CHAPTER TWO: mr. telephone man

                    The early morning sun filtered through the grocery store's windows, casting a warm glow over the shelves as Rosalie trailed behind the group. Max and Dustin led the way, animatedly debating which snacks Eddie might prefer, while Robin and Steve brought up the rear, bickering over the most ridiculous details. Rosalie couldn't help but smile a little at their antics, despite the weight of last night's events hanging over her.

"I'm telling you, Dingus, Eddie doesn't care if the chips are plain or barbecue. He just wants food," Robin said, tossing a bag into the cart.

"Yeah, but if we're stuck in hiding, do you really want to be stuck with plain chips?" Steve shot back, grabbing the bag and swapping it with the barbecue flavor.

Rosalie shook her head, half-amused, half-exasperated. "It's not like he's going to complain about the flavor while hiding from the cops, Harrington."

Steve turned to her, smirking. "Oh, and you're suddenly the expert on fugitives?"

"Considering I don't spend my days obsessing over chips, I'd say I'm better qualified," Rosalie quipped, rolling her eyes.

"Oh, yeah? And what would you do, Miss California?" Steve leaned against the cart, crossing his arms as he waited for her response.

"First off, I'd focus on essentials—things like canned goods, stuff that doesn't go bad in a day," Rosalie said, gesturing to the Pringles and sugary snacks already in the cart. "You know, actual food?"

Steve scoffed, tossing another bag of chips into the cart just to annoy her. "Well, we don't all have gourmet taste buds, Bradbury. Some of us like to enjoy life."

She huffed, shaking her head in disbelief. "Enjoying life? Right, because nothing says 'living on the edge' like choking down expired junk food in a shed."

"Better than nibbling on canned beans and water," Steve shot back with a grin.

"Actually, I'd opt for peanut butter and granola bars—way more energy-dense and less likely to turn into a soggy mess," she countered, her tone dry.

"Yeah, well, when this is all over, we'll have a feast and see who's still standing," Steve said, his voice laced with playful challenge.

"Don't tempt me, Harrington. I'd love to see you lose at something other than hair care," Rosalie retorted, eyeing his perfectly coiffed locks.

He feigned shock, placing a hand over his heart. "Haircare? That's low, even for you."

"It's not an insult if it's true," she shot back, a teasing smile curling her lips.

Their banter was interrupted by Robin, who groaned in exasperation. "Can we please focus? We're not here to play 'Survivor: Hawkins Edition.'"

Rosalie shook her head, her smile fading as her thoughts drifted back to the unsettling events of the previous night. Hawkins was a place full of strange occurrences, far from the boring predictability of California. Her mind drifted to Jonathan, wondering if he would understand any of this, or if he was just living his California dream, far from the madness of Hawkins.

Rosalie's eye landed on the telephone on the store's counter. The urge to call Jonathan gnawed at her—maybe he could offer some comfort or help her make sense of everything. She turned to the group.

"I'll be right back," she said, already heading toward the counter.

Robin gave her a curious look but nodded, continuing to load groceries onto the cart. Steve, however, called after her, "Running away already?"

"Only from you, Harrington," she replied over her shoulder before approaching the telephone and gesturing back to the employee if she could make a quick phone call, hoping Steve wouldn't pry further.

But Steve wasn't one to let things go. He followed her all the way to the counter, leaning against it with his arms crossed as Rosalie dialed Jonathan's number, her heart pounding as she waited for him to pick up. Each ring felt like an eternity, and with every unanswered buzz, her anxiety grew. her heart pounding as she waited for him to pick up.

"Who are you calling?" he asked, a hint of curiosity in his tone.

"It's none of your business, okay?" Rosalie fired back, keeping her voice low as she waited for Jonathan to pick up, twirling the wire between her fingers.

"Everything's my business right now," Steve retorted. "We're all in this together, remember?"

Rosalie glared at him, frustrated. "Can you not, Harrington? Just give me two minutes of peace."

Steve didn't budge, watching her closely as the telephone continued to ring. "You're not going to get through to them anyway. Whoever this person is, he or she is probably off having the time of their life while we're stuck in the middle of this mess."

Rosalie glanced at him, clearly not in the mood for his questions. "We've got a minute, don't we?"

"We've got more important stuff to focus on," Steve countered, his eyes narrowing as she waited for the call to come on the other end. "Like, I don't know, the fact that we're helping a guy on the run from the cops?" He added, in an unassuming tone.

Rosalie sighed, ignoring him. "Just let me make this call, Harrington."

"Uh, no."

Rosalie clenched her jaw, refusing to let him get under her skin. The phone rang and rang, but Jonathan didn't answer. Eventually, it went to a busy signal, and she hung up with a frustrated sigh, feeling a mix of disappointment and worry.

"Told you," Steve said, the smugness in his voice unmistakable.

"Thanks for the commentary, Harrington," she snapped, turning away from the telephone and heading back to the group making a mental note to try to call Jonathan in a bit.

Steve fell into step beside her, undeterred. "So, who was it? Some guy back in California? Is he your boyfriend or something?"

Rosalie rolled her eyes. "I already told you—it's none of your business."

"Come on, we're all friends here, right?" Steve said, his tone teasing but with an edge of genuine curiosity.

Rosalie cut him off before he could say anything else; "We are not friends." she stated clearly.

Steve ignored her comment. "You can tell me." he urged.

Rosalie shot him a look that could have withered a plant. "You know, Harrington, not everything revolves around your need to know everything. Some things are personal."

"Personal? In the middle of all this?" Steve scoffed. "I don't think so."

"Don't worry, Harrington. My friends aren't interested in small-town drama." She retored back.

"Maybe I'm just trying to make sure you're not calling someone who's gonna make things worse," he fired a slight edge to his voice.

Rosalie stopped, turning to face him directly. "Look, I get it—you're used to everyone falling over themselves to tell you everything. But that's not me. So drop it."

He frowned, clearly not used to being shut down so quickly. "You know, you're really good at dodging questions."

"That's because your questions don't need answers." She snapped, brushing past him to rejoin the others.

Steve watched her go, a mixture of frustration and curiosity burning in his eyes. There was something about Rosalie Bradbury that was hard to figure out, and it only made him more determined to try.

Steve followed, shaking his head. "You're impossible, you know that?"

"Yeah, well, so are you," She remarked without turning to face him.

As they regrouped with the others, the tension between Rosalie and Steve was palpable. Robin threw them both a questioning look but wisely decided not to ask. The last thing they needed was another argument.

They moved through the aisles, picking out groceries for Eddie as if they were just another group of teenagers on an errand, though the weight of the situation lingered over them. Rosalie tried to push her worry about Jonathan aside, telling herself he was just busy, enjoying spring break, far from the chaos of Hawkins.

But the gnawing feeling in her gut wouldn't go away.

As they loaded up their cart, Steve, still not quite done with his needling, tossed in yet another bag of chips. Rosalie glared at him, but he only smirked.

"Just in case your 'essentials' get boring," he said with a shrug.

Rosalie rolled her eyes, muttering something under her breath as they finally headed to the checkout. She wasn't about to let Steve Harrington or her unanswered call distract her from what mattered—figuring out what was happening in Hawkins.

As they piled into the car and drove to Eddie's hiding spot, the mood shifted. The lightheartedness of the grocery run faded as they pulled up to the shed where Eddie was hiding.

             Dustin took a deep breath and spoke up. "So, we got, uh, some good news and some bad news. How do you prefer it?" Dustin asked, trying to keep his tone light but failing to mask his underlying worry.

Eddie didn't hesitate. "Bad news first, always."

"All right, bad news," Dustin started, glancing at the others before continuing, "We tapped into the Hawkins PD dispatch with our Cerebro, and they're definitely looking for you. Also, they're, uh, pretty convinced you killed Chrissy."

Max added, "Like, 100% kind of convinced."

Rosalie, leaning against the shed's frame, crossed her arms and spoke up. "Which, honestly, makes sense. Cops aren't gonna believe a bunch of teens claiming a dark creature is on the loose. They're going with the most logical explanation."

Eddie sighed heavily, nodding as he processed this. "And the good news?"

Robin stepped in, her tone still carrying a hint of optimism. "Your name hasn't gone public yet. But if we found you, it's only a matter of time before others do. And once that gets out, everyone and their shallow-minded mother is gonna be gunning for you."

Eddie's expression darkened as he stared out at the lake. "Hunt the freak, right?"

Robin nodded solemnly. "Yeah. Exactly."

Dustin, ever the optimist, jumped back in. "So, before that happens, we need to find Vecna, kill him, and prove your innocence."

Eddie's head snapped toward Dustin, disbelief written all over his face. "That's all, Dustin? That's all?" His tone was dripping with sarcasm, clearly not buying into the plan.

Dustin shrugged, trying to act casual. "Yeah, no, that's pretty much it."

Rosalie couldn't help but scoff, shaking her head. "That's a shitty and impossible idea, Dustin. How are we supposed to find this Vecna? What does it even look like? And with what weapons? This thing is clearly more powerful than all of us combined."

Robin held up a hand, trying to keep the peace. "Listen, guys, I know everything Dustin is saying sounds totally delusional and crazy, but we've actually been through this kind of thing before. I mean, they have a few times, and I have once. Mine was more human flesh-based; theirs was more smoke-related—"

Rosalie cut her off with a grimace, waving her hand as if to push the mental image away. "—Great, thanks for the nightmares."

Robin shot her an apologetic smile but pressed on. "But the bottom line is, collectively, I really feel we got this."

Steve, who had been standing by, chimed in, a hint of a grin on his face. "We usually rely on this girl who has superpowers. But, uh, those went bye-bye."

Rosalie rolled her eyes, not missing the opportunity for a sarcastic retort. "Oh, so our backup plan was 'Call the superhero'? Brilliant. Got any other genius ideas?" She flashed him a wry grin.

Before Steve could fire back, Robin jumped in again, steering the conversation back on track. "So we're technically in more of the. . .brainstorming phase."

Dustin quickly nodded, trying to keep the mood light. "There's nothing to worry about." He said spluttering.

Steve scoffed, giving Dustin a skeptical smile. "Right, nothing at all."

Rosalie and Eddie looked at the two boys in disbelief, shocked and terrified as they quickly glanced at each other. Eddie was still at a loss for words, so Rosalie took the words out of his mouth, muttering under her breath "We're done for," as Eddie, still trying to wrap his head around the absurdity of the situation, nodded in agreement.

Before they could dwell too much on their predicament, the distant wail of sirens cut through the air, growing louder by the second. Eddie froze, terror washing over his face as he dropped the bag of chips. Robin, quick to react, spun around and yelled, "Tarp!" pointing urgently to the canvas tarp they had been using to hide Eddie.

Without missing a beat, Eddie scrambled on the boat and dove under the tarp, pulling it over himself just as the sirens drew closer. The group exchanged worried glances before rushing to the shed's small window, peering out to see what was happening.

Outside, a fleet of cop cars, fire trucks, and an ambulance raced past, their lights flashing violently against the early morning sky. The group watched in tense silence, the reality of the situation sinking in deeper with each passing second.

"We need to follow them," Dustin whispered, his voice filled with determination.

Rosalie nodded, already moving toward the door. "Let's go. Eddie, stay put."

With that, they piled into Steve's car, the tension in the air thick enough to cut with a knife. Steve followed the line of emergency vehicles, the atmosphere in the car growing heavier with each passing moment. They finally arrived at the scene, the flashing lights reflecting off their faces as they climbed out of the car.

They didn't move any further, their eyes drawn to a teenage girl standing a short distance away. She wore a dress and a jean jacket, her curly, wavy hair framing a face that was a mix of terror and profound sadness. She looked directly at Steve and the rest of the group, her expression hollow.

Rosalie, unsure of who this girl was, furrowed her brow, glancing at the others for some sort of clue. But it was Steve who stepped forward first, his concern evident as he gave the girl a small, reassuring wave. She returned it with a weak, trembling hand before slowly walking up to the group.

"What's wrong?" Steve asked gently, his tone softer than Rosalie had ever heard.

The girl took a moment to respond, her gaze flitting between them as though she was searching for the perfect phrase. At last, her voice rose just above a whisper as she spoke."Meet me at the trailer park."

Without waiting for a reply, she turned and walked away, leaving the group to exchange confused looks. Rosalie could feel the unease spreading through her, the girl's haunted expression lingering in her mind.

They got back into the car, the silence heavy as Steve drove to the trailer park. When they arrived, they found a spot in front of Eddie's trailer, sitting at a worn picnic table as they waited for the girl to arrive.

The minutes ticked by, Rosalie checked her watch and decided to try calling her friend in California again. "Does anyone around here have a telephone?" she asked, glancing at the group.

Max nodded. "My trailer's right in front of Eddie's. You can use our telephone—my mom's asleep, so it should be fine."

Rosalie thanked her, and Max led her to the trailer before heading back to rejoin the others. Once inside, Rosalie quickly dialed the familiar number, pressing the receiver to her ear. Before the line even had a chance to ring, Steve appeared behind her, leaning against the doorframe with his usual smirk.

"Calling 'Mr. Telephone Man' again?" he quipped, referencing their earlier banter in the grocery store.

Rosalie shot him a sidelong glance. "Seriously, Harrington? Do you really have nothing better to do than hover and make stupid comments?"

Steve shrugged, stepping further into the room. "What can I say? I'm curious about this mystery friend of yours. Must be someone special if you're so desperate to reach them."

"Curiosity killed the cat, you know," Rosalie retorted, turning her attention back to the phone. "And for the last time, it's not what you think."

"Oh, so it's not some secret boyfriend you're trying to keep hidden from the rest of us?" Steve bickered, his tone light but probing.

Rosalie exhaled sharply, her eyes drifting upward. "Believe it or not, Harrington, not everything revolves around dating. Some people actually have friends they care about."

"Uh-huh," Steve replied, unconvinced. "So, if he's not your boyfriend, why all the secrecy? Can't be that big of a deal to just tell me who you're calling."

Rosalie shot him a glare, her voice firm. "Again, It's none of your business, okay? Let's just say I'm worried about someone, and leave it at that."

Steve raised an eyebrow but didn't push further. "Right, because now's the perfect time to be checking in on your 'friend,' when we're up to our necks in actual danger."

"Maybe I just need to know they're safe," Rosalie countered, frustration creeping into her tone. "And maybe I want them to know I'm safe, too."

Before Steve could respond, the line continued to ring, unanswered. Rosalie's shoulders slumped slightly as she hung up the phone, her worry deepening. Steve noticed her tension and softened his tone slightly.

"Hey, I'm sure they're fine," he said, his usual sarcasm giving way to a rare note of reassurance.

Rosalie didn't respond, but she gave a slight nod, appreciating the effort. Steve glanced out the window and saw a familiar figure approaching the trailer.

"Looks like she's here," he said, gesturing towards the teen girl, who was just arriving.

Rosalie followed his gaze, then with a final glance at the telephone, pushed her concerns aside. She and Steve rejoined the group outside, ready to face whatever came next.

Nancy—Rosalie finally caught her name as Steve quietly addressed her, her face pale, looked like she hadn't slept in days. She sat down, folding her hands in her lap as she began to explain what happened.

"We were at the park, looking into Chrissy's death," Nancy began, her voice trembling slightly. "I was talking to Eddie's uncle about this guy named Victor Creel, and Fred... Fred wandered off into the forest. I didn't notice right away; the dogs started barking, and by the time I realized he was gone, I tried calling for him all around the park. This morning, he was dead... somehow."

Dustin's face darkened as he listened. "Whoever killed Fred was from the Upside Down and did it to Chrissy as well."

Nancy's eyes widened. "You're saying that this thing that killed Fred and Chrissy... it's from the Upside Down?"

Steve nodded grimly. "If the shoe fits."

Dustin carried on, his voice now laced with seriousness. "Our working theory is that he attacks with a spell or a curse. Now, whether or not he's doing the bidding of the Mind Flayer or just loves killing teens, we don't know."

Max added quietly, "All we know is this is something different. Something new."

Nancy shook her head, the confusion clear on her face. "But it doesn't make sense. Fred and Chrissy don't make sense. I mean, why them?"

Rosalie, who had been jotting down notes in her notepad for her journalism class, finally spoke up. "There's got to be a connection we're missing. Something that ties them together, or maybe something that makes them targets. Vecna isn't just picking people at random; there's always a reason."

Nancy noticed Rosalie's notepad and frowned slightly, her curiosity piqued. "I'm sorry, who are you?" she asked, not unkindly, but with genuine interest.

Rosalie glanced up, realizing she hadn't introduced herself. "Oh, I'm Rosalie. I'm from California. I'm writing a paper for my journalism class about the strange occurrences in Hawkins."

Steve scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Yeah, she's just here to boost her resume. Don't mind her."

Rosalie shot Steve a glare, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Oh, absolutely. My entire life revolves around impressing people like you. You're a real mind reader, Harrington."

Before Steve could reply, Dustin jumped in to keep the conversation on track. "Or maybe they were just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Both of them were at the game."

"And near the trailer park," Max added, her tone thoughtful.

Rosalie paused from her note-taking and looked up, a concerned expression crossing her face. "Uh. . .we're at the trailer park right now," she pointed out, her voice tinged with unease.

Steve's gaze flickered around their surroundings. "Should we, like, not be here?" he asked, his voice trailing off as the group started to glance around nervously.

"There's definitely something about this place," Nancy said, her voice steady but serious. "Fred started acting weird the second we got here."

"Weird as in. . .?" Robin prompted, leaning in closer as Nancy elaborated.

"Scared, on edge, upset. Like he was seeing something we couldn't," Nancy explained, her voice carrying a hint of the fear she must have felt.

"Max said Chrissy was upset too," Dustin added, his brow furrowing.

Max nodded but clarified, "Yeah, but that was at school. She was crying in the bathroom, nowhere near here."

"So, maybe Fred and Chrissy both saw this Vecman—" Robin began before Dustin quickly corrected her.

"—Vecna!" Dustin interrupted, his tone impatient.

Steve shivered, still trying to wrap his head around it. "I don't know about you guys, but if I saw some freaky wizard monster, I'd mention it to someone."

Max's eyes suddenly widened with realization. "Maybe they did!" she exclaimed. "I saw Chrissy leaving Ms. Kelly's office. If you saw a monster, you wouldn't go to the police. As Rosalie said back in the shed, they'd never believe a bunch of teens talking about a dark creature on the loose. But you might go to your..."

"...Your shrink," Robin finished, her voice dropping as the implication set in.

Rosalie, who had been listening intently, chimed in, "So if they both saw Vecna, they might have confided in Ms. Kelly about what they saw. We need to find out what they told her if anything."

Max grinned and nodded; "You're quite right after all Rosalie," she expressed genuinely, "Maybe Fred and Chrissy do have some sort of connection after all."

Dustin nodded, glancing between Rosalie and the rest of the group. "It's a long shot, but it's all we have right now."

Rosalie closed her notebook, a determined look on her face. "Then let's go find Ms. Kelly, she knows more than she realizes."

The group quickly sprang into action, heading for Steve's car. But Nancy had other ideas. She veered off towards her own vehicle, and Steve, ever observant, called out, "Whoa, whoa, Nance. Nance!" He rushed over to her, clearly frustrated. "Where are you going?"

"Oh, there's just something I want to check on first," Nancy responded, her tone clipped and impatient.

"Something you want to share with the rest of us?" Dustin shouted.

Nancy shook her head. "I don't want to waste your time. It's a real shot in the dark."

Rosalie stepped forward, adding, "Nancy, if you've got a lead, it might be better if we all stick together."

Steve nodded in agreement, a hint of disbelief in his voice. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but she's right. Are you out of your mind Nance?" His tone dropped, laced with concern.  "Flying solo with Vecna on the loose? It's too dangerous. You need. . .you need someone to—" He hesitated, searching for the right words.

Nancy raised an eyebrow at him, her patience wearing thin. Steve glanced back at the rest of the group and sighed. "Here. I'll stick with Nance." He tossed his car keys to Robin. "Take the car, check out the shrink."

Robin caught the keys with a puzzled expression. "I don't think you want me driving your car."

"Why not?" Steve asked, his brow furrowing.

"I don't have a license," Robin replied.

"Why don't you have a license?" Steve asked, genuinely curious.

"I'm poor!" Robin shot back.

Steve looked at Rosalie, his expression a mix of reluctance and resignation as if asking her was the last thing he wanted to do—but he had no other choice. "Alright, Bradbury," he said, his voice tight with frustration, "I guess that leaves you to drive."

Rosalie noticed the tension in his voice and the way his eyes flicked to the car like he was handing over a prized possession to a thief. She tilted her head, a smirk playing on her lips. "Don't look so pained, Harrington. I'm not about to destroy your precious car. Besides, I don't have a license either. I'm not from here remember."

Max interjected, "I can drive."

Steve's face turned pale. "No, never again! Please, anyone but you! No!" He exclaimed, pointing a finger as if making a final decree.

Dustin smirked at him.

Steve shook his head firmly. "No chance."

Robin fed up with the back-and-forth, grabbed a walkie-talkie from Dustin's bag and handed Steve his car keys back. "All right, okay, this is stupid." She grabbed Rosalie's arm and stood next to Nancy. "Us ladies will stick together. Unless you think we need you to protect us?" She grinned teasingly at Steve.

"Wait, hold on!" Steve cut in, his voice raised in objection. "You're seriously going to leave me babysitting again? By myself-!?" He groaned in protest, shooting a frustrated look towards Robin.

Robin rolled her eyes and nudged Rosalie forward making her puzzle "You're up, Bradbury. Help him out," she declared.

Rosalie blinked in disbelief. "What!? Why me?"

"Are you kidding me, Robin?" Steve whined, his voice rising in frustration. "Anyone but her!"

Robin grinned, backing toward Nancy's car. "You wanted help, Steve. Guess you got what you asked for!" she teased, leaving Rosalie gaping after her.

"You're seriously going to leave me stuck with him?" She cried.

Robin opened the car door and called back over her shoulder, "Just did!"

Nancy smiled briefly at them, then walked to her car and got into the driver's seat.

Steve yelled after them, "Be careful!"

Dustin, smirking, teased, "Just gonna stand there and gawk?"

Rosalie laughed as she walked over to the boys. "I've never seen you squirm before. It's entertaining."

Steve rolled his eyes and snapped, "Shut up. Get in the car!"

Max climbed into the backseat, and Dustin opened the front door. Steve instructed him, "Clean your shoes before you get in."

Dustin laughed and wiped his shoes on the inside of the car, eliciting another reprimand from Steve. "On the outside, not the inside!"

Dustin chuckled and slid into his seat, but Rosalie tapped him on the shoulder with a stern look. "Move to the back, Dustin."

He groaned dramatically, his eyes widening as if she'd just sentenced him to a lifetime of detention. "Seriously? You're not actually going to make me do that. . .are you?"

Rosalie crossed her arms, unfazed. "Children sit in the back."

Dustin's jaw dropped in mock outrage. "But I'm not a child!"

Rosalie raised an eyebrow, smirking. "Then stop acting like one and move."

With a sigh, Dustin grumbled but reluctantly stood up, muttering under his breath as he made his way to the back. As Rosalie slid into the passenger seat, Steve started the car, grumbling, "Always the babysitter! Always the goddamn babysitter!"

"Stop complaining and more driving." Rosalie chanted, crossing her arms.

Dustin clambered into the back seat, chuckling. "You're one of a kind, Rosalie."

Steve glared at her, shaking his head "Great. Just what I needed. kids in the back seat and a front seat complainer." He said breathlessly and started driving away from the park and on the way to Ms. Kelly's residence.

               Finally pulling up at Ms. Kelly's property, Max stepped out of the car and made her way to the front door. She rang the doorbell, the chime echoing through the quiet evening. Ms. Kelly answered almost immediately, her face lighting up in recognition before she ushered Max inside with a welcoming gesture.

The rest of the group remained in Steve's car, their anticipation palpable in the confined space. The atmosphere inside the vehicle grew heavy with tense silence, occasionally broken by the sound of Rosalie's pen scratching rapidly across the pages of her notepad. Each note she jotted down seemed to add to the mounting sense of urgency as if the weight of their investigation hung in the balance with every line she wrote.

The tension later was broken by Dustin's cheeky remark.

"So, we gonna talk about it?" Dustin asked Steve, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

"Huh?" Steve asked, snapping out of his daydream and turning to face Dustin in the back seat. "Sorry, talk about what exactly?"

"Your temporary insanity earlier today," Dustin said, leaning forward with a mischievous grin. "When you basically threw yourself at Nancy?"

Steve's mouth fell open in shock. He glanced out the window for a moment, collecting his thoughts before turning back to Dustin. "That's not what happened."

"Pretty sure that's exactly what happened," Dustin countered. "It was public. There were a lot of witnesses. Including Rosalie."

Steve looked over at Rosalie, who nodded with an amused expression. "Definitely," she chimed in. "I even noted it down. 'Idiot Steve Harrington throws himself at Nancy but several fails.'" She pretended to read aloud with exaggerated drama.

Steve rolled his eyes. "Great. Now I'm a public spectacle in your notes."

Rosalie snickered. "What can I say? You're the entertainment."

Dustin leaned in closer, still grinning. "You might have a thing for Nancy, you know."

Steve's eyes widened with irritation. "Oh, come on. Not this again." He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Rosalie's interest piqued. "Wait, you and Nancy? You two dated—?!" She cried out astonished.

Steve scoffed, shaking his head and ignoring Rosalie's curiosity. "I don't have a thing for Nance. So, let's just drop it."

"How about Robin? Any history there?" Rosalie raised an eyebrow questioning him.

Dustin chimed in, "No because he only has a thing for Nance, but it relates to his steadfast refusal to date Robin, it's pretty much the only logical explanation."

Steve muttered, "That's not the only reason." He then spoke aloud, "And as for Nancy, I was just trying to protect a friend." He elaborated firmly.

Dustin and Rosalie exchanged knowing grins, clearly enjoying Steve's discomfort.

Steve not liking it, cried in defense; "A friend! Henderson, Okay? Bradbury, a friend." He noted and huffed, "I don't wanna find her in the morning with her eyes sucked out of her skull by this Vecna creep." He exaggerated.

Rosalie burst into laughter, her amusement clear. "Yeah, you've definitely bright red in the face right now," she spoke, shaking her head.

Dustin agreed, chuckling. "Definitely."

Steve glared at Dustin. "I'll punch you so hard your teeth will fall back out."

Dustin and Rosalie's laughter stopped abruptly. "Whoa, too far," Dustin said, a hint of concern in his voice.

Steve nodded in agreement. "Not cool. Sorry."

Rosalie crossed her arms, her smirk fading into a thoughtful expression. "Really, Harrington? For someone who claims he's always the babysitter, you're pretty terrible at it."

Steve shot back, "Do you even have babysitting experience?"

"I do, actually," Rosalie replied confidently. "I've got a friend back in California with two younger siblings, both around Dustin's age. They're great kids." She beamed as she rummaged through her purse and pulled out a mixtape. "One of them even made me this mixtape with all my favorite songs—y'know to have something with me on the trip here." She grinned at Steve's astonished expression.

Steve couldn't hide the slight pang of jealousy that crossed his face, and muttered to Dustin, "Why don't you make me a mixtape?"

Dustin snorted, "Maybe because you don't ask."

Ignoring Dustin, Steve turned his attention back to Rosalie. He tried to sound casual, but there was a hint of something else in his voice. "So, this 'California friend' of yours—he wouldn't happen to be the same guy you tried calling earlier, would he? You know, 'Mr. Telephone Man'? Mystery boyfriend, or whatever."

"Great not this again," Rosalie muttered and rolled her eyes, "He's not my boyfriend, Harrington. But even if he was, why would you care?" Her eyes narrowed.

"Who says I care?" Steve replied, leaning back in his seat with a smirk. "I just think it's interesting how you're all worked up over getting in touch with this guy." He shrugged, "Must be pretty important."

Rosalie shot him a sideways glance, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "Oh, so now you're analyzing my relationships? Cute. Maybe you should focus on your own love life, Harrington," Rosalie quipped, giving him a challenging look.

Steve's smirk didn't waver. "Yeah, maybe I will," Steve replied, his tone just as sarcastic. "But don't get too comfortable thinking this Mr. Telephone man is the only one who can—"

"—You know, you two should just date already. Seriously, the tension is killing me." Dustin cut in, grinning widely.

Both Steve and Rosalie spoke up at the same time, their voices overlapping in a rush of denial. "Whoa! Whoa!" Both Steve and Rosalie exclaimed in unison, "No way!"

"Not in a million years, not happening. " Steve shook his head, visibly flustered.

Rosalie laughed, shaking her head. "Yeah, definitely not happening."

They exchanged a brief glance, realizing how forcefully they'd both responded, and quickly looked away. The car fell into a slightly awkward silence after that, with only the sound of the engine humming as they waited.

Rosalie shifted in her seat, feeling a strange tickling sensation in her nose as her mind started to ring in pain. She reached up absentmindedly and felt something wet. Pulling her hand back, she saw a smear of blood on her fingers. She frowned, quickly wiping it away with a tissue, telling herself it was nothing serious.

But the movement didn't go unnoticed.

"Whoa, are you okay?" Dustin asked from the backseat, leaning forward with concern etched on his face. "Your nose is bleeding."

Steve glanced over, his previous teasing tone gone, replaced with genuine worry. "Bradbury, what's going on? Did something happen?"

Rosalie shook her head, forcing a smile as she crumpled the tissue and tossed it aside. "It's nothing, seriously. Probably just a migraine or the dry air."

"Are you sure?" Steve pressed, his eyes scanning her face for any sign of discomfort.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Rosalie insisted, waving them off. "Don't make a big deal out of it. Just a random nosebleed, nothing to freak out about."

Dustin didn't seem entirely convinced, but he leaned back in his seat, still watching her with a worried expression. "If you say so." He muttered.

Just then, Max suddenly threw open the car door and jumped in, her expression urgent. "Drive, Steve—now!" she ordered, snapping everyone out of their thoughts.

Steve started the engine, giving Rosalie one last glance as they sped off.

Rosalie glanced out the window, her thoughts briefly drifting back to California and her friends there. She realized she hadn't checked in with Jonathan in a while. Hesitating for only a moment before turning to Steve.

"356 Maplewood Drive," Rosalie blurt out an address.

Steve glanced at her, confused. "Why? The school's the other way."

"It's just a short detour. I need to make a quick call."

Steve raised an eyebrow, giving her a skeptical look. "Another call? What's so important about this guy that you need to call him three times in a day?"

Rosalie shot him a glare. "Just drive, Harrington. And for the record, I'd rather deal with 'Mr. Telephone Man' than listen to your whining."

Steve muttered something under his breath, but he didn't push further. As they sped off, the tension between them simmered, leaving Dustin to smirk in the backseat, clearly entertained by their back-and-forth.

                     As they pulled up in front of a pristine white house, its towering columns and immaculate lawn screamed wealth and privilege. Steve, Max, and Dustin stared, stunned by the sheer opulence of the place.

"Uh, are you sure we're not trespassing?" Dustin asked, his voice full of awe.

Steve, still staring at the house, looked at Rosalie, his skepticism giving way to genuine curiosity. "Yeah Bradbury. . .whose house is this?"

Rosalie's stomach churned with unease. She hadn't been here in years, and the sight of the house stirred memories she'd rather keep buried. "It's my father's," she muttered, her voice laced with an edge of discomfort.

Steve's confusion deepened, a frown creasing his forehead. "I thought you were from California?"

Rosalie turned to him, her expression a mix of frustration and sadness as if she was trying to explain something painful and deeply personal. "When parents don't like each other anymore, they separate and move away," she said, her voice tinged with a bitterness she couldn't quite hide. "Hence why my father is here in Hawkins and not in California."

Max, sensing the tension, asked cautiously, "How long has it been since you saw your dad?"

Rosalie hesitated, her gaze dropping to the ground. "Christmas," she replied softly.

Dustin, trying to lighten the mood, shrugged. "That's not so bad---"

"---Three years ago," Rosalie interrupted quietly, the words heavy with the weight of lost time and unspoken hurt.

Dustin's eyes widened, and an uncomfortable silence filled the car. The silence that followed was thick with unspoken questions and awkwardness. Steve, usually quick with a quip, found himself at a loss for words. He watched Rosalie closely, seeing the flicker of vulnerability in her eyes, something he hadn't noticed before.

With a resigned sigh, Rosalie pushed open the car door and stepped out, though her feet felt like lead as she approached the front door. She hadn't seen her father in ages, and the memory of their last encounter still stung. Their relationship had always been fraught, strained by distance, both physical and emotional.

She stood at the door, her heart racing as she hesitated, memories of old arguments and broken promises swirling in her mind. The courage to ring the bell felt like it was slipping away, but before she could retreat, Steve's voice cut through her thoughts.

"You gonna ring the doorbell, or are we just gonna stand here all day?"

His voice was sarcastic but softer than usual and more. . .concerned. It was enough to snap Rosalie out of her reverie. Taking a deep breath, she rang the doorbell, bracing herself for whatever came next.

The door swung open, revealing her father, looking as impeccably put-together as always. His expression shifted from surprise to something more guarded, almost like he was assessing the situation.

"Rosalie! My goodness, what a surprise," he said, his tone warm at first, but then it quickly turned taunting. "Is it Easter already?"

Rosalie forced a smile, trying to keep her emotions in check. "No, but—"

He cut her off, his smile smugly widening. "Well. . .did anyone cry today?"

Rosalie sighed, her patience already wearing thin. "No, but it's only 4:30," she replied, her tone mirroring his sarcasm.

For a moment, the air between them was charged with unspoken tension, a silent battle of wills. But Rosalie knew she couldn't afford to get drawn into another argument. She needed to focus on why she was here.

"I just needed to make a quick call," she explained, her voice firm but lacking its usual sharpness.

Her father's gaze shifted to Steve, who was standing slightly behind her, watching the exchange with a mix of curiosity and concern. "And who's this? Your boyfriend?" her father asked, the question more of a jab than genuine interest.

"No," Rosalie quickly assured him, her voice almost defensive. "Definitely not."

Steve cleared his throat and began to introduce himself with a hint of awkwardness. "I'm Steve—Steve Harrington. Uh, I'm just here to help out." He managed a nervous smile and extended his hand toward Mr. Bradbury. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Bradbury."

Mr. Bradbury didn't acknowledge the handshake. Instead,  his eyes lingered on Steve for a moment, a hint of amusement in his expression. "Well, come in then," he said, stepping aside to let them enter.

Rosalie walked into the grand foyer, the familiar scent of her father's cologne and the sight of the lavish décor stirring a mix of emotions—nostalgia, resentment, and a deep-seated sadness. Steve followed, his eyes widening as he took in the opulence of the place. He hadn't expected this from Rosalie—she didn't fit the mold of the spoiled rich girl, and now he understood why she was always so guarded.

As Rosalie made her way to the phone under the grand staircase, Steve couldn't help but mutter, "Your dad's. . .rich."

Rosalie, focused on dialing Jonathan's number, shrugged, her voice tinged with a weariness that came from years of living in the shadow of wealth and all the complications it brought. "Yeah, well, it's not exactly as glamorous as it looks."

Steve stood beside her, glancing around the place, trying to piece together this new side of Rosalie he hadn't seen before. He suddenly realized that there was so much more to her than the sarcastic, guarded girl he'd been sparring with.

As the phone rang in her ear, Rosalie felt the weight of the house pressing down on her, the memories, the expectations, and the loneliness that had come with growing up in a place like this. It wasn't just a house; it was a reminder of everything she'd been trying to escape, everything she'd left behind when she chose to stay with her mother in California.

Her father, already losing interest, offered Steve a curt nod before heading back to his office, leaving them alone in the grand, echoing foyer.

The phone kept ringing, and Rosalie's grip on the receiver tightened. She wasn't sure what she was hoping for—a connection, a voice on the other end that would make everything feel a little less chaotic.

Steve, leaning against the grand entrance, watched her with a bemused expression. "So, 'Mr. Telephone Guy,'" he began again, his tone light but probing. "For someone who's supposedly not your boyfriend, you sure seem to care a lot about him. Every time I bring him up, you get all defensive."

Rosalie shot him a sharp look. "He's not my boyfriend, Steve. I don't see why you keep insisting on making it into something it's not."

Steve grinned, clearly enjoying the banter. "Oh, come on. You're practically hiding something. It sounds like you've got a secret crush or something."

Rosalie's patience snapped. "Jesus Harrington!" She clamored, "He's got a girlfriend, alright?" She expressed firmly glaring at him.

Steve's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Really? That's new." He retorted. "You seemed pretty worked up about it. Are you, like, jealous or something?" He interrogated.

Rosalie's face flushed with frustration. "No, I'm not jealous. I've never even met the girlfriend."

Steve looked baffled. "Wait, you've never met her?" He let out a laugh, "Are you sure he even has a girlfriend? Or is this just some loser making stuff up?"

Rosalie shot him a glare; "Yes I'm sure, and he's not a loser." She stated.

Steve crossed his arms; "And you're sure of this. . .how exactly?"

She let out an exasperated sigh, her patience clearly wearing thin. "You want to know how?" Rosalie snapped, her frustration evident. "Because all he ever talks about is her! She's living here in Hawkins, for crying out loud." Her voice was tinged with a mix of anger and disbelief as if the very mention of the girl's name was a fresh wound.

Steve's eyes widened in surprise, though skepticism lingered in his gaze. "Here? In Hawkins?" he asked, clearly shocked but not entirely convinced. Rosalie's glare was intense as she nodded, the mixture of irritation and resignation on her face only deepening Steve's curiosity.

"Well, what's her name? Maybe I know her or, who knows, maybe I've dated her before."

Rosalie scrunched her face in disgust. "Gross, Harrington. I'm not telling you her name, that's none of your business." She twirled the telephone wire between her fingers.

As she stood there, waiting for Jonathan to answer, Steve continued to look around the lavish house. His attention was drawn to a small picture frame on a table next to the phone stand. The photo featured two young girls—one dressed in pink and the other in purple, both smiling brightly. The girl in pink was evidently Rosalie; the resemblance was too strong to ignore. She looked slightly older than the girl in purple.

Steve squinted at the photo, noting the striking similarities between the two girls. He gestured to the photo. "Who's the girl in purple?" he asked, curiosity evident in his voice.

Rosalie's heart skipped a beat. She glanced at the picture and felt a rush of panic. Memories she'd tried to bury surfaced. Her hands trembled as she quickly flipped the picture frame face down, hiding the photo from view.

"Just. . .no one," she said, her voice strained.

Steve looked at her, bewildered, he's brow furrowed as he noticed the rapid change in her demeanor. "You okay? You went from annoyed to, like, freaked out in a second."

Rosalie avoided his eyes, focusing instead on rearranging the items on the table to distract herself. "It's not important, Harrington. Can we just move on?"

Steve sensed the shift in her mood and, though he was still curious, he didn't press further. The earlier banter gave way to a quiet tension, as Rosalie avoided his gaze, her face pale.

The call had gone unanswered again. Rosalie hung up the telephone with a heavy sigh, her emotions raw. The house, her family, and the unresolved feelings left her feeling vulnerable. Steve, sensing her distress but unsure how to respond, remained silent, the silence in the house suddenly feeling suffocating. "Well, that was a waste of time," she muttered, more to herself than to Steve.

Steve, still absorbing everything he'd just witnessed, didn't know what to say. For once, he just nodded, following her lead as they prepared to leave. There was a heaviness to Rosalie now, a sadness that he hadn't noticed before. It made him see her in a new light—a girl who wasn't just strong and sharp-tongued, but someone who was carrying a lot more than she let on.

They left the house and headed to the car. Rosalie's thoughts were consumed with worry for Jonathan and the others back in California. It wasn't like them to ignore her calls—especially Joyce, who worked as a telemarketer and was constantly on the phone. Her silence was unsettling, gnawing at Rosalie's anxiety. Despite this, she tried to reassure herself that they were probably just wrapped up in their spring break, enjoying a rare moment of peace.

Unbeknownst to her, the California group was grappling with their own troubles, their lives unraveling in ways Rosalie couldn't even begin to imagine.

Mr. Telephone man, there's something wrong with my line. . .I get a click every time.

Help me out, Please Mr. Telephone Man.