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DERRY, MAINE June 1989 !

MY TORSO swam amongst the students cluttering the halls, causing my teeth to dent into my chapped vermilion lips. My calloused curled into fists as I kept my usual snarky comments toward the student body at bay.

The puncture of my toe caused a loud grunt to erupt from my mouth; a newfound rage engulfing my system.

"Are you Stevie Wonder?" I barked at the petite brunette girl who's nose dug into a book she was reading, "watch where the fuck your foot stomps."

As I fumbled through my thoughts to broaden my insult toward the stupid girl, a teacher sauntered through the sea of students, chanting out my name as she trailed behind me.

I zoomed past students; shoving people out of the way as an exhaustingly irritating voice spewed amongst the crowd.

"Hey Copperhead, how is it that the one with the glasses can see better than you," he mockingly shouted.

I turned my head briefly to the treacherous voice of Richie Tozier—Derry's own pure bread trashmouth. Although I would've enjoyed rummaging through my selection of degrading insults and spitting them in his face, I fled the scene abruptly with the teacher still hot on my tail.

"How is it that your wang's smaller than your I.Q, Trashmouth!"

His chocolate irises bulged from behind his large spectacles as he mustered out a reply. "Geez, don't blow your top, Copperhead!"

His distant voice somehow still managed to pierce my nerves of annoyance as I harshly rolled my eyes.

Goosebumps imprinted the pale flesh of my slender arms as I was taken back to the day in elementary school that Richie had planted his revolting lips upon my cheek, completely scarring me for life.

From the moment he laid a hand on me was the declaration of my hatred towards the town's Trashmouth and his stupid friend Bill Denbrough for initiating the entire situation.

An epiphany unfolded throughout my thoughts as the sign indicating the location of the girl's washroom came into view. I wickedly smiled as I burst into the washroom, but to my dismay—I was met with none other than Greta Keene.

"Oh look, it's Stephanie Smith," she chuckled darkly causing my insides to churn with repulsive anger. "They need millions of toothbrushes to clean that kind of Trashmouth, let alone Tozier's."

"Hey Greta, I heard Henry Bowers cleaned your mouth, so I don't think you should be discussing mine," I retaliated confidently.

She rolled her eyes as she stomped to an occupied stall, balling her hands to fists as the slap of her gum echoed through the pearl coated room.

She began shouting insults at Beverly Marsh from outside of her stall. Beverly paid little attention as clouds of smoke pooled from above indicating that she was casually enjoying a cigarette whilst Greta made a fool of herself with her mindless minions.

My eyes bulged in bewilderment as two girls behind her lifted the garbage can—planting it on the top of the stall.

"You're trash; we just wanted to remind you." Greta's icily coated voice snickered as the girls poured out the substances contained in the trash on the red-head.

"Hey Greta," I interrupted her as she was exiting by yanking her by the elbow, "the next time you bother Beverly, you're gonna wish that your mother aborted you, got it?"

She slapped my hand away as she exited the door. "Whatever, Stephanie, she'll do your dad to thank you for protecting her."

I balled my hands into fists as a dark chuckle escaped her lips, exiting the room abruptly to avoid my outburst of anger.

Beverly exited the stall quietly—her backpack drenched in the garbage and a murky liquid substance. I stared at her floral dress in confusion as I noticed that she had managed to protect it from the chaos that was piled in the garbage can.

"Need help, Marsh?" I spoke up nervously, the tone of pleasantness in my voice towards another individual at Derry sounding foreign to my own ears.

"It's fine," she smiled softly. "Thanks for defending me, but Greta doesn't really bother me."

"Yeah, but she bothers me," I retorted. "She's always been a little cun—"

Beverly raised her hands up with a piercing smirk staining her lips. "I know what you mean, Smith."

We chuckled in unison as I made my way over to the sink to assist her in cleaning the garbage from her backpack.

"Excited for summer?" She asked, hues of cerulean spiraling in spectrums around her pupils.

"Yeah, I'm ecstatic, I have no friends, my mom's a cranky bitch because she hasn't had sex in a million years, and I'm too broke to travel anywhere."

"Oh, come on, Smith, don't be so negative," her lips twitched upward in reassurance. "If you don't have friends, you're free to join me."

"Thanks, Marsh," I shrugged my shoulders, "but, I'm sure you'll get fed up by my rambling."

"Nonsense," she lightly swatted my hand, "I don't want to be all alone all summer."

I scrubbed the last bits of excess garbage off her backpack, rolling my eyes at her offer.

I was never one to really make an effort in friendships or generally like anyone in particular due to how much distaste of personalities roamed the halls of Derry middle school, but I had always had a sensitive spot for Beverly Marsh.

It was no secret that I hadn't heard the hushed whispers of the girls in the halls chatting about Beverly's sexual activities, but she - much like myself - was an outcast that was frowned upon from the moment she stepped into the school due to our unique traits.

Everyone loathed Beverly due to their envy; she was the most developed girl in our grade so every girl just fantasized about being her or every guy went after her.

I, on the other hand, suffered from the miraculous mouth of an opinionated person, which to everyone translated that: I was an asshole who talked too much.

Despite my arrogant persona, Beverly was always the only girl nice to me growing up, so I never bothered to keep up with the topic of gossip when her name was involved.

Her kindness and genuine spirit caused a small smile to orchestrate itself upon my features as she grabbed her – now clean – backpack and began to exit the bathroom, holding the door for me to join.

We stalked down the unoccupied halls, the fluorescents transfixed to shadows peaking in dimly lit spaces.

At first, I was heavily conflicted in formulating a coherent mundane response to Beverly's offer, but once the ghost of a frown punctured her pretty face, my guilt persuaded me to take upon the challenge of developing a friendship, despite how difficult for me it would have to be.

"Okay, new buddy," I spoke with pure enthusiasm enveloping me. "I guess you're stuck with me this summer."

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Beverly had suggested that we bike around Derry for our first afternoon of summer. With piercing grins and contagious spurs of laughter, we began our journey to the bike rack.

I felt a sense of relief with the red-head, causing comfort to divulge through me in her presence.

Just as we trailed down a short flight of stairs, we were greeted by an occupied Ben Hanscom, engulfed by his earphones as he attempted to balance a project with one arm and his bike on the other.

I didn't know much about Ben, apart from the fact that he was new to Derry and that he was easily targeted by Henry Bowers and his gang of misfits—benefits of being the new kid.

He hadn't realized he was blocking the way until Beverly grasped his attention. "Are you gonna let us go by or is there a secret password or something?"

Ben's mocha irises gazed at Beverly longingly; his features grazing her as though she was dazzled in pigments of the sun.

I rolled my eyes as I wobbled his bike. "Earth to fucktard, we've got places to be instead of you eye fucking Beverly."

"Oh, um . . . sorry." He murmured, cheeks burning crimson red as he dropped his belongings on the ground in front of us.

Beverly sighed. "Sorry isn't a password."

Ben began to collect the remaining parts of his semi-destroyed project as we waited for him to clear the path to get our bikes.

Beverly glanced at him with a sympathetic expression painted upon her radiant features, "Henry and his goons are over by the west entrance, so you should be fine."

Ben appeared flustered, "oh—I wasn't . . ."

"Everyone knows he's looking for you," she stated in a matter-of-fact tone of voice.

Ben's eyes trailed to the ground, causing me to feel a pinch of guilt spill over my previous remark at him.

Beverly smiled as she got closer to him, removing his headphone from over his head. "What are you listening to?" She placed the headset over her own ears.

Ben's face was drenched in magenta as embarrassment flooded his features once Beverly recognized the song.

"New Kids on The Block?" She snickered.

"I don't even like them," Ben interjected. "I was just—"

"Yeah, because you weren't so entranced by them that you caused a traffic jam, right?" I reminded him in a mocking manner.

Beverly stared at him with amusement cascading her expression. "Wait, you're the new kid, right? Now I get it."

"There's nothing to get."

"I'm just messing with you," She placed the headphones back upon his head. "I'm Beverly Marsh."

"Yeah, I know that because we're in the same class; social studies," he mumbled. "You were . . . I'm Ben, but pretty much everyone just calls me—"

"The new kid," Beverly nodded her head, "well Ben, there are worst things to be called."

"Yeah, like eye rapist," I whispered under my breath, causing Beverly to puncture my arm with her elbow.

Beverly cheekily peeked into Ben's backpack to retrieve his yearbook as she declared that she'd sign it. She opened it to reveal that it was a blank canvas, causing the irritating guilt in me to build up further.

Beverly scribbled her name on the blank page, placing two hearts under her signature as Ben continued to shamelessly gaze at her.

I kicked his ankle to break him from the stare as he shirked in pain.

Beverly passed me his yearbook with the pen, my signature consisting of the words 'Stef Smith' and a little note.

"I know you have the hots for Bev, Hanscom. Stop eye fucking her and tell her."

I passed the yearbook back with satisfaction as Beverly and I made our way past him.

"Stay cool, Ben from soc class." Beverly grinned as we trailed away from him.

"Uh, yeah . . . you too, Beverly."

"Ben," I whispered towards him. "Take my advice and read what I wrote or I'll continue to call you out."

His eyes bulged as I caught up with Beverly to where our bikes were located.

"Hang tough, new kid on the block!" We shouted in unison from behind him, causing us to burst into fits of laughter.

From behind, we heard Ben speaking incoherently but still continued to laugh at the entire predicament.

We reached the Bike rack and unlocked both of our bikes, peddling away from the remains of Derry middle school to begin the journey of our newfound friendship.

Two outcasts, a small town, one summer—what could possibly go wrong?

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Thoughts so far?
I hope you guys enjoy my first Richie fanfic and leave me feedback!

—n.r