Chapter 9

Maggie walks into Hawkins High beneath a sky that’s too bright for how off she feels. The chatter in the hallway is loud, but it all sounds like static to her. Her stomach has been in knots since breakfast, and the pit in her gut hasn’t eased.

Will’s empty bed. Joyce’s too-calm smile. Jonathan’s furrowed brow as they drove to school in silence.

Something’s wrong. She can feel it. But she’s also been told to keep going, so that’s exactly what she’s doing, plastering on her best not-panicking face and heading to her locker like she hasn’t been itching to bike straight into town to look for a missing kid, the kid she considers her family.

She rounds the corner and spots Barb and Nancy leaning by the row of lockers they’ve unofficially claimed. Barb’s arms are crossed, unimpressed as usual, while Nancy fidgets with the books in her arms like she’s trying to look busier than she is.

Maggie slides up next to them just as Barb cocks her head and asks with a teasing grin, “So… did he call?”

Nancy groans immediately, eyes darting sideways, “Keep your voice down.”

Barb leans in with mock innocence, red curls bouncing, “Did he?”

“I told you, it’s not like that,” Nancy says quickly, the words tumbling out in that suspiciously practiced way, “I mean, okay, yes, he likes me, but not like… like that.”

Maggie raises an eyebrow as she opens her locker, “Nancy Wheeler, that is the worst lie I’ve heard since Dustin said he beat the Dragon Lord with one dice roll.”

Nancy flushes pink, “I mean, we just made out a couple times.”

Barb repeats it back to her in a tone that could only be described as “gremlin sibling” energy, “We just made out a couple times.” She even throws in a dramatic eye roll.

Maggie grins, shutting her locker with a flourish, “Hey Barb, if you’re jealous, just say the word, i’m free every night this week, sugar cube.”

Barb doesn’t miss a beat, “Hard pass, Mags.”

But she’s smiling too, and Maggie nudges her with a shoulder as they start walking together down the hallway.

“You better still hang out with us when you get super popular,” Barb says, only half-joking, “If you become besties with Tommy H or Carol, I’m disowning you.”

Nancy groans dramatically, “Ew, please. It was a one-time—”

Barb raises both eyebrows.

Nancy winces, “Okay, a two-time thing.”

Maggie pretends to gag, “I just threw up in my mouth. If I ever catch you around Tommy H again, I’m staging an intervention. I’ll bring holy water.”

Nancy opens her locker to grab her French book, and a slip of folded paper flutters to the floor. Maggie snatches it up before Nancy can, unfolding it with the reflexes of a cat.

“Ooooh, mysterious,” Maggie says, eyes darting to the signature.

Nancy lunges, “Maggie—give it—”

“Meet me. Bathroom – Steve,” Maggie reads dramatically, clutching her chest, “Scandalous!”

Nancy snatches the note back and stuffs it into her binder, cheeks flushing scarlet, “You’re the worst.”

“Should I come with?” Maggie grins, clearly delighted, “Really freak the guy out? I’ll bring Barb, we’ll turn it into an impromptu intervention-slash-dance battle. Or maybe just watch from behind the paper towel dispenser.”

Nancy elbows her hard enough to make her stumble into a passing sophomore.

“Okay, okay! No third-wheel bathroom date crashing, got it,” Maggie says, holding up her hands in mock surrender, “But if I hear any kissing, I’m knocking on the stall and asking if you guys need a mint.”

Barb just groans and rubs her temples, “Please, do not drag me along.”

As the bell rings and the crowd begins to shuffle toward class, Maggie lingers just a second longer. Her smile dims the tiniest bit as she watches the hallway flow around her like a river, so normal, so oblivious.

Will is still missing. And something in her gut says today is only going to get weirder. She’s right.

Maggie doesn’t get far down the hallway with Barb before the school counselor flags her down, heels clicking too fast against the tile.

“Marigold? I need you to come with me to the middle school,” the woman says, tone neutral but clipped.

Barb frowns, “Wait, what’s going on?”

Maggie lifts a brow, already trying to decipher if she’s in trouble or just about to be drafted into something bizarre again. 

With a calm smile and a casual salute, she tells her friend, “I’ll see you later, Barbwire.”

Barb snorts but doesn’t push it.

Maggie follows the counselor through the front office, out into the sunlight, and into a school district van. The ride is silent, awkwardly so, but Maggie keeps her cool by humming softly under her breath and fiddling with the frayed edge of her borrowed flannel.

When she walks into the principal’s office at Hawkins Middle, she’s not prepared for what’s waiting on the other side.

Jim Hopper is slouched in a chair that looks too small for him, arms crossed and expression gruff. Officer Callahan is sitting to his right with a clipboard and a coffee that he clearly regrets drinking. And in front of them sit Mike, Lucas, and Dustin, rigid in their chairs but very proud of themselves.

The moment she enters, they light up like fireworks.

“Maggie!” the boys exclaim in perfect, chaotic unison.

She arches a brow and leans casually against the doorframe, “Hello, children. Officers.”

Callahan mutters something about needing aspirin.

Hopper sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Before I even had a chance to say anything,” he grumbles, “these three insisted they needed their ‘lawyer’ present.”

Maggie grins, “Well. I am flattered. But I should probably mention I’m not technically licensed to practice in the state of Indiana.”

“That didn’t stop us from invoking our rights,” Dustin says matter-of-factly, puffing his chest.

“Yeah,” Mike adds, “She’s the only one who can translate our language.”

“I speak fluent nerd,” Maggie confirms, crossing to stand behind them like she’s leading a legal defense team, “Alright, what exactly are the charges?”

“Nothing,” Hopper says, shooting the boys a look, “We just needed to ask about where they last saw Will Byers.”

Maggie squints at him, unconvinced, “You dragged me across campus because you’re asking questions? Not exactly sounding like a legal emergency, Chief.”

“We didn’t drag you,” Callahan says, “The counselor asked nicely.”

“She said it was urgent,” Maggie deadpans, sliding into the seat next to Dustin, “So here I am, abandoning the noble halls of Hawkins High for… middle school police drama.”

Hopper exhales through his nose like he’s counting to ten.

Lucas leans forward in his seat, glancing toward the adults. His foot taps anxiously against the linoleum. “Can we just tell her? She should know.”

Maggie’s arms are already crossed before anyone answers. 

“I already do know,” she says, her voice sharper than usual, “Will’s missing. And something smells fishy, which is saying a lot, considering I just walked past the cafeteria and whatever that was pretending to be meatloaf.”

The boys look at her with relief, but the tension in the room only tightens.

Hopper shifts in his chair. His voice drops into something more gentle, though still gravel-lined. 

“Do you remember anything about last night?”

Dustin speaks up quickly, his words a little too fast, “We were riding home from D&D. Will took Mirkwood. Like always. Said he was fine.”

“It was dark,” Lucas adds, “But he didn’t seem weird or scared. Just regular Will. We didn’t know anything was wrong ’til this morning.”

There’s a pause, Hopper squinting slightly at the phrase.

“Mirkwood?” he repeats, glancing at Maggie like he expects her to interpret.

She nods, the corner of her mouth quirking, “It’s a name from The Hobbit. Creepy enchanted forest, spiders, the works. But in real life, it’s the stretch where Cornwallis and Kerley intersect. The kids just renamed it. For drama.”

Dustin perks up at that, turning in his seat to grin at Lucas, “See? At least she knows the right series.”

Lucas groans, “It’s not even about that. Dagobah would’ve been better. You know it’s true.”

“Here we go,” Mike mutters as the two launch into another round of nerd-code bickering.

Maggie groans and steps between them like a war-hardened referee. Without warning, she slaps both of them lightly upside the head.

“Hey!” they cry in unison.

“I will not hesitate to do that again,” she warns, “Save your fantasy debates for after we find Will, or I swear I’ll start calling you Frodo and Chewbacca and make it stick.”

The room stills with a brief beat of silence. Then Mike tries to stifle a laugh, and even Hopper huffs something close to amusement.

“Okay,” Hopper says, his voice gravel and grit again, “Yeah, I know the street.”

Mike perks up, “We can show you, if—”

“I said I know it,” Hopper snaps, cutting him off.

The boys deflate slightly, exchanging glances. 

“We just want to help,” Mike mumbles.

“Yeah,” Dustin nods, “We know the woods back there better than anyone.”

Lucas adds, “We’ve been down that path a thousand times.”

“I get it,” Hopper says, holding up a hand, “But no. You three are going to school. After school, you’re going home. That means no bikes, no flashlights, no tracking prints in the dirt like tiny detectives. And that includes you, too, Marigold.”

“It’s Maggie,” she snaps automatically.

“I don’t care if it’s Moonbeam,” Hopper growls, “You’re not going out there. I already have one missing kid. I don’t want four more.”

Maggie sets her jaw, stepping forward, “I can help. I want to help. You don’t understand, Will’s like a little brother to me. I tuck him in when Joyce works late. I listen to his weird space theories and watch him draw with his headphones on. He’s not just some kid in town to me. He’s my family. And I would never forgive myself if I sat on the sidelines and did nothing while he’s out there.”

Hopper looks at her, eyes narrowing, “How did you even end up with these kids, anyway? You’re not from here.”

“I live with the Byers,” she says, chin lifting.

Hopper tilts his head, “Since when do you live with the Byers? Where’d you even come from?”

Maggie hesitates. The boys all glance at her, silently gauging her next move.

“It’s a long story,” Maggie says, voice tight.

Hopper’s eyes narrow. He leans forward in his chair, elbows on his knees, studying her, “Well, I’ve got time.”

Maggie doesn’t flinch, but her jaw sets. 

Mike, sensing the shift, frowns, “Why does that even matter? Will’s missing. That’s what this is about.”

Hopper doesn’t look at him, “It matters when someone shows up out of nowhere and suddenly knows everything about my town, my kids, and the Hobbit.”

“I read fast,” Maggie says flatly.

Dustin shoots her a look that says don’t pick a fight with the Chief of Police, but she ignores it.

Lucas pipes in, “She’s not a bad guy. If anything, she’s… the opposite.”

“I’m not saying she’s a bad guy,” Hopper says, voice low, controlled, “I’m saying that people with mysterious pasts don’t just stroll into Hawkins without setting off some alarms.”

“I didn’t stroll,” Maggie mutters, “I fell through a ceiling.”

That stops him. 

Hopper blinks, “What?”

The boys shift uncomfortably. Maggie exhales, scrubbing a hand through her hair. 

“Look, it’s like I said, it’s complicated. Joyce is helping me figure it out. She took me in. That’s all you need to know right now.”

“Chief,” Mike says carefully, “Will knows her. He trusts her. We all do. She’s not some… shady person. She’s one of us.”

Dustin adds, “And she’s the one who noticed Will didn’t come home. If she hadn’t said anything, who knows how long it would’ve taken.”

Hopper leans back slowly in his chair, clearly weighing something behind his eyes.

Maggie folds her arms across her chest, more guarded now, “I don’t expect you to trust me. But I’m not lying. I care about him. And I’m not gonna sit on my hands while he’s out there, scared or hurt or worse.”

Finally, Hopper runs a hand down his face and stands with a groan, grabbing his hat off the edge of the desk, “Fine. I’ll talk to Joyce. But this conversation isn’t over.”

“Wasn’t planning on it,” Maggie replies, but there’s no smugness in her voice, just worry.

He gestures to Callahan, who stands and mutters something about middle school chairs ruining his back.

Hopper stops in the doorway, turning back. 

“You three—school. No exceptions. And you,” he points at Maggie, “go straight to class. If I hear you’ve gone off trying to play hero…”

“You’ll what?” Maggie asks, half-challenging, half-weary.

“I’ll call Joyce,” he says simply, and walks out.

Maggie flinches like that, actually, might be worse than a threat. The boys break the silence after a beat.

“You okay?” Mike asks gently.

“Peachy,” Maggie deadpans, rubbing her temples.

Dustin stands up and throws an arm around her shoulder, “You handled that like a champ. Super illegal, but still a champ.”

She cracks a smile, “Thanks, Counselor.”

They walk out of the office together, back into the middle school hallway that smells faintly of disinfectant and pencil shavings. The bell rings again, shrill and jarring, and the flood of students resumes like nothing’s wrong. Like the world isn’t cracked just a little off its axis.

Maggie watches them for a second, then looks back at the boys.

“You guys go. I’ve got to head back to the high school.”

“You sure?” Mike asks.

“No,” she says honestly, “But I’ve got math class and unresolved trauma. Can’t keep either waiting.”

Lucas salutes her, “See you after school?”

She nods, then hesitates, “Hey. If you hear anything, anything at all, find me.”

“We will,” Dustin promises, “We always do.”

And with that, Maggie turns and heads out the door, back toward the high school, back toward the tension curling in her gut like smoke.

The rest of the day unspools like a frayed thread, uneven, dragging in places and racing in others. The school bell rings, but Maggie barely registers it. She and Jonathan don’t waste a second. The moment they’re out the door, they’re sprinting across the parking lot, legs aching and hearts pounding, cutting through side streets and past mailboxes like the wind might carry them home faster.

By the time they get back to the house, the sky has shifted to a moody gray, thick clouds threatening rain. Inside, the air is stale with panic and half-finished thoughts.

Joyce is already on the phone, her voice brittle and raw around the edges as she dials. Maggie and Jonathan plant themselves at the dining room table, hands moving almost automatically as they scribble and cut flyer after flyer, MISSING stamped in bold across Will’s wide-eyed school photo.

Jonathan pauses every so often, glancing toward the kitchen where Joyce is pacing like a cornered animal, phone tucked between her shoulder and ear. But Maggie keeps elbowing him, tossing him glue sticks, or holding out sharpie markers like she’s running an art class on a deadline.

“Focus, Picasso,” she mutters, slapping a crooked flyer into his stack, “If your brother’s coming back, he’s gonna need to see your handwriting to believe it’s real.”

Jonathan almost smiles. Then, suddenly, the sharp slam of the phone makes both of them flinch.

“Bitch!” Joyce screams, slamming the receiver back into its cradle so hard the plastic shudders.

“Mom!” Jonathan says, eyes wide.

“What?!” she snaps, spinning around, one hand tangled in her hair.

“You have to stay calm,” he says, gentler now.

Joyce turns back to the phone, stabbing at the buttons. Her voice breaks as she mutters curses through clenched teeth, slamming the receiver again when it only gives her more silence.

Then comes a familiar crunching, tires on gravel.

Maggie stiffens in her chair, head cocking toward the window. 

“Hey, Joyce?” she calls, already halfway up.

“What?” Joyce barks without turning.

Maggie steps to the front door and peers through the curtain. 

“Cops,” she says softly.

That gets everyone moving. The three of them step outside just as the truck door swings open and Hopper lumbers out, holding something in his hands. Maggie’s stomach twists.

It’s Will’s bike.

Her hand reaches out instinctively, resting on Joyce’s shoulder as the woman sways slightly, lips parting but no sound coming out.

They move inside in silence, the door creaking closed behind them.

Joyce’s voice is brittle, barely controlled, “It was just lying there?”

“Yeah,” Hopper confirms, nodding grimly.

“Did it have any blood on it?” Maggie asks, stepping forward, arms crossed but voice tight.

“No. No, nothing like that,” Hopper replies.

Jonathan shifts, “If you found the bike out there, why are you here?”

“Well, he had a key to the house, right?” Hopper asks.

“Yeah,” Jonathan replies warily.

“So maybe…” Hopper glances toward the hallway, “Maybe he came home.”

Joyce reels back like she’s been slapped, “You think I didn’t check my own house?”

“I’m not saying that,” Hopper says quickly, raising a placating hand.

He moves toward the living room wall, pointing at a small dent in the drywall behind the door, “Has this always been here?”

Joyce blinks, caught off guard, “What? I don’t know. Maybe. I mean, I have two boys. And Maggie’s a bit of a walking tornado. Look at this place.”

Maggie places a hand over her chest, mock-offended, “Excuse me, I only break things on Tuesdays.”

Hopper opens the front door again, gently pushing it to see how the knob lines up with the dent. It thuds softly into place.

“You’re not sure?” he asks.

Joyce doesn’t answer. The room feels suddenly smaller.

Without another word, Hopper heads toward the back door. Maggie follows, trailing behind him out into the yard. The late afternoon light is dull now, filtered through gray clouds as they make their way to the rickety shed leaning half-collapsed in the weeds.

Inside, the air is cold and musty. Dust floats in the shaft of light as Hopper pulls the chain, and the bare bulb overhead flickers to life, then stutters.

Maggie folds her arms, voice hushed but tense, “Something’s off about this. I can feel it.”

Hopper doesn’t answer. He grabs a flashlight from his belt and begins scanning the walls, the corners, the ground. Maggie stays back, her eyes darting from shelves to rafters. The kind of tension she’s only felt once or twice before begins to hum under her skin, like static before a storm.

Then the bulb flickers again, once, twice, off.

Darkness. And then…

“Jesus!” Hopper shouts, flinching as Callahan’s voice cuts through the silence from the doorway.

“What are you, deaf?” Callahan squints inside, “I’ve been calling for you. What’s going on?”

Neither of them answer right away. Hopper blows out a breath, shaking his head like he’s trying to knock loose a bad thought.

He shoulders past Callahan, muttering, “Come on.”

Maggie shoots Callahan a small shrug as she follows, “Sorry. Paranormal activities short-circuited our ears.”

Outside, Hopper moves fast, focused again.

“Listen,” he tells Callahan, “I want you to call Flo. Get her to pull together a search party. All the volunteers she can scrape up. And bring flashlights.”

Maggie steps forward, opening her mouth to offer help, but Hopper cuts her off before she gets the chance.

“Not you.”

Her brows shoot up, “Why the hell not?”

“Because I said so.”

“You need everyone you can get,” she insists, following after him, “I’m not just gonna sit here while the rest of you stumble around in the woods. I know Will better than anyone except his mom and Jonathan. I know where he hides. Where he thinks.”

Hopper stops, turning to face her fully now, “You’re a kid.”

“So what?” Maggie snaps, gesturing toward the house, “You’re forcing them to go home and sit around helpless, while they wonder where the poor kid could be. At least let me do something.”

He hesitates. 

“You’re staying put.”

He walks away before she can protest again, heading to the truck with Callahan behind him.

Maggie clenches her jaw, fists curling at her sides.

This whole thing, it feels wrong. Like standing too close to an electric fence you didn’t know was live. The kind of wrong that settles into your ribs and waits there, coiled.

She watches the police drive off into the distance, gravel spitting under their tires, and doesn’t move until their taillights are gone.

Then she turns and looks toward the woods.

And she knows, she’s not staying put. And neither are those boys.