The hallway outside the band room always smelled faintly like dust and old varnish. You barely noticed it anymore. Six months of waiting outside rehearsals, six months of sitting cross-legged on the cool tile while the echoes of distorted guitar bled through the door. Six months of being Eddie Munson’s girl.

You were halfway to the bathroom when you heard your name.

Not loud. Not shouted. Just… said. Casual.

You slowed.

Gareth’s voice carried first — low, amused. “I’m just saying, man. Six months? That’s dedication. I thought he’d fold way earlier.”

Jeff snorted. “Yeah, well, that was before he actually started acting like a boyfriend. You seen him lately? Dude’s whipped.”

Your stomach dipped. Something about the tone. The way they were laughing like it was some private joke.

Gareth continued, voice dropping just enough that you had to lean slightly closer to the lockers to catch it. “Whipped or not, I owe him. The bet was three months. I said he wouldn’t last two without screwing it up. He said he could make her fall for him by Thanksgiving.”

Silence.

The fluorescent lights above you buzzed.

Jeff let out a low whistle. “And she did.”

“Exactly.” Gareth’s chuckle was sharp. “Poor Byers girl never stood a chance. Quiet, sweet, already half in love with the idea of him. Easiest money I ever lost.”

Easiest.

The word scraped against your ribs.

Your fingers tightened around the strap of your bag. You could feel your heartbeat in your throat now, each thud loud enough you were sure they’d hear it through the lockers.

Jeff hesitated. “You think he’s still in it for the cash?”

Gareth paused.

That pause hurt more than the laughter.

“I mean,” Gareth said finally, tone shifting, “he was. At first. A hundred bucks is a hundred bucks. But now? I dunno. He gets weird when her name comes up. Defensive. Like, actually defensive.”

Jeff scoffed. “So what, he caught feelings?”

“Maybe.” A shrug in his voice. “Doesn’t change how it started.”

Doesn’t change how it started.

The words lodged somewhere deep, splintering.

You thought about the first time Eddie held your hand in the Hawkins High parking lot. The way he’d squeezed your fingers like he was afraid you’d disappear. The way he’d softened when you talked about Will. The way he’d waited outside your house when your mom was late from work just so you wouldn’t sit alone.

Had that all been strategy?

Had he rehearsed the smiles? The teasing? The way he’d brush his thumb over your knuckles like it meant something sacred?

Your chest felt tight now, like the air had thickened into syrup. You forced yourself to breathe quietly. Slowly. Jonathan’s twin. You’d learned how to be quiet your whole life. How to stand still. How to disappear in doorways.

But this — this felt like your insides were collapsing inward.

Gareth laughed again, lighter now. “Either way, man. Bet’s a bet.”

Footsteps shifted.

You stepped back quickly, pressing yourself flat against the cool metal of the lockers, heart hammering so loud it drowned out the rest of their conversation.

Six months.

Every memory replayed differently now. Twisted at the edges. Questionable. Fragile.

You swallowed hard, blinking fast against the sting building behind your eyes.

You could walk in there right now.

You could pretend you never heard it.

You could demand the truth.

Or you could walk away before he ever knew you found out.

The bathroom door was only a few steps ahead.

So was the band room.

Your heart was breaking quietly in your chest — and for the first time in six months, you had no idea what to do next.