Maps of Hawkins were spread across the pool table, weighted down with soda cans and walkie-talkies. Nancy and Jonathan were hunched over one, their heads close together, speaking in low, urgent tones. Dustin, Lucas, and Mike were arguing over a hand-drawn diagram of the Creel House, their voices rising in a tangled knot of theory and panic. Will sat quietly in a corner, sketching something in a notebook, his face pale.

And then there was you and Steve.