Chapter 14

The two girls head back to the party only to find Tommy, Carol, Steve, and Nancy splashing around in the pool. Squeals ring out and water splashes onto the concrete edge of the pool.

Maggie halts at the edge of the patio, arms folded, boots stopping just shy of the wet line where the pavement turns slick.

She cocks a brow and plasters on a smirk, “Nobody told me it was ‘flirt aggressively in chlorinated water’ hour.”

The couples pause long enough to look at her, grinning, drunk, and sunken in teenage euphoria.

“Come join us!” Carol calls out, her tone slightly taunting.

Maggie lifts her hands, stepping backward, “Oh, no, no. I think I’m all set. I don’t do well when I’m damp and vulnerable.”

But before she can slink away like Barb had, she hears Nancy’s voice, coy and honey-sweet.

“Hey, Mags?” she says, treading water with mock innocence, “Can you give me a hand out of the pool? I’m freezing.”

Maggie hesitates. Something in Nancy’s voice, in her grin, in the way Barb pulled back, tells her she’s walking into something.

But she’s buzzed, exhausted, emotionally confused, and if she’s being honest, her pride is already too bruised to care.

“You’re so predictable,” she mutters under her breath, but steps forward anyway. 

Her boots squish faintly as she moves toward the edge, and she extends a hand down to Nancy.

Nancy’s grin sharpens like a blade. With a splash loud enough to turn heads, Nancy yanks Maggie into the pool, clothes and all.

Maggie gasps as she hits the water, cold punching the breath from her lungs, alcohol evaporating from her brain in a blink. She surfaces with a splash, sputtering as wet strands of hair slap against her face.

“NANCY!” she roars, already swimming toward her. 

Nancy shrieks and dives underwater to escape, but Maggie’s quick. She grabs her wrist and pulls her under with a grin that borders on vengeance.

They both come up laughing, water cascading down their faces, eyes bright and teeth bared in open-mouthed laughter.

Maggie’s heart hammers as she wipes the water from her eyes. All the weirdness from earlier seems to lift, like chlorine rinsing clean the weight of the night. Nancy is beside her, head tilted back, smile wide, hair plastered to her cheeks. There’s something pure in the moment, silly and chaotic and stupid, but it feels good.

They splash each other, shrieking like they’re eight years old at a summer birthday party. They don’t notice Tommy jeering or Steve rolling his eyes with a half-smile.

Eventually the noise fades, and the two of them just float. Breathing heavy. The water calms around them. Their hands brush.

And then they’re still, facing each other in the low glow of the pool light. Maggie’s lips part slightly, a quip on the tip of her tongue, but it doesn’t come. Nancy’s gaze lingers on her. They’re so close their knees touch.

Maggie tilts her head, her voice barely above a whisper, “You planned that.”

Nancy grins, just barely, “Maybe.”

There’s a beat where neither of them moves. The water’s cold but Maggie barely feels it.

“Oh my god, Tommy, stop doing that!” Carol screeches from across the pool, splashing wildly.

The moment breaks. Nancy pulls back, laughing. Maggie exhales and shoves her wet hair from her eyes, retreating a few feet toward the edge.

But the echo of Nancy’s eyes on hers lingers. So does the sting of Barb’s lips from earlier.

Maggie ducks her head and lets herself float. Her chest feels warm and awful. And very, very alive.

After about ten minutes, the pool fun fades and all five teens climb out of the water, their soaked clothes clinging to their skin. The cold night air smacks them across the face.

Maggie sucks in a sharp breath, arms wrapping around her as her teeth chatter hard enough to crack. 

“Holy hell’s freezer,” she mutters, lunging for a towel on the nearby patio chair. 

She burrito-wraps herself immediately, the fabric sticking to her damp limbs, but offering some relief.

Barb trails behind them and when they get inside, the warmth hits them all like a golden wall. Carol lets out a squeal, hugging herself tightly as she rubs her towel along her arms.

“I’m freezing,” she exclaims, voice pitched high.

Tommy, who’s been riding the wave of alcohol and idiocy all night, smirks. 

“Well,” he starts, waggling his eyebrows in the world’s least charming way, “I hear his mom’s room has a fireplace…”

Steve nearly drops the towel he’s using to dry his hair. 

“Are you kidding me?” He throws out his arms, “Okay, well you’re cleaning the sheets.”

Carol giggles, leaning into Tommy. Nancy watches them with a tight smile, then shivers visibly.

Steve turns to her, hand resting lightly on her lower back, “You alright?”

Nancy nods, glancing at Maggie beside her, who’s visibly trembling in her towel, her lips blue, her hair dripping water down her cheeks.

Steve sighs, “Come on, let’s get you guys some dry clothes.”

Nancy and Maggie follow him toward the stairs, footsteps squishing slightly on the hardwood. Just as they begin to climb, Barb’s voice calls out behind them.

“Where are you guys going?”

The two girls turn, glancing guiltily at each other.

“Nowhere,” Nancy says, too fast.

“Just upstairs to change,” Maggie adds, giving Barb a small smile, “Wait for me? We’ll head home after.”

Barb hesitates, her eyes flicking to Nancy, then back to Maggie. There’s something in her gaze, an unspoken question or a warning, but eventually she nods. 

“Alright. I’ll wait.”

Maggie bounds up the stairs after Nancy, barefoot and trailing water like a soggy ghost. Her mind spins. Part of her wants to crack a joke to fill the thickening air, but she keeps quiet.

They enter Steve’s room, the soft hum of a cassette playing some Bowie in the background. Steve hands each of them a pair of sweats and oversized t-shirts, classic guy clothes.

Maggie takes hers and flops dramatically onto the edge of the bed. 

“You know, I could stay,” she says, draping herself across the mattress, “I’m always a good time.” 

She winks at Steve.

Nancy raises an eyebrow but smiles, amused, “Maggie…”

“Okay, okay,” Maggie says, raising her hands in surrender as she peels herself off the bed, “I’ll back off. Don’t have too much fun without me.”

Steve chuckles and nods, “Thanks for not stealing my clothes and my dignity.”

Nancy offers her a small wave, “Get home safe, Mags.”

Maggie pauses in the doorway. Her eyes flick to Nancy’s face, flushed, wet hair clinging to her cheek, mouth slightly parted. Her stomach knots again. That weird, dumb, dangerous feeling that seems to spark up every time she looks at her.

“I’ll see you later, beautiful,” Maggie says softly, then flicks a grin toward Steve, “Thanks for the threads, Harrington.”

And with that, she slips back down the stairs.

She makes a beeline for the bathroom, the same one where not too long ago she kissed Barb. The fluorescent light hums overhead as she closes the door and exhales. Her reflection in the mirror looks wrong. Her soaked shirt clings to her ribs, her hair frizzing at the edges, her silver streak curling in sharp contrast to the rest.

She looks like a girl caught between two versions of herself.

Her fingers tremble slightly as she peels off the damp clothes, skin rising in goosebumps as the air hits her bare skin. She trades wet denim for Steve’s borrowed sweats, tugging them up over her hips with a sigh. The warmth barely registers.

Something tight coils in her chest. That chill, it’s more than waterlogged clothing. It sits in her bones, humming like static. A strange pressure builds behind her eyes, like she’s going to cry for no reason at all.

She shakes her head. Not now.

Meanwhile, upstairs, Nancy slips off her shirt. Steve watches her from the side, grinning, but her mind is elsewhere.

She thinks of Maggie’s grin. Her eyes. The way she looked soaking wet and barefoot and alive. That strange little ache that settles into her gut whenever Maggie looks too long or says something that dances on the edge of being sincere.

Back in the bathroom, Maggie leans on the sink and stares into her reflection.

What are you doing? she thinks. What do you even want?

She presses the heels of her hands into her eyes. The cold in her bones still won’t leave. It hums under her skin.

She takes one shaky breath, and heads out to face Barb. She calls the girl’s name but no answer so she slips to the backyard.

She scans the pool, eyes darting across the rippling water, but there’s still no sign of the redhead. No Barb sitting stiffly in a lounge chair. No Barb tucked into a corner with her arms crossed and her lips pursed. Maggie cups her hands around her mouth.

“Barb?” she calls out again.

Silence. The backyard feels oddly hollow now. The laughter from earlier, the splashes, the sounds of teenage chaos, they’ve all faded into something quieter and lonelier.

Maggie’s shoulders sink as a cold wind brushes against her skin, “Guess I really did scare her off.”

She doesn’t say it with her usual dramatic flair, no performative pout or exaggerated sigh. Just quiet, resigned guilt curling up in her voice. Her mouth tastes sour and her thoughts turn hostile as she wraps her arms around herself.

God, why did I have to do that? Why do I always ruin the good things?

The image of Barb’s face, soft and confused and unsure, flashes in her head. That moment in the bathroom was supposed to be something good. A spark. But instead, she may have set fire to something fragile.

“Looks like I’m walking home,” she mutters.

She slips back into the house, stepping lightly to avoid creaking floorboards or drawing attention from the others, entangled upstairs in their own teenage dramas. She doesn’t want to deal with Tommy’s smirks or Carol’s cackling. Doesn’t want Nancy’s stare, or Steve’s half-concerned, half-clueless expression.

Maggie moves like a ghost through the house and exits the same way she came in, the front door clicking softly shut behind her. The air outside is sharp now. Her hair clings wetly to her neck and the borrowed T-shirt does nothing to fight off the cold. Her legs are covered, but goosebumps crawling up her thighs.

Still, she walks. Ten minutes pass slowly, her damp shoes squelching with each step along the cracked asphalt. Her thoughts spiral. Was it the kiss? Was it Nancy? Was it both? Was she just too much for everyone?

Then, a low rumble pulls up beside her. She flinches, instinctively reaching into her pocket for the pocketknife she doesn’t have. The headlights momentarily blind her and her heart hammers against her ribs.

She’s about to bolt when a familiar voice cuts through the panic.

“Maggie?”

She squints and sees Jonathan Byers behind the wheel, his tired eyes wide in concern.

“Jonathan?” she breathes, gaping in disbelief, “What are you doing here?”

“I was out looking for Will,” he says, his voice thick with exhaustion, “What are you doing walking? It’s freezing.”

She doesn’t argue. Instead, she opens the passenger side door and climbs in, pulling the seatbelt across her shivering chest with trembling hands.

“It’s a long story,” she mumbles, eyes fixed out the window.

Jonathan glances at her, brows drawn together, “Steve or someone couldn’t give you a ride?”

She exhales, fogging up the glass, “Like I said, long story.”

The car is silent for a beat before he shifts into drive, the tires crunching softly over gravel.

“It’s ten minutes to the house,” he says, “I’ve got time.”

She chews the inside of her cheek, the warm air from the heater hitting her skin and making her emotions feel more raw.

“Barb was supposed to give me a ride home,” she admits after a moment, “But I… made a stupid decision. As usual.”

Jonathan gives her a side-glance, “What did you do?”

“You always this chatty, Byers?” she mutters with a weak smirk, trying to dodge it, but his silence is persistent. She groans and leans her head against the cold glass.

“Come on, something is up. You called me my real name so now I’m concerned,” he tells her.

“I, um. Barb cut her hand,” she says, starting slowly, “And I, uh… I–I might’ve…”

She’s tripping over her own words, throat tightening.

Jonathan speaks gently, “Hey. It’s okay. Just spit it out before you choke.”

“…I kissed Barb.”

The car hums beneath them. For a moment, there’s no reaction. Just the hum of the tires on the road and the rhythm of Maggie’s nervous heartbeat in her ears.

“I’m sorry,” she blurts, “I shouldn’t have—God, I don’t know what I was thinking. It was stupid, I—”

“No, no,” Jonathan says quickly, shaking his head, “It’s okay. I was just… surprised. I guess I shouldn’t be shocked. You flirt with, like, everything. Even kitchen appliances.”

The joke hits just right and she lets out a watery laugh, “Okay, yeah, I did once call the blender ‘handsome.'”

“There it is,” he says with a smile, “Classic Maggie.”

She exhales deeply, some of the tightness in her chest easing. The heater roars on, finally thawing her fingers a little.

“So,” he asks after a beat, “are you… like, gay?”

She shrugs, “I guess I just like people. I don’t really have a label.”

Jonathan nods slowly, “Yeah. That makes sense for you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she teases, lifting an eyebrow.

“It means you’re a walking paradox. Half mystery, half gremlin.”

She nudges him with her shoulder, smiling, “Thanks. I’ll take that as a compliment.”

They fall into an easy silence, the kind that only happens late at night when the rest of the world feels a million miles away.

Jonathan flicks on the radio, something low and steady crackling through the speakers as they drive toward the only place either of them has come to consider home.

The morning is too quiet to be normal. To be fair, none of Maggie’s mornings are ever normal. Not when she’s the main character in this ongoing, absurd, emotionally chaotic saga she calls a life.

She shoots upright in bed at the sound of Joyce’s frantic voice, muffled through the thin walls of the Byers house. Her heart immediately leaps into her throat.

She swings her legs over the side of the bed and moves for the door, twisting the knob as her feet hit cold floorboards. As she opens her door, she nearly runs into Jonathan, who’s doing the same from across the hall. They lock eyes for a beat, his tired and furrowed, hers alert and bracing.

Neither of them speaks as they rush to Joyce’s bedroom.

Maggie reaches the door first and gently turns the knob, pushing it open with a slow creak. The scene inside stops them both in their tracks.

Joyce sits cross-legged on her bed, hunched forward, her thin arms resting on her knees. Her eyes are wide and wild, locked on the blank wall in front of her. Lamps are scattered around her. They sit on the nightstands, the floor, even the bed itself. The sharp smell of overheated metal hangs in the air.

“Mom?” Jonathan says, voice cautious.

Joyce turns to them, her eyes glassy but alight with conviction, “Jonathan! Maggie!”

She beckons them forward with a wild sweep of her hand, “Come here, come here. Quickly!”

Maggie hesitates, then crosses into the room with Jonathan trailing behind her. Her feet patter softly on the wooden floor.

“What is this?” she asks warily, but Joyce doesn’t answer. 

Jonathan takes a step closer, face pale, “What’s going on? Mom, what is all this?”

Joyce’s voice is quick, “It’s Will. He’s trying to talk to me.”

Maggie jokes forcefully, “Joyce… I know I call him Sunshine, but I’m pretty sure he didn’t turn into a lightbulb.”

Joyce shakes her head rapidly, “No. No, he’s trying to talk through the lights.”

Jonathan’s patience frays, “Mom—”

“I know how it sounds!” Joyce interrupts, her tone urgent and defensive, “But just…just watch, okay? Watch.”

She turns back to the wall, “Will, honey. Your siblings are here. Show them what you showed me, baby. Please.”

A moment passes. Then one of the bulbs flickers faintly, like a weak heartbeat. Joyce gasps, clutching Maggie’s arm.

“Did you see that? Did you see that?”

Jonathan exhales hard, his voice rising, “Mom, it’s just the electricity. It’s acting up. Like the phone yesterday, remember?”

Joyce turns on him, eyes wide and glistening, “It is not the electricity. Jonathan, I swear to you, something is going on. Yesterday the wall—”

“What about the wall?” Jonathan says sharply, “First the lights, now the wall?”

“I saw it,” she insists, “Will’s here. I know it.”

Maggie feels the tension spike between them. She steps forward, placing a hand gently on Joyce’s trembling arm. The second her skin touches hers, Maggie’s power flares.

She draws in a pulse of fear, panic, and maternal anguish, and it slams into her like a tidal wave. Her chest tightens. Her throat constricts. Her lungs feel like they’ve been compressed. Her glowing veins begin to flicker faintly beneath the skin of her arms like bioluminescent roots.

She gasps softly but says nothing, bracing herself against the emotion now settling deep in her bones.

“No, Mom—” Jonathan tries again.

“Maybe if I just get more lamps—”

“No, Mom!” he snaps, voice cracking.

He kneels in front of her and gently grabs her face, his own eyes wet now, “You don’t need more lamps. You need to stop this, okay? He’s not here. He’s just… he’s just lost. People are out there looking for him. They’re going to find him.”

Joyce shakes her head violently, lips trembling, but Maggie steps between them.

“Hey, hey,” she murmurs, her voice like soft velvet, “Joyce. Can you do us a favor?”

Joyce blinks at her, dazed.

“Can you try and get some sleep?” Maggie coaxes, still kneeling, “You won’t be able to help Will if you’re running on fumes. You know that.”

Joyce sniffles, wiping her face, “Yeah… Yeah. You’re right. I’m just—I’ll just sit here for a minute.”

Jonathan rubs her back as she curls back into the mattress, “I’m gonna make breakfast, okay?”

He stands, legs heavy as he stumbles toward the kitchen, tension still dragging at his shoulders.

Maggie lingers, brushing Joyce’s hair back gently.

“I believe you,” she says quietly, when Jonathan is out of earshot.

Joyce meets her eyes, voice fragile, “You do?”

Maggie nods, “I’ve seen too many strange things to doubt a mother’s gut. Just get some rest. We’ll figure it out.”

Joyce leans into her touch like a child needing comfort. Maggie hugs her tight, siphoning away just a little more of the trembling, paralyzing stress and anchoring it in herself. Her heart pounds, but her grip is steady.

As she steps into the hall and closes the door behind her, her head spins. Her hands are glowing faintly again, her veins light like starlines under her skin, but she lets it fade slowly.

Down the hallway, she can hear Jonathan clattering in the kitchen. She breathes in deeply. Something is coming. She can feel it.