cue: confusion [IT FANFICTION]

b-b-b-billy and bird boy: fighting hate speech one locker at a time

The thin veil of mist surrounding Derry High felt more like a protection cast to fend off innocent elementary schoolers than anything. I was still trying to shrug the weight of the audition off, although in hindsight it was most likely nobody was talking about that.

In fact, I knew what most of the school would be talking about. I only prayed to God I wouldn't see pictures.

And, hell, I prayed that everybody will have forgotten about that already because there's no way theater kids have that much of a social influence anyway, right?

[AT THIS LINE, THE CROWD GOES SILENT, WONDERING WHY THIS ASSHOLE NEEDS TO BE SO GODDAMN ON THE NOSE ALL THE TIME.]

While I walked through the hallway, avoiding eye contact like my life depended on it, I couldn't help but notice several small crowds ahead, whose muttering and stolen looks were all directed to the same locker.

I slowly raised my gaze to follow the others' line of sight, all which pointed to a locker that thankfully did not belong to me. It was Richie's.

I found myself wondering if there were drugs in there or something, which would've have been too out of pocket considering Richie. But as the locker in question appeared in my line of sight, I quickly realized that was not the case.

My heart dropped as I took in the word on his locker, spelled in blaring red paint that was still dripping as though carved into his skin:

FAGGOT

I glared at everybody making eye contact with me as I quickened my pace, walking over to where Richie was casually standing with Eddie and Stanley.

"So, who the f-f-fuck did th-this?" I asked angrily, stepping in front of the locker. No matter what the whispering students wanted, they were not getting a show.

"I dunno. Doesn't really make a difference." Richie said with a grand shrug of his shoulders. He was playing nonchalant, but his adverted eyes and the way he adjusted his glasses said otherwise.

"Yes it does," Eddie said, his voice more tense than usual. "We have to do something about this, he can't keep being so—"

Richie cut Eddie off. "It really doesn't matter, okay? You of all people know I'm used by this by now." He was clearly trying to keep up the I don't care act, but his voice betrayed him, his real feelings spilling through with his raised tone.

"Doesn't mean it should be "normal" in the first place." Stanley said, his arms crossed.

"E-exactly." I said, acknowledging somewhere in the back of my mind that I had just agreed with him. I would deal with that later.

Richie ran a hand through his hair, looking more ashamed than anything. His voice was quieter now. "Look, guys, whatever you do, just don't make this bigger of a deal than it needs to be. I'm fine. Okay?" He stared at us for a second longer, before breaking eye contact and adjusting his glasses, muttering, "Just... I need to get to class."

Richie quickly began to weave through the crowd before disappearing entirely, leaving the rest of us behind.

"Rich." Eddie said in a warning tone before following closely after him, leaving me and Stanley to be silently pissed. Not at Eddie for leaving, or Richie for being uncomfortable, just pissed at Derry for being... well, Derry.

I kept up a scowl at anybody who glanced at the locker while walking by, and as the bell rang,

I heard Stanley half-mutter, "I really need to..."

I ignored him, expecting him to leave without saying anything like he always did. I dug through my backpack, carelessly searching before I finally pulled out antibiotic wipes, the kind we wiped down the table with before lunch every day. (For Eddie's sanity.) I wasn't sure if they could remove spray paint, but I sure as hell was going to try.