ELEVEN SOMEWHERE TO START

(SANTA CLAUS IS COMING TO TOWN)

💀

       IF KENNETH HARRINGTON wouldn't let her talk to Steve — so be it! She would find answers on her own. That was what Esme should've done in the first place, anyway. Steve Harrington wasn't the key to finding India, and she should have never relied on him to tell her something that might help her find her, just maybe. Steve didn't matter; India was her sister, one of the two most important people in her life, and it was her job to find her — not Steve's, not Hopper's, not Anita's. It was her job, Esme's alone, to bring her home — before it was too late...

       Esme ran up the stairs, determination buzzing in her veins, in every fiber of her being. Her footsteps echoed through the whole house, and, just for a moment, Esme wondered if her mom would be curious why she was running through the house like a maniac.

       The truth was, Esme was angry. She had gone to Steve's house, had put her hatred for him aside to ask him about her sister, his best friend, and had gotten nothing but insults thrown in her face. Mr. Harrington hadn't even been willing to listen to her. As soon as he had seen her, he had tried to get rid of her, failing to consider the possibility that she had a reason for coming to his house, for asking to talk to his son.

       And Steve? What had he done? Absolutely nothing. He had seen her standing in his doorway looking like a total wreck, crying, desperate, and yet he had said nothing. Of course, she hadn't expected him to defend her, or anything along those lines, she wasn't delusional, he would never do that. But ... he should be aware of the fact that Esme would never dare come to talk to him if it wasn't absolutely necessary. He could've said something.

       Esme came to a halt in front of India's door — and faltered.

       India hated it when Esme or Anita would go into her room without her permission. She would always get furious because they had dared to invade her privacy, as if she was scared they could find something they weren't supposed to find, something India was hiding from them. A secret. Or secrets, plural. She had always been a person with many secrets, making her the mystery that she'd always wanted to be.

       That was the thing about India Deverell — she was a mystery wrapped in a mystery wrapped in an enigma. No one ever knew what she thought or what she felt. The truth was always hidden behind seven layers of secrets, of riddles that had to be solved.

       So, maybe — maybe — India had left something behind for Esme to find, something that would tell her what she had been up to the day the Midnight Man took her. A riddle. A clue. A lead.

       Somewhere to start...

       "Sorry, India," Esme whispered as she opened the door. "You can be mad at me when you're home."

       She stepped inside and switched on the light, illuminating the room with warm light. Esme's gaze wandered around the room, from the Madonna and Queen posters on the wall (the Queen ones were new, Esme noted), to the shelf full of vinyl records and some books (not as many as Esme had), to the pretty white jewelry box standing on the dresser where India kept all her treasures, to the desk that was cluttered with post-its in different colors and pens and paperclips and other school-related paraphernalia.

       It was a mess, and Esme's fingers twitched as she went over to the desk, feeling the urge to clean up. But instead, she started going through the various post-its, scanning the notes India had written down on them, notes like 'math homework!!! ask Esme to explain!', 'I need leg warmers', 'make appointment at the hair dresser!' But none said anything that had something to do with what India could have been up to the day she had disappeared— got taken.

       Esme blew out her cheeks, exasperated. She shouldn't have expected to find something on her desk. India was good at keeping secrets and, therefore, good at hiding things. She wouldn't just leave something she didn't want to be found openly laying around for anyone to see. Esme put her hands on her hips, looking around the room until her gaze caught on the jewelry box. Huh. She raised an eyebrow. India kept her treasures in there, her expensive and valuable jewelry and other little things. Maybe she would hide something in there...

       She walked over and opened the lid, and when she looked inside, she was almost blinded by the glittering golden jewelry. Necklaces, bracelets, rings, and earrings, in all forms and shapes, were in it, entangled with each other, forming a terrible mess, just like the desk. Again, Esme had to fight the urge to clean up India's chaos, to undo the huge metal knot. Grimacing, she took out all the jewelry, put it aside, and then inspected the box itself closer.

       The first thing she did was to turn it around, checking if there was something taped to the bottom of the box — nothing. But there was nothing inside either, just the velvet that lined the entire interior of the box... Wait.

       She saw something, something anyone else probably would've missed, but Esme tended to focus on details rather than the big picture (it was a problem sometimes) so she spotted it. A small wrinkle in the velvet that was glued — or, supposed to be glued — to the inside of the lid. Esme furrowed her brows and reached for the corner of the velvet. It could be loose... With her finger, she fumbled to grab the corner, then, after finally managing to get a good grip on it, lightly tugged on the fabric. And it was easy to pull off, revealing the wood that the box was made out of and—

       "Woah."

       Esme gaped at what she found, shocked, unable to react. She found something. She actually found something! The realization sent a shot of energy through her body and startled her back into action. With shaking fingers, she peeled off the tape that glued a folded lime-colored post-it onto the wood. She got it out and opened it, hoping for some answers. Maybe this was the key to finding India, maybe this would make everything OK again—

       Her face fell when she read the note written in India's beautiful cursive handwriting (which was a huge contrast to Esme's chicken scratch):

       'Santa Claus is coming to town.'

       "What the hell?" Esme said, scowling at the words.

       This couldn't be it. This couldn't be the clue India had left behind for her. What was she supposed to do with that?! Frantic, Esme put the post-it aside and grabbed the jewelry box, shaking it, inspecting every inch for something else — anything else — that she hadn't found yet. But there was nothing. Nothing. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, her gaze snapping back to the note — the useless note. Tears gathered in her eyes, tears of frustration, desperation, anger. If India wanted her to find her, why leave her a clue like that?

       Shit!

       What was she supposed to do now?

       A tear dropped onto her cheek that Esme hastily wiped away with her sleeve. She was sick of crying all the time. Sick of being a wreck. She had to find India and to do that she had to get her emotions in check; she had to be able to think clearly.

       Ding Dong!

       Esme jumped. Who could that be—?

       Realization struck her.

       Anita.

       (After school, when Tatum and Esme wanted to pick up Anita, they saw her leave the building and then take off with her friends. They had locked eyes, but Anita still left, without telling her where she went, what they were up to, or when she'd come home. Worry had consumed her, her heart pounding against her ribcage, and her throat constricting — she hadn't been able to breathe. Tatum had managed to calm her down, and told her that the kids were smart — they wouldn't do anything reckless when they knew that it could be dangerous. Esme had let Tatum take her home afterward and promised her not to worry too much. So, instead, she had gone to Steve's house. But Tatum didn't know about that.)

       The worry came rushing back, every ounce of fear she had felt because she didn't know where her little sister had gone came crashing down on her. Hastily — panicked — Esme rushed to leave the room, but before she opened the door, she stopped. She turned back around, her gaze once again finding the lime-colored post-it. She quickly snatched it from the dresser and stuffed it into the back pocket of her pants, then hurried down the stairs and to the front door. She pulled it open — and froze.

       "Hey, Esme," Hopper said, solemn as a priest.

       She frowned.

       A million thoughts rushed through her mind at once (none of them remotely good), scenarios of why Hopper would stand in her doorway, looking at her like her entire world was about to be unmoored — again. She was scared of what he was about to say.

       Only then did her brain register the second person standing in front of her. Anita. Her stomach twisted at the sight of her and the devastated look on her face. Her eyes were bloodshot and swollen, tear tracks covered her pale cheeks, and her bottom lip was trembling. And before Esme could ask what had happened, Anita threw herself into her arms. Without hesitation, Esme hugged her back, pulling Anita as close as she possibly could.

       A sob escaped Anita's throat. "Will is dead," she croaked out, her voice cracking.

       Esme's heart sank.

       Her eyes found Hopper's, searching for confirmation, and when he nodded, it made Esme's flesh creep. She tightened her hold around Anita, pressed a kiss to the top of her head, and just ... held her in her arms while she cried, her body shaking from violently sobbing. Her little sister was unraveling right in front of her...

       ... And Esme couldn't do anything but watch.

💀

       THROUGHOUT THE WHOLE NIGHT, Esme had stayed with Anita, cradling her in her arms — while she cried, while she slept, while she stared at the ceiling, seeming almost catatonic. Esme had only gotten a few hours of sleep, but she didn't mind. As long she could be there for her little sister, showing her that she wasn't alone in this, that Esme would never leave her side when she needed her the most, then she didn't mind losing sleep at all. Anita's alarm had woken them both up in the morning, just in time for them to get ready for school.

       "Are you sure you wanna go?" Esme asked as she put her hair into a high ponytail, her gaze fixated on her little sister.

       "Mm-hmm," Anita hummed, distant. Her entire concentration was focused on slathering strawberry jam on a slice of toast, just barely acknowledging Esme's presence.

       Esme sighed, eyeing Anita, worried. Her expression was apathetic, her gaze empty. It appeared like Anita had shut off all her emotions, feeling nothing but a yawning void inside her. Her movements were slow, sluggish, not as energetic as they usually were, not as angry. Anita seemed like only a shadow of the girl she used to be, and Esme's heart shattered into a million little pieces at the sight. All she ever wanted to do was to make her little sister happy, to protect her from all the bad things in the world — and she had failed. Miserably.

       The Midnight Man had killed someone. And Esme couldn't help but think that she could've done something. Anything. Perhaps, if she had told Hopper the truth about that night, then maybe this wouldn't have happened. Maybe Will would still be alive. Maybe India wouldn't be missing.

       She averted her gaze, trying not to let the guilt swallow her up, and took a sip of her coffee — the second of the day. (She had hardly slept that night, she needed it, alright?) Seeing her little sister like this, so ... lifeless... It tugged at her heartstrings. She just wanted to see her signature grin on her lips again, and the mischievous twinkle in her eyes.

       The lime-colored post-it in her jeans pocket suddenly felt heavier, and Esme became hyper-aware of its presence. She had to bring India home, fast, no matter what it would take — they couldn't lose her, too. If they did, it would break both of them.

       And she'd never see her little sister happy again...

       But, how was she supposed to do that? She just had one clue and that clue made no sense whatsoever. Santa Claus is coming to town. Esme had no idea what that was supposed to mean, and that put her on edge. That sentence, that song title, was the only lead she had and Esme couldn't figure out what India wanted to tell her with it. Christmas wasn't even India's favorite holiday, for God's sake! Why would she leave Esme a clue that meant nothing to her—?

       The honk of a car interrupted her racing thoughts, and her gaze snapped in the direction of the front door. Esme downed the last bit of her coffee before she said, "That's Tatum, she's giving us a ride; can you go put on your shoes?" Without showing any kind of emotion, Anita nodded and stuffed the last bite of her toast into her mouth. (At least she's eating, Esme thought.) "I'll tell Mom that we're leaving."

       She quickly put her coffee mug into the sink, along with Anita's plate (she'd wash them later), then went upstairs, hoping that her mom wouldn't ignore her again. The door to her parents' — her mom's bedroom (shit!) — was still locked when she tried the doorknob, and Esme sighed, resigned. Opal hadn't come out a single time since ... what had happened, and, honestly, Esme was getting worried; Opal hadn't eaten anything for days. (Esme was just relieved that, at least, she had a bathroom connected to her bedroom, so she could drink something. Esme hoped that she was drinking something...)

       Esme took a deep breath, then knocked. "Hey, mom?" She paused, waiting for an answer, or just some sort of reaction. Anything. But — nothing came back. Not a single word, not even a hum acknowledging her presence. Esme felt aggravation brewing in her chest, but she pushed it down, not letting herself lose control. "I—I just wanted to tell you that we're leaving for school now..."

       Again — no response.

       And a scoff escaped her. "Right," she muttered, shaking her head. "You don't care."

       That was when Esme felt the control she so desperately clung to slip through her fingers, anger bubbling in her stomach. Every fiber of her being, every cell in her body, became electrified with an explosive energy that she couldn't push down, not anymore — and she snapped. Without being able to stop herself (or maybe she didn't want to stop herself), she slammed her hand against the wooden door, a loud bang! echoing through the otherwise silent house.

       Inside the bedroom, something fell to the floor, making a thump. So Opal was awake, she could hear her.

       "I'm sick of this!" she exclaimed, fuelled by rage. "I'm so sick of this, of—of you! Of you not caring!" Esme didn't know what had gotten into her, talking to her mom like that, but she couldn't stop. "How can you just ignore me? Us?" Her eyes started to sting with unshed tears, tears of anger. "India is missing! Do you hear me? Your daughter is missing! Why don't you care?" Her voice got louder with every word she said— or screamed, more like.

       She barely recognized herself. This wasn't like her.

       Tears started streaming down her face. Shit, why was she crying when she was angry? "We're all hurting, Mom! Not just you! It's—It's not an excuse, not when—when India is missing! Not when Will is dead!" Esme inhaled a shaky breath, trying to calm herself down. She dried her tears with the sleeve of her light-blue patterned jumper. And with a firm voice, she continued, "Anita needs you. I need you." She stared at the still locked door. No response came from the other side, from her mom. She pressed her lips together, and when she spat out the final words, venom was clearly audible in them, "Get a grip."

       She turned around and walked away, not looking back. Her whole body was vibrating from the fury raging in her veins, her heart pounding against her ribcage with such force that she heard it pulsating in her ears. She jogged down the stairs and went straight into the hall where Anita was waiting for her, already fully dressed and ready to go. When Esme caught her gaze, she stopped dead in her tracks. Had Anita overheard all of that? All the things Esme had said to Opal? She couldn't tell by the emotionless expression on her face.

       Esme opened her mouth to ask her, but before she could even make a sound, Anita opened the door and walked out toward Tatum's car.

       Distraught, Esme put her hand against her forehead. "Shit." Anita wasn't supposed to hear that. She wasn't supposed to overhear Esme accusing their mother of not caring. Lord, how did she not consider that? She should've thought about Anita before saying things that she could never take back, that could never be unheard again. She should've thought about Anita first—! A sob wanted to escape her throat, but she choked it down. She was a terrible big sister. And a terrible daughter. Why had she snapped like that? What was wrong with her? "Shit."

       Tatum honked, startling Esme back into action.

       Hastily, Esme slipped on her sneakers without tying them (she could do that in the car), put on her jacket, grabbed her school bag, and rushed out the door to Tatum's car. Her best friend was gesturing for her to hurry — to get her ass in the car, in Tatum's words. (She didn't care about being late for school — not like Esme did —, but she was generally a very impatient person.) Esme climbed into the passenger seat, and as soon as she had shut the door behind her, Tatum drove off, "Finally."

       "Sorry." Esme shot Tatum an apologetic look.

       Her gaze wandered to the backseat, to Anita, who stared out the window, unblinking, almost like she was in a trance. Esme sighed. She felt the urge to reach out to her, to take her hand, but she was pretty sure that Anita was not keen on that — so she didn't.

       "What took you so long, anyway?"

       Esme turned back to Tatum. "I—I was just looking for something," she lied. Then she leaned down to tie her shoes to avoid eye contact.

       Tatum didn't seem to detect the lie, though, since she didn't question her any further. Esme was glad; she'd rather not tell her about how she had lost control and— and screamed at her mom, saying the most horrible things to her. But, honestly, while one part of her was being eaten up by guilt, another part didn't regret it. She was tired of having to face all these terrible things on her own. She was tired of having to take care of everything alone, of carrying all the responsibility. She couldn't do it. It was getting too much.

       She had to focus on finding India.

       The words Santa Claus is coming to town started echoing in her skull once again. What was India trying to tell her?

       "What's the first thing that comes to your mind when you hear the phrase Santa Claus is coming to town?" Esme asked, looking over at Tatum.

       Tatum furrowed her brows, sending Esme a bewildered glance, before focusing on the road again. She shook her head in an I-can't-believe-I'm-answering-that-right-now sort of way. "Uhh... The song? Y'know 'You better watch out, you better not cry, you better not pout, I'm telling you why, Santa Claus is coming to town'," she sang, earning an amused huff from Esme. "Why are you asking? I mean, I gotta admit, that's a little weird — even for you."

       Esme frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"

       "Nothing. Absolutely nothing." Tatum shrugged her shoulders, mocking innocence.

       "Tatum."

       "Just— Sometimes, you say things that are low-key creepy. And, I mean, you just asked me about a Christmas song while the world is ending."

       Esme paused. "I don't say creepy things—"

       "Last week", Tatum cut her off, "in school, at lunch: You were really quiet and Vinnie got worried and asked why you're being so quiet — and what did you answer?" Esme blinked at Tatum, puzzled. "You answered, 'No one plans a murder out loud'."

       Esme pulled a grimace, remembering that moment. "OK, I get your point. But — Carol was being a bitch, I was annoyed."

       Tatum grinned. But that grin diminished a few seconds later when she glanced at Anita through the rearview mirror. And Esme noticed that. Will's death was a lingering thought, the sadness and fear that came with it looming over all of them. Will had been such a sweet boy, and now he was gone, killed by the Midnight Man. He didn't deserve any of what had happened to him; the Midnight Man was the monster from the sisters' past, not Will's, he had had nothing to do with that. And Tatum knew him, too; maybe even better than Esme. She was Lucas' babysitter, she'd spent time with the kids...

       "Are you OK?" Esme asked softly.

       Tatum swallowed, her larynx bobbing. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm OK. As OK as I can be, anyway."

       Esme eyed her, a sad look on her face. She wished she could comfort her somehow, take her hand and squeeze it and show her that she was there for her, no matter what. But she couldn't, and it was killing her. She couldn't take Tatum's hand, not without showing her her worst nightmare (which was the last thing she needed at the moment), and not without it making Esme's skin crawl. Just the idea of physical touch made her stomach twist uncomfortably. (Three years without being able to touch someone apart from her sisters did that to her.)

       "I think I'm gonna check up on Lucas later," Tatum then said, her voice turning grave. "Probably at the memorial service for Will."

       At this, Anita took out her Walkman and put on her headphones, drowning out their voices.

       Esme frowned. "There's a memorial service?"

       "Yeah, the middle school's holding one. It was on the news," Tatum answered.

       Esme nodded. She hadn't watched the news since her dad— her dad had died. She didn't want to listen to the reporters talking about his death, speculating about why he had killed himself, left his family in the worst way possible, although he would never do that, ever — Esme knew that. Someone had done this to him. And Esme desperately wanted to find out who... But first, she had to find India.

       ... Before it was too late.

💀

       ESME WAS SITTING IN HER FIRST CLASS of the day, and she couldn't focus on anything of the teacher's lecture about the First World War, how it was originally called the Great War, and how the British thought it would be chivalric and heroic, the war that would end all wars, before they had been caught off guard by the cold-blooded violence and the tragedies that occurred in the trenches. All she could focus on was the lime-colored post-it in her pocket and the words India had written down on it.

       Santa Claus is coming to town.

       Esme copied the words into her college block laying in front of her, over and over again, trying to make sense of them. She analyzed them in every way she could think of, played with the semantics of each word, replaced them with synonyms because maybe those would make more sense — they didn't, there wasn't really a synonym for Santa Claus, was there? Then, she wrote down all the letters in one line sorted alphabetically, and started rearranging them — maybe they were an anagram.

       But nothing came out of it. The only thing she got was a headache.

       She threw her pen on the table, and buried her face in her hands. None of this makes sense, she thought, Why doesn't it make sense?

       Finally, the school bell rang, and Esme packed her things into her bag and left the classroom, walking down the hallway, until she reached her locker, where Tatum stood, with Vinnie and Eddie, who both looked equally pissed off...? Esme was confused — what did she miss? When she was close enough, she caught Tatum's gaze, and sent her a questioning look, in hopes that she would know what was going on, but Tatum simply shrugged, just as clueless as Esme.

       She came to a halt in front of them, her history book pressed close to her body. "Hey...?" Esme said, unsure. Why did they look so mad? Did she do something wrong? They were standing at her locker, so...

       Vinnie gave her a small smile, that vanished a second later. "Eddie has something for you," he said, gesturing toward his big brother.  He didn't look at him, though. It almost seemed as if they were mad at each other...

       Only then did she process his words and turned to Eddie. "W—What?"

       "Well, it's not for you, exactly," he said while leaning down to his backpack that stood between his feet, taking something small out of the right — no, left — side pocket (she sometimes had trouble telling left from right). He held it out for her to take, and Esme realized it was a cassette. "It's for your little sister. You, uh, mentioned that she'd like Black Sabbath, so I made her a mixtape..." He glanced at her, uncertainty in his eyes. "With everything that you're going through right now, I thought that would maybe, well, cheer her up or something. I don't know, it's probably stupid—"

       "It's not," Esme said softly. "It's really not." She took the cassette out of his hand and looked down at it, 'Pretty Metal' was written on the front, right above the sentence 'for my friend's little sister who I'd love to meet 'cause she sounds awesome!' Tears welled up in Esme's eyes, her heart swelling with fondness. Not only because Eddie had called her his friend, but because he had gone out of his way to make something for her sister, a little girl he didn't even know, to bring some light into her dark and sinister world. She looked up at him. "Thank you," she said, her voice hoarse. "I'm sure she'll love it."

       Eddie breathed a sigh of relief, his shoulders relaxing. Then his expression turned sad. "And—And sorry... About your father."

       Esme swallowed. "Thanks."

       Tatum noticed the tears glistening in Esme's black eyes, noticed how her hands were shaking, how her breathing was ragged. She was desperately trying not to burst into tears. So, she decided to change the subject. She turned to the brothers, mostly focused on Vinnie. "OK, I wanna know — why do you look so pissed off?"

       Vinnie groaned. "Long story."

       "And that's my cue to leav— Why is Steve 'the Hair' Harrington coming over here?"

       Eddie's disturbed gaze was trained on someone — Steve — behind Esme, so she spun around, coming face-to-face with him. Steve was walking toward them — no, toward Esme. And as soon as their eyes met, Esme felt her muscles going rigid. The air was knocked out of her lungs, a quiet gasp escaping past her lips. (Tatum heard that and gave her an odd look.) She felt that terrible urge to talk to him again, to ask him about India.

       She blinked back to reality, trying to ignore that strange sensation in her gut. What did he want from her? After yesterday...

       Esme pressed the book in her hands even closer to her body, anxious. What if he just wanted to tell her that she should never come to his house unannounced again? What if he was angry about that? She cleared her throat. "Hey...?"

       He seemed to have noticed that she grew more and more distressed with every second because he lifted his hands up in surrender. "I come in peace."

       Now, Esme registered the expression on his face. It wasn't mean at all. No, it almost seemed ... gloomy.

       She frowned.

       Steve let his hands fall to his sides again. "I came to talk to you."

       "Oh..." Esme said, surprised. She felt her stomach twisting and turning like a snake, and the urge to talk to him grew even stronger, as if it wanted to push her to say yes. But, then, she thought about what had happened yesterday, when she came to his house, and the anger she felt about that almost made her say no. But she knew that she had no choice, otherwise that feeling in her gut wouldn't be there — he knew something about India, something that could hopefully help her find her. Because, really, the post-it — Santa Claus is coming to town — was driving her mad and leading nowhere. "Um—"

       "Please."

       Esme looked into his eyes — his pleading eyes.

       And she sighed. "Yeah. Yeah, OK."

       Steve nodded, the corners of his mouth twitching upward. Then, his gaze flickered to her friends. Esme turned around as well and was met with looks displaying various degrees of confusion and suspicion. "Can we go somewhere else, maybe?" Steve asked, and Esme nodded, turning back to him. She didn't want to have this conversation in front of her friends, either (no offense to them).

       Quickly, she put her history book and the music tape Eddie gave her for Anita into her backpack (she gave him one more grateful smile, which he reciprocated with a nod), and then started walking away, alongside Steve Harrington (she never thought that would ever happen).

       "I'm sorry, what?" Tatum blurted out, grabbing Esme's sweater to pull her back, which made her stumble over her own two feet ("Woah!"). Steve turned around as well, his hands reaching for her in case she fell, but Esme could hold herself upright, so his help wasn't needed. "What's going on?" Tatum asked, glancing back and forth between her best friend and the King of Hawkins High, who awkwardly stuffed his hands into his pockets after trying to catch Esme.

       Esme struggled for words. She didn't know why she didn't just tell Tatum about the clue and about her hunch that Steve might know something about India, but it was a little hard to explain without having to tell her everything about the otherworldly bond the sisters shared since the month they had been missing, and she didn't know if Tatum would believe her... She didn't want her best friend to think she was making things up, was delusional, because she was grieving her dad and worried about her sister. Because that was exactly what it sounded like. "It's — complicated. I'll be right back, OK?"

       With that, Esme freed her jumper from Tatum's grasp and walked away, with Steve.

       "Esme—!"

       Once again, Esme spun around. "I'll be right back!" she called, then she and Steve disappeared into the crowd.

       "She acts like I'm about to kidnap you," Steve said, scoffing, obviously annoyed.

       "Can't blame her," Esme muttered to herself. He wasn't exactly the nicest to her, was he?

       Steve still heard it, which caused him to roll his eyes.

       Around them, the students started talking as soon as they noticed the Deverell Witch walking next to King Steve. A cacophony of whispers and nasty comments about how Steve must pity her because her father had killed himself was ringing in her ears, the sound nearly deafening. Her heart started pounding against her ribcage, so hard that it almost hurt, and a lump formed in her throat. She wrapped her arms around herself, trying to shield herself from the people around her. And she regretted tying her hair into a ponytail — she couldn't use her hair as a curtain to hide behind now.

       How could teenagers be so cruel? How could they just talk about the death of a person as if it was juicy gossip? How could they be so clueless when it came to a simple concept called human decency? Apparently, teenagers were wretched beings.

       They went into an empty classroom, and Steve closed the door behind them. As soon as they were alone, cut off from the rest of the school, from the whispers, Esme inhaled a strained breath, her heart rate slowly calming down again. She put her backpack onto one of the tables in the first row, then turned to Steve, who eyed her with an expression that she couldn't read; he had probably noticed that she was acting strangely because of the people talking. Esme pulled the sleeves of her jumper over her hands, clutching the fabric, anxious.

       Steve let out a sigh. "Look, about yesterday — my father's a grade-A asshole, he shouldn't have talked to you like that. So, uh..." He pulled a grimace. "Sorry."

       Esme raised an eyebrow. "You're sorry? For your dad's behavior?"

       Steve nodded, his face solemn. "Yes."

       A scoff escaped her, and she crossed her arms in front of her chest. Her anxiety turned into irritation. "Then why didn't you say something yesterday?" Steve pulled his brows together in confusion. Esme felt anger bubbling in her stomach, her blood starting to boil. "I just needed to talk to you for five minutes — and you couldn't tell your dad that, I don't know, it's something for school?"

       Steve put his hands on his hips and looked at the floor. "OK," he breathed. He looked back up at her. "You're right, I should've said something... And that before he slammed the door in your face."

       Esme frowned, puzzled. "What?"

       He wetted his lips with his tongue before he said, "I asked him what you wanted 'cause obviously it had to be important or else you wouldn't have come to my house... So you must've had a pretty damn good reason... But he said he didn't even ask you..."

       Esme's arms fell to her sides, and her gaze softened. He had said something, then. He had wanted to know why she had come to his house to talk to him. His father just hadn't given him a chance to find out... And now Steve came to her — her, a girl he could care less about — to ask her what all that had been about, what had driven her to choke down her hatred for him and come to his house.

       Steve shrugged his shoulders, acting like that hadn't been a big deal. But, honestly, it sort of was for Esme. "Well, what did you want?"

       Esme blinked, tearing herself out of the trance that Steve's words hat put her in. "Um—" She felt her throat constricting, her voice breaking. She closed her eyes, exhaling a shaky breath. "It's— It's about India." She looked back up at Steve, and noticed the concern that had appeared on his face the moment she had said her sister's — his best friend's — name. He really cares about her, Esme thought. She swallowed. Her voice was barely above a whisper when she said the next words, "She's missing."

       Steve's eyebrows shot up, almost disappearing behind his voluminous hair. Then, he scoffed, amused, mocking. "Are you serious?"

       Esme's heart sank.

       He didn't believe her?

       "I mean, that's ridiculous—!"

       Anger started poisoning her thoughts, and she felt herself losing control. "You're an asshole, Steve Harrington." The words came out of her mouth before she could stop them. "Just like your dad." Instantly, Steve's face fell, and he turned his head away from her, averting his gaze to the wall, hurt. And then she remembered the day they had met in the bakery, how it had been so obvious that he hated being compared to his father, how his confidence would vanish as soon as someone did. And Esme had done just that...

       Regret started gnawing at her intestines, like thousands of tiny maggots chewing on a decaying corpse. But, then again, he had laughed at her... He didn't believe her... So, she grabbed her backpack and walked past him toward the door. What was the good in talking to him if he didn't believe her anyway?

       "Wait!"

       Esme stopped, her hand already holding onto the doorknob.

       She heard him sigh. "I'm sorry. That was a ... total dick move."

       Reluctantly, she turned around and crossed her arms, not looking at him.

       For a few seconds, it was quiet between them. Esme didn't know what to say, so she waited for him to talk — he had stopped her from leaving, why wasn't he saying anything?

       Then: "Are you sure, though? I mean, is she really missing?"

       Esme's gaze found him, and she saw the worry in his eyes. She nodded. Steve took a step back, as if someone had pushed him, and dragged his hands down his face. He wasn't just concerned, Esme noticed — he was scared, horrified. And she knew exactly what that felt like — that terrible feeling in her stomach, the constant fear that something was going to happen to India. It was chewing her up, swallowing her.

       Steve turned back to her, taking a breath. "She came by my house two days ago," he said, his voice trembling.

       "That's the day she went missing," Esme said, her eyes widening. Intrigued, she took a few steps toward him. That feeling in her gut had been right; he had seen India that day, he had talked to her. Maybe this would bring her closer to finding her.

       ... Maybe Steve was the key after all.

       "Oh, God," he breathed out as he processed her words.

       "What did she say? Did she say where she was going? What she was up to?"

       Steve shook his head. "No, no, nothing like that."

       The hope she had felt just now diminished, as if it had never been there in the first place. Steve noticed how her shoulders slumped and how the light in her eyes went dark, her pitch-black irises becoming dull.

       "She did act a little weird, though," he said.

       Esme perked up at that, taking another step toward him, not noticing that the distance between them got smaller and smaller, and she had to crane her neck upward more and more since he was a head taller than her. "She did? How?"

       "Uh, she gave me a snow globe." Esme blinked, what? "The one I got her last Christmas. She gave it back." Esme furrowed her brows. That made no sense. And — this was off-topic, but anyway — who gave someone a snow globe as a Christmas present? "I know it's totally cheesy, don't judge me."

       "I'm not judging you," Esme said.

       She was judging him.

       Steve raised an eyebrow at her, unconvinced.

       Esme shrugged. "OK, maybe a little."

       "Thanks."

       "Anytime, Harrington."

       He rolled his eyes at her, but not in a mean way, no, not this time — he rolled them in a playful manner, like you would do with friends... Weird. (What was going on here? Why was she getting along with Steve Harrington?) Then, Steve became serious again, his forehead creasing. "Why would she give me the snow globe back?" He looked at her expectantly, as if he thought she would know the answer. But, honestly, Esme was just as stumped as he was— Wait.

       "Oh, my God," she whispered.

       "What?" Steve asked, taking a step closer.

       "The—The snow globe," she started, her voice frantic, "Santa Claus is inside, right? Santa Claus in his sleigh, with his reindeer."

       "Uh, yeah, why's that important?"

       Esme reached into her jeans pocket, taking out the lime-colored post-it that had given her a headache all throughout first period. Maybe that was what the words meant. They should lead her to the thing that was missing from India's room. She looked at her sister's pretty handwriting and the phrase Santa Claus is coming to town. Then she held it out for Steve to take, which he did. He read the words, a frown appearing on his face.

       "India left me that — as a clue." Steve lifted his head, now frowning at her. "I found it in a secret compartment in her jewelry box."

       He raised an eyebrow. "A secret compartment?"

       Esme sighed. "Yeah, India likes having secrets."

       "That's— That's true, yeah." He nodded. After looking at the post-it one more time, he gave it back to her, and she stuffed it back into her pocket. "So, what? The post-it should tell you that you need the snow globe? Or ... what?"

       "I guess so, yes." She hopped up on one of the tables in the first row, staring at her hands and playing with the ends of her sleeves, while she spoke. "I mean... India knows I love Christmas, and she knows that I think that snow globe is pretty... She probably wanted me to notice that it was missing..." Her thoughts were racing, and she realized that India hadn't thought that through properly. "But how was I supposed to know that you have it?"

       Steve shrugged his shoulders, crossing his arms. "I don't know, maybe she wanted to make me think by giving it to me...? That maybe I would come talk to you, y'know...? Which I did— Hold on a sec." Esme lifted her head, tearing her gaze away from her hands and to Steve who was giving her a quizzical look. "Why'd you come to my house? If you didn't know that I had the snow globe, why did you wanna talk to me?"

       Esme froze. "Um..." What was she supposed to say? She couldn't tell him about the feeling she had had every time she had looked at him, telling her that she had to talk to him, that there was something he knew about India. "You—You're her best friend. I thought, maybe, she told you something that she didn't tell me because I was a wreck—" She cut herself off, a flood of sadness washing over her, and she got overwhelmed by the memory of what had happened to her dad. And the thought that she would never see him again echoed in her mind.

       Tears welled up in her eyes. She pressed her lips together, trying to fight against them.

       She could feel Steve's eyes on her, boring into her. "I'm sorry about your dad — I should've said that earlier." She met his gaze, and she saw the honesty on his face. He really meant what he was saying. "I don't know why everyone's talking about this like it's some kind of sensation. They shouldn't do that."

       A tear dropped onto her cheek, and she quickly wiped it away with the sleeve of her jumper, averting her gaze.

       Steve cleared his throat. "Wait a sec — did you say you like the snow globe?" Esme's eyes darted toward him, just to see a wry smirk on his lips. "I guess it's not so cheesy after all, huh?"

       For a second, Esme just stared at him with a deadpan look. Then, she huffed. "Shut up."

       Steve's smirk grew slightly.

       Then, he ran a hand through his hair. "Uh, I can show you the snow globe — you probably wanna see it, right?" Esme nodded. She didn't just want to see it, she needed to see it. "I can show it to you after school—?"

       "No, not after school." She jumped off the table and looked at him, a determined expression on her face. "Now. And I don't care about missing school, India is more important than that."

       Steve looked at her for a moment, not saying anything. Then, he shrugged his shoulders. "OK." He went to the door and opened it, motioning for her to go first. "Let's go."

       Esme walked out of the classroom, and toward her locker ("I just need to get my jacket, I don't wanna freeze to death."), where her friends were still standing around, talking to each other. Eddie spotted her first and hit Vinnie's arm, who hit Tatum's arm to draw her attention to Esme — and Steve.

       "Hey," Esme said, while she hurried to open her locker. She felt Tatum's gaze boring into the side of her face, waiting for her to tell them what was going on, and why Steve Harrington was still there, standing a couple feet away from them. But she didn't really know how to explain that Steve had a snow globe that India had given him before she went missing, and now she was going to go with him to his house so he could show her it. They would think she'd gone insane.

       "Um? Care to explain what's happening right now?" Tatum crossed her arms.

       Esme took out her jacket and put it on, closing her locker afterward.

       "I'm leaving," she replied.

       "What?" Tatum spluttered.

       "You're skipping?" Vinnie said.

       "With Steve 'the Hair' Harrington?" Eddie added, pointing a ring-clad finger toward Steve.

       Steve rolled his eyes.

       Esme sighed. "Yes, I'm skipping with Steve 'the Hair' Harrington."

       Tatum came a bit closer to Esme, her gaze softening. "Listen, I know you're going through a lot, but—"

       "You have no idea what I'm going through," Esme cut her off, her tone quiet but as sharp as a knife edge.

       "Then tell me," Tatum begged, coming even closer. Her hands hovered above her forearms, but she didn't touch her, aware that that made her uncomfortable. "What is going on?"

       Esme looked into her dark brown eyes, getting lost for a moment, before she shook herself out of it. "It's— It's about India, OK?" She forced a reassuring smile onto her lips, but she wasn't sure if it looked real, if it looked convincing enough. Judging by Tatum's increasingly concerned expression, it didn't. Then, Esme did something that made her skin crawl — she reached forward and lightly touched Tatum's (sleeve-covered) arm. Tatum looked surprised, her eyes snapping toward Esme's hand on her arm before she looked back into her face. "I'll be fine."

       With that, she shouldered her school bag and left, with Steve Harrington (of all people).

       Tatum looked after Esme and Steve. "It really is the end of the world."

tatum throughout this whole chapter: WTF?!

also, this took so long to write i'm so sorry but uni was kicking my ass (4 exams within two weeks is not fun, especially if u're a procrastinator)

but I'M BACK! and we got some (slightly) unhinged esme, and STESME AHHH 😩 i love them sm <333 how they don't really like each other but steve wanted to make her feel better after she almost started crying?? otp material fr

also, am i writing steve well? is he in-character?

ok anyway -- i hope you enjoyed! let me know what you thought!!