Robin Buckley

It was winter in Hawkins. At that hour of the morning, when everyone was asleep, I was listening to music on the record player while I combed my hair. Suddenly, I felt a tap on the window. I thought it was a branch, so I kept brushing my teeth. But the blows returned. More insistent. Tired, I went over and opened the window to see what that noise was… and there it was. My best friend, Robin Buckley. I didn't ask what he was doing there at that hour. It didn't seem like a good idea. Instead, I let it go. She seemed nervous, agitated, as if she had run a race. —Okay, before you say anything, I need to clarify that this wasn't planned. I was going home. Then I wasn't. Then I was just walking around without thinking too much… and I ended up here. Something about her voice sounded strange. Nervous. —It's not unusual for me to be here. I mean, yes, it's very unusual. But not for an important reason. She sighs, leaning against the window. I look at her, confused. It's clear she wants to tell me something, but she can't bring herself to say it. —It doesn't mean anything, I think. I just thought maybe… you weren't going to sleep yet.