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CHAPTER NINE
"THE BOY, ON THE PHONE," HER MOTHER SAID AS SHE PULLED FROM THEIR EMBRACE. "I almost forgot. He said he'd be here at seven to pick you up."
Dylan's eyes flickered to the alarm clock Barb's night table: it read 6:37pm. She wiped her wet face into the sleeve of her sweater and pushed off the bed.
"Oh." She said plainly as if the last fifteen minutes never happened. "I guess I should get ready."
"Do we get to meet this one? The last one," her mother paused, "was it Ricky? Gerry? You never brought him over."
"Reed, mom." Dylan laughed. "And no, definitely not. Billy and I are not serious."
"Well," her mom frowned and stood up from Barb's twin bed. "I hope one day you do bring home a boy for us to meet. It's alright to play the field when you're young but—"
"Yes, yes, I get it, mom," Dylan playfully rolled her eyes. "You want me to settle down. We'll see."
Dylan left Barb's room closely behind her mother and walked across the hall to her own. She felt relieved by the familiarity of her own things and was glad to leave the eeriness of Barb's room behind her.
She flung herself down in front of her vanity and carefully removed all her old, smudged make-up and began to redo everything her tears had undone. She slipped on a pair of jeans and a knit sweater that barely covered her midriff. Then, she waited.
Seven came and went, five past, quarter past... and when seven-thirty rolled around Dylan decided she was tired of waiting. She wasn't going to waste her night waiting on a guy like Billy Hargrove — that was beneath her.
All the waiting had let past guilt naw at her until her only thoughts were about Dustin, Max, and Lucas (Steve, too, she guessed) and if they were safe. From word of mouth, Dylan probably never would have believed in demogorgans or demodogs. But she had seen the ugly, terrifying creature first hand and now she knew that a group of pre-teens and an idiotic Steve Harrington were going after it.
She sighed and picked up the phone hung on the kitchen wall. Her parents never looked up from their newspapers. Dylan dialled a number she knew off by heart—Steve's—and was met with countless rings but no answer. She then dialled Nancy's house, unsure of who else to call.
Mrs. Wheeler picked up the phone in a cheerful tone. "Hello, who's this?"
"Hi, Karen," Dylan said politely. "Is Nancy home by any chance?"
"Dylan, good to hear from you!" Karen Wheeler replied. Dylan heard a man in the background asking 'Dylan who?' "But I'm afraid Nancy's not home. She's sleeping out tonight."
The two said their goodbyes and Dylan let out a frustrated groan in which caused her dad to lower his newspaper.
"That fella still keeping you waiting, sweetie?" He shook his head. "I'd let this boy go."
