Eleven

Eleven looks down at herself, the cold of her legs starkly contrasted by the warmth of her head and neck. She likes her romper. But he's right. This isn't the weather for it. It'd been warm in Hawkins when she'd bought it.

When she'd bought it. She looks around, but the JC Penny's bag with the rest of her clothes isn't there. It'd been hooked on her elbow when she'd... When she'd...

She'd been on the bus. She'd stood up when it'd stopped and she couldn't find Max. It must have slid off her arm — she hadn't noticed because she'd been focused on trying to find Max.

But there's something else he'd said that seems important. Her packet. ID and stuff. What did that mean?

"What is ID?" she asks. She moves closer, indicating as well as she can right now that she'll follow him.