Chapter Text
Richie Tozier lay stretched out on his back, on top of his bed. His alarm had gone off ages ago. He knew he was going to be late, and he knew he shouldn’t be, as it was his first day of Sophomore year. But there he was, ‘resting his eyes’, as he called it. It was more like a dangerous game of trying not to fall asleep again in order to make it to first period on time, but also not being able to give up the idea of crawling back under the blankets and going back to bed.
It’s not like the idea of another school year was appealing.
Richie’s favorite time of the year was summer. He’d spend his days down at the arcade in the Aladdin, or hanging out with Stan and Bev, or spending hours being indecisive picking out what new tapes to get for his walkman with his ever-so limited money.
The school year was full of homework. And Henry Bowers shoving his head into a cluster of lockers. And detention. And Henry Bowers shooting spitballs at the back of his head in detention. And shitty school cafeteria food. And Henry Bowers throwing said shitty school cafeteria food—
Richie deemed the school year full of assholes. Henry Bowers the worst of them all.
He’d grown fine and accustomed to sticking with his two favorite, and only friends.
“LETS GO RICHIE, DON’T KEEP STAN WAITING!” His Mother yelled, banging on his door. Richie sat up with a jolt. He had, infact, fallen back asleep. Not that he’d admit it.
“IM ALMOST READY, MOM, GOD! IM BASICALLY OUT THE DOOR!” Richie yelled back, rolling out of his bed and putting on his glasses. He looked at his alarm clock to check the time. 7:03 am.
He was lying, of course. His hair was weirdly flat in the back from sleeping on it wet, he was wearing a tee shirt with Garfield on it that he was pretty sure he’d had since the sixth grade, pajama pants with holes worn in around his ankles, and his teeth weren’t brushed.
He really didn’t want to keep Stan waiting, though. That timely bastard.
Richie and Stan, having been friends since their elementary days, had always walked to school together, unless it was raining, in which they carpooled instead. This was simply because neither one wanted to brave the loud and cramped school bus at the hellish hour of the morning that it arrived at.
Knowing that Stan was probably almost out the door, Richie threw on a band tee (“The Who”) and jeans, rushed in and out of the bathroom (almost hitting his head on a cabinet, as he was lanky, and awkwardly tall), stuffed his feet into a pair of beat up Nikes, and practically ran out of his house.
“RICHIE!” His dad yelled out the door.
“What, Dad? Mom’s right i’m going to be late! Don’t you want me to get my education?” Richie groaned, stretching out the last word. He constantly found himself annoyed with his Dad, who it felt like was always annoyed with him, and his grades, and how loud he blasted his music.
“Yeah, I do. So take your backpack with you!”
Well shit.
He’d got Richie there, didn’t he.
Richie turned back around on his heels, running in to grab his backpack, mumbling a thank you to his dad, and slamming the front door shut behind him. He can’t hear the muffled yell of his father that follows though, as he puts his headphones on and presses play on his walkman.
When he reaches his street corner, ever so predictably waiting, is Stanley.
“Ah! Stanley. Good morning, old chum!” Richie says, in his awful British accent that he just loves to use, while taking off his headphones.
Stanley wrinkles his nose back at him. “Good morning, cut that out. It’s too early for this crap.” The two fall into their familiar walking pattern as they turn up the street.
“You’re just jealous you can’t do the accent!”
“Sure. I’m jealous Richie. We can go with that.”
Stan, even with constantly sounding annoyed at Richie, was one of the few people Richie knew actually wanted to be around him. The other was waiting for them down the street outside her building, wearing a short sleeved white lace top with jeans and black boots.
“Good morning miss Beverly Marsh! Stan’s jealous of me, but what else is new?” Richie said, smiling at her. Last year, when they’d started high school, she began joining her two friends on the walk to school, as the route to “Derry High school: Home of the Tigers”, passed her apartment building.
“I find that hard to believe.” She said, smiling back mischievously. Beverly pulled a lighter and a carton of cigarettes out of her bag, and joined them on the sidewalk.
“Come on Bev, lemme have one!” He said, reaching over as she snatched the box away and out of his reach.
“You guys do know it’s not even seven thirty yet? and you’re already gonna smoke?” Stan said to the pair, but it made no impact on Richie trying to grab the carton out of Beverley’s hands, nor did it make any on Bev trying to light her own whilst keeping them away from Richie.
Richie often found Stan to be the voice of reason, that nobody listened to.
“Find, but you owe me.” Bev said, passing him one, giving into his antics.
“Oh I knew you loved me!” Richie sang, lighting his own cigarette off Bev’s.
The group approached the school about 10 minutes later, seeing the familiar summer-tanned faces of the other highschool aged kids in Derry. A small town ment anybody new stuck out like a sore thumb. And boy did he.
Standing outside the side door of the building admits a crowd of kids, was a boy with dark hair and dark eyes, holding his schedule out and staring at it very intently. He wore a dark red polo shirt and cargo shorts, with the cleanest sneakers Richie had ever seen. And Richie’s been friends with Stan his entire life. Richie grimaced when he saw the boy holding his inhaler out. Right now? He looked like a prime target, just ready for Henry Bowers to come over and trample on.
Richie felt his heart skip a beat the moment he saw that kid. He would’ve denied it and taken it into the grave if you’d asked him right there and then, but he knew it was true nonetheless. He just didn’t know what it ment. But he knew he didn’t want to.
“Wonder if Henry’s seen him yet.” Stan said, shaking his head, mimicking Richie’s own thoughts.
“Probably not, he doesn’t have any bruises.” Bev joked. “Maybe we should go over and say something.”
“Are you guys kidding me? Look at the kid, he’s a loser! Do you want us to get picked on more than we already do?” Richie groaned. His heart was absolutely racing now. He thinks if he goes over to see that kid, he might just die. Why the fuck was his heart racing?!
“Richie, I hate to break it to you, but we’re losers too. It can’t be fun to be new, especially in a place like Derry. Besides, when did you ever care about what anybody thought of you?” Stan said, giving him a confused look.
Richie had nothing to say to that one again, just how he’d been defeated by his father in their daily argument by forgetting his backpack.
So, Richie soon found himself standing in front of the kid with Bev and Stan, praying for his heart to return to a normal pace.
“Hey, you’re new here, right? I’m Beverly, this is Stan and Richie!” She said, and the boy lowered his schedule and gave a small smile.
“I’m Eddie. And yeah, I’m new.” He turned over to Richie, and gave him a funny look. “Do you know you’re wearing two different shoes right now?”
Richie’s mouth dropped open and he looked down. Sure enough, he did not shove his feet into a pair of Nikes this morning, but instead two different ones, that very obviously clashed.
With a bruised ego, Richie racked his brain for something to respond with, but the bell rang, cutting him off before he could defend his honor. Eddie turned and walked into the building, focus back on his schedule, leaving the trio outside.
“What. An. Asshole.” Richie grumbled, pushing forward into the school. “That’s the last time I’m letting you two convince me to ‘make a new friend!’ or whatever that was.”
“It’s true, you know! It’s not like he lied!” Bev laughed.
“Didn’t even wait for us, Bev! Just saw an opportunity to rip on me, and left! You know what, that’s fine. He can get bullied alone, see if I care!”
“I’m seeing it.” Stan mumbled.
Richie walked to class alone that morning.