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"YOU ARE SO dead, Trashmouth!" Summer laughed, watching Richie frantically press buttons on the street fighting game in an attempt to fight his digital opponent. He was losing, but making a valiant attempt to pound his rival.
"Shut up, skirt! I'm fuckin' concentrating!" He snapped back, and Summer grinned. There were plenty of worse ways to spend a bright August day than in an arcade with Richie, watching the boy fight his way through Mortal Kombat. She wasn't bad at Pac-Man, but fighting games were lost on her.
The bell over the door jangled. "R-Richie! Summer!"
Summer froze, turning to see stuttering Bill Denbrough in the door, slowly approaching. She sent him a glare. If looks could kill, he would have fallen down dead.
"Fuck off," she spat, and turned back to Richie, who spoke up as well.
"What do you want?" He asked harshly, not waiting for an answer before continuing. "See that guy I'm hitting?" He had somehow regained his own in the fight, and was now dropping kicking his opponent. "I'm pretending it's you."
"Guys!" Bill exclaimed. Summer swivelled her eyes to the auburn haired boy again. "It got Beverly."
Summer's blood turned to ice. If she had froze before, now she was crystallized. "What did you say?" Her voice was loud.
"What do you mean?" Richie asked, oblivious.
"It, Richie! It got Beverly!"
At this, Richie turned, letting the CPU knock o ut his character. Summer barely registered the "FINISH HIM!" coming from the game. She was shaking now. When she spoke, her voice was low and dangerous.
"Let's go. Now."
The three of them converged onto Bill's street, Summer holding Jesse's old metal baseball bat, stolen from the shed behind his house, and shooting ahead of the boys on bikes, riding her skateboard on adrenaline and faint panic.
They pulled to a stop, and Bill ducked inside. A couple minutes later, he returned, and told them, "W-wait."
And sure enough, bare minutes later, two bikes came racing down the street. Atop one was a very pale Ben, and on the other was Eddie.
Summer's heart nearly punched it's way out of her chest, as she stared at the boy, pedaling with one arm, the other in a cast. As he pulled to a stop, his eyes locked with hers, and as soon as he dismounted the bike, she dropped the bat and ran at him, any doubts or thoughts flying clean out of her head with one glance at his nervous face.
She wrapped him tightly in a hug, leaving his broken arm free, and she felt his arms grab her back, returning the tight embrace as she rested her shaky body against his.
