RACHEL OPENED HER LOCKER WITH A HUFF as she rummaged around the for books she'd need for her classes before lunch. All around her people were murmuring about the new kid, some pretentious guy with a blonde mullet and a habit of smoking cancer-sticks. She had yet to see whoever the new kid was, but couldn't exactly say she cared. As it was, Rachel Henderson had other things on her mind.

"Hey, uh, Rachel?" Steve's voice was somewhat of a surprise to her, mostly because when she glanced over at him, Nancy wasn't at his side like she normally was. 

Her eyebrows furrowed when she saw the nervous look on his face and the paper he was clutching in his hand. "What's up?"

"Could you, uh... could you help me with this paper sometime before school lets out?" He asked her, handing the paper over to her. Rachel eyed it curiously and began to skim over the words as he explained, "It's an essay for an early application... the deadline's tomorrow, so I'm hoping it's not totally crappy—"

"This is terrible," Rachel told him honestly. "It's all over the place, Steve."

He sighed sadly and rubbed the back of his neck. "Well, at least you're honest. Nancy said it was okay, but I knew she was just being nice." Steve's expression fell. "I don't know why I'm bothering, really... I'll just end up working for my dad. And, you know, maybe it won't be such a bad idea, but I was just hoping that maybe I could—"

"Steve," Rachel interrupted him. He looked up at her to see her brown eyes were soft, but her expression determined. "You'll meet the deadline, don't worry. I mean... we'll have to start from scratch, but—"

"We?"

She raised an eyebrow. "You wanted my help, right?"

"Well, yeah, but— I mean, we have that dinner at the Holland's tonight. So I don't see how we can possibly get this done before tomorrow."

"I have a free period after lunch. What do you have?"

"Um, economics."

Rachel hummed and closed her locker. "Skip. I doubt Mr. T will even notice," she told him. "If you don't mind skipping lunch, too, that will give us more time. Just meet me in the library."

Steve blinked. "You... you're really going to help me?"

She looked up at him and hugged her books to her chest. "You saved my life last year." Her voice was quiet when she spoke, and if Steve hadn't been standing right next to her he probably wouldn't have heard what she said. "Just because I don't like to talk about what happened doesn't mean I'm not grateful. Anyway..." Rachel's voice went back to its normal volume as she mustered up a smile. "I definitely owe you, so this is the least I can do."

He smiled at her. "You're the best, Rach."

She waved off his gratitude as she turned and headed to her first period class. After all, she'd been serious when she said he had literally saved her life last year. The demogorgon had probably been seconds away from killing her when Steve suddenly ran back in the house and threw himself in front of her, swinging around Jonathan's discarded bat like crazy. And even though it was basically sheer luck that he had managed to hit the demogorgon backward into the bear trap, Rachel would forever be grateful for Steve Harrington for what he did.

It seemed that helping him revise an essay was, quite frankly, a very measly way of repaying him for that. But she was going to help him with it, nevertheless.

Which was why, instead of eating her lunch with Steve and Nancy before retreating to the art room to paint like she normally did, Rachel found herself claiming an empty table in the back of the library while the rest of the school crowded the cafeteria. Steve arrived not long after she did, though he was carrying two bottles of water, a small veggie tray and a sandwich. "I grabbed these for you when I didn't see you in the lunch line," he said, handing her one of the waters and the veggie tray. "Figured you were probably hungry."

"Thanks," Rachel said, surprised at the kind gesture even though Steve Harrington had long since proved he wasn't the self-righteous asshole she'd once thought he was. "I'll pay you back later. My wallet's in my locker."

He shook his head. "No, it's fine."

Rachel didn't bother arguing her point. She was going to pay him back either way, even if she had to sneak the money through the slot of his locker in order to do so. Instead she pulled out a notebook, pencil, and Steve's original attempt at an essay. "So, anyway..." She set down the paper so he could look at it with her, scooting his chair a little closer so he wouldn't have to bend his neck so much. "I liked your idea of using a metaphor for your life starting out, so maybe we can keep that. But, here, you mention your grandfather's time in the war, and I think we should get rid of it."

Steve looked as if she had physically smacked him across the face. "What? W—why?"

"Well, it's kind of... pointless to even mention," she said with a small shrug. Sparing him glance, she noticed the expression on his face and sighed. "I'm not trying to say anything bad about your granddad, Steve, it's just— this essay is about you."

"Right, right. I get it." He nodded and ate his sandwich, listening to the other tips of advice Rachel had to give while she nibbled on her celery sticks. 

Once they were finished eating, she helped him write a rough draft for a new essay and they proof-read it before he typed it out on one of the library's computers. "You know," Steve mused as they waited for the printer to finish printing out the essay, "I think we make a good team, Henderson."

She snorted in amusement. "Sure."

"No, I'm serious." Steve grabbed his finished essay from the printer and looked at her. "Why weren't we ever friends before?"

"Uh, because you became Tommy H. and Carol's second shadow?" Rachel told him pointedly.

He laughed. "Well, thank God I stepped back into the light." He waved his essay at her, his grin of amusement softening into a genuine smile. "Thanks for this, Rach. Really. It means a lot to me."

"Like I said," Rachel told him with a small smile of her own. "It's the least I could do."

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HER LAST PERIOD OF THE DAY SEEMED TO DRAG by, even with Nancy and Jonathan there suffering through it with her. Rachel had been up since three that morning, unable to fall asleep after her latest nightmare episode, and her exhaustion was finally catching up to her as she rested her chin in the palm of her hands. She tried to pay attention to the lecture, but after zoning out multiple times she finally gave up, and decided that one of her friends could just catch her up.

When the bell rang, Rachel gathered her things and walked out of the classroom next to Nancy, Jonathan walking right behind them. One of their classmates, a cheerleader named Tina, was handing out invitations to her annual Halloween party. Rachel politely accepted the orange paper when Tina offered her one before handing Nancy another one, as well. Noticing that Jonathan wasn't handed one, she nudged Nancy, who'd noticed as well. 

"Oh, could I get one more?" Nancy asked with a wide smile.

"Yeah, sure," Tina agreed, handing her another invitation.

Nancy smirked, waiting until they'd walked away to hand it to Jonathan. "You're coming to this."

Jonathan raised his eyebrows and glanced down at the invitation. "Come and get sheet-faced," he read aloud, glancing at the tacky ghost logo next to the horrible pun. "No, I'm not."

"I gotta agree, Nance," Rachel admitted, her nose scrunched up in disgust as she glanced down at the invitation as well. "The only thing I ever get out of these parties is a headache, and some tool of a guy hitting on me."

"C'mon, Rach!" Nancy complained. "You skipped the annual bonfire party and Jerry's house party already. You can't skip Tina's Halloween party, too!"

"Yes, I can."

Nancy groaned. "I can't let you two sit all alone on Halloween," she said stubbornly. "That's just not acceptable!"

"Well, you can relax," Jonathan told her. "I'm not gonna be alone. I'm going trick-or-treating with Will."

"All night?"

"Yeah," he lied.

Nancy called bullshit straight away. "No, no way," she denied, shaking her head in amusement. "You're gonna be home by 8 o'clock, listening to the Talking Heads and reading Vonnegut, or something."

"Sounds like a nice night."

But she wasn't even paying attention to Jonathan's light quip, turning her attention toward her best friend. "And you," she said, "you'll probably hole yourself up in your room, listen to Fleetwood Mac and paint all night." Rachel shrugged, knowing that was exactly what she had planned on doing and there was no use denying it. Nancy sighed deeply. "Guys, just come. I mean, who knows, you might even, like, meet someone." She shrieked suddenly as Steve snuck up and wrapped his arms around her from behind, lifting her off the ground. "Oh, my God!" She exclaimed, laughing with him as she saw his sunglasses. "Take those stupid things off."

"I missed you," he said.

"It's been, like, an hour."

"Tell me about it." 

He kissed her, and Nancy returned the gesture before she pulled away with a curious smile. "You're in a way better mood than you were this morning," she observed.

Steve grinned. "Yeah, well, Rachel helped me write a new essay earlier, so I'm not going to miss the deadline. Isn't that right, Rach?" He turned to where she'd been standing, only to find the space vacant. His gaze shifted down the hallway, finding the brunette walking with Jonathan Byers, and something tugged at his chest that he couldn't quite understand. "Are they a thing now, or something?"

"What?" Nancy's eyes nearly fell out of her head. Just the idea of Jonathan having a girlfriend, even if it was Rachel, left a sour feeling in her chest— which, of course, she ignored, like she'd done all year. "No. No. They're just friends... why?"

Steve shrugged. "Just wondering," he said, and the conversation was dropped from there.

Later on, Rachel was trying to swallow the lump in her throat and steady her shaking hands as Nancy rang the doorbell at the Holland's. Steve glanced back at her and frowned. "You okay, Rach?"

She quickly shoved her shaking hands into the pockets of her jacket. "Peachy."

He didn't believe her, and she knew that he didn't. He never did, but Steve was always too respectful of her obvious decision not to talk about it, so he never questioned her any further than that.

"I'm so sorry I didn't get to cook," Marsha Holland apologized when she answered the door and let them in. "I was gonna make that baked ziti you guys like so much, but I just forgot about the time, and before you know it, oh my God, it's five o'clock!"

"It's fine," Nancy told her as they all sat down and made their plates. "It's great."

"Right," Steve said, mustering up an enthusiastic smile. "I love KFC!"

Everyone looked at Rachel, as if expecting her to voice her agreement with her friends. But her attention was elsewhere, a forlorn expression on her face as she gazed over at the pictures of Barbara on the wall. One of them had Rachel herself in it, and had been taken on Halloween when they were twelve. Rachel and Barbara had gotten ready at the Hollands' house, going as Velma and Daphne from Scooby Doo. In the picture, they were laughing and ready for a night of trick-or-treating— the last one they'd actually taken part in. Nancy had went, too, of course, but dressed up as Snow White, per her mother's decision.

"I think that year was her favorite Halloween," Marsha said, noticing the picture Rachel was looking at. She smiled, a sad expression somewhere between nostalgia and heartache. "Probably because it was the only year we let her go alone with her friends." Rachel swallowed, glancing over at Nancy and Steve before staring down at her plate. Dinner with the Hollands was always the worst, because guilt ate her alive the entire time she was there. "I know you miss her, Rachel, but don't worry. Our Barb will be home soon!"

She tried to smile, but figured it failed miserably when Marsha's gaze softened before she looked down at her plate. Rachel forced herself to take another bite of her mashed potatoes so she'd be too distracted doing that to cry. But her hands still shook with grief.

At least, until Steve reached over and slid his hand into the one Rachel had on her lap. She looked up at him in surprise, but he simply squeezed her hand and turned back to his food without saying anything. Rachel found more comfort in that small gesture than she could have even thought, and when Steve pulled his hand away from hers, it no longer shook.

"So, I noticed a 'for sale' sign out in your yard," Nancy spoke up curiously. "Is that the neighbors', or...?"

Marsha smiled suddenly. "You wanna tell them?" She asked her husband.

He grunted. "Go ahead."

She turned back to them with hope clearly visible in her eyes. "We hired a man named Murray Bauman. Have any of you heard of him?" When they all told her they hadn't, she went on. "He was an investigative journalist for the Chicago Sun-Times. "

"He's pretty well-known."

"Anyway, he's freelance now, and he agreed to take the case."

This time, Rachel was not the only one that couldn't find words to speak. Nancy sat quietly, not really knowing what to say, but Steve swooped in to save them both when Marsha looked at them hoping for their enthusiasm on the subject. "That's— that's great," he said. "No, that's really— that's great, right?"

Rachel cleared her throat. "Um... what exactly does that mean?" She asked, and Nancy nodded to her, wondering the same thing.

"It means he's gonna do what that lazy son of a bitch Jim Hop—" Mr. Holland stopped as his wife settled a calming hand on his arm and released a deep breath. "Sorry: what the Hawkins police haven't been capable of doing," he fixed his previous statement. "It means we have a real detective on the case."

Mrs. Holland had so much hope in her eyes when she spoke next, Rachel felt sick to her stomach. "It means we're going to find our Barb."

Mr. Holland nodded his agreement. "If anyone can find her, it's this man. He already had leads—  by God, he's worth every last penny."

"Is that why you're selling the house?" Nancy asked.

"Oh, don't worry about us, sweetie. We're fine; more than fine. For the first time in a long time, we're hopeful."

Nancy excused herself and hurried off to the bathroom for a moment alone, and Rachel watched her go in understanding. She turned her gaze back to Barbara's parents and tried to force a smile as she scooped up another bite of food, but she couldn't find it in herself to say anything even though they were looking at her expectantly. Steve, seeing this, cleared his throat as he swallowed a bite of chicken. "It's finger-lickin' good," he said awkwardly, pulling the attention away from Rachel. Mr. Holland nodded his agreement with an amused snort, while Mrs. Holland just smiled at him.

"I'm gonna go check on her," Rachel said quietly after Nancy didn't return for ten minutes. She exchanged a look with Steve before pushing herself out of her chair and heading toward the bathroom. "Nance?" She asked softly, tapping her knuckles on the door. "Can I come in?" There was a brief moment of silence, and then the door unlocked. Rachel let herself in to see Nancy sitting back down on the side of the bathtub, water brimming in her eyes. With a sigh, she sat down beside her. 

"Do you ever think that— that it's our fault?" Nancy hiccuped as her tears began to fall again. "That— that we could have stopped it?"

"All the time," Rachel admitted, staring blankly at the bathroom wall across from her.

Nancy sniffled and rested her head on Rachel's shoulder. "How do you do it, Rach?" She asked. "How do you hold it together?"

Rachel fought the urge to scoff. Truthfully, she wasn't holding it together. She was just good at pretending that she was. Strangely enough, Steve Harrington was the only person that could see through her act.

"Because if Barb was here, you know what she'd say?"

"What?"

"She'd say, Get your shit together, crybabies. You can't sit and wallow forever," she responded in her best Barbara impersonation.

Nancy smiled slightly. "Yeah, she would, wouldn't she?"

"Mhm." She hummed in agreement before standing up and handing Nancy a couple of tissues. "So come on. Get your shit together, crybaby. Your allotted wallow-time has ran out for the day."

Despite herself, Nancy laughed as she accepted the tissues and cleaned the mascara streaks from her face. "Thanks, Rach."

"Anytime, Nance."