Chapter 7

The hallway between fourth and fifth period is a zoo. Lockers slam, sneakers squeak, and someone near the science wing is definitely setting off a stink bomb. Maggie sidesteps a flying paper airplane and zeroes in on her targets.

Barb is posted at her locker, methodically arranging her textbooks like she’s drafting a battle plan. Nancy leans beside her, chewing the end of a pen and staring off into space, clearly doing some mental calculus about her weekend schedule.

Maggie slides in beside them with a conspiratorial whisper, “I have a proposition.”

Barb doesn’t look up, “If it involves glitter or fake mustaches again, I’m out.”

Nancy smile, bewildered, “Again?”

“Shh, that’s classified,” Maggie says, waving a hand, “No, I mean a real, legitimate, school-sanctioned proposition. You ready? Brace yourselves: we study together.“

Barb gives her a sidelong glance, “Study together. As in… like normal people?”

“Exactly,” Maggie says, “Three girls, one doomed English worksheet, and probably a lot of caffeine.”

Nancy looks skeptical, “Where?”

“Wherever the vibes are right,” Maggie answers, “Someplace with food. Maybe minimal adult supervision. A good surface for dramatic flopping when I realize I don’t understand metaphor.”

Barb crosses her arms, “You don’t understand metaphor because you keep saying Emily Dickinson had ‘main character energy.'”

“She does!” Maggie insists, scandalized, “Tiny woman. Big emotions. Mystery wardrobe. Probably started fights at dinner parties.”

Nancy cuts in with a small smile, “We could do it at my place.”

Maggie perks up immediately, “Oh? Am I finally getting the exclusive tour of your estate? Should I wear a tiara? Bring a ceremonial fruit basket?”

Barb rolls her eyes, “She lives in the suburbs, not Buckingham Palace.”

“I don’t know, Barb. I hear they have matching china in their dining room. I bet their towels aren’t stolen from the YMCA.”

Nancy chuckles under her breath, “You guys are ridiculous.”

“But seriously,” Maggie says, nudging her lightly, “you cool with us invading your house?”

“Sure,” Nancy says, “My mom will probably hover and offer you seventeen snacks. But we’ve got a big table in the dining room. And I think my brother’s off terrorizing fictional monsters with his friends, so it should be quiet.”

The bell rings and Maggie salutes them both with a finger gun and saunters off in the opposite direction, already humming to herself.

As the girls start toward their next classes, Barb gives Nancy a look.

“You sure you’re ready for this?”

Nancy tucks the pen behind her ear, “For what?”

“For Maggie. In your house.”

Nancy pauses, lips twitching, “No. But I think it’s going to be entertaining.”

The sun is starting to dip behind the trees by the time Barb’s dusty Toyota hums up to the Wheeler driveway. Maggie, riding shotgun with her boots on the dash like a total menace to society, whistles low.

The door to the Wheeler house opens before they can even knock, like Karen Wheeler had some sixth sense about their arrival. She’s all pastel lipstick and effortlessly composed maternal warmth.

“Maggie!” Karen beams, “Come in, sweetheart. I was wondering when I’d see you again this week.”

Maggie lights up like a Fourth of July sparkler. 

“Karen,” she sighs, swooping in to give her a dramatic air-kiss near each cheek, “Your highlights are looking especially radiant today. Is it divine intervention or just shampoo wizardry?”

Karen laughs, utterly delighted, “Stop it. You’re terrible.”

Barb stares like she’s witnessing a cult initiation.

Behind her, Nancy appears in the hallway, eyebrows furrowed, “Wait. What is happening?”

Maggie throws her arms out dramatically, “Wheeler Family Secret Number One: I basically live here.”

Nancy crosses her arms, “You’ve been to my house?”

“I’m here like twice a week!” Maggie says, stepping into the entryway like it’s her rightful stage, “Mostly in the basement with the Gremlins.”

“Gremlins?” Barb echoes, still trying to catch up.

“The children,” Maggie clarifies, “Mike, Dustin, Lucas, Will, my chaos protégés. I help them build cardboard castles and destroy fictional governments.”

Nancy looks between her mom and Maggie, baffled. 

“And you knew this?” she asks Karen.

Karen chuckles, brushing invisible dust from Maggie’s jacket, “Of course. She’s very polite. And helpful. And always compliments my casserole dishes.”

“Because they deserve it,” Maggie whispers solemnly.

Nancy gives her another incredulous look, “How do you know Mike?”

Maggie nods, “I live with the Byers. Will and I are practically psychic pen pals. It’s a long story involving social workers, glitter allergies, and mild arson. Anyway—ta-da!” She twirls dramatically in the Wheeler foyer. “Everything is connected!”

Nancy’s mouth is slightly open, “So… when you said you were close with kids…”

“I meant it literally,” Maggie chirps, “They’re my people. I taught Dustin how to make marshmallows with a lighter. I give Lucas advice about girls. I once walked into a campaign dressed as a cursed French duchess.”

Barb looks at Nancy, “How did we not know this?”

“I don’t know,” Nancy mutters, “But this explains why Mike said a girl in a ‘haunted trench coat’ beat him at Risk.”

Maggie points at her, “That was me, and I will not apologize for my tactics.”

Barb opens her mouth to say something else, but thinks better of it.

As they move toward the dining room, footsteps thunder from upstairs. The three girls look up just as Mike comes to a skidding halt at the top of the staircase, stopping dead when he sees Maggie.

“Maggie?!”

She grins wide and points a chip finger at him, “Michael. Looking fresh. I see puberty’s still losing.”

Mike scowls, “I can hear you, you know.”

“I wanted you to.”

The girl continues by saying, “Mike, I knew your sister was gonna be hot, I just didn’t know it was gonna be Nancy.”

Mike fake gags as Nancy’s face flames red like she’s just been slapped in the face, “What?!”

Barb makes a noise like she just inhaled her soul.

Karen’s already turned back toward the kitchen with a knowing little smile, “I’ll put out some lemonade.”

Nancy looks like she wants the earth to swallow her whole. Maggie, meanwhile, is already plopping down at the dining room table and helping herself to the chips Nancy had set out.

“So,” she says brightly, kicking up her boots onto the crossbar of the chair, “Study time? Witch hunts? Misogyny? Let’s get into it.”

Barb and Nancy slowly follow her in, both visibly questioning every decision that’s led them to this moment.

“So,” Nancy starts once they’re seated, flipping open her notebook, “Studying.”

Maggie sighs, slumping in her chair, “Ugh, The Crucible. The only time in history where girlbossing got everyone hanged.”

Barb hides a snort in her sleeve.

Nancy’s trying to focus, highlighter in hand, but Maggie’s already doodling tiny stick witches in the margins of her notes and labeling them “Goody Overachiever” and “Salem’s It-Girl.”

“You know,” Maggie says around a chip, “I’d be hanged in the first ten minutes of that story.”

“No,” Barb mutters, “you’d get everyone else hanged.”

“Tomato, potato.”

They settle into a rhythm. Nancy reads aloud, Barb offers commentary, and Maggie gives dramatic reinterpretations with finger puppets made of crumpled napkins. The hours slip by like magic.

At one point, Karen walks past the doorway, and Maggie calls, “Karen, if I ace this unit, can we get matching denim jackets that say ‘Hot Moms Club’ on the back?”

Karen doesn’t even miss a beat, “Only if you make one for me and Joyce.”

Maggie beams, “Deal.”

Barb leans toward Nancy and whispers, “You live like this?”

Nancy just rubs her temples, “Apparently.”

They’ve been at it for nearly two hours before the energy in Nancy’s dining room starts to fade, highlight markers drying up, chip bowls emptied, and Maggie’s doodles now spanning three full margins and half of Barb’s binder.

Barb stretches and cracks her knuckles, “Okay, if I look at another page of Puritan paranoia, I’m going to start accusing people of witchcraft just for blinking too much.”

Nancy rubs her eyes and slouches back, “Let’s take a break before I forget how to read.”

“I second this motion,” Maggie says, flipping her notebook shut with flair, “My brain is melting. Also, your mom said dinner’s in, like, thirty minutes, which means I have just enough time to sneak downstairs and menace the children.”

Nancy raises a brow, “Menace?”

Maggie wiggles her fingers ominously, “It’s how I bond.”

Barb chuckles as she starts packing up her notes, “Tell them I said hi.”

“You got it, Barbwire.”

Nancy watches her go with an amused look, resting her chin in her hand, “God help those boys.”

Maggie, meanwhile, makes her descent down the Wheeler stairs with all the stealth of a marching band. Her boots thud against the carpeted steps, and just before reaching the bottom, she pauses, grinning wickedly.

“SURPRISE INSPECTION!” she bellows, bursting through the basement door like a glitter hurricane.

“JESUS!” Mike flails so hard he knocks over a cardboard screen with a crudely drawn dragon on it and falls out of his chair.

Dustin clutches his chest like he’s just aged ten years, “You can’t do that to people! I’m delicate!”

Lucas, lying on the floor mid-snack, gives him a flat look, “You’re not delicate. You ate a pack of Pop Rocks and chased it with RedBull.”

Maggie grins and throws her arms out, “Children of Hawkins, your goddess returns.”

“You’re barely taller than us,” Mike mutters.

“And yet you fear me.”

Will sits cross-legged by the wall, sketching something in a notebook. 

He looks up and smiles, “Hey, Maggie.”

“Will Byers,” she says sweetly, ruffling his hair as she crosses the room, “My favorite emotionally stable artist.”

Maggie flops down dramatically next to their makeshift D&D setup, “So. What’s the campaign? More goblins? Has anyone died tragically yet?”

“We’re in the middle of a critical stealth mission,” Dustin says, puffing up with pride, “We’re trying to infiltrate the Fortress of Ar’Mathuun without triggering the Bone Golem sentries.”

“I understood, like, four words of that.”

“Sounds like your education is lacking,” Dustin says, crossing his arms.

“Oh?” she smirks, “And what do you suggest, Professor Henderson?”

“A rigorous course of dice rolling and imaginary violence,” he says with a straight face.

Lucas groans, “Can we please go five minutes without you trying to impress her?”

Dustin turns bright red, “I am not trying to impress her!”

Maggie raises an eyebrow and grins, “You sure? ‘Cause I was starting to feel wooed. Very swoony. Hearts in my eyes.”

Dustin makes a noise somewhere between a laugh and a squeak, face practically radiating heat.

Mike buries his face in his hands, “Oh my God. This is worse than that time Dustin tried to write a love poem to Jennifer Parsons in Elvish.”

“HEY!” Dustin shouts, “You promised never to speak of that again!”

Will, still quietly sketching, pipes up, “To be fair, the calligraphy was really good.”

“I swear,” Lucas mutters, “I’m the only normal one here.”

Maggie tilts her head, “Aren’t you the one who threatened to kill me with a spatula?”

Lucas shrugs, “Tactical genius.”

They all laugh, the sound filling the basement in that warm, chaotic way that always makes Maggie feel like she belongs here, even if she’s not quite sure where she came from to begin with.

“Alright, nerds,” she says, pushing to her feet, “I’m gonna go wash my hands and help your mom with dinner. Any requests?”

“Mac and cheese,” Will says immediately.

“Waffles,” says Dustin.

“Eggos are not a dinner food,” Mike says.

“Slingshot soup,” Lucas deadpans.

Maggie salutes them, “Coming right up. Tell the Bone Golems I said hi.”

As she turns to go, she pauses and looks back at the group. They’ve already resumed arguing over spells and dice rolls, and the moment feels oddly peaceful.

Thirty minutes go by, and the table is full, roast chicken, green beans, mashed potatoes, and an unsettlingly perfect pyramid of rolls that Karen insists were “just thrown together.” Ted mumbles something about a long day at work and retreats into the safe silence of his mashed potatoes. Holly kicks her feet rhythmically beneath the table, humming the tune of her juice sloshing around in her cup.

Maggie slides into her usual chair at the far end, next to Mike, across from Nancy, and directly diagonal from Karen, who greets her with a fond, “Glad you’re staying for dinner again, sweetheart.”

“You couldn’t keep me away if you tried,” Maggie replies brightly, unfolding her napkin with dramatic flair, “Your mashed potatoes cure anything.”

Karen chuckles, “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Nancy snorts softly into her water. Barb occupies the seat next to her and gives Maggie a look that says behave, a look that Maggie promptly ignores.

“So,” Karen begins as she dishes out green beans, “How was studying?”

“Painful,” Nancy says.

“Educational,” Barb says.

“Emotionally scarring,” Maggie says with a grin.

“That bad?” Ted mumbles without looking up.

“Depends. Are you familiar with 1600s Puritan drama and repressed teenage hysteria?”

“Sounds like Congress,” he mutters.

Mike groans, “Can we not talk about school? My brain’s on summer break already.”

“It’s October,” Nancy deadpans.

“Exactly. I’m ahead of the curve.”

Dustin stabs his chicken with vigor, “I’m just saying, if my character hadn’t rolled that one, we’d have totally made it past the Bone Golem.”

Maggie perks up, “This again. I told you, you should’ve cast that invisibility spell—”

“It was a stealth mission! I had to roll for agility!”

Lucas, chewing a roll, says around a mouthful, “Next time, let me throw the dice. You’ve got cursed hands.”

Will looks up from his plate, “They really are cursed.”

Karen, patient and long-suffering, lifts her fork, “No magic at the dinner table, boys.”

Maggie raises her hands in surrender, “Yes, ma’am. I left my spellbook in my jacket.”

Everyone chuckles, except Dustin, who opens his mouth and blurts, “But she is magic! I mean—!”

There is a full beat of silence. Mike slams his foot into Dustin’s shin under the table.

“OW—what was that for!?”

“Chewing. Too loud,” Mike says quickly.

“I wasn’t even—!”

“Anyway,” Maggie interrupts, voice a little too cheerful, “So, Holly, what’s new in your world? Still ruling the juice box empire?”

Holly beams and holds up her cup, “Apple juice!”

“A strong political choice.”

Karen raises an eyebrow at Dustin, who’s rubbing his shin and muttering something about betrayal. Will looks mildly panicked. Lucas stares hard at his plate like he can fall into it. Mike is red to the tips of his ears.

Karen narrows her eyes just slightly, “Magic?”

Maggie laughs too loud, “Oh, you know these boys, obsessed with dragons and lightning bolts. I once tripped and made a noise that sounded like a thunderclap, and now I’m apparently a wizard.”

“Witch,” Lucas mumbles, still not looking up.

Maggie points at him, “Witch queen, thank you.”

Nancy raises an eyebrow at Barb, who just sighs and shakes her head. 

“You get used to it,” she mutters.

Karen doesn’t push, but Maggie can feel her gaze linger for a second too long before she turns back to offering more green beans.

Dustin whispers across the table, “Sorry,” and Maggie kicks him lightly under the table.

“Next time,” she hisses out of the side of her mouth, “I’m transferring your brain pain into your pinky toe.”

“Wait, you can do that?” Dustin asks, too loudly again.

“NO,” all four boys say in unison.

Nancy’s fork hovers mid-air, “What…was that?”

Maggie gives her a dazzling smile, “Group improv class. We’re very committed to the bit.”

Ted finally looks up, squinting, “Kids are weird.”

Karen sighs and refills the gravy boat.

Dinner continues with only slightly less tension. Maggie listens to the boys argue over which monster they want to fight next, to Nancy gently redirect Holly’s attempts to mash potatoes into art, to Karen refolding a napkin with practiced elegance. She feels oddly…full. Not just from the food.

Barb elbows her gently, grounding her.

“You spaced out,” she murmurs.

“I was having an introspective moment.”

“You were staring at your cup like it offended you.”

Maggie shrugs, “My reflection’s shifty.”

When dinner ends, the group filters into their usual post-meal rhythm. Holly is escorted upstairs for bath time, Ted vanishes into his recliner cocoon, and the kids scatter.

As Maggie helps Nancy and Karen clear the table, Karen gives her a soft smile.

“You’re good for them, you know. All of them. Even when they pretend you’re too loud.”

Maggie pauses, a little caught off guard, “Thanks, Mrs. Wheeler. That means a lot.”

Karen pats her hand gently, “And whatever it is you’re hiding, Maggie… just make sure it doesn’t hurt you to keep it.”

Maggie blinks, shocked, but Karen is already moving on, humming quietly as she rinses a dish.

Barb calls from the living room. Nancy shuffles off with her. And Maggie stands for a moment longer, watching the bubbles in the sink swirl into nothing.

She dries her hands. And follows.