Chapter 24: QUESTIONS
The band room had become a habit.
Three days after our first meeting, I found myself walking the same route through empty hallways, following the sound of Robin's trumpet to the door that was technically closed but might as well have been open for me.
She didn't look up when I entered. Just kept playing, a complicated jazz piece that showcased her technical skill while somehow managing to sound effortless. I took my usual seat in the trumpet section and let the music wash over me.
When she finished, she lowered the instrument and turned to face me.
"Did some research on you, California."
The words sent a small spike of adrenaline through my system. I kept my expression neutral. "Oh?"
"Your reputation says one thing." She set the trumpet in her lap, giving me her full attention. "Violent. Aggressive. The kind of guy who starts fights in parking lots and terrorizes anyone weaker than him. But the guy sitting in front of me?" She shook her head. "He's polite. Quiet. Listens to jazz without fidgeting. Something doesn't add up."
I'd known this was coming. Robin Buckley was too smart to miss the discrepancy between reputation and reality. The only question had been how long it would take her to bring it up.
"Maybe I outgrew my reputation."
"In what, six months?" Her eyes narrowed. "People don't change that fast. Not fundamentally. The angry kid who got expelled from his old school doesn't just become Mr. Calm and Collected overnight."
She wasn't wrong. The original Billy hadn't changed—he'd been overwritten. Replaced by something that wore his face but operated by entirely different rules.
"Some people do," I said carefully. "Change, I mean. When something forces them to."
"What forced you?"
The question hung in the air between us. I could lie—give her a story about a near-death experience, a religious awakening, some fictional event that explained the transformation. She might even believe it, at least temporarily.
But Robin deserved better than lies. She was going to be important—I could feel it in my bones, that certainty that came from knowing the future while everyone else stumbled through the present blindly. When the chaos came, when Starcourt happened and the world broke open, Robin Buckley would be standing in the middle of it with Steve and the kids.
She deserved the truth. Just not all of it. Not yet.
"You're hiding something," she said when I didn't answer.
"Everyone's hiding something."
"Not like you." She leaned forward, curiosity and frustration mingling in her expression. "Most people hide stupid things. Crushes. Embarrassing secrets. Stuff that doesn't matter. But you—you're hiding something big. Something that changes everything about who you are."
"Maybe."
"Definitely." She sat back, folded her arms. "I'm good at figuring things out, Hargrove. Really good. If you're playing some kind of game—if this nice guy act is just a setup for something worse—I will find out."
"It's not an act."
"Then what is it?"
I met her eyes. Held her gaze long enough to show I wasn't intimidated, wasn't backing down. "It's me. The real me. Whatever you heard about California Billy—that guy is gone. I don't know how to explain it better than that."
"Gone where?"
"Just... gone." I shrugged. "I woke up one day and realized I didn't want to be him anymore. So I stopped."
Robin was quiet for a long moment. I could see her processing, running my words through whatever internal lie detector she'd developed over years of watching people and cataloguing their tells.
"That's either the biggest load of crap I've ever heard," she said finally, "or the most interesting thing anyone's ever told me."
"Can it be both?"
A smile cracked her serious expression. "Maybe." She picked up her trumpet again, turned it over in her hands. "Fine. Keep your secrets. But I'm good at figuring things out, and I don't give up easily. Whatever you're hiding—I'll find it eventually."
"I know." And I did. Robin's curiosity was relentless, her intelligence formidable. She'd pick at the mystery of Billy Hargrove until she found something—maybe the truth, maybe just enough pieces to form her own conclusions.
The question was whether that would be a problem or an opportunity.
"I'll tell you," I said. "Eventually. When I know I can."
"Trust issues?"
"Something like that."
She nodded slowly. "Okay. I can work with that. Just don't make me wait forever. I'm patient, but I'm not that patient."
"Deal."
The tension in the room shifted—not disappearing, but transforming into something more manageable. A truce. An understanding. Two people agreeing to tolerate uncertainty in exchange for continued connection.
Robin raised her trumpet. "Want me to show you how these work? The valves, I mean. Most people think trumpets are just 'blow and push buttons,' but there's actually a lot more going on."
"Sure."
She launched into an explanation that was genuinely interesting—the physics of brass instruments, the way valve combinations created different notes, the subtle techniques that separated decent players from great ones. I listened, asked questions, showed the kind of genuine interest that made her light up.
By the time she finished, the tension from earlier had faded entirely. We were just two people in an empty room, one teaching and one learning, building something that might become friendship if given enough time.
"You're a good listener," she said as she packed up her trumpet. "Most guys just wait for their turn to talk."
"Most guys miss the interesting stuff."
"Yeah. They do." She snapped her case closed, looked at me. "Same time tomorrow?"
"If you're here."
"I'm always here." A small smile. "It's the only place in this school where I can think."
I understood that. The quarry served the same purpose for me—somewhere quiet, somewhere safe, somewhere the demands of the world couldn't reach.
We walked out together, parting ways in the main hallway. She headed for the front exit; I had a longer route to the parking lot.
"Billy?" she called when we were almost out of earshot.
I turned.
"Whatever it is—the thing you're hiding—I hope it's worth protecting."
I didn't answer. Just nodded and kept walking.
It was. The secret of who I really was, where I'd really come from, what I really knew about the future—those were worth protecting. Not just for my sake, but for everyone's. The wrong information in the wrong hands could change everything, could butterfly-effect the entire timeline into something unrecognizable and potentially worse.
But Robin would find out eventually. She'd dig and question and observe until the pieces came together, and when they did, she'd have to decide what to do with the knowledge.
I hoped, when that day came, she'd choose to help.
The Camaro was waiting in the lot, same as always. I slid behind the wheel and sat there for a moment, processing.
Two new connections in the space of a week. Steve, opening up about Nancy. Robin, promising to uncover my secrets. Both of them potential allies, potential friends, potential complications.
The web was getting more complex. More people to protect. More relationships to navigate. More chances for everything to go wrong.
But also more chances for everything to go right.
I started the engine and pulled out of the lot. The sun was setting behind the trees, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink.
Somewhere beneath Hawkins, the Gate pulsed. The Mind Flayer waited. Will Byers carried something cold inside him that would eventually demand attention.
But tonight, I had dinner waiting at home. A sister who trusted me. The beginning of friendships that might matter when the darkness came.
Tonight, that was enough.
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