Chapter 12

“You went without me?” Maggie exclaims, her voice pitching just enough to draw a sharp glance from Joyce in the next room. 

She doesn’t care. She’s standing in the Byers’ narrow hallway, one hand on her hip, the other gesturing wildly. Her eyes flash with frustration and a little hurt.

Jonathan sighs and rubs the back of his neck, “I know,” he says, quietly, “I’m sorry. I just… I didn’t want you in the crossfire.”

Maggie’s eyes narrow, voice dipping low, “Jonathan, I may not know everything about this town or your messed-up family, but I do know your father’s a world-class asshat with the emotional depth of a sink sponge. You think I wouldn’t have your back?”

“I know you would,” he replies, voice soft but firm, eyes meeting hers. “That’s exactly why I didn’t want you there. You… you get pulled into things. And I didn’t want to add this to your pile.”

Her mouth opens to argue, but closes just as fast. He’s not wrong.

“Well, any luck on Sunshine?” she asks, using the nickname only she ever calls Will. 

Her tone softens, but the worry is laced under each word.

Jonathan’s expression shifts, his eyes dulling. 

He shakes his head slowly, “Nothing. No calls. No sightings. Not even a weird dream. I’m starting to really worry.”

Without another word, Maggie steps closer and places a gentle hand on his shoulder.  A faint glow pulses beneath the veins in her wrist, hidden beneath her sleeve. She draws in his worry like smoke through a vent, pulling it into herself until it settles deep in her chest.

Her own breath stutters slightly at the weight of it. She can feel the edges of his fear now, sharp and quiet, curled around his love for his brother. Her own emotions tremble in response, doubling in intensity.

“We’re going to find him,” she says, her voice stronger than she feels, “I know it.”

She keeps her hand there for a second longer, grounding them both before letting go.

The second the connection breaks, the weight shifts. She feels it settle into her shoulders, low and cold. Her fingertips tingle. Her head is suddenly too full. But she grits her teeth and forces a smile because if she can take even an ounce of Jonathan’s worry off his chest, then she’ll carry it gladly.

“Now,” she says, stepping back and smoothing her coat collar, “I’ve got places to be. Heading to Nancy’s. Try not to let your mom spiral completely, alright? You’re the glue of the family. Honor demands it.”

Jonathan chuckles weakly and gives her a grateful nod, “Thanks, Mags.”

She offers him a wink and grabs her bag, heading out the door.

The air outside bites at her cheeks as she pedals through the Hawkins streets, tires crunching on brittle leaves scattered across the sidewalk. The sun’s just low enough to cast the trees in long shadows. Her bike creaks in protest but she hums to herself anyway, an old tune she doesn’t remember learning, but knows by heart.

By the time she hits the Wheeler’s driveway, she’s gathered herself. Mostly.

She hops off the bike, tossing it lazily against the bushes (Mike will complain later) and bounds up the porch steps, hair bouncing with every stride. She raises her fist and knocks sharply on the door.

Two seconds later, she adds a rapid-fire rhythm knock like a drum solo.

Because if she’s going to show up at Nancy Wheeler’s house, she’s going to make an entrance.

The door swings open with a gentle creak and the warm scent of something cinnamon wafts out.

Karen Wheeler stands on the threshold, wearing a soft beige cardigan and a look of patient amusement, as though she had known it was going to be Maggie knocking before her knuckles even hit the door.

“Maggie,” Karen says, a fond little smile tugging at her lips, “Right on time.”

Maggie leans against the doorframe like she belongs there, a half-grin forming on her face. 

“Mrs. Wheeler,” she says, as if greeting an old friend, or teasing a crush, it’s hard to tell with her, “Have I told you lately that this house always smells like a Nancy Meyers movie?”

Karen laughs softly, stepping aside to let her in, “You say that every time you walk through my door.”

“And I’ll keep saying it until I get written into the will,” Maggie replies, stepping into the warm light of the Wheeler home and brushing stray leaves off her jacket.

Karen gives her a knowing glance, “You’re already more of a fixture around here than the thermostat. You want something to drink?”

“Only if it comes in a floral glass with a paper straw,” Maggie quips.

Karen chuckles and moves toward the kitchen, “Tell Nancy you’re here. She’s upstairs.”

Maggie starts up the stairs two at a time, but pauses halfway up.

“By the way,” she calls over her shoulder, “you do know I’m not entirely harmless, right?”

Karen looks back from the kitchen with a raised brow, “Sweetheart, I have three children. I haven’t been afraid of chaos since 1975.”

Maggie grins and heads for the second floor. She rounds the corner to Nancy’s bedroom and doesn’t bother knocking before pushing the door open with her hip.

“Guess who just graced your middle-class kingdom with her presence,” Maggie sings.

Nancy looks up from her desk, already smirking, “You’ve been here three times this week.”

“And yet you still look surprised. I’m hurt.”

Nancy puts down her pen and leans back in her chair, “What took you so long?”

“Had to chat with Broody Tunes,” Maggie tosses her bag on the bed, flopping down dramatically after it, “Also, your mom and I had a brief but meaningful conversation about how I’m her favorite child.”

Nancy raises an eyebrow, “You flirt with my mom again?”

“I only said her new nail polish makes her look like a Bond girl with PTA obligations. That’s supportive, not flirty.”

Nancy shakes her head, but she’s smiling.

The sound of footsteps thunders down the hall. Mike appears in the doorway without preamble, clutching a notebook in one hand.

“Nancy, do you have a ruler?” he asks breathlessly, “Lucas bent mine trying to measure a slingshot trajectory.”

Then he sees Maggie and stops short, visibly deflating, “You’re here again?”

Maggie waves lazily from the bed, “Aw, c’mon, Captain Angst. You sound like I broke in.”

“You basically live in our basement.”

“And the plumbing still works. Miracles do happen.”

Nancy watches this exchange like she’s watching two cats pretend not to like each other, “You two have the weirdest sibling energy I’ve ever seen.”

“We’re not siblings,” Mike and Maggie say in unison, Mike in horror, Maggie with a wink.

Nancy gapes, “Okay. That somehow made it worse.”

Mike groans and disappears back down the hall.

Maggie smirks, “He missed me.”

“Like a headache,” Nancy mutters, trying not to smile.

They’re still laughing when Karen calls them down for dinner.

Maggie trails Nancy into the kitchen, where the table is already set and Mike is trying to act like he didn’t just tell his mom that Maggie once used a glitter pen to write out a D&D death curse. The other two boys are caught up in whatever nerdy thing they could think to bicker about. Ted is reading the paper. Holly is babbling to her peas. It’s classic suburban chaos.

Maggie slides into the chair between Mike and Nancy with a sunny, “Evening, family!”

“You’re not—” Mike starts, but Karen cuts in smoothly with, “Glad you could come over, Maggie. You’re always welcome.”

Ted grunts in what might be agreement.

Halfway through dinner, the conversation turns toward school and science projects. Maggie’s describing an “explosive” history presentation when Dustin blurts from across the table, mouth full of mashed potatoes.

“Remember when Maggie lit up in the basement—?”

There’s a beat of silence. Maggie freezes, fork halfway to her mouth. Mike kicks Dustin under the table. Lucas elbows him.

“I—uh—meant lit up as in like—lit up the room,” Dustin backpedals wildly, “With her… presence.”

“Presence,” Lucas echoes, nodding frantically, “She has a very radiant presence.”

Karen looks at them suspiciously, “Okay…”

Maggie flashes her most dazzling smile, “It’s the moisturizer. Makes me practically radioactive.”

Karen narrows her eyes, looking between them, “What’s going on?”

Nancy clears her throat, clearly fishing for a lifeline. 

2″So,” she says a little too loudly, “there’s this special assembly tonight for Will. At the school field. Barb’s driving.”

Karen, mid-sip of her wine, lowers her glass slowly and arches an eyebrow.

“And why,” she asks pointedly, “am I just hearing about this?”

“I thought you knew,” Nancy says, her voice tight as she stabs at her green beans.

“I told you,” Karen says, her tone turning into full mother mode, “I don’t want you out after dark until Will is found.”

“I know, I know,” Nancy sighs, eyes flicking briefly to Maggie, “But it’d be super weird if I wasn’t there. Everyone’s going.”

Karen narrows her eyes, lips pursing.

Then, she glances at Maggie, “Is Maggie going?”

Maggie, mid-bite with her cheeks full of mashed potatoes like a squirrel hoarding for winter, freezes. She blinks twice, glances at Nancy, then flashes an awkward grin.

“Oh. Yeah. Totally,” she says quickly, swallowing hard, “Wouldn’t miss it for the world. Big fan of assemblies. Especially the candlelight kind. Creepy, mournful… my whole aesthetic.”

Karen doesn’t look entirely convinced but sighs, choosing her battles. 

“Fine. Just be back by ten. Both of you,” She looks between Nancy and Maggie like she’s trying to decide who’s more likely to break the rules and lose a shoe doing it.

Then her gaze shifts to the boys across the table.

“Why don’t you take the boys with you?” she offers.

“NO,” all three boys blurt at once; Mike, Lucas, and Dustin, shaking their heads so fast it looks like a synchronized seizure.

Karen is taken aback. Behind her, just past the hallway arch, a figure stands curiously in the distance. El. Silent and still like a ghost caught mid-step.

Maggie chokes on her water, nearly falling sideways out of her chair. Mike snorts his milk which comes out his nose. Dustin slams his hands on the table in a panic-induced distraction, the sound ringing out like a gunshot.

Karen jumps, eyes darting around the table, “What the—?”

“Sorry!” Dustin blurts, voice cracking, “Spasm. Had a… hand spasm. Happens sometimes.”

He immediately sinks lower into his seat, clutching his glass with exaggerated calm. Maggie facepalms so hard she leaves a faint imprint on her forehead. Holly starts to whine in her booster seat from the startling noise.

Karen turns toward her gently, “It’s okay, Holly. Just a loud noise.”

Nancy lifts her fork slowly, looking around the table like she’s seated with a collection of short-circuiting androids. 

“Nice,” she says dryly, eyebrows raised.

Maggie mutters into her napkin, “We’re gonna die.”

El quietly vanishes back down the hall.

After dinner, the pot-roast-scented air of the Wheeler household is replaced by the crisp bite of early November. The porch light buzzes overhead as Barb’s beat-up Toyota idles at the curb, headlights casting sleepy beams onto the street.

Karen hugs Nancy at the door with practiced motherly grace, brushing a hand over her shoulder. 

“Remember what we talked about,” she says, her tone soft but serious.

“I know, Mom,” Nancy replies, “We’re not staying out late.”

Karen glances to Maggie, who’s fiddling with the buttons on her jacket with an innocent expression that fools no one, “You too. I’m trusting you, Maggie.”

Maggie offers a wide-eyed salute, “Scouts honor. Home by ten. Minimal crimes.”

Karen sighs, “Let’s aim for no crimes.”

“I make no promises I can’t keep,” Maggie grins, then tugs Nancy’s hand, “Let’s ride, Queen of Repressed Crushes.”

Nancy groans but allows herself to be pulled along.

They skip down the porch steps, their footsteps light on the pavement. The backseat door of Barb’s Toyota creaks as Maggie hurls herself inside with her usual flair, limbs everywhere.

“Barbwire, lovely to see you, darling,” she drawls, tossing her bag to the floor and sprawling across the seat.

Barb looks at her through the rearview mirror, dry as ever, “You always get in like you’ve been chased here.”

“I was chased. By the ghosts of awkward dinner conversations and milk-related incidents.”

Nancy slides into the passenger seat, exhaling a long breath, “Why do I get the feeling this is going to be one of those nights?”

“Because it is,” Maggie replies, flashing a grin, “But don’t worry. I brought charm and bad decision-making. You’re in excellent hands.”

Barb puts the car in gear and pulls away from the curb. They coast through quiet suburban streets lit by intermittent porch lights and the glow of streetlamps.

“You know I’m excited for a little party,” Maggie says with a smirk, resting her chin on the back of the passenger seat and peering up at Nancy, “Aiming to get a little drunk. Maybe dramatically fall off a porch. You know. Classic weekend plans.”

Barb groans from the driver’s seat, already regretting her life choices, “Please don’t get too drunk. I need you for emotional support, not passed out in a pile of solo cups.”

Maggie raises a hand solemnly, “I promise to be buzzed but available. Like a wine aunt with a therapist’s license.”

Nancy snorts, shaking her head, but says nothing. The streetlights flash in her eyes as they pass, gold then shadow, gold then shadow, and for a second, her expression looks a little too thoughtful.

Maggie leans back again, her boots knocking gently against the door. 

“Besides,” she adds with a grin that’s just slightly too tight, “you don’t want to end up listening to Nancy and Steve moaning all night. Without me, might I add.”

Her tone is light, but the second the words are out of her mouth, a dull ache slices across her stomach like a paper cut. Jealousy. It hits before she can stop it. A flicker of something sour and stupid and absolutely not worth admitting.

Barb groans again, this time louder, “God, please don’t talk about that. I will drive this car off a bridge.”

“Hypothetically,” Nancy mutters, blushing faintly, “And it’s not like that.”

“Uh-huh,” Maggie hums. 

She leans forward, resting her elbows on the back of their seats, “So you’re saying I won’t be serenaded by the passionate sounds of teenage yearning echoing through Steve Harrington’s house?”

Nancy shoots her a flat look, “I’m saying shut up.”

Maggie grins, an automatic, glittering thing that hides more than it shows, “Touchy. Very touchy.”

Barb glances in the rearview, “Maybe she’s just not used to people calling it out.”

Maggie shrugs, falling back against her seat, “Fair. Most people don’t have the range to talk about their feelings and apply eyeliner in a moving vehicle. But I contain multitudes.”

There’s a short silence, broken only by the hum of tires on the road and the soft rattle of something loose in the glove compartment.

“You okay?” Barb asks, voice softer now.

Maggie blinks, “What do you mean?”

“You get weird when you talk about Nancy and Steve. Like… weirder than usual.”

Nancy turns slightly in her seat, eyebrows raised.

Maggie waves a hand in the air, “It’s not that deep. I just have a complicated relationship with straight people. And emotions. And parties. And porches.”

“You’re deflecting,” Barb says flatly.

“I know,” Maggie replies, “Isn’t it charming?”

Nancy smirks, arms crossed over her chest, “You’re exhausting.”

“I know. But I’m irresistible,” Maggie shoots back.

And though the teasing resumes and the car rolls on toward Steve’s house and whatever the night holds, Maggie’s fingers keep twitching slightly in her lap like they’re already bracing for impact.

“Barbara, pull over,” Nancy says firmly, eyes fixed on the dark street ahead.

Barb asks, fingers tightening on the wheel, “What?”

“Just pull over,” Nancy repeats, slightly laughing.

With a reluctant sigh, Barb guides the Toyota to the side of the road. The tires crunch over scattered leaves and the streetlight above them flickers once before casting the car in a low glow.

They roll to a stop halfway down the block. Steve Harrington’s house is still a few turns away, its silhouette nowhere in sight.

Barb throws the car into park, glancing at her friend with open confusion, “What are we doing? His house is literally, like, three blocks away.”

“We can’t park in the driveway,” Nancy says coolly, flipping down the visor and popping open the mirror.

Barb squints, “Seriously?”

“Yeah,” Nancy murmurs, delicately applying her lipstick, “The neighbors might see.”

Barb throws her hands up, “Oh my God. This is so stupid. I’m just gonna drop you off and—”

“Barb,” Nancy snaps, turning to her with a pointed look, “You promised you’d go. You’re coming.”

Maggie, sprawled in the back with one foot kicked up on the window, lifts her head lazily, “Yeah, c’mon, Barbwire. I can’t have you ditching me now, beautiful. You’re my moral compass. Or at least my designated driver.”

Barb groans, resting her forehead on the steering wheel for a second, “Why am I friends with either of you?”

Nancy smirks, “Because deep down, you like being dragged into chaos.”

“We’re gonna have a great time,” Maggie says brightly, stretching like a cat, “There will be music, questionable drinks, and probably some sort of accidental destruction.”

Barb isn’t convinced, “He just wants to get in your pants, Nance.”

Nancy huffs a laugh, swiping at her lips with her thumb, “No, he doesn’t.”

Maggie props herself up, eyes wide with faux innocence, “Nancy, darling. He invited you over. His parents are conveniently MIA. The math isn’t exactly complicated.”

“Tommy H and Carol are gonna be there,” Nancy says with a shrug, trying to downplay it.

“Ugh. Don’t remind me,” Maggie groans, throwing an arm dramatically over her eyes, “Scratch that. Now I have to get drunk. I need a buffer for Carol’s voice alone. She sounds like a squirrel in stilettos.”

Nancy rolls her eyes but smiles. 

“You guys can be like my guardians tonight,” she offers playfully, “Make sure I don’t get drunk and do anything stupid.”

Maggie perks up, “So we’re bodyguards now? Sweet. Do I get a fake earpiece?”

“More like glorified babysitters,” Barb mutters, crossing her arms, “With zero pay.”

“Story of my life,” Maggie says, patting her own knee, “Underappreciated icon.”

Suddenly, Nancy starts pulling off her shirt, revealing the lacy strap of a new bra underneath.

Barb does a double take, “Is that a new bra?”

Nancy tosses her shirt into the back seat casually, “So what if it is?”

From the back, Maggie sits up like she’s just heard the call to battle. She lunges forward, elbow braced between the seats as she cranes to look. 

“Bra?! Let me see!“

Nancy turns, giving her a quick flash of the front.

Maggie lets out a low whistle and shoots her a mischievous grin, eyebrows wiggling, “Nice. 10 out of 10. Barb, take notes.”

Barb covers her face with both hands, “I can’t believe this is my life.”

“You chose us,” Maggie reminds her, “This is what you signed up for.”

Nancy finishes buttoning her cardigan over the bra as if it’s just another Tuesday and not an undercover lingerie mission, “Let’s go. The longer we sit here, the more sober I stay.”

Barb sighs and starts the car again, “God help me.”

Maggie leans back in her seat with a dreamy expression, “Don’t worry, babe. You’ve got me. The human version of bad choices.”

And with that, they turn down the street toward the Harrington house, toward the night ahead, the music already distant in the wind, and whatever beautifully bad decisions are waiting inside.

Nancy rings the doorbell, the chime echoing faintly through the Harrington house. The three girls stand on the front porch under the glow of a porch light that flickers just slightly, like even the house is hesitant about what’s about to unfold.

Barb fidgets with the hem of her jacket, clearly wishing she were anywhere else. Her eyes keep darting to the street behind them, like she’s counting how fast she could make an escape if she needed to.

Maggie notices, of course. She always notices. She leans in, softening just for a moment, and plants a quick, exaggerated kiss on Barb’s cheek.

“You’ll be okay,” she whispers, “You got this, tiger. Channel your inner rebel librarian.”

Barb huffs a nervous laugh, but some of the tension in her shoulders eases.

Before anyone can say more, the front door swings open with all the dramatic flourish of a teen movie entrance.

Steve Harrington stands there, leaning on the doorframe like he’s halfway through a cologne commercial. One hand on his hip and grin dialed up to charm overload.

“Hello, ladies,” he says with that signature smirk.