"I've realized that..." he started, then took a shaky breath. "Earlier today, when Stanley pulled you aside... seeing you two so close and secretive, I hated it." The words tumbled out in a rush. "I don't like how others make you smile..." He traile...
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°•°Vanessa's POV°•°
The boys were emptying their backpacks into a garbage can outside of school, a ritual of pure, symbolic freedom. Notebooks filled with half-finished homework and broken pencils were tossed with abandon.
"Best feeling ever!" Stan sighed, a genuine wave of relief washing over his features.
Richie shot him a sideways glance, a trademark grin spreading across his face. "Yeah, try tickling your pickle for the first time." He really had no filter. I rolled my eyes, but a laugh escaped my lips despite myself.
"Hey, what do you guys wanna do tomorrow?" Eddie asked. From the corner of my eye, I could feel his gaze fixed on me. A warm flush crept up my neck and into my cheeks. I focused intently on a crack in the pavement, suddenly finding it fascinating.
"I start my training," Richie announced, puffing out his chest.
"Wait, what training?" Eddie beat me to the question, his voice laced with the same confusion I felt.
"Street Fighter," Richie declared, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. A stunned silence fell over our group. We all just stared at him, our expressions a mixture of disbelief and pity.
"Is that how you wanna spend your summer? Inside of an arcade?" Eddie voiced the question we were all thinking.
"Beats spending it inside your mother. Oh!" Richie held his hand up, waiting for a high-five from Stan.
Stan merely looked at the offered hand and then back at Richie's expectant face, letting his own arm hang limply at his side. I gave Stan a sympathetic pat on the back. He was a saint for putting up with Richie's constant stream of filth.
"What if we go to the quarry?" Stan suggested, ever the pragmatist.
"Guys, we promised Bill we'd be going to the Barrens," I reminded them, my voice gentle but firm. We’d made a plan, a pact, really, a few days ago.
"Right," they mumbled in unison, a little chastised.
Eddie's attention, however, had been captured by something else. I followed his line of sight across the schoolyard.
"Betty Ripsom's mom," he said softly, not looking away.
The woman stood alone, her posture rigid, staring up at the school building as if it held a secret. A deep, aching sadness seemed to radiate from her.
"Is she really expecting to see her come out of that school?" Stanley asked, his voice hushed with a morbid curiosity.
"I don't know. As if Betty Ripsom's been hiding in Home Ec for the last few weeks," Eddie replied, his usual hypochondria replaced by a somber understanding. I nodded silently in agreement, a cold knot tightening in my stomach.
