mixtape (reddie)

Chapter 21

Shafts of sunlight come in through the hazy windowpanes, casting beams of gold across Beverly's freckled eyes. She swiftly shuffles through racks upon racks of clothes, her attention completely undivided by the world around her.

"You almost done yet, Bee?" Richie groans, leaning across a rack of clothes in exhaustion. He holds two bags on each wrist, the objects weighing his arms down heavily.

Beverly doesn't make Richie go shopping with her very often, but every once in awhile the Tozier household will get a call where the princess formally requests an escort to the ball. Richie would never dream of declining this offer, but he still hates every agonizing second of it.

For starters; he hates shopping to begin with. Beverly drags him along to thrift stores when she decides she needs new overalls, or her favorite dress sports a new stain. It's all she can afford, but Richie hates following her around the aisles and having to carry the stacks of clothes she piles into his arms. Even worse, he hates sitting outside the dressing room and telling her if an outfit looks good or not. He'd never tell her of this hatred, of course, but if she were to ask if he liked their shopping dates, he wouldn't be able to lie.

Second reason that he hates shopping; he doesn't like it when she starts picking on his own sense of clothing, telling him he needs a new pair of pants or his favorite shirt has got one too many holes in the material. Richie explains "It's rock and roll, babe." but she never understands. This leads to her making him try on new clothes, and he hates looking at his body. He knows he's tall, he knows he's lanky. He knows that he's pale and sickly, but you try putting meat on your bones when you can't afford to feed yourself because your parents can't be bothered to do so. Richie will avoid a naked mirror any chance he gets.

"I haven't even gotten to the blouses yet, Richie!" She exclaims.

"I'm bored, Beverly," he huffs in annoyance. It's true, he is bored, but he's mainly just bored of the fact that she's not talking. When she's in the zone, she's in the zone.

Bev pauses, looks up at Richie's pleading eyes, and says "Okay. Let's take a break. Wanna smoke?"

"God yes," he exhales. "I've been itching for a square all morning."

Beverly leads Richie up to the counter, where she drops off the pile of clothes and explains she's just going to step out for a moment. The cashier smiles at her and says to take her time, but most adults are sweet on Bev. She just has that personality.

As the two are walking out the door, Beverly says "What would you do without me, Richie?"

"Crash and burn," the boy does not hesitate to reply. They step into the closest alley, leaning up against the brick wall as Beverly hands him a cigarette. Not Winstons, but it'll do.

"So," Beverly says matter-of-factly. He can hear the atomic cherry bomb in her voice, and he knows that she's about to drop it down on him without warning. "How's Eddie?"

Boom. Cherry bomb.

"Dunno," Richie shrugs. "Am I supposed to be keeping track of the little shit?"

Beverly elbows his side and says "Beep beep. Talk nice about him, okay? I was just... curious as to how you guys were doing."

"Haven't seen him since..." Richie trails off, his mind resurfacing memories of falling asleep in a tent with Eddie's waist tucked up in his arms. Camping was warm and lovely, but what occurred in that tent has left Richie more than confused.

"Since we went camping?" Bev asks as if she can read his mind. "It was nice what you did for him. Really nice. I was shocked you had it in ya."

"I can be nice," Richie defends himself as he strikes a match against the wet brick. "You just don't do shit that is worth being nice about."