Chapter 30: Searching for Self
The 1984 Halloween party at Hawkins High School unfolded like a meticulously choreographed drama of youth, boisterously playing out in Tina's spacious house, which now felt oppressively crowded.
The air was saturated with the faint sourness of cheap beer, the cloying sweetness of over-burned pumpkin spice candles, and the vibrant heat and mingled scents of perfume and hairspray emanating from dozens of young bodies.
When Nancy walked in, arm in arm with Steve, they were met with natural attention and acceptance.
Tina herself, with hairspray-stiffened blonde hair piled improbably high, flitted through the crowd like a social butterfly, her face plastered with an overly enthusiastic smile.
Her voice cut shrilly through the music: "Steve! Nancy! You finally made it! Drinks are over there, food's on the long table, have fun!"
The invitation didn't even need verbal confirmation; their arrival itself was the pass.
A smile that Nancy once found charming but now occasionally felt formulaic hung on Steve's lips as he nodded graciously, casually taking two beers from a passing tray and handing one to Nancy.
Nancy took it, the cold glass chilling her fingertips. She took a sip, the bitter liquid sliding down her throat, failing to wash away the vague, lingering sense of tightness in her chest.
Her gaze instinctively swept over the bobbing heads near the entrance, searching for the figure in her mind.
Sure enough, in a relatively dim corner near the stairs, Barbara Holland stood looking somewhat awkward.
Her hands gripped her backpack straps, and she was dressed in her usual conservative plaid shirt and dark pants, standing out among the girls in bizarre costumes at this Halloween party.
A powerful impulse seized Nancy.
She almost subconsciously tightened her grip on the glass. "Steve, wait for me a moment."
She hurriedly said to her boyfriend, who was already surrounded by the crowd, then took a deep breath and pushed her way through the throng toward Barbara.
"Hey, Barb, you made it."
"Nancy."
Barbara looked momentarily surprised, but her expression grew complex as her eyes shifted between Nancy and Steve not far away.
"Do you want something to drink?"
Barbara looked at Nancy, then declined.
"No, thanks, Nancy. I'm not feeling great. I think I'm gonna head home."
Nancy watched Barbara's retreating back. In the end, she didn't call out to stop her.
She knew that ever since that nightmare-like night which ended the autumn of 1983 a year ago, many things had changed forever.
Yet, that unspoken understanding they once shared, that intimacy where a single glance conveyed everything, those pure times studying side-by-side in the quiet corners of the library, sharing family troubles—now an invisible barrier stood between them.
Deep down, Nancy knew with absolute clarity that Steve might be a factor, but the main reason was herself.
Ever since her relationship with Steve Harrington became an open secret at school, "going out with Steve" had gradually evolved into an increasingly convenient, yet increasingly hurtful, excuse to push away Barbara's proposals for weekend study sessions, invitations to see a movie after school, or even just walking home together.
On that hot, confusing night of the pool party, while Barbara sat alone by the pool, Nancy was upstairs in an unfamiliar bedroom with Steve, her head clouded by alcohol and passion.
Since Barbara's disappearance, guilt had been tangled in Nancy's heart.
She kept replaying it: if only she had sensed Barbara's mood earlier that day, if only she had left with Barbara, perhaps none of this would have happened.
For an entire year, that guilt had never truly left Nancy for a moment.
Fortunately, Andy pulled Barbara back from the eternal darkness.
But this miraculous survival hadn't repaired the rift in their relationship.
That scar remained there forever, a chasm between the two of them.
For the entire year that followed, Nancy became an overcompensating guardian, pouring almost all her attention into Barbara.
She memorized Barbara's schedule, ensuring she could 'coincidentally' sit with her at lunch. She called Barbara's house frequently, stretching conversations from homework to all sorts of trivial matters, sometimes even appearing deliberate.
She carefully observed Barbara's moods; any hint of sadness or silence would make her nervous.
In this all-consuming act of atonement, Steve's feelings were unknowingly pushed to the periphery of her heart.
And Steve, this once self-centered, somewhat shallow and arrogant boy, had genuinely changed over the past year's turbulence.
He saw the immense pain and self-blame Nancy bore because of what happened to Barbara, and he vaguely understood he wasn't a completely innocent bystander in that tragedy.
He tried to understand, to accommodate. He patiently listened to Nancy repeatedly voice her worries about Barbara, even when those words sometimes carried unintended blame toward him.
He even toned down his old act in front of Barbara, trying to be friendly.
Steve was changing himself for Nancy. He did these things because he genuinely cared about her.
At least, that's what he believed.
But regarding Barbara, Steve only thought about how to protect them, how to avoid trouble.
And from Barbara Holland's perspective, Nancy truly was no longer the girl she once knew and cherished.
In the small Midwestern town of Hawkins in the 1980s, and indeed within the social expectations shaped by the broader pop culture, Nancy Wheeler had always perfectly played the role of the good girl everyone expected.
Think of the movies dominating theaters and video stores in this era. In the '80s, overflowing with muscle-bound action heroes and individual heroism, female characters were often relegated to supporting roles.
Even when exceptions occasionally appeared, they often required women to don workwear or military uniforms identical to men's, suppressing their femininity to take on the traditionally male roles of the resolute, decisive savior.
The whole society, including towns like Hawkins, tacitly permitted and even encouraged this division of gender roles.
Growing up in such an environment, Nancy had always skillfully played the role of the good Wheeler daughter people expected.
Excellent grades, proper manners, friendly and polite, with the appropriate ambition to get into a good college, dressed in clothes that fit middle-class aesthetics, dating the handsome boyfriend in the public eye.
However, since being with Steve, Nancy seemed to have begun a silent yet intense rebellion.
She increasingly tried to break completely from the image woven from others' expectations, eagerly wanting to tear off the 'good girl' label and explore that suppressed, freer, more unrestrained self.
When Nancy, filled with an almost obsessive, atonement-like focus, fixated on Barbara's every move, Steve was often placed in a position of waiting and secondary importance.
And when Nancy was with Steve, immersed in the sweetness of romance, the excitement of parties, and the thrill of breaking rules, Barbara would be temporarily forgotten in a corner.
That feeling of being needed, of being relied upon, fascinated Nancy. With Steve, she felt like a more popular, more carefree, more in-control version of herself.
This powerful attraction often made her overlook moments when Barbara might need her, caught in the whirlpool of happiness.
Nancy herself wasn't completely unaware. She was painfully conscious of her own struggle in this triangle of friendship and love.
But she was horrified to discover that the harder she tried, the more likely she was to drop both balls at once.
She tried to find a balance between the two, a common ground that would satisfy everyone.
These clumsy attempts, far from bringing them closer, instead, in their daily, unnoticed accumulation, caused her to almost simultaneously ignore the true feelings of both sides.
Steve felt he was ranked second to Barbara; his efforts and changes seemed unable to receive equal attention.
Barbara felt Nancy's concern was filled with compensatory pressure; that deliberate closeness actually highlighted the naturalness and ease they had lost.
This long-accumulated tension, on this Halloween party night, with Barbara's seemingly minor act of refusal, finally reached its breaking point.
In that moment, the long-suppressed guilt, self-doubt, the exhaustion of trying to please everyone to no avail, the sense of powerlessness over the status quo... all these complex emotions erupted like a shaken can of soda suddenly opened, foam and liquid gushing forth, breaching the dam of her reason.
She no longer tried to balance, to repair, to play that perfect role. She just wanted to escape this suffocating everything.
So, Nancy began drinking, one glass after another.
Gin and tonic, beer, unknown mixed drinks... anything that would burn her throat and numb her mind.
Alcohol washed over her senses like a warm tide, quickly blurring the noisy music and swaying figures around her, temporarily numbing the sharp pain in her heart.
She stumbled into the center of the dance floor, swaying her body casually to the music, her laughter sharp and hollow.
Steve had been keeping an eye on her.
At first, he thought she was just having fun, but he soon realized something was wrong.
Nancy's eyes began to glaze over, her steps unsteady; she was practically grabbing someone's arm just to stay upright.
When she reached for another glass of high-proof liquor on the table, Steve finally couldn't take it anymore.
He pushed to her side, one arm wrapping around her waist to support her, the other hand firmly and swiftly grabbing the wrist of her hand raising the glass.
"Nancy, that's enough. No more," his voice was low, filled with worry and disapproval.
Nancy's reaction was unusually fierce. She swung her hands, trying to break free from his grip, glaring at him with drunken, bleary eyes.
"Let go! I... I can still drink!"
Her voice was slurred, carrying the unique stubbornness and anger of a drunk person.
"You've had too much. You'll feel terrible," Steve didn't let go, instead gripping tighter, trying to pull the glass from her fingers.
"I don't need you to tell me what to do!" Nancy screamed, her other hand joining the struggle, both hands gripping the poor glass as if it were her lifeline, the Holy Grail that could make her forget all her troubles.
Their struggle on the edge of the crowded dance floor drew some side glances. In the pushing and pulling, the glass shook violently, and rose-colored wine arced out like an ominous sign, most of it splashing onto the front of Nancy's light-colored knit sweater, quickly blooming into a large, dark stain that reeked of strong alcohol.
The cold liquid seeped through her clothes to her skin, making Nancy shudder violently.
A moment of silence. The music still roared, but Nancy's world seemed to have been muted.
She stared blankly down at the mess on her chest, the wine slowly seeping down the fabric's weave.
"Nancy, I'm sorry," Steve's voice held regret; he hadn't meant for this to happen either.
Nancy turned abruptly and, without a word, pushed through the crowd, staggering toward the bathroom. Steve hurriedly followed.
The bathroom was relatively quieter, but the air was still stale.
Nancy stood before the sink, turned on the tap, almost violently tore off a towel, wet it, and scrubbed vigorously at the stain on her chest.
Water mixed with wine stains, spreading into a larger, uglier patch on the light-colored sweater. Her movements were clumsy and frantic from drunkenness and anger.
Steve followed her in, closing the door behind him, blocking out some of the outside noise.
"Nancy," he spoke again, his voice softer now, choosing words carefully, "that won't come out."
He took a step closer but didn't get too near, afraid of setting her off again. "Stop rubbing. Come on, let me drive you home, okay? You need to rest."
"Isn't this what you wanted!" Nancy jerked her head up. The mirror reflected her flushed cheeks.
Alcohol had stripped away all her camouflage and restraint. At this moment, she was like a wounded animal lashing out.
"Get me drunk, take me home! Just like before! Pretend everything's fine!"
Steve was stung by the sharpness in her words, but he took a deep breath, trying to maintain patience. This past year he'd learned too many lessons about endurance.
"No, Nancy," he shook his head, his voice still steady. "I just wanted you to drink less."
"That's all bullshit!" Nancy turned to face Steve, her chest heaving with emotion.
"No, it's not bullshit."
"You. You're full of shit." Nancy glared at him, unyielding, enunciating each word.
"What?" Steve was truly taken aback; he hadn't expected the attack to turn so directly personal.
Nancy's tears finally overflowed uncontrollably, mixing with the water on her face.
Alcohol gave her the courage to touch those bloody truths she had always avoided when sober.
"You pretend nothing happened!" Her voice was choked with tears. "As if we didn't do anything wrong to Barb! As if we're so in love, and we just hold hands and come to the party carefree!"
She lifted a hand to wipe her face haphazardly, continuing to vent the frustration that had built up for so long.
"Barb is still the same. She's always been there for me. At least... at least she's physically here. But I can feel it, Steve, I can feel it clearly. She's still hurting from what happened last time, and it's because of us! Because of me!"
Her complete emotional breakdown, her words coming fast like a machine gun, yet filled with heartbreaking despair.
"I tried, Steve, I really did. I tried to pretend none of this ever happened, I tried to make everything like it was before! I tried to mend things with Barb, I tried to keep loving you, I tried... I tried to do anything, anything that could put everything back on track! But I can't! Do you understand? I can't!"
Tears blurred her vision. Through the watery haze, she looked at Steve's face, which was now etched with shock and a dawning pain, and spoke the cruelest truth—one she had perhaps long been aware of deep down but had never dared to admit.
"You know what? Barb and I aren't as close as we used to be, and I... I don't love you like I used to either."
Time seemed to freeze in the bathroom, thick with the smell of cleaning products.
The color visibly drained from Steve's face. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out, staring at Nancy in disbelief.
Several seconds passed before he seemed to recover a fragment of his voice, repeating hoarsely and tremulously, "What?"
His gaze locked onto Nancy. "Tried to keep loving me?"
"I tried!" Nancy cried out, as if this could prove her effort, could lessen the damage her words had caused.
Steve's eyes rapidly reddened, a film of moisture gathering in them.
This boy, who once believed crying was a sign of weakness, now felt his heart seized and twisted by an invisible hand, the pain so sharp it was almost hard to breathe.
Battling against the overwhelming surge of bitterness, he mustered all his strength to ask the question he was most afraid to hear the answer to, yet couldn't avoid.
"Do you... not love me anymore?"
Seeing his falling tears, the raw heartbreak in his eyes, Nancy felt a moment of wavering and an even deeper pain.
But alcohol and long-suppressed emotions had already pushed her to the edge of a cliff with no way back.
She turned her head, unable to meet his gaze any longer, and forced out a hoarse whisper from the depths of her throat: "It's all bullshit!"
This vague reply—unclear whether it was denying his question or denying the entire chaotic mess—became the final straw that broke the camel's back.
With eyes filled with shock, hurt, betrayal, and deep disappointment, Steve looked at Nancy one last time, deeply, as if to etch it into his soul.
Finally, he seemed to have received some confirmation, or perhaps utter despair.
Without another word, he turned abruptly, almost with violent force, yanked open the bathroom door, and stormed out without looking back. The heavy wooden door slammed shut behind him with a loud bang that seemed to make the walls tremble.
Outside, in the shadows of the hallway, stood Jonathan Byers.
He held a drink that was almost untouched, clearly having sought a quiet spot away from the noisy party, only to stumble upon this scene.
He watched Steve burst out of the bathroom like a whirlwind, jaw clenched, eyes red, radiating an aura of furious, desolate anger that warned others to stay away.
Jonathan froze, instinctively taking half a step back.
Then, his gaze shifted to the still slightly swaying, closed bathroom door, his eyes filled with confusion and a trace of barely perceptible concern.
The next day, the hallways of Hawkins High School quickly returned to their usual school-day rhythm.
Nancy and Barbara, as usual, arrived at their lockers before class.
Nancy opened her locker somewhat sluggishly, retrieving the textbooks she needed for the morning, her peripheral vision involuntarily and repeatedly glancing toward the corner of the hallway.
Today, that spot was empty.
Barbara also noticed the anomaly.
She closed her locker door, adjusted her glasses, and looked at Nancy, a hint of natural curiosity in her tone as she asked, "Where's Steve? Shouldn't he be here waiting for you?"
In Barbara's mind, this was a scene that had remained almost unchanged for the past year, as regular as clockwork.
Hearing the question, Nancy's heart inexplicably tightened.
She scanned the surroundings more carefully, equally puzzled.
The piercing warning bell for class rang out, echoing through the hallway, urging students to hurry.
Nancy pressed her lips together and made a decision.
She turned to Barbara, trying to keep her voice calm: "Maybe he's running late? Or... something else came up? You go ahead to class, Barb. I'll wait here for him."
Hearing this answer, Barbara visibly faltered.
Her eyes widened slightly behind her glasses as she looked at Nancy. In the past, Nancy would never have chosen to miss class for anything.
However, over this past year, Barbara had also witnessed many changes in Nancy.
The lingering anxiety and well-hidden panic in Nancy's eyes now made Barbara swallow the words "we'll be late for class" that were almost on the tip of her tongue.
She was silent for a few seconds. In the end, she didn't voice an objection or urge her on as she might have before, simply nodding.
"Alright, I'll go ahead then."
Then, clutching her books, she turned and merged into the stream of students heading to class.
Nancy stood in place, watching Barbara's slightly solitary yet upright back disappear around the hallway corner.
Her gaze followed that figure, her expression complex and hard to read—guilt, worry, confusion... a tangle of emotions.
Barbara's brief silence and final choice not to directly intervene or judge as she might have in the past seemed itself to be a change, an indication of distance.
Nancy stared at the now-empty corner, lost in thought for a long time. Only when the sharp official bell for class rang and the hallway quickly emptied and fell silent did she snap back to reality.
However, after waiting nearly ten minutes, until the first period had already begun, Steve's figure never appeared.
After a moment's thought, she hesitated no longer and gave up on waiting.
Shoving her books back into her locker, she turned and strode quickly toward the school gymnasium.
She knew that if Steve was at school but not in class at this time, that was the most likely place he'd be.
Inside the Hawkins High basketball gym, the air was filled with the squeak of sneakers on the polished floor, the rhythmic thump of a basketball, and the heavy breathing and short shouts of the boys.
Steve was in the middle of a tense, high-stakes basketball game against Billy, the new transfer student this semester who radiated a dangerous aura and excess testosterone.
Billy was more muscular and brawny than Steve, his face often wearing a smirk that mixed disdain and provocation.
He firmly blocked Steve's path as he dribbled forward, like a moving wall.
"Harrington, right?" Billy said, defending while his mocking tone echoed in the empty gym. "I heard you used to be the king of the school. Really?"
Steve didn't speak, just furrowed his brow, trying to break past with a crossover, but Billy's speed and strength exceeded his expectations.
"King Steve," Billy continued his verbal assault, imitating an exaggerated tone of reverence before instantly switching back to sarcasm. "That's what they call you, right? Then you went soft."
This remark was like a poisoned barb, aimed precisely at the change Steve had undergone over the past year—becoming gentler, less aggressive because of Nancy, because of facing life and death.
Steve's anger ignited. He glared at Billy and shot back, "Maybe you should shut up and play!"
Hearing this, Billy's smile widened, turning colder and more contemptuous.
He didn't waste more words. Using his sheer physical advantage, he slammed his shoulder hard into Steve.
Caught off guard, Steve grunted, lost his balance, and fell to the floor, the basketball slipping from his grasp.
Billy easily scooped up the ball, took two steps, then leaped high, slamming it into the hoop with a powerful, showy dunk.
Billy landed, high-fiving his new cronies, letting out a boisterous laugh.
Then he turned back toward Steve, who was still sitting on the floor, deliberately sticking out his tongue in an extremely insulting grimace, the provocative and victor's gleam in his eyes unmistakable.
"Steve?"
Just then, a familiar female voice came from the gym entrance, hesitant and carrying a barely noticeable tremor.
Nancy stood there.
She saw Steve slowly turn around, his face devoid of any familiar cheerful expression.
The two of them arrived at a relatively quiet path outside the basketball gym. Steve stopped, turned, and crossed his arms over his chest—a classic defensive and distant posture, starkly different from his usual habit of open arms or a casual arm around Nancy's shoulder.
"What are you doing here?" His voice was calm, but beneath that calm was a cold detachment.
Thrown off by his attitude, Nancy felt somewhat at a loss. She forced a smile, trying to open the conversation lightly: "What do you think? Where were you this morning? I missed first period."
Her words even carried a hint of a habitual, small complaint and slightly whiny tone she herself didn't notice, as if this were just a normal couple's misunderstanding about being late.
Steve's mouth twisted into a smile devoid of any warmth, instead full of sarcasm.
"I thought Jonathan would bring you."
The smile on Nancy's face instantly froze, transforming into utter bewilderment and disbelief.
"What?" She thought she'd misheard. "What are you talking about?"
"Oh my god," Steve threw his head back and let out a short, bitter laugh toward the sky, the sound dry and grating. "You really can't hold your liquor."
He looked down at her again, his gaze sharp. "You remember going to Tina's party last night."
"Yeah," Nancy nodded, the sense of foreboding growing stronger within her.
"And then?" Steve pressed, watching her closely, not missing any change in her expression.
Nancy tried to remember, but her hangover made her memories feel shrouded in thick fog, fragmented and blurry.
"I remember dancing, then... spilling some drinks. I got drunk. You were angry, and then you took me home."
She carefully recounted the fragments she could piece together, hoping to get by.
Hearing this, Steve truly laughed in anger. The laugh was full of disappointment and a sense of near-absurdity.
"No," he shook his head, correcting her word by word, each syllable like hail hitting the ground. "You're misremembering from there. The one who was angry and took you home was your other boyfriend, Jonathan."
"I don't understand," Nancy was completely bewildered.
"It's simple, Nancy," Steve's voice became abnormally calm, but this calm was more terrifying than a roar. "You were just telling the truth. In the bathroom, you laid it all out, clear as day."
"What?" Nancy let out an awkward laugh, trying to lighten the mood, but the smile was stiff.
Steve stopped beating around the bush. The pain and anger he'd suppressed all night and morning finally found an outlet. His words poured out like rapid fire, laced with biting sarcasm and agony.
"Apparently, we ruined Barb, and I don't care. You said my words were bullshit, our feelings were bullshit, and then basically everything was bullshit, bullshit, bullshit!"
He mimicked Nancy's tone from the night before, then suddenly raised his voice. "Oh my god, Nancy, you tried so hard! Because I messed up your relationship, you worked hard to fix things with her, you tried to fix things between us, and then you tried this, tried that, tried everything—"
He paused, taking a step forward, his gaze blazing, his voice suddenly dropping low and pained. "—just couldn't try to love me."
Faced with such a direct and brutal accusation, Nancy's cheeks burned with embarrassment, shame, and a touch of feeling wronged.
She instinctively defended herself: "I was drunk, Steve. I don't remember anything! Those things I said last night, I don't even know what they were..."
"So everything you said," Steve immediately cut her off, giving her no room to breathe, "was what? All bullshit?!"
"Of course!"
"Good," Steve nodded, his expression suddenly turning deadly serious. He stared straight into Nancy's eyes, not allowing her to look away. "Then tell me."
"What?" Nancy was taken aback by this sudden shift.
"You love me."
Steve clearly enunciated those three words. His gaze held Nancy fast, filled with expectation, fear, and the last stubborn flicker of hope.
He needed a clear, sober, present answer to overwrite last night's drunken, hurtful "truths."
Confronted with Steve's direct, serious, even humbly pleading stare, Nancy was completely stunned.
Her eyes widened as if she'd heard the most unbelievable request in the world. Instinctively, in a tone that was almost joking, trying to defuse the awkwardness, she shot back: "Are you serious?"
At this most critical moment, the gym door was flung open. A player stuck his head out and called impatiently, "Hey, Harrington! Man, we need you. That asshole is killing us."
This urgent call was like a bucket of cold water, instantly shattering the tense, unresolved atmosphere between them.
It gave Nancy no time to calmly think, to sort out her true feelings. Instead, it abruptly imposed a pressure of being rushed and watched upon her.
Under Steve's gaze—a mix of final hope and gradually cooling emotion—Nancy's mind went blank.
Those simple words, "I love you," which she had said before, now felt as heavy as a thousand pounds, stuck in her throat, impossible to utter.
She opened her mouth, but only a meaningless breath of air escaped.
She avoided Steve's gaze, lowered her head, and stared at a small patch of light in front of her shoe.
A few seconds of silence felt as long as a century.
Then, Steve forced a smile uglier than crying onto his face, shook his head, and spoke in a voice as light as a sigh, yet filled with utter, icy disappointment.
"Did you really try? I think you're the one talking bullshit."
After saying that, he didn't spare Nancy another glance, turned around, and resolutely walked back through the heavy doors of the gymnasium, leaving Nancy standing alone where she was.
Nancy didn't know how she walked back to the school building. The second class had already started, the hallway was empty, and only the hollow echo of her own footsteps remained.
She drifted into the classroom through the back door like a hollow, dispirited shell.
Barbara was sitting by the window, and from the moment Nancy entered, her gaze followed her with worry.
She saw Nancy's pale face, unfocused eyes, sitting down absentmindedly, staring out the window the entire class, her fingers unconsciously picking at the edges of her textbook.
The class bell finally rang. Students flooded out of the classroom like a receding tide, and the noisy wave of sound temporarily filled the space.
Barbara packed up her books, walked to Nancy's desk, looked at her still numb expression, hesitated for a moment, then asked softly, "Nancy? Are you... okay? What happened?"
She had already guessed a bit, from Steve's absence this morning to Nancy's current state.
Nancy seemed to be called back from somewhere far away by this voice. She slowly looked up at Barbara, her eyes focusing, then immediately drowned in immense sorrow and exhaustion.
Her lips moved a few times before a hoarse voice came out: "Barb, I... Steve and I broke up."
"What?" Although Barbara had expected it, hearing it firsthand still brought a wave of shock and... a complex emotion. She instinctively asked, "Why?"
Just then, the warning bell for the second class rang again.
Nancy glanced at the classroom door where a teacher was already entering, then looked at Barbara's concerned face before her, a strong impulse welling up in her heart.
She couldn't wait any longer, couldn't keep running away.
She stood up abruptly, grabbed Barbara's wrist, and said in a low but urgent voice, "Come with me."
"Nancy? Class is about to start!"
Pulled along, Barbara followed helplessly out of the classroom, reminding her in confusion.
Nancy didn't answer, just tightly held her hand, leading her through the gradually quieting hallway, around a few corners, and finally to a secluded corner of an outdoor walkway connecting two school buildings, a place rarely used.
Stopping, Nancy let go of her hand but didn't dare look Barbara in the eye immediately.
Facing the mottled brick wall, she took a few deep breaths, as if gathering courage.
Then, she turned around to face Barbara, her eyes already red.
"Barbara," her voice choked but exceptionally clear, "I, I'm really sorry. About that night, I shouldn't have left you alone there. I never should have."
Seeing the deep, almost overwhelming guilt in Nancy's eyes, Barbara's heart ached too.
Over the past year, she had heard Nancy's apologies too many times.
She sighed, her tone gentle but firm: "Nancy? It's okay. Really. In the past few months, you've said 'sorry' to me more than enough."
She paused, looking at Nancy more seriously, "And, it wasn't your fault. It was just a... a terrible accident, something none of us could have predicted."
"No, Barbara, it's not just that."
Nancy shook her head vigorously, tears finally falling.
She looked up, meeting Barbara's gaze bravely and directly for the first time, without evasion.
"I... I'm sorry I've been ignoring your feelings all along, it started even before... before everything happened."
Her words were a bit scattered, but the emotion was sincere and overwhelming: "I... In the past, I'm sorry I was always with Steve, even sometimes... I neglected how you felt.
I treated our friendship like... like something I could set aside anytime and make up for later. I took advantage of your kindness to me, had you cover for me, but never truly considered how you felt sitting alone by the pool until it was too late."
"Nancy..." Barbara wanted to say something, to make Nancy stop this near-masochistic confession; she could see Nancy tearing her own heart apart.
But Nancy raised a hand to stop her. She needed to finish, had to finish.
"Barb, sometimes I think, if I hadn't been with Steve, hadn't gone to that party, hadn't asked you to cover for me, maybe none of this would have happened. Maybe everything could have stayed like before."
Her gaze drifted into the distance, filled with bitter reverie, but then she shook her head forcefully, her eyes becoming clear and firm again, even with a painful realization, "But there are no 'what ifs'."
She took a small step forward, closer to Barbara, as if to fully reveal her most real, most vulnerable self.
"All along, I've been playing the good girl in everyone's eyes. The good daughter, the good student, the good friend... I didn't want anyone to dislike me, didn't want to make any mistakes, I wanted to please everyone. But then I met Steve."
At this point, a complex smile involuntarily appeared on Nancy's face—a smile tinged with nostalgia, relief, and self-mockery.
"All along I thought I liked Steve, liked his popularity, liked his confidence, liked the feeling of being in the spotlight when I was with him.
But I was wrong, Barb. Maybe what I've always liked was that feeling of 'freedom' Steve represented, liked the version of myself when I was with him—the one who could temporarily escape all expectations and do whatever she wanted.
That feeling... was thrilling, fresh, and it fascinated me."
Her gaze refocused on Barbara's face, becoming more candid.
"Until that day, when I lost you. I tried to find you, in my own way, with Jonathan... That's when I really started to see things clearly. But thankfully, you came back." Her eyes were filled with fearful relief.
Seeming to lighten the overly heavy atmosphere, Nancy even tried to force a small, teary smile and cracked a joke.
"You know, back when Jonathan and I were looking for you and Will, Steve even thought we were hooking up. Thinking about it now, it's just... ridiculous."
But the joke quickly dissipated into the air, leaving behind a deeper bitterness.
She became serious again, her voice low and full of self-analysis.
"I know what I did might be selfish—it was because I dragged you along that you got into danger. I don't know if being with Steve was the right decision either.
That relationship... it showed me another side of myself, but it also made me lose a lot, hurt a lot of people, including you, including... Steve."
She took a deep breath and voiced the conclusion she had pondered for a long time but never spoken directly to Barbara.
"I know, Barb, you think I've changed, that I'm not myself anymore. That I'm not the Nancy you first met—the one who saw you sitting alone and came to talk, who studied with you, who shared secrets."
She paused, tears continuously rolling down, but her eyes held a strange clarity and determination.
"But... but maybe, the me now, this confused me who's made so many mistakes, trying to find a way through guilt and love, this me who's no longer so 'perfect'... maybe this is a more real part of me.
I've been living up to others' expectations of me, and my own inner desire to break free, and I ended up messing everything up."
Her words finally returned to the deepest apology, an apology no longer just for that night at the pool party, but covering the entire past year, even longer—all the unconscious neglect and the deterioration of their relationship.
"I'm sorry, Barb. I know, after everything that's happened, maybe we can never go back to how things were. That scar will always be there.
But I still want to sincerely apologize to you for everything I did in the past, for the choices I made and the things I overlooked.
I'm sorry I didn't see clearly what I truly wanted and feared deep down sooner. I'm sorry I didn't give you the attention you deserved when you needed it. I'm sorry... maybe I'm not the best friend you once had anymore."
Nancy's words were like a huge rock thrown into a calm lake, stirring massive waves in Barbara's heart.
She was completely stunned, standing there, even forgetting to blink.
She looked at the tear-streaked, vulnerable yet exceptionally brave Nancy before her, at this friend who was no longer trying to pretend to be perfect but was honestly laying bare all her chaos, selfishness, confusion, and pain.
A year of distance, that feeling of tightness in her chest, her own inner confusion and a hidden trace of resentment towards Nancy's changes... in this moment, they all seemed to be washed away, loosened, and dismantled by this torrent of honesty.
Barbara's vision quickly blurred too. Warm liquid filled her eyes and slid down her cheeks.
She shook her head, not to deny Nancy's apology, but as if shaking off some long-held constraint.
She took a step forward, her voice choked but incredibly clear and firm: "No, Nancy."
She looked at this close friend who was both familiar and somewhat strange, "You're wrong. The Nancy Wheeler I know was never just the girl who deliberately pretended to be perfect, who only felt guilty afterwards and kept clumsily trying to make up for it."
Her tone softened, filled with memory and affirmation: "The Nancy I know is the girl who, when everyone thought I was just a boring bookworm, sat down next to me and asked, 'What do you think about this problem?'
The girl who was a bit stubborn, who would argue with me for ages over the details of a history assignment, but could always laugh and admit she might be wrong in the end.
The girl who empathized with others' pain, who would get secretly angry and try to help when she saw a classmate being bullied. The girl who..."
Barbara's voice grew even firmer, "is the girl who, even facing the incomprehensible terror of the Upside Down, even trembling with fear, was determined to find me and bring me back. The Nancy who would never be truly defeated by hardship."
Tears streamed down Barbara's cheeks, but she was smiling—a relieved, warm smile.
"You're right, Nancy. You're not the same as before. You're not the 'good girl Nancy' who was friends with me just out of sympathy or because it was the right thing to do, the one living in a box of others' expectations."
Seeing Nancy stunned by her words, a glimmer of disbelief rekindling in her eyes, Barbara didn't hesitate. She opened her arms, stepped forward, and pulled Nancy into a tight, tight hug.
This hug, separated for a year, now felt as natural and strong as if it had never been interrupted.
Barbara's voice was clear and sincere, close to Nancy's ear.
"You've experienced fear, experienced loss, experienced self-doubt and struggle... You've changed, you've grown, you've become more complex, and perhaps more real. But—"
She loosened the hug slightly, placed her hands on Nancy's shoulders, looked directly into her tear-filled eyes, and said word by word:
"You will always be my best friend, Nancy. Always!"
"Barb..."
Nancy could no longer hold back. All her defenses completely crumbled. She hugged Barbara back tightly, buried her face in her shoulder, and burst into tears.
It wasn't a cry of sadness, but a release of emotions pent up for far too long—finally vented, understood, and accepted.
Barbara hugged her back tightly, gently patting her back, her own tears flowing silently.
The two girls, in this deserted corner of the walkway at Hawkins High School, under the cool autumn sunlight, held each other and cried.
Tears washed away the past guilt, distance, and pain. Though they couldn't return everything to the beginning, on the ruins, they laid a new foundation for a more mature, honest, and tested friendship.
In the distance, the faint sound of a lecture came from the classroom windows, and the sound of dribbling seemed to start again from the direction of the gymnasium. An ordinary day in Hawkins continued.
But for Nancy and Barbara, something heavy had been put down, and something precious had been picked up again and wiped clean.
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