okay.” There was no one at the desk, but she left her key there and followed Jonathan and Eddie across the street to the gas station. They headed towards a large van that didn’t look like Eddie’s.

“Eddie, you can’t just run off like that!” a woman’s voice called, and Eddie winced.

“Sorry.” Chrissy couldn’t help but giggle at the woman who could make him look so guilty . . . who turned out to be Joyce Byers. Well, she supposed that made sense that Joyce would be with Jonathan, but did that mean–yes, there was Will, leaning against the van and watching her curiously.

Then she caught sight of another somewhat familiar face, and she froze. The girl who fought the monster, El she remembered, tilted her head, fixing her with an intense gaze. “Max said you are Chrissy?”

Chrissy nodded. “You’re El.” The younger girl nodded, then took a step closer to Will, who frowned and looked between them.

It was Eddie who finally asked. “You two have met?”

El nodded. “In One’s mind.” Eddie nodded as though this made sense.

Joyce looked between the two older boys, then smiled at Chrissy. “Hi, sweetie. Um, you’re Laura and Phillip’s daughter, aren’t you?” Chrissy nodded and her feet dragged her a little closer to Eddie.

Joyce’s face and tone softened. “What are you doing here?”

“Mom! Can I talk to you for a minute?” Jonathan asked, stepping forward. They took a few steps away and began a whispered conversation. Chrissy wished El and Will wouldn’t keep staring at her like that. She wanted to bury her face back in Eddie’s jacket and hide from the world.

“Oh good, you’re back,” a man’s voice said from the direction of the gas station. Chrissy spun around to look, suddenly remembering Jonathan’s warnings about people after them. When her eyes landed on the man, she squeaked and took a step back.

She really shouldn’t have been surprised to find a dead person now alive considering she had been dead as well, but the thought temporarily fled her mind as she stared up at the old Hawkins police chief.

“Don’t you dare pull any more stunts like that, you hear me?” Hopper asked, giving Eddie a hard look. “If you need something, you talk to us. To me or Joyce, got it?”

Eddie didn’t look surprised at all to see the chief. He dug the toe of his shoe into the pavement. “Yeah, I got it.”

Hopper’s gaze turned on Chrissy. “Who are you?” He blinked. “No, I know you. What are you doing here?”

“Hop!” Joyce called, returning to the group with Jonathan.

Hopper turned to them, frowning and jerking a thumb at her. “We get another kid?”

“Yes,” the woman said firmly, but with a smile. “We can talk about it later.”

Hopper stared at her, then pointed at Will and El. “Okay, you two in the back with Cunningham.”

They climbed into the back seat with Will on one side, Chrissy on the other, and El squished between them. Jonathan and Eddie climbed into the two middle seats, and Hopper and Joyce into the front.

“Where are we going?” Chrissy asked quietly, wrapping her arms around the backpack in her lap.

“A safe house,” Will said. “We’re planning to stay there for a while. We should get there tonight.”

Chrissy nodded, though she felt more and more confused by the minute. Questions spun in her head, but she didn’t want to annoy everyone by asking all of them, so she focused on the one that popped up most often. She tapped Eddie’s shoulder in front of her.

“Eddie, what are you doing here? Traveling with the Byers, I mean. Oh, and Hopper and El.”

She couldn’t see Eddie’s face, but Jonathan turned to look at him, a small smile on his face that didn’t reach his eyes. “That’s a very good question.”

Eddie twisted his rings and didn’t answer, so El spoke up for him. “The bad men want to hurt him too.”

Eddie gave a sharp bark of laughter that made everyone jump. “Wow, story of my life, kiddo.” El looked like she didn’t know what was so funny, but she smiled anyway.

When they finally reached the house, Joyce couldn’t get out of the van fast enough. Everything ached, and she was glad they didn’t have any more driving. She groaned and rubbed her legs, then felt a little guilty for complaining when she hadn’t even been the one driving. (Not that she hadn’t tried, but Hopper had been very insistent.)

Then she noticed the house.

“Whoa!” Will gaped at it as he climbed out of the van.

Despite being only one story, it somehow managed to be only slightly smaller than the house in California. Given the extremely late notice, she had expected something old, falling apart, and cramped. She began to wonder just how far in advance Owens had planned this, but the thought made her skin crawl, so she pushed it away.

Eddie whistled as he looked the house up and down, then cursed. He glanced over at her. “Sorry, Joyce.”

“No, I completely agree,” she said, and Jonathan laughed.

Will ran into the house first, and his laugh gave Joyce only a few second’s warning before she saw the atrocity that was the interior decoration. Most was old enough to be out of style, but not enough to be “vintage”, though a few modern pieces were thrown in, just to give her a headache. The busy, vibrant wallpaper swam in front of her eyes, too used to moving, and she rubbed her forehead.

Thankfully, they discovered the house had three bedroom, and, even better, a couch big enough to sleep on. Hopper insisted on taking that, of course, and Joyce tried to argue with him, until he pointed out he would be closer to the door and could step outside for fresh air if he needed. (Joyce knew that wasn’t the real reason, but she let it stand.). One bedroom went to Chrissy and El, one to Joyce, and the other to the three boys, who decided Will would sleep on the floor.

In less time than seemed possible for five children, everyone was showered, in pajamas, and in bed. Joyce could only assume they were exhausted. She felt tired as well, but a different sort, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to go to bed just yet.

A quick glance at the empty couch decided it.

She stepped out onto the porch where Hopper stood smoking. “Hey,” she said quietly.

“Hey.” He turned around and offered her a cigarette and a light. “I, uh, didn’t want to keep the kids up, and, I don’t know, it feels too clean in there to smoke.”

She wrinkled her nose. “I know what you mean. It kind of feels like, uh, you know, you’re grandma’s house where you can’t touch anything cause you’ll break it.”

He laughed. “Yeah. Seriously, who picked out the furniture? That couch cover is so ugly. Why would anyone like that color green? It’s so bright and so stiff I think I’ll leave a permanent indention if I touch it.”

Joyce grinned. It was good to hear his laugh again. “Maybe we should pull it off before you sleep then.” She leaned into him, letting her elbow nudge his ribs a bit. “You know, this is the first time we’ve gotten to talk alone since–” She had been about to say “Russia” but the sudden realization of the exact last time they had been alone flashed into her mind, and she flushed.

“Since?” he asked, smirking.

She raised her chin and eyebrows, trying to project a confidence she didn’t feel. “Russia. And as such, I think we need to talk about things.”

“What kind of things?”

“Well, our still-postponed date, for one. Our, um, last private conversation too, and the kids.”

“Oh, that date’s still happening,” he said quickly.

“Definitely, but we might need to consider having it somewhere besides Enzo’s if we want to have it this year.” She smiled to let him know she was teasing.

He chuckled again. “You mean in case we have to go on the run with two extra kids or something crazy like that?”

“Always good to be prepared.”

He nodded. “Good point.” He took a long drag from his cigarette, and she could feel the teasing spirit die. “You said talk about the kids too.”

She nodded, wishing she had waited to bring that up, but it was something they needed to discuss. Now that Hopper was back, El would probably want to live with him again, and he with her. Joyce knew it was selfish, but she didn’t want to give the girl up, and she knew the boys would miss her too. They could find some way to all stay close, but it wouldn’t be the same.

And besides that, what would they think of her and Hopper’s relationship changing? The boys loved him, of course, and he loved them, stepping in and helping when she couldn’t' do everything, but that didn’t mean they would be comfortable with the two of them dating, or maybe one day getting married–

No, she was getting ahead of herself there. But these were all things that needed to be considered, discussed, if they were going to make any of this work.

“Do we have to talk about this now?” he asked.

Joyce gave a huff. “Well, we need to talk about it eventually.”

Hopper nodded. “Yeah, but nothing we say is going to change anything right now because we’re all stuck here together for a while, so let’s not mention anything to the kids yet.” He took another drag from the cigarette and exhaled slowly. “We’ll see how things go while we’re all living here, and once we get the all clear from Owens, we go home, tell the kids we have a date, go to Enzo’s, and we can talk about it then.”

It made sense. He was right that any decisions they made would change nothing for now, and she knew they were both still trying to adjust to the changes of the last few weeks, so making important decisions now probably wasn’t wise anyway. She nodded and leaned back against the porch railing. “Okay. Just . . . see how things go. So, what does that mean for now?”

Hopper raised his eyebrows. “For now? With none of the kids around? Finally getting a minute alone?”

That hadn’t been exactly what she meant, but she didn’t tell him that. She shrugged and pursed her lips in mock contemplation as she put out her cigarette. “Yeah, I mean, I was thinking we should go back inside and maybe watch tv.”

He put out his own cigarette and put both hands on the porch railing beside her, effectively pinning her in. He leaned down until they were at eye level. “Is that so?”

She shrugged again, ignoring the way her heart pounded like she was back in high school and they were hiding from teachers. “Unless you have a better idea–”

His lips caught hers then, stealing that last word, but that was fine, she didn’t want it anyway. He tasted like smoke, which made her happy because it tasted like him, unlike that horrible prison soap that lingered so long after they escaped, and, as she cupped his head in her hands and sighed against his lips, she started to think that maybe this trip was a good idea after all.

Eddie didn’t speak to her. Like, at all.

Maybe Chrissy should have expected it. They weren’t exactly friends. The only time they had interacted since middle school was when she bought drugs from him (or attempted to, at least), and that hadn’t gone well at all. And then when he showed up at the motel, she had quite literally thrown herself at him, and that had probably finally scared him away.

(Except–

No, that didn’t bear thinking about. Not now.)

It shouldn’t have mattered. There were five other people in the house and she was used to people not talking to her.

(It still hurt.)

Her books became her shield. That first day, she sat in the living room with her favorite of the books she brought, the one she had already read five times since leaving Hawkins.

Hopper lay on the couch, flipping through channels on tv, and the Byers and El had all crowded into the kitchen to play a card game. Chrissy had watched the first round, but didn’t understand it at all and didn’t want to make them stop and explain.

(Eddie stayed in his room. She didn’t know what he was doing, and it was not any of her business, so she didn’t ask.)

After two chapters, she glanced up at Hopper, sprawled along the couch. She curled her cold toes and eyed the hard floors. Slowly, slowly, she pulled one foot into the chair and tucked it under her. If he noticed, he didn’t say anything, so she slowly pulled the other up as well.

Hopper noticed her staring then, and he frowned, but he didn’t say a word about her feet on the furniture, so she dropped her eyes back to her book and settled further into the chair, reveling in the freedom.

She read through almost the entire book that day. (It seemed to get shorter every time she read it, which she supposed made sense, but was disappointing all the same.) She had twenty pages left when Hopper glanced at the clock and switched from the news to Miami Vice. El came running, leaping onto the couch and curling up next to him as he sat up to leave more space.

Jonathan came next, sitting next to El, and Will joined him, propping his feet on the arm of the couch. Joyce came in, shoving Will’s feet off the side with exaggerated dramatics that made El laugh, and plopped down beside him, letting him rest his feet in her lap.

Chrissy put her book down and decided to watch too, though she knew nothing about the show.

A noise came from the hall, and Chrissy looked up to find Eddie slipping out the bedroom door. He crept in and stood behind the couch, waiting for a commercial break to join the group.

The couch was full, and Chrissy considered offering her chair, though she doubted he would take it, but he sat on the floor before she got the chance. On the other side of the couch. As far away from her as he could manage.

She curled tighter in her chair, thinking her chest shouldn’t ache so much.

“You should talk to her.”

Eddie yawned and blinked sleepily at Jonathan, standing in the doorway. “Talk to who?”

“To Chrissy.” Jonathan’s tone made it clear he thought this was obvious.

Eddie rifled through his bag for some clean clothes. “Why do you care who I talk to?”

“Because maybe if you do, she’ll stop looking pitiful around the house and staring at you like a kicked puppy.”

Eddie scoffed, and Jonathan raised an eyebrow. “It’s true! You’re just too wrapped up in your head to notice, but the rest of us are not, so please, for all of our sakes, just talk to her.”

After a small breakfast the next morning, Chrissy pulled out the little bottles of nail polish she had stuffed in her bag at the last minute. Painting her nails often helped her to relax, and her current color was chipping anyway.

She already knew she wanted to paint her nails yellow today, but she pulled out all three bottles and lined them up on the table anyway. Seeing their pretty pastel colors was relaxing too.

“Good morning, Chrissy,” Joyce said as she got up and fixed some coffee. “What are you doing?”

“I’m going to paint my nails. I brought a few colors with me, and my nail polish started chipping yesterday.”

Joyce nodded. “I used to love painting my nails when I was in school.”

“Do you . . . want me to paint yours?”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that.”

Chrissy must not have hid her disappointment well, because Joyce smiled at her and continued, “but if you want to, I’d love that.”

Chrissy beamed.

She did Joyce’s first, carefully sliding the brush down her nail once, twice, three time, then tucking it back into the soft blue bottle and sliding her own nail across the skin to remove any polish that landed there.

“You’re good at this,” Joyce said.

Chrissy didn’t look up from the brush. “I’ve had a lot of practice. It helps when I’m stressed.”

“Are you stressed right now?”

Chrissy shrugged and searched for an explanation, but Joyce changed the subject. “I don’t think I’ve painted my nails since I was in high school.”

Chrissy looked up, startled. “Really?”

“Yep. Of course, back then, I didn’t paint them these pretty pastel colors.” She lowered her voice and her smile had a hint of mischief in the corners. “I preferred black nails.”

“No!” The word slipped out of Chrissy’s mouth before she could stop it, and she clapped her hand over her mouth, eyes widening.

Joyce laughed. “Yes, sir. I was a bit of a rebel in school. Somehow neither of my boys got it.” She pursed her lips in mock contemplation. “El though, Hop said she did go through a rebellious phase a couple years ago . . .” She grinned. “For a week.”

Chrissy laughed. Somehow she couldn’t imagine the girl rebelling at all. She dipped the brush back into the bottle, then ran it against the side to remove the excess polish. “So, is she your daughter?” It was a weird question to ask, but it felt weirder to leave it unanswered.

Joyce smiled gently. “It’s a . . . difficult situation, but yes. She lived with Hopper for about two years, and then with me and the boys for almost one more.”

They settled back into silence, then Joyce used her polish-free hand to poke Chrissy’s arm. “I will say, black nail polish? Real confidence booster. You should try it.”

Chrissy’s eyes widened again, and another laugh slid out before she bit her lip and shook her head. Wearing black nail polish somehow seemed like an even bigger step than leaving home. “I–I don’t think so.”

El walked into the kitchen, then stopped and watched them, frowning. Joyce saw her and held out her free hand. “Hey, sweetie.”

El walked over and took her hand, still frowning at the nail polish. “What are you doing?”

“I’m painting her nails,” Chrissy said, though it felt obvious. The girl still seemed confused. Chrissy knew plenty of girls who didn’t like having their nails painted, or who didn’t have the patience or the time, but she was fairly certain every girl knew what nail polish was. At least, she had been until a moment ago.

“See?” She held up the blue bottle. “It’s paint, and I put it on her nails to make them colorful.”

El’s eyes widened. “Does–does it stay?”

“Yes.” She noticed the horror on the girl’s face and continued. “It’s not permanent, though. It’ll come off on its own after a few days, or you can take it off early.”

El sat at the table and watched as Chrissy finished Joyce’s nails, then turned to her. “Do you want me to paint yours?”

El hesitated, then nodded, her big eyes fixed on the little bottles. Chrissy moved them closer to her. “Which color do you want?”

El studied each one carefully, first picking up the pink, then the blue. She lingered on the yellow one the longest, but then returned to the others.

“I can do polka dots with all three colors if you want?” Chrissy asked. El’s eyes lit up and she nodded. Chrissy smiled as the younger girl moved closer and held her hands out.

She painted the girl’s nails yellow, then painted tiny pink and blue dots all over, enjoying the design. Chrissy had never been allowed to do her own like that, but her friends sometimes did, and she had been jealous of the cheerful look.

When she finished El’s and moved onto her own, she decided to take Joyce’s advice and be a little rebellious (though not quite to that degree), painting them pink with yellow spots.

El watched her, keeping her hands flat on the table. (Chrissy had told her to be careful not to mess them up before they dried, and the girl seemed unduly terrified of the idea.) When Chrissy gave her the all clear to use her hands, El skipped into the living room to proudly display her hands to her dad and brothers who complimented them effusively.

Chrissy couldn’t help but smile herself when she saw El beam.

Eleven couldn’t move. She stood uselessly outside the bathroom door, hand raised to knock.

Chrissy had been in there for a while, but she hadn’t thought about it until she heard that noise. Will got sick easily, so she recognized the sound of throwing up, but that didn’t answer the question of what to do about it.

How did you help someone sick? She never had to try before.

Crying. Chrissy was crying in there, and Eleven just stood outside doing nothing.

What did Joyce do to help Will? She–she–

Her mind went blank.

Joyce. Joyce would know how to help. Eleven finally unfroze and ran to the bedroom.

It was all that stupid mirror’s fault, really. That horrible gilded thing beside the door, perfectly placed to catch stray hairs, food in your teeth, or smudged makeup before you left.

It looked exactly like her mom’s.

When Chrissy woke up that morning, Jonathan had been making pancakes from a box. It was very nice of him to make food for everyone and it smelled so good, which was why she couldn’t tell him she only wanted one when he handed her a plate of two. But that was . . . fine. She could give El the other one when he wasn’t paying attention.

She took a small bite, intending to savor it, then nearly choked as Eddie dropped into the seat next to her as thought it were the most normal thing in the world.

Except . . . the seat next to her was also the only seat next to Will, who, it soon became obvious, was the intended target.

“Will the Wise,” Eddie proclaimed in a deep voice, raising his eyebrows. “I have not had a decent conversation about DnD, music, or anything interesting in far too long, and I am bored. What do you say?”

The younger boy lit up and straightened in his chair. “I like DnD.”

Eddie chuckled. “So I’ve heard. You gonna join Hellfire Club when you get home?”

Will shrugged. “I’d like to. I haven’t gotten to play in a while.”

“You should. Gareth’s going to be the DM this year, and then, I don’t know, you and your buddies can fight over it, I guess. So I’ve heard you’re usually a magic user.” Will grinned and nodded quickly.

Chrissy’s mother’s voice echoed in her head. “He looks like his head will fall right off.” She pushed it away and took another bite of her pancake.

She watched Jonathan cook and El play with the whipped cream container as she ate, being careful not to watch Eddie or Will as they continued their conversation filled with words she didn’t understand.

(She wanted to ask what they meant. She didn’t.)

Her fork clanged as she tried to spear another bite, and she looked down–to find an empty plate staring back at her.

She ate both pancakes.

Which–was fine. Really. It didn’t matter. One day didn’t matter. She would be more careful tomorrow, and everything would be fine.

So she went about her day, ignoring the heavy feeling in her stomach.

Everyone had noticed her preference to sit in the little brown chair closest to do the door in the living room (Jonathan had even jokingly called it her chair two days ago), but no one understood why. After all, why would anyone else have noticed it was the only seat in the room that didn’t put the mirror on full display?

But today, it didn’t matter what she did, didn’t matter where she went, she could feel that mirror watching her like her mom’s eyes. That gaze going through walls, turning corners, just staring. She felt the disapproval and it ached.

That was how she ended sobbing over the toilet as Joyce rushed into the bathroom without knocking, El standing nervously behind her.

Chrissy hated it. Hated them seeing her like this, falling apart.

Joyce knelt beside her on the tile floor and ran her fingers gently through Chrissy’s hair, tying it back. “Chrissy, Chrissy, sweetheart, it’s okay. It’s okay.” She wrapped her arm around Chrissy’s shoulders and held her tightly. “Are you sick? I can send Jonathan to go get medicine.” And that was wrong. Shouldn’t she have asked before touching her, so if Chrissy was contagious, no one else would get it?

Joyce pressed the back of her hand to Chrissy’s forehead, but Chrissy pushed it away and shook her head. “I–I’m not sick,” she choked, but it felt like a lie catching in her throat. After all, she must be sick, right? Healthy people didn’t do this. They didn’t fall apart like this. Didn’t make themselves throw up regularly–

She cried harder.

“It’s okay,” Joyce murmured in her ear. “Just breathe.”

“I–I didn’t want to. I didn’t meant to,” Chrissy sobbed, and she couldn’t make the words stop. “I was–I was better, but I ate too much for breakfast and the mirror wouldn’t stop staring.”

She made no sense, she knew, but she couldn’t stop. She leaned into Joyce’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. I didn’t–I’m sorry.”

“Shh.” Joyce rubbed her hand over her head. “You don’t have to apologize to me. Just breathe.”

She tried, but every time she managed to calm down, the crying started again. She wasn’t sure how long she and Joyce stayed there on the bathroom floor.

When the tears finally slowed, still running down her cheeks, but not choking her, Joyce rubbed her back and pulled away a bit. “Okay, do you want to tell me what happened now?”

Not really. She hadn’t meant to say anything at all. She sniffed and tugged on the hem of her shirt.

“You said something about a mirror,” Joyce prompted. “This mirror?” She pointed to the one above the sink.

Chrissy shook her head and curled in. “The mirror by the front door. I–it looks like my mom’s.”

Joyce waited for her to say more, but when she didn’t, she changed the subject. “Chrissy, what did you eat for breakfast?”

Chrissy swallowed hard. “I ate two pancakes.” She tensed, waiting for Joyce to tell her to stop crying. That she was greedy and shouldn’t have eaten that much to begin with.

“Chrissy, sweetie, look at me.” Joyce’s hands cupped her chin and tilted her head up. “That’s not too much. Now, if you really aren’t hungry, and I mean really and truly not hungry, that’s fine, but there’s nothing wrong with eating two pancakes. You eat as much as you need.” Joyce smiled. “El had four this morning, and Will more than that.” A lump grew in Chrissy’s throat, and she felt the tears start again, trickling down her face.

“Now, I don’t know how things worked at your house,” Joyce continued in a tone that said she could guess, “but I don’t want you to be hungry here, alright? We make a lot of food because we have a lot of people, so there’s always plenty.”

She stood up, then held out a hand to help Chrissy to her feet. She lowered her voice and cupped Chrissy’s face in her hands. “And you’re beautiful, sweetie. You don’t have to be thin to stay that way.”

That pushed her over the edge again. Chrissy sobbed, burying her face in Joyce’s shoulder. “I–I want to get better,” she choked. “I–I tried, but–but I did it anyway.”

“It’s going to take time,” Joyce said gently, rubbing her back again. “It takes time to break any habit, and some days will be harder than others, but you can ask for help, okay? You can always ask for help.” Chrissy nodded and hugged the woman tighter.

When she finally cleaned up and left the bathroom, the mirror had disappeared. She never saw it again.

Will watched Chrissy circle the table again, like a hungry shark too afraid to strike. He pretended not to see as he collected the cards and reshuffled them. He knew just how uncomfortable it could be trying to make your way into a group of strangers, and him staring would not help matters. He had done his best to seem more approachable, but it didn’t seem to be working. Chrissy was an anomaly to him, preferring to stand outside and watch, even when invited it.

He finished shuffling, then passed one card to El, one to Jonathan, one to himself, then picked up a fourth and hovered it over the table in the empty spot between him and El. “Do you want to play, Chrissy?”

She was going to say no. He could see it plainly written on her face, and he scrambled for something, anything to say to make it clear this wasn’t just a polite invitation. “We can teach you if you want!” He winced as the words came out too loud, then he noticed how she hesitated.

Ah, so that was the magic word.

“I don’t want to keep you from playing.”

“It’s really not hard,” Jonathan said. “It won’t take long to show you at all.”

She twisted the end of her sleeve. “I’ve been watching you play for a while, and I still don’t understand it. It might be better for me to just watch.”

“It’s fast,” Jonathan pointed out. “That’s why you don’t understand it, but you’ll pick it up if we show you.”

“If you’re sure . . .” All three nodded, and she gave a shy smile as she slid into the empty seat. Jonathan pulled another spoon out of the drawer as Will continued dividing the cards, then Jonathan ran through the rules, explaining how to choose which cards to keep.

Chrissy’s mouth opened as Jonathan explained, and she looked around at everyone. “Is that all it is?”

Will laughed. “We told you it was easy, but it does get fast, and you have to pay attention to everyone else too. You ready to play?” She nodded, and they launched into the game, Will starting this time.

Jonathan finished his hand first, slowly reaching across the table to grab a spoon. The motion caught Will’s eye (Jonathan was the one to watch in this game, especially since both girls were still beginners), and he grabbed one too.

They watched silently for a while, making faces at each other as the girls continued flipping through cards, until El’s head suddenly shot up and she saw the one remaining spoon. Her eyes widened and she snatched it up. Her face lit up, and she pointed at it to Will. He nodded and grinned at her, then held a finger in front of his lips and pointed to Chrissy. She nodded.

Chrissy stiffened as she looked at the cards in her hand, then looked up at the table to find every spoon already in someone’s hand. She sagged. “Oh.”

El started giggling, and Will froze. He didn’t want Chrissy to think she was laughing at her when she was really just excited not to be the last one standing for once, but thankfully Chrissy started giggling herself. “I guess I forgot to pay attention.”

“Don’t feel bad,” Jonathan said. “It takes practice to get the hang of it.”

Will rolled his eyes. “Unless you’re Jonathan, who was born playing spoons perfectly.”

“That’s not true!”

Will collected the scattered cards and looked at Chrissy. “Do you want to play again?” She nodded and smiled.

As he shuffled, he felt something touch his foot, and he looked up at Jonathan, who nodded and gave him a proud grin. Will ducked his head to hide the smile he couldn’t hold back.

Eddie was running away. Again.

Well, it wasn’t exactly running away considering he was stuck in a house with six other people, but it was close enough.

Jonathan had told him to talk to Chrissy days ago, but he still couldn’t–wouldn’t–he didn’t know–do it. Because Jonathan was wrong. Maybe, maybe Chrissy would be fine with talking to him (probably not since he had completely upended her life again after she finally got it straightened out), but a kicked puppy? Really?

Jonathan’s exaggerations aside, he didn’t want to talk to her and receive only her polite, closed-off responses to any conversation topic he might come up with, but Jonathan kept giving him pointed looks whenever she was in the room, or trying to leave them alone together, and it was getting annoying.

So now he was hiding in the closet with the door left open so he could stretch his legs out, picking out a tune on his guitar.

“Why are you sitting in the closet?”

His head shot up so fast he hit it on the back wall, and he closed his eyes for a second as pain shot through his skull.

“I’m so sorry!” Chrissy said. “I didn’t mean to scare you!”

He blinked up at her and rubbed his head. “No, you’re fine. I, uh, I tend to tune out when I’m playing.” He waited for her to say or ask whatever had made her look for him, then realized he had never answered her first question. “Oh, uh, sorry, I, uh, I came in here cause I needed space.”

She nodded slowly, looking the closet up and down. “And there’s so much of it in here.”

He snorted, always appreciative when someone gave his sarcasm right back to him. At his laugh, Chrissy lit up, smile breaking across her face so bit it made her eyes squint. She was so pretty.

What was he doing again?

“Can I sit too, or will that kind of ruin the point?”

“What? Oh, no, go ahead. Well, I mean, there’s not much room, but if you want–that’s uh, that’s fine.” He slid over to one side, leaving room for her to climb in. He turned back to his guitar and traced the designs on the front as he tried not to notice how she ended pressed against his side.

“I, um, I heard you play,” she said quietly.

“Sorry. I thought I was being quiet, but I guess these walls are thinner than I thought.”

“No, I mean . . . back there.”

“Back–” his eyes widened. “In the Upside-Down?”

She frowned and tilted her head. “The what?”

He shook his head. “Right, sorry, that’s, uh, what the kids called it. Where the monsters live.”

“Yes, there.” She rolled her eyes up, considering. “Why Upside-Down?”

Eddie shrugged. “Never asked. Somehow that never felt like a priority.” He plucked one string and let it hum. “But–you really heard me?” She didn’t say anything, but he felt her nod beside him. “It was for you,” he blurted out, then winced. He felt the blood rush to his face, and he let his hair cover his face as he bent further over the guitar.

“Really?” she whispered, and he chewed his lip, definitely not reading into her breathless tone. He nodded, still not looking at her.

“I didn’t know the song, but I liked it.”

He did look up now, his eyebrows shooting up. “Wow, Chrissy Cunningham, secret metalhead.”

She flushed and looked away. “I don’t think you can say metalhead if that’s the only one I’ve heard.”

He tilted his head back against the wall. “Hmm. We’ll have to fix that. I’ve got a few of my favorite tapes with me if we can find some way to play them without Hopper murdering me.”

She giggled, and he couldn’t help but smile up at the ceiling. He purposely didn’t look at her, but he could imagine exactly how she looked as she grinned–nope. Not going there. He forced music and guitar chords back into his head.

“Eddie?” The playful, cheerful tone was gone and his treacherous mind immediately began considering ways to bring it back.

“Yeah?”

“Um, you’re not mad at me, right? I mean, you don’t seem like it right now, but . . .”

He nearly his his head again as he whirled around to face her. “What?”

She curled in, drawing her knees up and picking at her sleeve. “I just–it felt like you’ve been avoiding me, and I thought maybe I did something to upset you, and if I did, I’m really sorry–”

“Chrissy, stop!” She squeezed the sides of her shirt. “I’m not mad at you. I’m not–I–I thought you wouldn’t want to talk to me.”

She turned to him, her brow wrinkled, chewing her lip. “Why wouldn’t I want to talk to you?”

Like a kicked puppy, echoed in his head as he stared into those watery eyes. He silently cursed Jonathan and himself.

He dropped his gaze back to the guitar. “I–you finally got out, got away, and then I had to go drag you back into all this . . .” he waved his hand vaguely at the room in front of them, “mess. Why would you want to talk to me when I just ruined your life again?”

She laid her hand on his arm, and he looked up. “You didn’t ruin my life. Eddie, you saved me.”

“Wh–what? No, I ran away. I just left. I should have stayed, should have tried something, but I just–”

“Eddie, stop. I told you, I heard you play back there. The–the Upside-Down. You woke me up. Without you, I would still be dead.”

His mind spun, and he wanted to shake his head, insist that couldn’t be right. She couldn’t be alive just because he happened to try to distract himself from Nancy’s horrible prophecies by mentally playing through Master of Puppets, and because he happened to think it would make a good distraction for the bats too.

That–it was too much of a coincidence. Too much could have gone wrong, gone a little bit differently, and she wouldn’t be here beside him. She would still be in the Upside-Down, tied to those columns, limbs broken, eyes gone–

“Eddie? Are you okay?”

Slowly his eyes focused back on her. Slowly he became aware of her hands on his face as she stared at him, concern evident on her face. “You–you didn’t have some sort of vision, right? Please tell me you didn’t–”

“No. No visions.” She relaxed, but didn’t pull her hands away. He focused on the feeling, trying to ground himself. Remind himself that she was here. She was alive. “I–sorry. I, uh, I got lost in my head for a second, I guess.” He pulled her hands of his face, but found he couldn’t let go once they were tucked in his. “But–but, Chrissy, I didn’t do anything. I mean, I couldn’t help you. Bringing you back, that–that was an accident.”

She shook her head. “Doesn’t matter.”

“It should matter–”

“Fine! I want to talk to you because you’re my friend, then.” She paused and worried her bottom lip with her teeth. “Is–is that okay?”

“You want to be my friend?” he breathed.

“I thought I already was. You’re mine.”

He forced a smile, mind still reeling. “Oh, well you gotta tell me things like that, Cunningham. If I had known we were friends, I would have–”

“Would have what?”

Would have talked to you before now. He swallowed. “Would have been bragging about it more.”

She wrinkled her nose and shoved his shoulder. “Stop it!”

He laughed, even as she pushed him into the wall. “I’m serious! Of course, there’s not many people I could brag about that to right now. The only five people I could tell probably have the same bragging rights, so . . .”

She giggled and leaned over, resting her head on his shoulder. Once settled there, she made no move to get up. He tucked his pick in his pocket, then tentatively slid his arm behind her, wrapping it around her shoulders and expecting any moment for her to stiffen, or ask him to move. Instead she sighed and snuggled closer.

He leaned his head back against the wall. Ever since she said the word “friend”, a question had been burning in his mind. This didn’t seem the right time to ask, but he was afraid of getting stuck in his head again if he didn’t, misinterpreting things and pushing her away.

“Hey, Chrissy?”

“Mmhmm?”

He closed his eyes. “How come you didn’t say goodbye or anything before you left?” She tensed, and he waited for her to pull away, already missing her in his arms.

She buried her face in his shoulder instead, and he hoped she couldn’t hear how fast his heart beat. When she finally spoke, her voice was so quiet he had to lean closer to hear. “I–I couldn’t.” He waited for a reason, but none came. “I"m sorry, Eddie.”

He squeezed her shoulders, and she relaxed again, sighing against him.

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