Archive of Our Own

Robin Buckley was three seconds away from biting her own shoelace. Not in a funny way, not in a dramatic way, but in a very real attempt to distract herself from the nonsense happening behind the counter at Family Video.

Steve Harrington was flirting again.

Not badly. Not awkwardly. Not like the days at Scoops Ahoy when he could barely form a sentence without sweating or inventing a brand new disaster. No. Now he was good at it. Smooth in a way that made Robin question physics. Smooth in a way that made her doubt everything she knew about the world.

The girl at the counter leaned forward. She looked like she had been pulled out of a campus café, all short hair and sharp eyeliner and a jacket covered in tiny metal pins. She tapped the VHS box in her hand.

“So what do you think of Ruiz’s early work?” she asked.

Robin braced for impact. She had seen this pattern for months. A girl with film knowledge asked a question. A girl waited for Steve to crumble. A girl expected to win.

Steve gave his usual bright smile.

“No clue,” he said. “Keith is the guy you want. He knows all that stuff. He has this weird system in his head. You could ask him anything.”

Robin lifted her shoe halfway to her mouth.

Because it worked. Again. Like it always did. The girl lit up at the mention of Keith of all people. Keith, the man who believed Funyuns should be filed by flavor. Keith, who thought the Dewey Decimal System could improve Family Video.

The girl tucked her hair behind her ear. “Really? Is he here?”

“Break room,” Steve said. “If you knock twice he will think you are delivering snacks. He might open the door faster.”

The girl laughed. Not a polite laugh. A real one. She headed to the back door with an eager little bounce.

Robin dropped her shoe back to the floor and rubbed her eyes.

“Incredible. Truly incredible,” she muttered.

Steve turned toward her with a proud shrug. “What? I helped.”

“You pushed her into Keith’s arms. Keith. How is that not a crime against humanity?”

Steve checked his hair in the blank side of a display case. “I am just being honest.”

“That is the problem.”

Robin walked out from behind the counter and waved her arm at the empty store like it was evidence in a court case.

“I watched you fail to flirt for an entire summer,” she said. “An entire summer. Do you remember Tammy Thompson? Do you remember the bandana girl? Do you remember the one who worked at the pretzel stand and nearly pepper sprayed you because you tripped into her display?”

Steve winced. “I was not at my best.”

“You were a lost cause.”

“And now I am not.”

“That is what I am trying to understand.”

Robin paced the front aisle with her hands locked behind her head. The carpet was ugly in the way only public spaces could manage. The lights hummed. The weather outside was February in Indiana, which meant the world looked like an unwashed Tupperware lid.

She stopped and stared at him.

“You were a disaster,” she said. “Then we got the video store job, and suddenly you turn into this charming date magnet. Girls walk in here like this is some sort of Steve Harrington adoption program.”

“Not adoption,” Steve said. “More like… casual interest.”

“Casual interest that ends with you being out every weekend.”

Steve folded a stack of returned cases and tried to look modest. It did not work.

Robin leaned on the counter and dropped her chin into her hand.

“And the worst part is that I know you,” she said. “I know you. I have watched you eat cereal dry because you forgot to buy milk. I have watched you call your own car keys missing while they were in your hand. I have watched you fall asleep during a twelve minute cartoon.”

“Thirteen,” Steve corrected. “It was a thirteen minute cartoon.”

“This is what I mean. You are you. Yet out there, girls look at you like you climbed down from a movie poster.”

Steve looked down at the carpet. “You done?”

“No,” Robin said. “Not even close.”

She pushed off the counter and pointed at the back room where Keith was probably panicking about how to talk about Ruiz without sounding like he had memorized an encyclopedia.

“You see that,” she said. “That is impossible. That is insane. That is against cosmic law.”

Steve blinked. “You think I broke the universe.”

“I think you bent it.”

Steve let out a breath and gave her a tired smile. Not a smug one. Not a victorious one. The kind that made Robin pause for half a second.

“I am still me,” he said. “I am not doing anything weird.”

“That is the weird part,” she said.

She sat on the counter, legs swinging. She watched him check the return bin and straighten a shelf. He still moved like a jock who had been lightly rewired. He still wore sneakers that squeaked. He still talked too loudly when he was excited.

But something had changed. Something you could not put your finger on. Something that Robin, who had spent more hours with Steve than any sane person should, could not explain.

She had theories. A lot of them. None felt right.

Steve cleared his throat. “You want to tell me what this is really about?”

“Yes,” Robin said. “But you will laugh.”

“Probably.”

Robin pressed her palms to her eyes.

“I want to study you.”

Steve blinked. “Like homework?”

“Like science.”

“That sounds worse.”

“I need to understand why this happens,” she said. “Why people fall for you so fast. Why you can barely name a single European director but still look like the solution to someone’s film degree crisis. Why girls who could write essays about avant garde cinema think you are charming when you say you like movies with explosions.”

Steve raised a finger. “Explosions are universal.”

“Focus.”

He laughed softly and leaned against the counter beside her.

“You want to make a chart or something,” he said.

“Possibly.”

“You want to interview people.”

“I will be tasteful about it.”

“You want to record my behavior.”

She shrugged. “Only the parts that confuse me.”

Steve studied her face with the kind of patience he had grown into over the years. Not the forced kind he used to fake for teachers. The real kind.

“Fine,” he said. “You can run your experiment. As long as I get a cool code name.”

Robin groaned. “You do not get a code name.”

“What if I think of a good one.”

“You never think of good ones.”

“I will try harder.”

Robin hopped off the counter and grabbed a pen from the jar by the register.

“This is going to be stupid,” she said.

“Your specialty,” Steve said.

“And you will regret agreeing to it.”

“Probably.”

Robin clicked the pen and pointed at him like she was starting a mission.

“Welcome to the study,” she said. “Subject: Steve Harrington.”

Steve saluted with two fingers. “Ready.”

Robin stared at him for a long moment. At the grin. At the warm eyes. At the weird mix of confidence and confusion that somehow pulled people in without trying.

She wrote her first note.

I am already in over my head.

---------------------------------------------------------------

Robin arrived at Family Video the next morning with a notebook, two pens, and the kind of determination that usually burned out by lunchtime. She had a plan. A real one. Last night she imagined charts. Columns. Arrows. A whole system for tracking the Steve Appeal.

She pushed open the door. It chimed. She walked in like she was entering a lab.

Then she saw Steve crouched on the floor, refilling a rack of new releases, and her entire brain flopped over like a lazy dog.

Because she remembered something.

Vickie.

Vickie and her red hair.
Vickie and her bright voice.
Vickie and how they split a granola bar after practice yesterday because the vending machine was empty and they were both starving.

Robin stopped walking. Her notebook hung at her side. Every idea she had carefully built overnight slipped right out the back of her mind like a thief escaping through an unlocked window.

Steve looked up. “Morning.”

“Vickie’s shampoo,” Robin said.

Steve blinked. “That is not a greeting.”

“She smells like apples. But not fake apples. Real ones. How does someone smell like real apples.”

“Good morning to you too.”

Robin marched behind the counter and slammed her notebook down. “I had a plan. I had a whole system. But I walked in here and all I can think of is Vickie. And apples. And her shampoo. And how she smiled at me yesterday like I did something impressive when all I did was hand her water.”

Steve put the last VHS box in place and stood. “So the experiment is already dead.”

“It is on life support,” Robin said. “And Vickie is unplugging it.”

She dropped into the spinny chair and spun once with an exhausted groan.

Steve leaned against the counter and crossed his arms. “What happened at practice?”

“We ran the same song eight hundred times,” Robin said. “Then the clarinets sounded like dying frogs. Then the trombones tried to overpower the entire universe. Then Vickie and I sat on the floor and shared snacks because apparently that is my new life. Sharing food with a girl who makes my whole body forget what thinking is.”

Steve nodded slowly. “So a normal day.”

“I did not make a fool of myself though,” Robin said. “That is the important part. No rambling. No weird laughing. No choking on pretzels. I was cool.”

“You have never been cool,” Steve said.

“I know. But I tried.”

Steve gave her a small smile, the kind he saved for moments when she was spiraling. “I am proud of you.”

Robin froze. She scratched the back of her neck. “You are proud of me for eating a granola bar?”

“No,” he said. “For being you.”

Robin tried to brush that off but the words stuck to her like glue. She looked at him. He had that soft expression again, the one no one else ever got. The one that made her feel like her bones were in the right places.

She remembered something her mother had said last year. They were in the kitchen, Robin going on about work, her mother stirring a pot of soup, and out of nowhere her mother asked how things were “with that boy Steve she was dating.”

Robin nearly dropped a spoon.

She spent ten minutes explaining that she was not dating Steve, had never dated Steve, would never date Steve. Her mother only shrugged and said, “You act more like yourself around him. I figured he was special.”

Robin told Steve about it months later while they were reorganizing the comedy section. He laughed so hard he fell backward into a shelf. Now she thought about the rest of that night. The way he brushed his hair back and said, “That is actually really nice. Not the dating part. The other part.”

Steve cleared his throat. “So your mom still thinks we are secretly in love.”

“Not lately,” Robin said. “She gave up. She finally accepted that we are… whatever we are.”

Steve straightened a display card that did not need straightening. “I like what we are.”

Robin rolled her eyes. “You like almost everything. Except egg salad.”

“No one should like egg salad.”

Robin spun the chair toward him. “She said I am more myself with you. That I do not pretend to be cool or tough or mysterious. She said I relax.”

Steve stopped fidgeting. He looked right at her, serious for once.

“That is a huge honor,” he said. “That you feel safe with me. I mean it.”

Robin swallowed. “I know.”

He reached over and flicked one of the buttons on her jacket. “You can be anxious. You can pace holes in the carpet. You can say whatever pops into your head. That is Robin. I like that Robin. She is the best one.”

She felt her face grow warm. She tried to hide it behind a stack of return receipts.

“Shut up,” she muttered.

“Never.”

Robin closed her notebook. The experiment could wait. The Steve Appeal would not collapse if she took one day off.

Unfortunately, Dustin Henderson never took a day off from anything.

He burst into the store at noon with a blast of cold air and a bag of pretzels. “Why are you two not dating.”

Robin pointed at him. “No.”

“Yes,” Dustin said. “You act like a couple.”

“No.”

“You fight like a couple.”

“No.”

“You buy snacks in pairs.”

“That proves nothing.”

Steve grabbed the pretzel bag and tossed it back to Dustin. “We are not dating.”

Dustin squinted. “Why.”

Robin groaned. “Because Steve is not my type.”

“Right but besides that.”

“There is no besides that.”

Dustin sighed like the fate of the universe rested on this question. “Fine. But if you ever do decide to get together can you tell me first so I can win a bet.”

Steve frowned. “With who.”

“Lucas,” Dustin said. “He thinks you will never figure it out.”

Robin threw a VHS box at his head.

Dustin yelped and ran out.

Steve watched him go. “He is relentless.”

“He is eight percent of the reason I tolerate children,” Robin said. “You are the other ninety two.”

“You like Erica more than me,” Steve said.

“Fine. Half and half.”

They went back to work. Customers came and went. The store hummed with a slow afternoon rhythm. Robin tried very hard to convince herself she was focusing.

She was not.

Every few minutes she brought up Vickie again.

“Do you think she noticed my jacket yesterday.”

“Probably.”

“Do you think she likes when I talk. Because I talk a lot.”

“She smiled. That is a good sign.”

“Did I smell weird after practice.”

“I do not sniff you during practice.”

Robin plopped her head onto the counter with a groan that echoed through the empty store. “I cannot think. My brain is soup.”

“Apple soup,” Steve said.

“That sounds horrible.”

“Exactly.”

By the time they closed up, Robin had circled back to her original crisis.

“She said her shampoo is imported,” Robin said. “Imported. Who imports shampoo. Someone with perfect hair. That is who. Someone who uses words like texture and notes. Someone who does not trip on sidewalk cracks.”

Steve locked the front door. “Do you need to find it.”

“Yes.”

“Now.”

“Yes.”

“So we are going to the drugstore.”

“Yes.”

He grabbed his coat. “Then let us go.”

Robin stood there gripping her notebook. Her heart felt full and chaotic at the same time. She followed Steve into the cold night, her breath fogging the air.

This was her life.
This was her strange, ridiculous, lucky life.

Running after a girl who smelled like apples.
Dragging along a boy who believed in her more than she believed in herself.

Robin tightened her scarf.

“Steve,” she said.

“Yeah.”

“Thank you.”

“For what.”

“For being you.”

Steve snorted. “Someone has to.”

They walked to his car. Robin got in and pulled the seatbelt across her chest. She felt a little lighter. A little more real.

Maybe she would figure out the Steve Appeal later.

Tonight she had a more important mission.

Find Vickie’s shampoo.

------------------------------------------------------------

Robin liked being a best friend.

She liked having someone who understood the way her thoughts stacked on top of each other. Someone who did not flinch when she talked too fast or changed topics without warning. Someone who knew that when she got quiet, it meant she was thinking too loudly.

Steve Harrington was excellent at being that person.

Not at first. At first he had been a headache in a sailor hat. But once she got past the hair and the confidence and the history she had built up in her head, she met the real version. The version who was soft in the center. The version who cared too much and pretended he did not. The version who laughed big and listened bigger.

Girls loved him. Robin understood why. He was easy to be around. He radiated a kind of warmth that felt like stepping into a house where someone was already making you tea. And he drove, which in a town like Hawkins counted as a social superpower.

Robin liked all of that.

She did not like when he got insecure.

She noticed it the moment they opened the store the next morning. Steve was restocking the counter mints with more force than the mints deserved.

“You good,” Robin asked.

“I am fine.”

“You sound fine in the way someone sounds fine right before they throw something.”

“I do not throw things.”

“You throw things all the time.”

Steve shut the mint box harder than necessary. “Dustin is joining Hellfire.”

“You knew that.”

“Yeah.”

“And you told him it was fine.”

“I did.”

“And you seem upset anyway.”

Steve made a face. “I am not upset. I am just thinking.”

Robin grabbed the stool, spun it around, and sat on it backwards like a detective who had run out of patience. “Talk.”

Steve braced his hands on the counter. He stared at his reflection in the little plastic mirror taped to the side for makeup shoppers.

“Dustin talks about Eddie a lot,” he said.

“Eddie is cool,” Robin said. “In a gremlin uncle way.”

“He talks about Hellfire too,” Steve said. “Like all they do is laugh and fight imaginary monsters and have the time of their lives.”

“You do know Dungeons and Dragons is just dice and math.”

“Yeah but Dustin makes it sound fun.”

Robin let her head fall forward. “Steve. You do not even like fantasy.”

“I tried,” he said. “I really tried. But every time they talk about it I feel like the stupid guy who showed up with the wrong homework.”

Robin reached out and tapped his arm with the back of her hand. Light. Quick. “You are not stupid.”

“That is not what I mean.”

Robin studied him. The slump in his shoulders was small but familiar. It looked like the version of Steve she met in the bathroom of the mall. The one who felt like the world had shifted under his feet and he was trying to catch his balance.

“You think Dustin is replacing you,” she said quietly.

Steve looked away. “Never mind.”

“Hey. No. Tell me.”

He sighed and pushed his hair back. “He used to call me for everything. Rides. Advice. Stupid questions about girls. Now he calls Eddie. He talks about Eddie. Like Eddie is the older brother he always wanted.”

Robin let the words settle. They hurt in the way truth always did.

Steve leaned his elbows on the counter. “I know it is dumb. I know he still cares. I just get this feeling sometimes like maybe I am not that important anymore.”

Robin slid off the stool and stood next to him. Shoulder to shoulder. Quiet for a moment.

“You are important,” she said.

“To Dustin.”

“To Dustin. To me. To everyone who knows you well enough to shut up and pay attention.”

Steve laughed under his breath. “Thanks.”

“You have a weird habit of thinking you get left behind,” Robin said. “You do not. Dustin is fifteen. He is allowed to worship some metalhead who looks like he lives under the school bleachers.”

“Eddie does not live there.”

“He could.”

Steve chuckled, finally. He nudged her with his shoulder. “I get it. I do. He has space in his life for more people. That is all.”

“That is all,” Robin said.

Steve nodded. “It still feels weird.”

“I know.”

She watched him fiddle with a VHS case. He did that when he needed to keep his hands busy. A grounding thing.

Robin thought about saying more. Something sharp and comforting at the same time. Something to snap him out of it. But her mind stopped her. Because thinking about comforting him made her think about Vickie, and thinking about Vickie made her chest tighten in a way she did not want today.

She took a steady breath.

Steve looked at her. “You okay.”

“Great,” she lied.

“You sure.”

“Yep. Perfect. Shiny.”

He studied her face, concerned. He had a knack for seeing when something was wrong even when she tried to hide it.

“If you do not want to talk about it,” he said, “I will not push.”

Robin exhaled through her nose. Relief spread in her chest like warmth. Steve was good at many things, but respecting boundaries was one of his real talents. He never pried. Never poked. Never cornered her into feelings she was not ready for.

She appreciated that more than she could say.

“Thank you,” she said softly.

“Anytime.”

She leaned her elbows on the counter. “You know, this whole Dustin thing. It is temporary.”

“Think so.”

“I know so,” Robin said. “Dustin is like a cat. He wanders. But he always circles back.”

Steve smiled. “That makes me feel better.”

“It should.”

They worked for a while in the steady quiet of morning. The store was calm. A couple old regulars drifted in and out. No drama. No explosions. Just the soft background buzz of their routine.

Robin realized something.

She liked this.
She liked having a best friend.
She liked knowing she could talk or stay silent and Steve would adjust.

She liked that even when he was insecure, he did not hide it from her. And she liked being the person he trusted enough to admit it.

She also liked that he did not mention Vickie once.

Not even a tease.
Not even a comment.

He knew she did not want to think about the granola bar moment. Or how her hands shook when Vickie touched her shoulder. Or how she had replayed it so many times her brain felt tender.

Steve left it alone.
That was the kind of friend he was.

Near closing time, Steve started sorting a stack of returns.

“You want to grab dinner after work,” he asked.

Robin thought it over. A day without talking about Vickie sounded perfect.

“Yeah,” she said. “Let us get burgers.”

“With fries.”

“With fries.”

“With onion rings.”

“You are pushing it.”

“With milkshakes.”

“Fine. Sold.”

Steve grinned, loose and warm again. The slump in his shoulders had lifted. The doubts had quieted.

Robin watched him for a moment. She felt her chest settle into something calm. Something steady.

This was the thing she liked most about being a best friend.

Not the jokes. Not the inside secrets.
But this.
The part where you catch someone when they start to sink.
And they catch you right back.

She closed the register and flipped the sign.

“Come on,” she said. “I am starving.”

They walked out into the cold. Together. A matched set. A weird one, but matched all the same.

Robin pulled her coat tight.

Tomorrow she might think about Vickie again.
Tomorrow she might spiral.

But tonight she had burgers.
And Steve.

And that was enough.

----------------------------------------

Robin hated the universe.

She hated gossip.
She hated high school.
She hated that Hawkins was the kind of place where a rumor could spread faster than an actual fire.

She slammed open the door to Family Video so hard the bell let out a pathetic rattle.

Steve looked up from behind the counter. He had a smile ready in that soft way he always did.

She did not let him use it.

“Since when do you play guitar,” she demanded.

Steve blinked. “Good afternoon to you too.”

“No no no.” Robin marched behind the counter and dropped her bag on top of the returns bin. “Do not greet me. Answer me. Since when. Since when.”

Steve looked toward the door like he wanted a witness or an escape route. “What.”

“Samantha,” Robin said. “Samantha Lintley. Who once told the lunch table that I was allergic to sunlight. Samantha. She and her group of hair-sprayed minions cornered me outside the coffee shop. They asked if it was true you played guitar for them last night before driving Samantha home. Like some kind of music video boyfriend.”

Steve opened his mouth.

Robin held up a finger. “I am not finished.”

She tossed her jacket onto the stool and began pacing in the tiny square behind the counter like a lawyer preparing for trial.

“They said you played for them. Multiple girls. Plural. Like you were performing. Like Elvis if Elvis worked at a video store. And you left with Samantha. Samantha. Why was Samantha in your car. Why were you playing guitar. Why did I not know you played guitar. Why did the girls of Hawkins High know before I did.”

She stopped pacing. Jabbed a finger at him.

“You absolute dingus.”

Steve stared at her for a beat. Then another.

Finally he said, “I was king Steve at high school.”

Robin threw her hands into the air. “That is not an explanation.”

“It is a little bit of an explanation.”

“Steve. You playing guitar is not a king thing. It is a skill. A hobby. A talent. It is something you tell your best friend.”

Steve rested his palms on the counter and took a slow breath. “Robin. Calm down.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Okay. Fair.”

She crossed her arms. She glared.

Steve rubbed the back of his neck. “Look. I do not play guitar. Not really. I know a few chords. Not even fancy ones. Just the simple stuff. Things people used to teach at parties.”

Robin’s eyes narrowed. “What kind of parties.”

“Normal ones.”

“There are no normal parties in Indiana.”

He continued. “So last night I was dropping off returns and they were all hanging out in Samantha’s garage. Someone had a guitar. They asked if I knew any songs. I played the three chords I remember. Badly. They clapped anyway because girls from Hawkins clap at everything.”

Robin let out a strangled sound. “So you are telling me the rumor mill turned three chords into a full romantic performance.”

Steve shrugged. “Probably.”

“And you left with Samantha.”

“I drove her home because she twisted her ankle stepping off the curb.”

Robin froze. “She what.”

“She twisted her ankle. She tripped over her own shoe.” Steve paused. “It was very sad.”

Robin blinked. “That sounds fake.”

“It happened.”

“Really.”

“Yes.”

Robin sat on the stool and dropped her forehead onto the counter. “This town is the worst.”

Steve let out a small laugh. “You came in here like a tornado.”

“You scared me,” Robin muttered into the countertop. “You scared me because I thought you were hiding something huge. Like you were secretly in a band. Or secretly plotting a second life. Or secretly becoming a guitarist for Samantha Lintley.”

Steve leaned over and poked the top of her head. “I would never join a band.”

“The hair would be good though.”

Steve smirked. “True.”

Robin lifted her head and scowled. “So why did I not know.”

Steve blinked. “Robin. It is not important. I know like three chords. Three. It is not some big secret. It is not a thing I kept from you. It is just a silly skill that I did not think mattered.”

“It matters because it is you,” she said. “Everything about you matters to me. The dumb things. The useful things. The weird things. All of it.”

Steve softened. His shoulders dropped. His expression shifted into that look he only ever gave her. Gentle. Honest. No edges.

“Okay,” he said. “Then I am sorry I never told you.”

Robin picked at a sticker on the counter. “I just do not like being the last to know stuff about you.”

“You are not,” Steve said. “You know the real things.”

Robin looked up. “Yeah.”

“The rest is just noise.”

She let out a breath she had been holding since she’d walked in. The anger drained out of her. The embarrassment too. She felt like a popped balloon.

“Fine,” she said. “But next time Samantha claims you serenaded her, I am going to physically drag you out in front of her and make you demonstrate your terrible chord skills.”

Steve grinned. “Deal.”

Robin leaned back on the stool. The panic was gone. The storm had passed. And the universe, unfortunately, continued to exist.

Steve went back to the return pile. “You want to learn the chords.”

Robin blinked. “Why would I want that.”

“So we can mock me together.”

Robin grinned. “Yeah. Okay. That actually sounds fun.”

Steve nodded. “Good.”

Robin let her mind settle. It had been a long morning. A stupid morning. But the good thing about best friends was that stupid mornings could get fixed.

She watched Steve for a moment as he restacked a case. Still her dingus. Still predictable in ways that mattered, surprising in ways that did not hurt.

“Steve,” she said.

“Yeah.”

“Next time a rumor starts, please tell me first.”

“I will try.”

“Try hard.”

“I will.”

Robin smiled.

The universe was terrible.
The gossip was worse.
But Steve was still Steve.

Which meant she would survive it.

-----------------------------------------------

Robin Buckley liked information.

She liked knowing how things worked. How people worked. What made them tick. What made them fold. What made them shine.

So she was happy that after the guitar incident, Steve Harrington decided to start sharing more. Small things at first. Casual comments. Little details dropped into conversations like loose coins. It made her feel included in a way she did not know she had been missing.

She was also a little annoyed.

Because Steve played better than he thought.

He handed her the guitar at a slow night shift when the store was empty. Told her to try the chords. She strummed. It sounded like a fork in a blender. Then he took the guitar back and played it again, casual as breathing, and she realized he was understating it. He was good. Not musician good. But soft good. Warm good. Good enough that girls in Hawkins would absolutely swoon if they knew.

She decided she would rather die than tell him that.

His ego did not need fuel. Hawkins girls did that for her. The universe did that for her. His face did that for her.

They were sitting behind the counter late that night with takeout containers spread across the surface. The store lights hummed. A few customers browsed in the back.

Robin stabbed her chopsticks into the lo mein container. “So you prefer Chinese food.”

“Yeah,” Steve said. “Anything with noodles.”

“You also like pepperoni pizza. And apparently that weird garlic butter dip.”

“Do not mock the dip.”

“I am absolutely mocking the dip.”

Steve shook his head with dramatic disappointment. “I let you into my life and this is the thanks I get.”

Robin smirked, then poked at her food again. “Anything else I should know.”

Steve shrugged. “I like comedy movies more than action ones. I hate mushrooms. I never figured out how to do drugs and by the time someone offered it felt embarrassing to start.”

Robin nearly choked. “You never did anything. Not even pot.”

“Nope.”

“Even in high school.”

“Not once.”

“While you were King Steve.”

“Being popular does not mean you like breaking the law.”

Robin grinned. “You are such a nerd.”

Steve pointed his chopsticks at her. “You say that like it is an insult.”

“It is.”

“You are a bigger nerd than I am.”

Robin gasped. “Take that back.”

“It is not a bad thing.”

“It is an accurate thing,” she admitted.

They ate quietly for a minute. A comfortable minute. The kind that did not need anything else layered on top.

Steve said, “My parents are out of town again.”

Robin looked up. “How long.”

“Couple weeks probably. Mom left a note on the fridge. Dad didn’t leave anything.”

Robin tried to keep her voice steady. “You doing okay.”

“Yeah,” he said. “You get used to it. Not the fun part. The quiet part. The house gets too big. But I come here or I go to your place or Dustin breaks in to use the phone.”

Robin nodded. She knew this. Had known it for a long time. But every time he said it she felt that little pinch in her chest.

“Do you ever tell your parents you want them home more,” she asked.

Steve laughed. It was not a mean laugh. Not a happy one either. A tired one. “No. They would just pretend it was about something else. Work or travel or whatever.”

“So you do not.”

“So I do not.”

Robin did not push. She never pushed when it came to that.

Instead she nudged his shoulder. “You can always come to my place.”

He smiled. “I know.”

Robin watched him pick up his takeout box again. He looked young in moments like this. Not childish. Just unguarded. Like he had forgotten to wear the armor Hawkins expected from him.

She felt something warm settle inside her. Something protective. Something honest.

She would never say it out loud, but she liked that he trusted her with the parts of himself he did not show anyone else.

Parts like this.

And the other parts.
The stupid parts.
The charming parts.

Like the fact that Steve Harrington was smooth with girls when he wanted to be.

She watched him lean on the counter when a girl came up to check out a movie. He smiled at her in that soft, warm way he did not even know he had. The girl stuttered her name twice before handing over the VHS case.

Robin wanted to throw a mint at his head.

The moment the girl left, she whispered, “Mr. New Date Every Weekend.”

Steve blinked. “I do not have a date every weekend.”

“You do.”

“I do not.”

“You do,” she repeated. “You and your magically growing fan club.”

He dragged a hand through his hair. “I am not magical.”

“Explain the reactions.”

“They are just nice.”

“They turn into melted pudding in front of you.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “You exaggerate.”

Robin held her chopsticks like a pointer. “No. I observe. And I observe that girls in this town fall for you like you are the prize at the fair.”

Steve pointed his own chopsticks back at her. “And you are enjoying this, why.”

“I am not enjoying it. I am annoyed.”

He laughed. “Why annoyed.”

“Because you play guitar better than you think,” she said before she could stop herself.

Steve blinked. “What.”

Robin shoved noodles into her mouth. “Nothing.”

“No, what was that.”

“Nothing.”

“You said something about the guitar.”

“I did not.”

“You did.”

Robin pointed at the empty end of the store. “Aisle three needs sorting.”

Steve stared at her. Suspicious. “You think I am good.”

“I think you are loud.”

“That is not what you said.”

“That is what I meant.”

Steve leaned closer. “You think I am good.”

Robin made a frustrated noise. “Stop fishing for compliments.”

“I am not fishing.”

“You are dragging a net the size of Indiana.”

Steve grinned. “So I am good.”

She covered her face with her hands. “I hate everything.”

He laughed again, softer this time. “Thank you.”

“I did not say anything.”

“You said enough.”

Robin groaned. She shoved the takeout boxes into the trash just to have something to do with her hands.

She was happy he trusted her enough to share these small pieces of himself.
She was annoyed that he was better at things than he pretended.
She was grateful she got to be the one who knew the real versions.

And she was never telling him any of that out loud.

Not ever.

At least not unless he caught her off guard again. Which he would. He always did.

----------------------------------------------

Robin Buckley had a good week.
Like, suspiciously good.
The kind of week that made her wonder what bill the universe was going to send her later.

She talked to Vickie twice. Actual conversations. Full sentences. No hyperventilating. No talking at the speed of a blender motor. No spiraling into nonsense that made the girl back away like a spooked deer. They talked about math class, and Vickie laughed at one of Robin’s jokes, and Robin floated for the rest of the day like a balloon someone forgot to tie down.

So yeah. Good week.

It lasted until Saturday.

Which was when Keith opened his giant mouth.

He found her restocking the horror section at Family Video. He leaned on the shelf like he owned it and gave her a slow nod.

“Buckley,” he said. “You know, you’re a pretty girl.”

Robin dropped the entire stack of tapes. They hit the carpet with a sad slap.

She blinked at him. “What.”

Keith shrugged. “All I’m saying is maybe you should shoot your shot with Harrington. Anyone with eyes can see he cares about you.”

Robin wanted to scream. Or crawl into the nearest ventilation system. Or teleport to another dimension where people minded their own business.

Instead she coughed out the closest thing to a normal reaction. “Steve would be lucky to get me.”

Keith grinned like he had just won something. “Exactly.”

Robin stood, dusting off her knees, trying very hard not to throw a movie case at him. “Besides, this whole idea is only happening because Steve introduced you to your now girlfriend and now you think you’re the Steve Whisperer.”

Keith frowned. “It’s not that.”

“It is absolutely that.”

“It is not,” he insisted. “I’m just saying, a lot of girls ask me if you’re dating him.”

Robin froze. “What girls.”

“You know. Girls.” Keith shrugged. “They see him driving you all over town. Picking you up. Dropping you off. Getting lunch. Running errands. You look like a couple.”

“We look nothing like a couple.”

“Sure you do.”

“No,” Robin said, loud enough that the horror section rattled. “Ew. No. He is like a brother. A very dumb brother.”

A voice behind her said, “Hey. Rude.”

Robin jumped and turned.

Steve Harrington stood behind her, holding a stack of returns. He looked amused. And smug. And painfully pretty in a way that made Robin understand exactly why this town had no sense.

He raised a finger. “And do not forget the hair.”

Robin pointed at him with pure betrayal. “How long have you been standing there.”

“Long enough,” Steve said.

Keith gave Steve a knowing nod. “See. Told her she should shoot her shot.”

Robin made a choking sound. “Stop. No. Shut up. Both of you.”

Steve blinked. “Shoot your shot for what.”

Keith groaned. “For you, man.”

Steve stared. “For me what.”

Keith looked at Robin like she should jump in. She did not. She pretended to be swallowed by the carpet. It would have been less painful.

Keith continued. “To date you.”

Steve made a sound like someone dropping a wrench. “What. No. She is my best friend.”

Robin threw her hands up. “Thank you.”

Steve added, “She is the brother here.”

Robin turned. “What.”

“I mean, like, if anyone is the brother. It is you.”

“Why am I the brother.”

“You called me the dumb brother.”

“That does not make me the brother.”

Steve shrugged. “You give brother energy.”

“Take that back.”

“Never.”

Keith sighed dramatically. “I am surrounded by children.”

Robin rounded on him. “And you need to stop telling people we are dating.”

Keith raised his hands. “I never said you were. I said people think you are.”

“Because you talk,” Robin accused.

“I talk because people ask,” Keith shot back.

Steve leaned forward. “Who asks.”

Keith shrugged. “Girls.”

Steve blinked. “What girls.”

Robin groaned. “Not this again.”

Steve looked at her, then at Keith, then back at her. “Why would girls ask that.”

Robin smacked her forehead. “Because you do too much. You pick me up. You drop me off. You bring me snacks. You give me rides. You carry my bike. You help me with homework. You look… loyal.”

Steve’s eyebrows shot up. “Loyal.”

“Yes loyal.”

“I am loyal.”

“I know.”

“You say that like it is bad.”

“It is not bad,” Robin said. “It is just confusing to the outside world.”

Steve frowned. “Why confusing.”

“Because people assume boy plus girl plus time equals romance.”

Steve looked offended. “We are not like that.”

“We are not like that,” Robin agreed.

Keith spread his arms like he was hosting a game show. “So maybe tell everyone that.”

Robin glared. “You tell them that.”

“I am not your publicist.”

“You act like it.”

“You wish.”

Robin let out a strangled sound and stormed toward the counter, leaving both boys standing in the horror aisle like confused puppies.

Steve caught up with her a moment later. “You okay.”

“Yes,” she lied.

He nudged her shoulder. “You sure.”

She sighed and dropped her head onto the counter. “I just hate gossip.”

“Yeah. Me too.”

“And this town.”

“Understandable.”

“And you.”

“I get that a lot.”

Robin lifted her head. “No you do not.”

Steve smiled. “Maybe not from girls.”

Robin threw a tape at him.

He caught it one handed. Of course he did.

She groaned into her hands. “Please do not tell Dustin about this.”

“About what.”

“Any of it.”

Steve held up the tape like a peace offering. “I won’t.”

“Good.”

He paused. “But you do know people think we are dating because they see us together all the time.”

“Yes,” she said. “And that is dumb.”

“Very dumb,” Steve agreed.
Then he grinned. “But at least they think you have good taste.”

Robin groaned again.
Louder this time.

The week had been almost perfect.

Almost.

-----------------------------------

Robin Buckley was halfway through reshelving the new releases when she heard the front door slam open like someone wanted to declare war on the store.

She did not even have to look.

Only one twelve year old in Hawkins entered rooms with that kind of confidence.

Erica Sinclair marched straight toward the counter with a stack of VHS tapes that could crush a man.

Behind her trailed a tall, tired looking boy from the JV basketball team. Robin recognized him from the flyers around school. New member. Rookie. Buzzcut. Permanent expression of someone regretting every life choice.

Robin whispered to herself, “Fantastic. One chaos gremlin and one victim.”

Erica slapped her tapes on the counter. “I want the Family Video family discount.”

Robin blinked. “You are not family.”

Erica pointed at herself. “I am practically an honorary Harrington. Now give me the discount.”

Robin stared. “Since when do you get to name your own status.”

“Since I saved your entire butts from a Russian base.”

Robin sighed. “Fine. What are we renting today.”

Erica lifted the first tape with the reverence of a queen presenting treasure. It was one of the most violent horror movies the store carried. “This.”

Robin gently pushed it away. “You cannot watch that.”

Erica narrowed her eyes. “Why.”

“Because it is R rated.”

“I can handle it.”

“Your brother would kill me.”

Erica thunked the next tape down. Even worse.

Robin pushed that one away too. “Absolutely not.”

Erica folded her arms. “You are blocking my growth as a young woman.”

Robin looked at the rookie. “Is she always like this.”

He looked at the ceiling. “Every day of my life.”

Erica pointed past Robin. “Fine. If you won’t help me, he will.”

Robin followed her finger.

Steve.

Poor, unsuspecting, soft hearted, easily manipulated Steve.

“No,” Robin said. “Do not drag Steve into this.”

Erica already skipped away. “Steve. Tell Robin to stop oppressing me.”

Robin dropped her head into her hands. “She is going to get away with it because he likes her.”

The rookie laughed under his breath. “Good luck.”

Robin finally turned to him. “Lucas, right.”

Lucas nodded. “Yeah. You’re Steve’s… friend.”

Robin smirked. “Platonic with a capital P.”

Lucas laughed. “Yeah I know.”

Robin crossed her arms. “Congrats on making the basketball team.”

Lucas straightened with pride. “Thanks. Do not tell Harrington but some stuff he taught me really helped.”

Robin grinned. “The babysitter strikes again.”

Lucas snorted. “Just do not tell Dustin. He will make it weird.”

Robin laughed. “Oh please. Everything between those two is weird. They are both idiot dingus. That is part of the deal.”

Lucas looked over his shoulder to make sure Erica was harassing Steve and not eavesdropping. Then he leaned closer.

“Speaking of Dustin,” he whispered, “I need to give you a heads up. Rookie duties mean I help cheerleaders carry stuff. And today one of them was talking about you.”

Robin paused. “About me.”

Lucas nodded. “Yeah. Monica. Brunette. Mean. Very mean. She transferred to Hawkins because she got expelled from her old school for bullying. Or that is what someone on the team said.”

Robin raised her eyebrows. “Fantastic. Hawkins hospitality.”

Lucas continued. “She said she feels bad for you, because you follow Steve around. And then she said something else.”

Robin felt her stomach twist. “Something what.”

Lucas made a face, like even saying it tasted sour. “She said Steve would never date someone like you.”

Robin blinked. “Oh.”

Lucas rushed to add, “I know it is not a dating thing. You are obviously not into him. At all. And everyone who knows you two knows it is platonic. But she was being cruel, and I just thought… you should know. Keep an eye out. In case she tries anything.”

Robin let out a slow breath.

Then she forced a smile. “Thanks, Lucas. Really. But I can handle mean girls.”

“You sure.”

Robin patted him on the arm. “I spent four years in band. I know every species of mean girl. But I appreciate the warning.”

Lucas nodded, relieved. “Good. I did not want you to think I was just spreading drama.”

Robin shook her head. “You were looking out. That is what counts.”

Across the store, Erica yelled, “Steve, she is gatekeeping my movie choices.”

And Steve, the traitor, said, “Robin, just let her have one.”

Robin groaned. “This is my life.”

Lucas laughed. “Yeah. Mine too.”

Robin watched Erica and Steve bicker at the counter. Watched Steve hand Erica a tape he absolutely should not. Watched Erica smirk like she had won a national championship.

Robin sighed.

She could handle mean girls.
She could handle gossip.
She could handle Hawkins.

But she could not handle Steve Harrington being this easy to bully.
And she could not handle the idea of some cheerleader deciding to make her next target.

Still, she squared her shoulders, grabbed the horror tapes, and marched toward the counter.

Because Robin Buckley survived Russians, small towns, bad rumors, and the unique emotional explosion known as Steve Harrington.

A mean cheerleader named Monica had nothing on her.

-------------------------------

Robin expected trouble.

She expected some dramatic showdown with Monica the Mean Cheerleader. She expected gossip. A shove in the hallway. A whispered insult in the bathroom line. Something.

Instead, she got Nancy Wheeler.

Robin did not even see it happen.

She only heard the fallout.

By second period, Monica had vanished from school. Rumors swirled like a busted blender. Robin caught whispers in the hall. Something about the girls locker room after gym. Something about someone crying. Something about Nancy Wheeler, who apparently did not raise her voice, did not threaten, did not touch a single hair on Monica’s head.

But Monica still left school early. And did not come back the next day.

Robin stood at her locker thinking, Thank every higher power that Nancy Wheeler exists.

She had never really spoken to Nancy. Not more than polite greetings. They were not friends. Not enemies either. Allies by circumstance. Like two people who survived a shipwreck together and now nod across the grocery store.

Nancy scared her a little.
In a respectful way.
Like if perfection learned how to fire a gun.

Sometimes Robin caught Nancy watching her across the cafeteria. Not in a weird way. More like a detective watching a crime scene. Robin could never tell if it was suspicion or protectiveness.

Probably both.
Nancy had that energy.

But whatever Nancy told Monica in that locker room, it worked. The universe crossed one problem off the list without Robin lifting a finger.

She decided to accept the win.

Which meant she walked into Family Video that afternoon in a surprisingly good mood.

The mood died instantly.

Because on the floor, lying flat on his back like a tragic Victorian widow, was Steve Harrington.

He was staring at the ceiling with the expression of someone who had just been personally betrayed by gravity.

Robin stepped over him. “What crime has defeated you this time.”

Steve let out a dramatic sigh. “Dustin.”

Robin dropped her bag behind the counter. “Okay. What did Dustin do. Break into your house again. Steal your shampoo. Summon another alternate dimension.”

Steve groaned. “He canceled movie night.”

Robin stared. “That is it.”

“That is not it,” Steve said, offended. “We had plans. Real plans. Bonding plans. And he canceled because the Hellfire Club is doing something tonight.”

Robin pinched the bridge of her nose. “They are playing Dungeons and Dragons. That is not a national emergency.”

“It is to him,” Steve said, rolling onto his stomach and burying his face in the carpet like a sad dog. “He said he couldn’t make it because Eddie needs him.”

Robin kicked his foot lightly. “So the thirteen year old has other friends. Congratulations on raising a socially adjusted child.”

Steve mumbled into the floor. “I am being replaced.”

“You are not being replaced.”

“Yes I am.”

“No. You are just dramatic.”

Steve pushed himself up on his elbows, hair sticking in every direction, eyes hopeless. “He used to look up to me, Robin.”

“He still does.”

“Not like before.”

Robin crouched beside him. “Steve. Dustin talks about you constantly. You are like the human version of his favorite baseball card.”

Steve blinked. “That is good?”

“Depends on the card.”

Robin stood and grabbed the broom. “Listen. Dustin is thirteen. He is supposed to get obsessed with new things. He is supposed to make new friends. You do not want him stuck only with you and us forever.”

Steve sat up cross legged. “Why not?”

“Because we are weird adults.”

Steve pointed at himself. “I am barely an adult.”

“Yes. Exactly.”

He groaned and flopped backwards again. “This is the worst.”

Robin nudged him with the broom. “You are acting like he left you for a better babysitter.”

“He did.”
He whispered it like it hurt.

Robin rolled her eyes. “Eddie Munson is not a better babysitter.”

“He plays guitar.”

“That does not count.”

“He knows about hobbits.”

“Still does not count.”

“He has cool hair.”

Robin glared. “I swear if you start ranking manes now, I am quitting this job.”

Steve dragged a hand over his face. “I just thought we were still a team.”

“We are,” Robin said. “But teams get bigger.”

Steve looked up at her like a kid who lost his kite. “Are you sure.”

“Positive.”

He sighed and finally stood, brushing off his jeans. “Fine. But I reserve the right to sulk a little.”

“A little,” Robin said. “Not whatever this was.”

Steve sighed again and slumped toward the counter. “I hate when you’re right.”

“You love when I’m right.”

“No one loves that.”

“I do,” Robin said. “It keeps you humble.”

He shot her a half smile. “Could never stay humble around here without you.”

She tried not to smile back.
Failed miserably.

Because between disappearing mean girls, upside down drama, and Steve Harrington’s emotional rollercoaster, Robin Buckley realized something important.

She was lucky.
Stressed.
But lucky.

The town was weird.
Her life was chaos.
Her friends were disasters.
But they were hers.

And for once, the universe had given her a week where everything did not fall apart.

She would take it.

------------------------------------

Two weeks after Dustin canceled movie night, Steve Harrington somehow racked up five dates in a row.

Five.

Robin kept a tally on a sticky note behind the counter like she was tracking migratory birds. Every time Steve left for a date she drew a tiny heart with an X through it. Steve told her to stop. Robin told him she would not.

Hawkins girls had lost their minds lately, and Steve, clueless as ever, walked through the chaos with his soft hair and soft smile like a man unaware of his own power.

Then, one Wednesday after school, as Robin and Steve were debating which new release had the worst cover art, the door burst open and Dustin Henderson arrived like a messenger from Olympus.

He had that look. That too bright, too excited, too dangerous look.

“Guess what,” he said.

Robin braced herself. “Someone invented a new kind of nerd cereal.”

“No.”

“You found another Russian.”

“No.”

“Good.”

Dustin clapped his hands. “I am inviting you two to the Silver Moon on Saturday.”

Robin raised an eyebrow. “The Silver Moon.”

“Yes.”

“Live music place. Pop bands. Teen couples making out behind the bathrooms. That Silver Moon.”

“The one and only.”

Robin blinked. “Why.”

“Because Eddie’s band is playing.”

Robin stared at him. Then stared harder.

Steve froze like he just saw a ghost. “What.”

Dustin nodded proudly. “Corroded Coffin landed a gig there.”

Robin held up a hand. “Pause. Eddie’s band plays metal.”

“Correct.”

“The Silver Moon books pop groups. The most metal thing they play is Bon Jovi.”

“Correct.”

“Since when do you like metal.”

Dustin puffed up. “I do not like metal.”

“So why are we going.”

“Because Eddie said this is a huge chance. Bigger stage. Bigger audience. If they can impress this crowd they might get more gigs.”

Robin gave him a long stare. “So Eddie’s band is going to play Dokken.”

Dustin nodded. “And some Scorpions. And one song with a real chorus Eddie says girls like.”

Robin laughed. “This is going to be terrible.”

“It is going to be incredible,” Dustin corrected. “And I need you both there. Eddie needs a support base.”

Robin looked at Steve.

Steve had the expression of a man who wanted to say no with every fiber of his being.

Before he could open his mouth, Robin shot forward. “Of course we will go.”

Steve’s head whipped around. “Robin.”

“We will be there,” she continued. “Even better, I can try to drag some people from school. Make it look like Eddie has fans.”

Dustin beamed. “You are the best.”

Robin added, “And do not worry. Steve will use his hair to attract girls to the front of the stage.”

Dustin nearly doubled over laughing. “Perfect. We need volume out there.”

He waved at them like a victorious general. “I am going to recruit more people. Do not be late.”

He disappeared out the door.

The second the bell stopped ringing, Steve turned on Robin.

Robin lifted both hands. “Before you say anything.”

Steve glared. “Why would you say yes.”

“Because Dustin asked.”

“That is not a reason.”

“Yes it is,” Robin said. “It is the only reason.”

Steve groaned. “Robin. I cannot go to the Silver Moon.”

“You can.”

“I cannot.”

“You will.”

Steve threw his hands up. “Eddie hates me.”

“He does not hate you.”

“He thinks I am a jock.”

“You are a jock.”

“That is not helping.”

Robin stepped up to him and poked him in the chest like she was pressing a button. “Listen. This is important to Dustin. Which means it is important to you.”

Steve frowned. “I know but…”

“No buts. You and Dustin have the maturity of toddlers fighting over a bucket of Legos, but you love him. And he loves you. And this is your chance to act like the big man in kindergarten who shows up with snacks and supports the class.”

Steve blinked. “Are you calling me a kindergartener.”

“Yes. A proud one.”

He crossed his arms. “You are bossy today.”

“I am always bossy.”

He sighed. “I had plans Saturday.”

Robin raised an eyebrow. “Another date.”

Steve nodded.

“Bring her to the Silver Moon.”

Steve looked horrified. “Robin. I cannot take a date to a metal concert.”

“Technically it is not a metal concert. It is watered down metal for civilian ears. Also if she cannot handle Eddie Munson shredding Dokken, she is not right for you.”

Steve dragged a hand over his face. “She is not my girlfriend. We have only been out twice.”

“Then it is fine. Make it a test.”

“What kind of test.”

“A survival test.”

Steve stared at her like she was personally trying to ruin his life.

Robin patted his arm. “You will be fine. Eddie will be fine. Dustin will be happy. And I get to witness whatever chaos happens on that stage. It is perfect.”

Steve groaned again, this time from the very bottom of his soul. “I hate this.”

“You love this.”

“I do not love this.”

“You love Dustin.”

Steve deflated. “Yeah. I do.”

“Then it is settled.”

He poked her shoulder. “You owe me.”

“I owe you nothing.”

“You owe me moral support.”

“I already provide that.”

“Extra.”

Robin rolled her eyes. “Fine. I will buy you a soda.”

Steve perked up. “Cherry.”

“You are impossible.”

He grinned. “But you are going.”

“Yes,” Robin said. “Because someone has to make sure you two do not break down crying in the middle of a crowd.”

Steve slumped behind the counter. “This is going to be a disaster.”

Robin smiled.
Bright.
Annoying.
Delighted.

“It is going to be beautiful.”

--------------------------------------

Show time arrived faster than Robin expected.

The Silver Moon, the one place in Hawkins where someone might reasonably commit to wearing glitter or a leather jacket without being stared at, was running at a decent sixty percent capacity. For a small town venue that usually hosted pop covers and an occasional soul band, sixty percent was a miracle for Eddie Munson’s metal-leaning chaos crew.

Good for Eddie’s ego.
Great for Dustin’s heart.
Bad for Robin, who knew she would soon have to sit both of them down and mediate whatever Steve-shaped drama grew out of this night.

She spotted Eddie and his band off to the side of the stage, nervously tuning instruments and snapping at each other with the tense excitement of men about to take the battlefield. Robin walked over because Dustin had insisted on introductions weeks ago, and despite what Steve believed, Robin did in fact know how to pretend to be a normal human.

Mostly.

Eddie took one look at her and broke into a wide grin. “Buckley. Our resident band mom.”

Robin blinked. “What.”

“You brought half the audience,” Eddie said. “Dustin told me. You have power. You could stage a coup.”

Robin rolled her eyes, but secretly she was proud. “I bribed people with the promise of witnessing history.”

Gareth the drummer lifted his eyebrows at her in a way that was entirely too interested.

Oh no.
Absolutely not.
Drummers were dangerous.

Robin immediately turned to Mike Wheeler. Safe territory. A known creature. “How in the world are you this tall. You were a stick last year.”

Mike shrugged like growing was an inconvenience. “Puberty. I guess.”

“Is Nancy coming,” Robin asked casually. Too casually. “It would be cool to talk to her outside school.”

Mike snorted. “No. I asked. She did not even pretend to listen.”

Robin sighed. “Figures.”

Before she could dwell on that, the front doors opened and Steve Harrington entered with an unfamiliar blonde girl clinging to his arm.

Robin stared. Because of course he would bring a date here. Of course he would bring someone who looked like she shopped exclusively at the mall stores with expensive perfume displays.

Steve spotted Dustin and lit up like Christmas. He hurried over and greeted him with their complicated handshake, complete with sound effects, finger snaps, and the stupid chest tap they always ended with.

The blonde watched the ritual with the baffled expression of someone realizing her date might actually be five years old on the inside.

Robin bit back a grin. The blonde would be gone soon. No one survived meeting the Steve-and-Dustin bond unless they truly loved him.

Then Steve and his date drifted off toward the bar area to find seats, and Robin turned to Dustin, who was glowing with pride and excitement.

“This is amazing,” Dustin said, rocking back and forth like he was plugged into an outlet. “Look, even some of the school band people came. The woodwinds. And two percussion girls. That’s huge for Eddie.”

Robin scanned the crowd. Yep. Her people. She waved when a clarinet girl spotted her.

“See,” she said. “I helped. Happy.”

“So happy,” Dustin said.

He meant it. He looked like someone who had waited his whole life for his worlds to collide smoothly. His metal world. His nerd world. His big brother world. His band world.

Robin softened. Nights like this did not happen often for Dustin. Or for any of them.

Then tragedy struck.

Jeff, the band’s rhythm guitarist, was walking backwards while arguing with Eddie about the set list. His foot caught on a coiled cable. He stumbled. The fall was dramatic enough to catch the room’s attention.

The crack of impact was even louder.

Robin winced as Jeff hit the floor, cursing loudly enough that someone near the bar gasped.

Eddie rushed over. “Dude, what did you do.”

Jeff held up his left hand. “I landed on it. It hurts. Like. Actually hurts.”

Gareth swore. Loudly. “We go on in ten minutes.”

Dustin turned pale. “Eddie.”

Eddie stared at Jeff’s hand like he could will it healed. “Move your fingers.”

Jeff tried. The movement was stiff and off. “I do not think I can play.”

“No. No. No.” Eddie clutched his hair. “We cannot cancel. This is our chance. The big chance.”

Mike announced the obvious. “We are doomed.”

Dustin whirled toward Robin with wild, desperate eyes. “We need a miracle.”

Robin opened her mouth to say something comforting.

Anything.

But all she got out was, “Oh no.”

Because she already felt it.
The universe shifting.
Something ridiculous gearing up to happen.

And she knew exactly who the universe always dragged into the center of ridiculousness.

Steve Harrington.

She swallowed.

This night was about to get interesting.

Five minutes later Robin was pushing through the crowd like she was late for finals and someone had switched her coffee for jet fuel.

She finally spotted Steve near the back wall. His blonde date had him backed into a corner, whispering promises that were very much in the category of things Robin did not need to hear in public or ever.

“…we could leave right now,” the blonde purred, fingers tracing the front of Steve’s shirt. “My parents’ cabin is empty. And I mean empty.”

Steve looked flattered but confused in the familiar Harrington way. Like his brain lagged behind because his heart was too busy doing something else.

Robin took a breath and cut through the moment.

“Steve,” she said. “Dustin needs you.”

The blonde blinked at her, offended. “He’s busy.”

But Steve was already peeling away from her like someone had pulled an emergency alarm only he could hear.

“Dustin needs me,” he repeated, straightening his jacket. “Sorry.”

The blonde’s expression flipped from flirtatious to furious so fast Robin almost applauded.
Too bad.
She knew the survival odds of dates meeting Dustin. This outcome was inevitable.

“What happened,” Steve asked, following Robin through the crowd. “Why did Dustin look like his whole world was ending.”

“Because it is,” Robin said. “Jeff fell and messed up his hand. Eddie’s about to start hyperventilating into a trash can.”

By the time they reached the backstage area, Eddie was pacing in circles like an anxious tornado. Gareth was drumming nervously on the wall. Dustin looked ready to cry. Mike was doing nothing helpful except making doom noises.

Robin clapped her hands. “Okay Mudson, plan time.”

Eddie stopped pacing. “Please tell me you found a replacement guitarist.”

Robin pointed at Steve.

Eddie stared at him. “Harrington.”

Mike stared too. “Since when.”

Dustin’s voice cracked. “STEVE. Since when do you play guitar.”

Steve held up his hands defensively. “I do not really. I know some chords. Like easy chords.”

“Perfect,” Robin snapped. “Because that is all we need. Eddie, give me the chord progressions for the set list. Right now. I’ll write them down.”

Eddie blinked. “The what.”

“The chords, Eddie,” Robin said. “The ones that make the songs not sound like dying animals.”

“Oh. Right.” Eddie grabbed a notebook from Jeff’s bag. “Uh… okay. First song is A minor, F, C, G. Over and over.”

Robin scribbled. “Great. Next.”

Mike finally moved, because his fight-or-flight decided to lean toward fight. “I’ll get a music stand.”

“Good,” Robin said. “Dustin, get ice. Lots of it. Jeff’s hand is swelling.”

Dustin ran like someone had lit him on fire.

Eddie kept rattling off progressions. Robin kept writing. Gareth kept staring at Steve like he was a backup generator that might explode at any minute.

When they finished, Robin shoved the pages into Steve’s hands.

“Do you even know how to read my handwriting,” she asked.

“No,” Steve said honestly.

“Good,” Robin said. “Confidence. Fake it.”

Steve swallowed. “Robin… I do not think this is a good idea.”

Robin grabbed his face with both hands and forced him to look at her.

“Listen to me, dingus,” she said softly. “Your kid needs you. Dustin believes you can pull off anything. And tonight that means you go up there and be a hero. And not in the usual babysitting demobat way. In the music way. So go be a heroic… mummy duck.”

Steve blinked at her. “A what.”

“Move,” Robin said, pushing him toward the stage. “Go save the night.”

Eddie looked at Steve again. Really looked. And for once, there was no sneer.

“You sure you can do this, Harrington,” Eddie asked.

“No,” Steve said. “But I’ll try.”

And that was enough.
The boys started moving.
Hawkins’ strangest emergency team kicked into gear.

Robin stepped back, pulled in a breath, and muttered to herself:

“If this works, I’m demanding everyone buy me ice cream for a week.”

----------------------

Robin braced herself for the disaster. The kind of disaster that would end up as legend in Hawkins. Something people would whisper about for years. Something that would haunt Steve every time he walked into the grocery store.

But Steve Harrington would do anything for Dustin Henderson. Anything. Even walk onto a stage in front of sixty percent of Hawkins High’s population and risk looking like a total idiot.

Which apparently made him even more attractive. Because the universe was unfair. So unfair Robin sometimes wanted to sue it.

She watched from the side as the band scrambled into position. Eddie tuned his battered black guitar with quick, nervous hands. Gareth spun a drumstick between his fingers like he was preparing for battle. The bass player cracked his knuckles and muttered something that sounded like a prayer.

Then there was Steve. Steve was the only one with a music stand. The only one reading from handwritten notes scribbled in a panic. The only one who looked like he had wandered into the wrong room and decided to stay out of politeness.

Eddie leaned into the microphone with a grin. “Hi. This is, uh, in my dreams.”

The crowd cheered.

Robin exhaled.
Here we go.

Eddie’s guitar came alive first. A sharp bright sound that cut through the chatter. Everyone turned. Because Eddie Munson might be the weird metal guy in the cafeteria, but on a stage he was something else. Confident. Electric. The kind of musician who made people want to watch him.

Gareth kicked in next. Steady. Clean. Actually good. Robin blinked. He was not just banging on drums. He was building something.

Then the bass joined, deep and smooth.

And then.
Steve.

Robin held her breath.

He started slow. Eyes glued to the notes. Shoulders tight. He looked like he was bracing for humiliation.

But the sound that came from his guitar was not embarrassing. It was decent. Perfectly fine. Surprisingly steady. A background layer that let Eddie’s riffs shine.

Robin’s eyebrows shot up.
Huh.
He was not good.
But he was not bad.
He was decent. Comfortably decent. Solid. The kind of player who held the bones of the song together.

The look on Dustin’s face said Steve might as well have been a rock god.

Dustin grabbed Robin’s sleeve, practically vibrating. “Do you hear that. He is so good. He is actually good.”

Robin patted his shoulder. “Sure, kid.”

“Robin,” Dustin groaned. “He is amazing.”

Robin listened harder.
Still decent.
Still Steve reading off her messy handwriting.
But fine. Totally fine.

Then Eddie launched into a melodic riff that soared over the room. The crowd cheered again. The lights caught on him, turning his hair into a wild halo. Eddie was a force, a storm, whatever word Robin hated using but suddenly understood.

And Steve kept up.
Not as flair.
Not as show.
But as foundation.

By the second song, Turn Up the Radio, the mood changed. The crowd started moving. People danced. People laughed. Someone yelled for more drinks. Someone else tried to flirt with a clarinet girl.

The mix of alcohol, teenage hormones, and surprisingly decent music wrapped the room in something warm and reckless.

Even Mike Wheeler made a small wounded sound and said, “God. Harrington can play.”

Robin laughed. “Life is unfair, Wheeler.”

Mike nodded miserably. “I hate this.”

Robin threw an arm around Dustin. He leaned into her with the happiest grin he had worn in months.

Because his worlds were working.
His people were showing up for him.
Steve was on stage.
Eddie looked the happiest Robin had ever seen him.
The music was actually good.
And somehow, somehow, against all odds, this insane plan was working.

Robin squeezed Dustin and said, just loud enough for him to hear, “Told you we’d be here. Told you we’d make it happen.”

Dustin smiled so big it could have powered the stage lights.

This was going to be a night none of them forgot.