Chapter 28

Morning spills into the Byers’ house in soft streaks of pale light. Maggie drags herself in, barefoot and bleary-eyed, her hair sticking out in every direction. She scratches her head and squints against the light, looking equal parts half-dead and annoyed.

Joyce bursts in from the hallway like a storm, her eyes wide, voice pitched with panic, “Where’s Will?”

Maggie groans, voice raspy with sleep, “Oh, God. Please tell me we’re not doing another Demogorgon thing at—” she checks the clock on the wall, “—eight in the morning.”

There’s a thump down the hall, and Joyce jolts upright. She bolts across the creaky floorboard. A moment later the frazzled woman reappears

“False alarm,” Joyce announces.

“Thanks for the heart attack. Really got the blood pumping,” Maggie groans while she drags a hand down her face, “I’m too pretty for this much adrenaline before caffeine.”

She takes her cup of coffee with her back down the hall, disappearing into her room. After a while the faint sounds of music float under the door as Maggie gets dressed. A little while later she emerges transformed: eyeliner sharp, lips glossy, and hair wrangled instead of wild nest.

Back in the kitchen, the morning has shifted from panic to excitement. Joyce crouches to adjust the straps of Will’s Ghostbusters costume, smoothing the fabric with careful hands. Jonathan is already perched with his camera, fiddling with the focus.

Maggie leans in the doorway, sipping what’s left of her coffee. “Aw, would you look at that. Hawkins’ very own supernatural exterminator.”

She lifts her free hand to pinch Will’s cheek, making him swat her away with a blush.

“Don’t worry, bud. If you actually see a ghost, I’ll scream first so you look brave.”

Jonathan chuckles, snapping a candid shot of Will’s glare at Maggie. Joyce beams, the edges of her stress softening into pride.

After school, Maggie bursts out of her room with all the confidence of someone who just invented couture. Her “costume” is a disaster in motion: Jonathan’s plaid flannel buttoned halfway over a faded band tee, Joyce’s oversized cardigan hanging off one shoulder, Will’s vampire cape dragging slightly behind her, and a pair of neon sunglasses perched on her nose despite it being night. Around her waist, she’s tied one of Bob’s goofy radio station promotional t-shirts like a sash.

She plants her hands on her hips and twirls in the living room, the cape catching the air dramatically.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” she announces, “the future of fashion has arrived. Try not to faint.”

Will snorts so hard he almost chokes on his candy, “What are you supposed to be?”

Maggie pulls the sunglasses down her nose to give him a withering look, “Excuse you. I’m fashion. Capital F. You wouldn’t understand.”

Jonathan tries and fails to keep a straight face as he lifts his camera, “Oh, I understand. Hold still. This is going in the archives.”

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, Hot Topic,” Maggie says, striking a dramatic pose anyway.

She blows him a kiss as the flash goes off.

Joyce comes in, dish towel slung over her shoulder, and stops dead at the sight of her. Her eyebrows lift so high they nearly touch her hairline.

“Oh, honey… you’re… going as…”

“Fashion,” Maggie interrupts, strutting across the room like she’s on a runway in Milan instead of the Byers’ carpet. She tosses the cape at Joyce’s feet.

“Don’t worry, Joyce. When I become famous, you can say you knew me back when I was just a small-town disaster.”

Bob peeks his head in from the kitchen in his own vampire costume, holding a bag of chips. He does a double take, blinks, and says, “I… actually kind of like it.”

“See?” Maggie points triumphantly at Bob, “A man of taste!”

Will rolls his eyes, “You look like a yard sale exploded on you.”

Maggie gasps, clutching her chest, “And yet I make it work. You’re just jealous, Ghostbuster.”

Jonathan shakes his head with a gri,. “You’re gonna terrify people.”

“Good,” Maggie says, grabbing her bag and flaring the cape with a final spin, “Terrifying is very in this season.”

Meanwhile, Joyce Byers has gone full-blown mother mode. One hand grips Will’s shoulder, the other waves for emphasis as she delivers the speech she’s probably been rehearsing all day.

“Listen, stay close to your siblings, okay?” Joyce says, eyes darting between Will, Jonathan, and Maggie like she’s making sure they’ve all got their dog tags, “And if you get a bad feeling or anything, you tell Jonathan to take you straight home. You promise me?”

Will shifts from foot to foot, his Ghostbusters proton pack bumping awkwardly against his back. “Okay, Mom. I promise.”

Maggie leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, one brow raised behind her neon sunglasses.

“Joyce, this is trick-or-treating, not Vietnam,” she deadpans.

Joyce rolls her eyes, trying to hide her smile, “Ha ha. You’ll thank me when you’re not abducted by candy maniacs.”

Jonathan grabs his camera and Will’s pillowcase, clearly ready to escape before Joyce’s worry spiral deepens. Maggie mock-salutes.

“We’ll bring you back some Reese’s as proof of life.”

As they finally file out the door, Joyce calls after them, “Be safe! And don’t stay out too late!” Her voice fades as they head down the front steps.

From behind them, Bob pops his head out of the kitchen, doing his best Bela Lugosi impression.

“I hope it doesn’t suck,” he says in an exaggerated Transylvanian accent.

Maggie doesn’t even turn around as she waves a hand.

“Not possible if I’m involved,” she calls back, strutting toward the car.

They pile into Jonathan’s beat-up car, Maggie taking the passenger seat while Will buckles himself into the back, ghost trap clattering against the vinyl.

As they pull out of the driveway, Jonathan mutters, half to himself, “I don’t get what she sees in him.”

Maggie tilts her head, “You wanna maybe give us some backstory before you start monologuing, Hemingway?”

Jonathan glances over, sheepish.

“Bob. I mean, he’s nice, but he’s so…” He struggles for the word.

“Corny?” Maggie offers, “Dad-joke chic?”

Will cuts in from the back seat, “At least he doesn’t treat me different. I can’t even go trick-or-treating by myself. It’s lame.”

Maggie twists around to face him, “You know, that’s fair. Bob’s a solid guy. I personally love him. He gets me, you know? Rolls with the weird.”

Jonathan huffs a laugh, “That’s one way to describe him.”

“No,” Maggie insists, pointing at him dramatically, “He’s the only adult in this town who doesn’t flinch when I call the toaster haunted. That’s a rare skill.”

Will laughs quietly, tension easing as Maggie shoots him a wink. When they pull up to the Wheeler house, Mike, Dustin, and Lucas are already running to the car.

Will makes his way to get out of the car, proton pack clutched in one hand, pillowcase sagging in the other, when Jonathan reaches over to stop him with a quiet, “Hey, listen.”

Will pauses, turning back, “Yeah?”

Jonathan hesitates, one hand drumming on the steering wheel like he’s trying to work up the right mix of protective big-brother and not-total-buzzkill.

Finally, he says, “If we let you go on your own, you promise to stay in the neighborhood?”

Will’s face lights up instantly, pure excitement radiating from him, “Yeah! Yeah, totally.”

Maggie twists around in the passenger seat, elbow propped on the backrest, grinning, “And be back at Mike’s by nine?”

Will tilts his head, testing the waters, “Nine-thirty?”

Maggie narrows her eyes, lips pursed, “You drive a hard bargain, kid. But Jonathan here’s the boss tonight.”

Jonathan smirks, “Nine. Not a minute later. Deal?”

“Deal!” Will says eagerly, practically bouncing in his seat.

He pops open the door, sneakers crunching against fallen leaves as he climbs out. The air outside is crisp, scented faintly of pumpkin and smoke from someone’s backyard firepit. Before Jonathan can pull off, there’s a sharp knock on the passenger side, three quick raps that make Maggie jump.

She rolls her eyes and cranks down the window, only to be met with Dustin Henderson’s wild curls and wide grin, half-hidden by the puffed sleeves of his Ghostbusters jumpsuit. His voice cuts through the chilly air, incredulous and loud.

“What the hell are you wearing?” he demands.

Maggie leans her elbow on the window frame, tilting her sunglasses down, “The best Halloween costume you’ve ever seen,” she replies coolly.

Dustin squints, unimpressed, “You look like you fell into a thrift store.”

“I did,” Maggie says without missing a beat, “and I came out better for it.“

Will laughs from behind Dustin, tugging on his proton pack straps. Dustin rolls his eyes but grins because even he can’t quite argue with her confidence.

Will laughs behind him, tugging on his proton pack straps. Dustin rolls his eyes but grins anyway, that hopelessly smitten look flickering across his face.

“You coming with us?” Dustin asks, voice suddenly softer, like he’s trying to sound casual.

Maggie shakes her head, “Nah. I’ve got a hot date.”

Dustin freezes, “A what? With who?“

She smirks, lowering her sunglasses the rest of the way, “Classified.”

He groans, his chest, “You’re breaking my heart, Maggie!”

“I’ll send flowers,” she teases, giving him a little salute, “Now go save the world, lover boy.”

Dustin grins, a little pink in the cheeks, and backs away, shouting, “One day, you’re gonna regret turning me down!”

“Sure, Henderson,” she calls after him. “I’ll pencil you in for 1993.”

Will’s laughter echoes down the block as the boys disappear into the streetlight glow, their Ghostbusters gear bouncing as they go.

Jonathan glances after them, then looks back at Maggie, raising an eyebrow, “What’s his deal?”

Maggie grins, leaning her head against the window, “He thinks I’m his future wife.”

Jonathan blinks, half amused, half bewildered, “And you’re okay with that?”

“Eh,” she says with a shrug and a sly smile, “Could do worse.”

Jonathan laughs, shaking his head as he starts the car, “Poor kid doesn’t stand a chance.”

“Oh, he never did,” Maggie says, smirking as the car rolls forward, “But I let him dream.”

Jonathan seems to have a thought and pulls a crumpled orange paper from his back pocket. It’s one of the flyers for Tina’s party.

“What’s going through your head, Byers?” Maggie asks.

“You up for a party?” He offers.

Maggie smirks, “You don’t have to ask me twice.”

The bass hits before they even make it up the driveway. Tina’s house glows like something out of a fever dream. The smell of cheap beer and popcorn fills the air and laughter spills out into the night. Cars line the street, and someone’s already passed out on the lawn wearing a vampire cape.

Jonathan parks a few houses down, cutting the engine. Maggie leans forward to look out the windshield, eyes wide, hair bouncing.

“Wow. Tina doesn’t mess around.”

“Just… don’t get drunk,” Jonathan warns.

“Me?” Maggie gasps, hand pressed to her chest, “Jonathan Byers, have you ever known me to be irresponsible?”

He gives her a look.

She grins, “Exactly. Let’s go.”

By the time they’re inside, Maggie’s already being handed a red solo cup and yelled at by someone dressed as Dracula.

“MAGGIE! You made it!”

“I make everything better!” she shouts back, grinning wide.

Jonathan loses her in less than five minutes. One moment she’s beside him, mock-saluting the DJ, and the next she’s swallowed by a crowd of sweaty teens in plastic fangs and fake blood.

Maggie weaves her way through the crowd, her sunglasses slipping down her nose as she tries not to spill her drink. The house smells like beer, hairspray, and cheap fog machine smoke, and someone’s yelling about losing their witch hat near the stairs.

She spots Steve and Nancy near the kitchen, standing shoulder to shoulder beside a punch bowl that’s more vodka than juice. Steve’s dressed as Tom Cruise in Risky Business. Nancy’s in her white top and black ribbon around her collar.

Maggie grins wide, “Well, well, well. If it isn’t Barbie and Ken of Hawkins High.”

Steve perks up immediately.

“Maggie!” He waves her over, “You look… uh…” He squints, trying to make sense of her outfit. “Interesting?”

“Thank you,” Maggie says proudly, “It’s called avant-garde fashion, Steven. Maybe you’ve heard of it.”

Nancy laughs and Maggie feels a flutter in her chest she can’t quite name. She always loves making Nancy laugh, it feels like cracking sunlight through a storm cloud.

“Seriously, what are you supposed to be?” Steve asks, smirking.

“I’m fashion,” Maggie declares, adjusting Will’s cape dramatically, “A walking metaphor”

“That’s… weirdly accurate,” Nancy says, smiling into her cup.

Maggie gasps, mock-offended, “Are you calling me unpredictable?”

“I’m calling you insane.”

Steve chuckles, nudging Nancy, “You two gonna start your own comedy duo, or can I at least get a drink before the bit continues?”

Maggie dips her cup into the punch bowl and hands it to him with a flourish, “One lukewarm cup of regret, coming right up.”

He takes it, raises it in mock salute, “To bad choices.”

“To excellent choices,” Maggie corrects, clinking her cup against his.

Nancy just shakes her head, but there’s warmth in her eyes. For a moment, she forgets how heavy everything feels. How weird things have been since Barb. Maggie has that effect.

When Maggie leans close to say something, Nancy feels her stomach twist. She blames it on the drink, on the noise, on the fact that Steve’s laughing at something she didn’t catch. But it’s not that.

It’s the way Maggie’s lips brush the rim of her cup. The way her voice drops low when she teases, “You’re not gonna last an hour in those heels, angel.”

Nancy’s cheeks go pink, “I’ll manage.”

“Sure you will,” Maggie says, a grin tugging at her lips, “You always do.”

The air between them hums for a second too long. Then someone in a werewolf mask crashes into the table, spilling half the punch bowl onto the floor, and the moment breaks.

Steve groans, “Party foul,” and grabs a stack of paper towels.

Nancy turns to help, but Maggie’s already slipping away, melting back into the crowd, her laugh echoing faintly through the music.

Nancy watches her go, pulse still racing, and tells herself it’s just the alcohol. Just the lights. Just Maggie being Maggie.

But it doesn’t feel like just anything.

Nancy’s POV

Nancy tries not to look at her. She really, truly tries.

But Maggie’s impossible not to look at.

She’s standing on the counter now, of course she is, laughing so hard she almost spills her drink. Her cheeks are flushed, her hair wild, and she’s glowing under the pulsing lights.

Nancy takes another sip of punch. It burns now, stronger than it should be. Someone must’ve dumped more vodka in it, but she doesn’t care.

Steve says something beside her, but it floats past her without meaning. Her eyes flick back to Maggie, just in time to see a boy in a devil mask slide up next to her. He leans close, whispers something that makes Maggie’s mouth curl into a grin before she throws her head back and laughs. Then, without hesitation, she kisses him.

Nancy’s stomach drops.

It’s stupid. It shouldn’t matter. But the sight of it feels like a punch to the ribs.

Her hand tightens around her cup until the cheap plastic groans. She drains it in one swallow.

Steve notices, “Whoa, slow down there, champ.”

“I’m fine,” she mutters.

“Yeah, but maybe—”

“I said I’m fine.”

She pours herself another cup.

The music’s too loud, the lights too bright. Maggie’s still on the counter, moving with the beat, red solo cup raised like a queen holding court. Everyone’s watching her. Of course they are. She was born for this kind of chaos.

Nancy takes another drink. And another.

Steve keeps talking, but it’s just noise now.

“Are you mad about something?” he asks finally.

“No,” she says, but her voice cracks.

He follows her gaze, and his brow furrows.

“Oh. Maggie’s… wow. Okay.” A pause, then a low whistle, “Didn’t see that coming.”

Nancy turns to him sharply, “What?”

He holds up his hands, “Nothing, just—she’s really… letting loose, huh?”

Something inside Nancy snaps. “You think that’s funny?”

Steve blinks, “What? No, I—”

“Of course you do,” she spits., “You think everything’s funny.”

Nancy goes to get another drink, stumbling a little as she shoves through the crowd toward the table. The bowl of punch sloshes violently with each unsteady movement, glowing red under the flickering party lights.

Before she can dip her cup in, Steve’s hand closes around her wrist.

“Get off,” she slurs, trying to twist away.

“No, you’ve had enough, okay?” he says firmly, tugging her back from the table.

“Screw you,” she snaps, jerking her arm, but he doesn’t let go.

“Nance, I’m serious. Hey, hey—stop,” He reaches for the cup in her other hand as she sloshes punch dangerously close to her shoes.

She glares at him, voice sharp and shaky, “You can’t tell me what to do.”

He tries to wrestle the cup away, but she’s gripping it with white knuckles, the cheap plastic crinkling in her hand. For a moment, it’s a ridiculous tug-of-war, Steve trying to keep her from embarrassing herself, Nancy determined to do exactly that.

Then he lets go.

Her arm shoots back with the sudden motion, sending a wave of sticky red punch across the front of her shirt.

The room goes quiet.

Someone gasps. The music still thumps in the background, but for a heartbeat, the party freezes around them. Nancy blinks down at her soaked blouse, red dripping from the collar.

Steve takes a step forward, “Nance—”

“Don’t,” she bites out, her voice trembling.

Across the room, Maggie’s laughter dies. She’s standing by the counter, half turned toward them, still holding her drink. Her face shifts instantly, concern flickering through the haze of lights and alcohol.

“Nancy…” she says under her breath, but Nancy’s already pushing past people, head down, her shoulder brushing a vampire cape and a set of devil horns.

Steve follows close behind, calling her name.

Maggie hesitates, watching them disappear down the hall. Her heart clenches. She wants to follow, wants to make sure Nancy’s okay, but the look on Steve’s face stops her cold. This isn’t her scene.

So she stays. The bathroom door slams behind them.

Nancy grabs a towel from the rack and starts furiously blotting at her shirt, her movements sharp and uneven.

Steve leans against the counter, exhausted, “That’s not coming off, Nance.”

“It’s coming,” she insists, scrubbing harder, voice breaking.

He sighs, “Come on. Let me just take you home, okay? Come here.”

She shakes her head, eyes glassy, “You wanted this.”

“What? No, I didn’t want this. I told you to stop drinking—”

“It’s bullshit!” she snaps, “All of it!”

“No, it’s not bullshit, Nancy,” he says, but his voice cracks at the edges, a plea more than a protest.

She looks up at him then, her eyes wild and wet, “No. You’re bullshit.”

Steve freezes, “What?”

“You’re pretending,” she spits, slurring, “Like everything’s okay. Like we didn’t kill Barb. Like everything’s just fine. Like we’re in love and we’re partying and—and stupid Maggie wasn’t kissing that stupid boy.”

Steve’s breath catches. His face goes blank, stunned.

“You don’t love me?” he croaks.

Nancy looks down, towel limp in her hands.

“It’s bullshit,” she says again, quieter this time, almost to herself.

The silence stretches until it hurts.

Steve just stares at the girl who once looked at him like he was the only good thing left in the world. He opens his mouth like he might say something, anything, but nothing comes out.

Finally, he shakes his head and walks to the door. The door opens, then slams behind him.

Out in the hallway, the party feels wrong now. Maggie’s leaning against the wall near the coat rack, her plastic crown askew, still in her ridiculous costume. Her eyes widen when she sees him.

“Steve?” she says, straightening, “What happened? Is she—”

“Don’t,” he says quietly, not even looking at her. His voice is hoarse. “Just… don’t.”

He pushes past her, heading for the front door.

Maggie watches him go, her chest tight. She wants to say something, but he’s already outside, the screen door slamming shut behind him.

For a long moment, she just stands there, the laughter and music muffled by the ringing in her ears. Then she glances down the hall toward the closed bathroom door, her stomach sinking.

Nancy’s still in there. And even though Maggie knows she probably shouldn’t, knows that she’s the last person Nancy wants to see right now, she sets her drink on the counter, squares her shoulders, and starts toward the door.