Chapter 38

Nancy tries to study. Maggie tries to exist. Naturally, the universe catches fire.

The two girls sit side by side on Nancy’s bed, a battlefield of textbooks, pens, and half-finished homework sprawled between them. Nancy has that focused, terrifyingly competent expression she always has when she’s about to conquer something with willpower alone. Maggie… does not.

Maggie is lying sideways, upside down, half-off the bed. She’s chewing a Twizzler and poking the eraser end of a pencil against Nancy’s thigh.

“Nance,” she whines, using the nickname even though she knows it melts Nancy’s frontal lobe, “I don’t think humans are meant to do trigonometry. This is cruel. This is—this is medieval.”

Nancy doesn’t look up from her worksheet, “It’s literally just sine and cosine ratios.”

“It’s literally witchcraft.”

“It’s math.”

“Same thing.”

Nancy finally sighs, lifting her eyes. Bad move. Maggie is wearing her heart-shaped sunglasses indoors. For no reason. This is the kind of nonsense that turns Nancy’s brain into warm pudding.

“Okay,” Nancy says, a little too patient, “Let’s try again. Picture a right triangle.”

Maggie makes an inhuman noise, “No.”

“But you have to—”

“I literally don’t. Burn the triangle, Nance.”

Nancy presses her lips together to stop a smile. It fails, obviously.

Fine. She tries a different approach. She taps the open page.

“So, sine is opposite over hypotenuse. That’s all—”

Maggie flings an arm across her face, “Opposite what? Hypo-who? You’re speaking in tongues. I’m dying.”

“You’re not dying.”

“I’m DYING.”

Nancy laughs under her breath, this soft, involuntary thing, “Do you want a break?”

Maggie flips upright instantly, “Yes. God. Please. Rescue me.”

Before Nancy can form a normal human response, Maggie’s head drops onto her shoulder. Just… boom. Full weight. Hair in her face. Warmth against her.

Nancy doesn’t move. If she moves, she might explode.

“You good?” Maggie asks, like she isn’t actively ending lives with casual affection.

“Hm,” Nancy says, pretending she is absolutely fine and not malfunctioning.

Maggie shifts, chin brushing Nancy’s shoulder, “Wanna listen to gay music?”

Nancy chokes on literal air, “I— what— why would you call it that?”

Maggie shrugs on her shoulder like she owns it, “Because it’s by a lesbian indie band and they wrote it about not being normal. Kinda on the nose.”

Nancy’s soul leaves her body, “I— I don’t care what you want to listen to.”

Maggie smirks, “So that’s a yes?”

“No,” Nancy says too quickly, “…maybe.”

Maggie is definitely smirking. Nancy can feel it.

Before Nancy’s heart finishes overheating, Karen Wheeler appears in the doorway with a plate of snacks and this smile like she knows things she absolutely shouldn’t.

“I made brownies, girls!” Karen chirps.

Maggie sits up way too fast. Nancy wants to die.

Karen sets the plate down and then winks. Not once. Twice.

Nancy whips around, “Mom.”

“What? I’m just saying… studying can be fun!”

“Mom.”

Karen beams at Maggie, “You’re always welcome here, sweetheart!”

Maggie beams back, “Thanks, Mrs. Wheeler! You’re my favorite hot mom.”

Karen giggles. GIGGLES. Then leaves.

Nancy covers her face and makes a small dying noise.

“This is adorable,” Maggie adds.

“Please stop talking,” Nancy mutters into her hands.

Naturally, Maggie does not.

After the brownies are dealt with, Maggie decides they should paint their nails because “self-care is essential for girls suffering from math-induced trauma.”

Nancy picks a tame pink.

Maggie picks a shade called Denial.

Nancy stares at the bottle, “Really.”

“It spoke to me spiritually,” Maggie says.

Nancy tries not to imagine what part of her it spoke to.

They sit cross-legged on the floor with newspaper spread out, Maggie painting her nails with intense concentration, tongue poking out the corner of her mouth. Nancy can’t stop watching her. At one point Maggie looks up and catches her staring.

“What?” Maggie asks, eyes soft.

“Nothing,” Nancy says, suddenly very interested in brushing pink polish onto her thumbnail.

Maggie tilts her head, studying her, “You sure?”

Nancy nods, too fast.

Maggie smiles slow, infuriatingly gentle, “You’re cute when you lie.”

Nancy’s hand slips and she gets nail polish on her knuckle.

“See?” Maggie teases.

Nancy quietly hopes the floor will swallow her.

When they’re done, Maggie blows dramatically on her nails.

“Behold,” she declares, lifting her hand, “Denial. A color. A mood. A lifestyle.”

Nancy tries to roll her eyes, but instead she smiles. She can’t help it.

Maggie falls backward onto the carpet, arms spread, “Nance, I think we accomplished nothing today.”

Nancy settles beside her, just close enough that their shoulders nearly brush.

“Maybe,” she says softly, “But… it wasn’t terrible.”

Maggie turns her head toward her, “High praise coming from you.”

Nancy’s heart does that awful fluttery thing again. She hates how much she loves it.

Then Maggie nudges her hand.

Nancy doesn’t pull away.

The room goes quiet. Trigonometry is still unsolved, and Nancy is still irrevocably gone.

Time skip to a couple days laterrr

Maggie’s halfway through a bowl of sugary cereal when the phone rings. On the second ring, she already knows who it is. Nobody else calls the Byers house before noon unless something’s on fire or Hop has reached maximum dad exasperation.

She picks up, “If this is a telemarketer, I don’t have money, but I do have rage.”

“Maggie,” Hopper sounds like a man who has aged eight years in eight minutes, “You busy?”

“That feels like a trap.”

“El is begging to hang out with you,” he says, defeated, “Actually begging. Like… she’s doing the big eyes. And the pout. I’m only human.”

Maggie grins so hard her cheeks hurt, “Aw. Hop. You called me because you’re emotionally weak.”

“Please. Just get over here before she guilt trips me into letting her adopt a squirrel or something.”

Maggie already has her shoes on, “I’m grabbing snacks.”

“Not too many—”

She hangs up before he finishes. He should know better.

When she arrives at the cabin, Hopper opens the door, sees Maggie, and immediately grimaces. Under her arms are four grocery bags and one suspicious cardboard box.

“That better not be what I think it is.”

“It’s snacks,” Maggie lies with the confidence of a seasoned criminal.

El barrels into her with a hug that nearly knocks her over.

“Maggie!” she says, voice bright, “Sleepover?”

“Sleepover,” Maggie confirms, ruffling her hair.

Hopper steps aside, muttering, “If you two summon a demon or something, I’m moving to another town. Maybe another planet.”

“Relax,” Maggie says. “We don’t summon demons. We manifest disappointment.”

He doesn’t laugh, but El does, and that’s what matters.

Hopper barely makes it to his recliner before Maggie and El have exploded snacks across the entire living room floor. Chips. Twizzlers. Gummy worms. A family-sized bag of marshmallows. El looks like someone handed her a treasure chest.

Maggie sets down her box and opens it.

Hopper squints, “Is that nail polish?”

El’s eyes widen, “Colors?”

Maggie pulls out an alarming shade of neon green, “This one is called Toxic Slime.”

Hopper pins Maggie with a weary stare. “Do not stain my furniture.”

Maggie ignores him. El picks the neon green. Maggie paints carefully. El… does not. Hopper may or may not cry when a drop hits the rug.

When it gets dark, Maggie turns off the lights.

El scoots closer, wrapped in her blanket, “Scary stories?”

“I brought the worst ones known to man.”

El is delighted. Hopper looks like he’d like to flee but is pretending not to listen.

Maggie clears her throat, “Once… in a little town just like this one… there was a ghost that haunted… the middle school bathrooms.”

El shivers, “What did it do?”

“It flushed the toilet when nobody was there.”

Hopper lets out a disgusted grunt, “That’s not a ghost. That’s plumbing.”

Maggie continues, ignoring him, “They say that if you go in alone… and whisper ‘tater tots’ three times… it appears.”

El clutches Maggie’s arm, “That’s terrible.”

“I know. Tragic.”

Hopper mutters, “I should’ve let her adopt the squirell.”

Eventually, El sits cross-legged in front of Maggie, face serious, “I want to show you something.”

Maggie leans in, “Is it the secret to surviving Hawkins? Because I could use that.”

El closes her eyes, breathing slow. Maggie tries to mimic her but just ends up looking mildly constipated.

“Think quiet,” El whispers, “Think words… but inside.”

Maggie nods, focusing very hard. She stares back at El. El stares at her. They are very intense. The cabin is silent.

After a long moment, El’s nose scrunches, “You… are not thinking anything.”

“I’m trying!”

“Try harder.”

Maggie tries again. Nothing. El sighs like a disappointed sensei whose student keeps tripping over their own feet.

“You’re picking this up fast,” Maggie says, “considering I’m probably the worst person to teach.”

“You’re not,” El insists, “Your mind is just… loud.”

Maggie beams, “Thanks.”

“Not a good thing.”

Once Maggie has fully failed Psychic Class 101, she decides to teach El something she can master: chaos.

“Okay,” Maggie says, picking up the cabin’s dusty landline, “this is a very important life skill.”

El watches with fascination.

“We’re going to prank call Ted Wheeler.”

Hopper sits straight up, “No you are not.”

“Relax, Chief. He’ll think it’s telemarketers.”

“That man complains about leaves being too loud,” Hopper says, “You’ll give him a heart attack.”

Maggie dials anyway. El leans so close she nearly falls into Maggie’s lap.

The phone rings.

“Wheeler residence. This is Ted.”

Maggie grins. El covers her mouth in suspense.

In an exaggerated, terrible British accent, Maggie says, “Hello, sir, we’ve been trying to reach you about your horse’s extended warranty.”

El bursts into silent laughter so hard she hits the floor.

Ted hangs up immediately.

Hopper groans, “I didn’t hear anything. I saw nothing. If Karen comes after me, I’m blaming you.”

After snacks, stories, psychic failure, and felony-level prank calls, the two girls lie side by side on the living room floor.

El whispers, “I like when you’re here.”

Maggie feels something warm settle in her chest, “Yeah. Me too.”

“You make it normal.”

Maggie swallows, “You do that for me too.”

Hopper peeks from his chair. His expression softens. He doesn’t say anything.

Maggie nudges El, “Next time, we prank call the mayor.”

El’s eyes light up, “Yes.”

Hopper groans into his hands.

Maggie falls asleep smiling. El falls asleep holding her hand. And Hopper sleeps with one eye open, praying for mercy.

(Apologies for all the time skips, but were skipping like a week lmao)

Maggie wakes up to the sound of Dustin pounding on the Byers’ front door like he’s reenacting The Shining. She rolls off the couch, still in last night’s shirt, hair sticking up.

Will is already apologizing as he opens the door, “He said it was an emergency.”

“It is!” Dustin bursts in, “We’re going to the arcade!”

Maggie blinks sleepily, “That’s the emergency?”

“Yes,” Dustin says, “because Max is beating everyone and it’s ruining Lucas and Mike’s lives.”

“I’m fine,” Lucas grumbles.

“You’re not,” Dustin counters cheerfully.

Mike storms in after him, scowling. Max follows, sipping a slushie at eight thirty in the morning because she simply does not follow the laws of man or God.

Maggie groans, “Let me change out of my grave clothes at least.”

Will grins, “We’ll wait.”

They don’t wait quietly or calmly.

By the time Maggie returns, Dustin has touched everything in the living room, Max is doing cartwheels, Lucas is reading a comic he didn’t ask to borrow, and Mike is sulking like it’s his full-time job.

Maggie claps her hands, “Alright. Let’s go lose some quarters and brain cells.”

Dustin pumps a fist, “Yes! Best chaperone ever!”

“God help me,” Maggie mutters, grabbing her jacket.

The group heads down the street like a kid version of a poorly organized parade. Maggie feels like a very tired float.

Dustin is talking. Constantly. About Dig Dug. About strategy. About how he “almost” beat MadMax last time.

Max rolls her eyes, “You didn’t almost beat me. You touched the joystick and died instantly.”

“Semantics,” Dustin says.

Lucas high-fives her.

Will walks beside Maggie, quiet but smiling, “Thanks for coming.”

Maggie nudges him gently, “Someone had to keep them from committing public crimes. Gotta keep you more responsible than me.”

Mike glares at her, “We weren’t going to commit crimes.”

“You say that now,” Maggie says, “but I’ve seen the way Dustin looks at vending machines.”

The door whooshes open and the familiar neon glow blasts them in the face. The boys scatter.

Max drags Lucas and Mike straight to Dig Dug, “Prepare to lose.”

They begin an intense session of competitive button mashing that could level a city block. Mike is muttering strategies under his breath.

Dustin tries Pac-Man, then Galaga, then Pac-Man again because he decides he didn’t properly warm up.

Maggie leans on a machine, watching the chaos unfold. For once, she doesn’t feel like the token oddball in the room. If anything, she’s the normal one. Which is concerning.

Ten minutes in, Max has beaten Lucas three times, Mike twice, and Dustin once (because he got distracted by an unattended pretzel).

Lucas throws up his hands, “No way! No way is she that good!”

Max just smirks, “Skill. Talent. Natural superiority.”

Mike looks ready to replace her joystick with a cursed object.

Maggie calls out, “Maybe you boys should accept that Max is the apex predator here.”

Lucas turns to Maggie with the betrayed expression.

“It’s not fair,” he groans.

“It is,” Maggie says, “because she’s better.”

Dustin nods solemnly, “Yeah. She’s a beast.”

After an hour of losing repeatedly, the boys retreat to the prize counter to heal their wounds through capitalism.

Dustin points at a rubber monster toy, “That is destiny.”

Maggie sighs, “You have twelve tickets.”

“It costs sixty,” Will says helpfully.

Dustin looks at Maggie, “I believe in you.”

“No.”

“You didn’t even hear what I was going to say!”

“You were going to ask me to win you forty-eight tickets. Absolutely not.”

Dustin pouts, “But I want the ugly monster guy.”

“You have me,” Maggie says, “Close enough.”

Mike snorts, Lucas laughs, and Dustin squints at all of them.

Maggie is foolish enough to accept a challenge from Max.

The resulting match is not a match. It’s a demolition.

Max slaps the puck so hard it becomes a missile. Maggie barely deflects it.

“Hey!” Maggie yelps, “I thought we were bonding!”

“We are,” Max says, “I’m bonding with your defeat.”

Dustin yells commentary like a sports announcer and Will claps politely every time Maggie doesn’t die.

In the end, Max wins 7-1. Maggie collapses over the table dramatically.

“I have dishonored my family,” she groans.

“You’ll recover,” Max says, patting her shoulder.

The walk back is full of complaints about rigged machines.

Maggie glances at them all, messy and loud and dramatic. A ridiculous little pack of gremlins who somehow dragged her into their orbit.

She sighs loudly, “Congratulations. You’ve successfully exhausted me.”

Dustin grins like that’s the goal, “Amazing. We should do it again tomorrow.”

“Absolutely not,” Maggie says.

They all know she’ll cave.

Back home, Joyce meets them at the door, “How was it?”

Dustin answers first, “Competitive.”

Lucas says, “Rigged.”

Mike sulks, “Infuriating.”

Max grins, “Victorious.”

Will smiles softly, “Really fun.”

Maggie sighs, “I need a nap.”

Joyce smiles, “Sounds about right.”

The kids collapse in the Byers’ living room in a pile of limbs and snacks.

Maggie flops onto the couch, eyes half-closed, heart stupidly warm.

She mutters, “I am never doing that again.”

She will absolutely do it again.