Mixtape

9

9

For the first time in over a year, Richie does not crawl out of his window to meet up with Beverly Marsh. He wonders if she's waiting, looking at her watch impatiently, and he wonders if she's going to give up easily or persevere through the night.
Instead, Bill Denbrough sits in the middle of Richie's (now clean) bed. He's playing with the Rubix cube that Richie forgot he owned, while Stan and Rich sort through the box of tapes that Stanley brought with him.
"Hey, uh, thanks for this," Richie mumbles, adjusting the glasses on his face.
"You're welcome," Bill smiles, the simple sounds of the Rubix Cube shifting around. Plastic on plastic.
"Needed a way to get rid of these tapes," Stanley shakes his head. "What's better than a trashcan? Richie Tozier seemed like the next best thing."
"Oh, sure, trash the trashmouth," Richie scoffs. He stands up from the floor, heading over to his desk and opening the top drawer. Once pulling out his pack of cigarettes, he saunters over to the window and takes a seat in the frame. Neither of the two say anything, so Richie hangs out the window and smokes patiently.
"Have you heard from Eddie?" Stan asks.
Richie lifts his head, looking over his shoulder and raising an eyebrow at the skinny boy.
Richie had called the Denbrough house immediately after school, his shaking voice asking if Bill wanted to spend the night. Currently, Richie's parents are out of town, and Rich hates being in this house all alone. Bill said yes, and then called back ten minutes later. Stan wanted to come with, and Richie couldn't say no. The two were on Richie's doorsteps only a mere fifteen minutes later, holding sleeping bags and a box of cassette tapes as a welcoming gift.
Richie did everything he could to make the two comfortable, making microwave popcorn and bringing cans of soda up whenever they slurped the last of their previous cola. Richie had never had guests over, not even Beverly. He wanted Bill and Stan to have fun, but more predominantly, Richie wanted them to like him.
"N-No," Bill's voice answers, so Richie's heart relaxes. He has a paralyzing, irrational fear of Eddie's friends discovering the thoughts that circle around Richie's mind when he thinks of polkadot noses. "He hasn't g-gotten permission from his mmmm-m-mother yet."
"She'll never give him permission," Stanley whines. "She'll have a stroke the second he asks her."
"Asks her what?" Richie turns around in the window frame. He holds his arm far out, careful to not let any of the smoke billow into his bedroom with the wind. Just because his parents aren't home doesn't mean the smell of nicotine doesn't linger.
"We were all planning to go camping. Do you want to come with?" Stanley informs him.
Richie scoffs, looking over at his desk, feeling the hurt impact him roughly. Still, his exterior hardens, and he spits out "What, a pity invite?"
"No?" Stan responds. "It hadn't come up until now. Do you want to come or not?"
Richie feels his cheeks burn, finally meeting someone who doesn't put up with his bullshit the way that Beverly does. Bev. A pang of guilt eats at him when he imagines her shaking in the cold, waiting for the boy that will never show up.
"Um... I've never gone camping before," Richie timidly admits. Nobody has ever invited him.
"It-It-It's fun," Bill chimes in, letting out an excited chirp when he completes one side of the Rubix Cube. "No adult s-supervision... get t-t-to stay up as long as w-w-we want..."
"We're doing that now, genius," Richie comments, taking one last drag from his cigarette before stubbing it out on the side of the rose trellis and letting it drop to the ground below.
"I know," Bill says. "B-B-But it's more fun in the woods."
Richie sighs, telling himself to ease up and stop acting so defensive. He's trying to befriend these two, not give them an ass beating.
"Okay," Richie says. "Sounds cool, I guess. When?"
"N-Next weekend. Not this weekend, buh-but next," Bill tells him.
Richie nods, clambering back into his bedroom and reclaiming his spot on the floor next to Stan. He takes some of the tapes in his hands, flipping through the labels with a mild sense of satisfaction on his face. For an OCD loser, Stanley has an impressive taste in music.
"I'll be there. You sure?" Richie asks, then punches his leg for being so insecure and pathetic. Neither of the two see it, and if they do, they don't mention it.
"Wouldn't invite you if we didn't want you to come," Stanley says, mumbling the same words that Eddie told him just last weekend.
Richie laughs, actually laughs, and leans over to hit Stanley's shoulder. The noodle boy rubs his arm, but otherwise continues sorting tapes.
"H-Hey Richie?" Bill asks, his hands coming to a halt on the Rubix Cube. Richie looks up at him curiously, tilting his head to the side and urging the nervous boy to go on. "H-H-How do you dress s-so c-c-cool?"
Richie looks down at his clothes; a Guns 'n' Roses shirt hidden beneath a baggy flannel. He's never thought of himself as a particularly nice dresser, he just wears what he thinks he's comfortable, or whatever will fit his long figure.
"Don't you know? Richie digs in Macy's dumpsters," Stan giggles, causing Richie to roll his big eyes.
"Whatever, at least I don't shop at the Gap," Richie quips. "Honestly, Bill, if you wanna raid my closet, go ahead."
"R-Really?" Bill's eyes widen in surprise, caught off guard by Richie Tozier's unusual giving personality. From all the rumors he heard around school, he never would have assumed that Richie would be so... kind.
"Sure, go for it. Have a fashion show. You too, Stan," Richie waves the two off, completely unbothered by the idea of giving two strangers his wardrobe.
So, thus commences the ridiculous runway of Bill and Stan trying on every article of clothing hanging up in Richie's closet. Most of the outfits are awful, gag-worthy, hot messes, but every once in awhile Stan will find a pair of jeans that look better on him than they do Rich, or Bill will pair a windbreaker with a shirt that Richie forgot he owned.
Richie sits on his bed, which has been renamed the judges table, and laughs when Stanley pulls an awful neon shirt on over his head.
"Stanley Uris, negative three hundred points!" Richie declares. When Bill walks out wearing Richie's tightest black pants and a jean jacket, Richie whistles. "Now that's a man! I reward you with the three hundred points that Stan just lost."
"That's not fair! Anything looks cool with a jean jacket," Stan complains.
Richie shakes his head, reaching over to flip the tape that is playing in his boombox. The song makes him think of Eddie, but then again, everything does. Richie saw a butterfly hair clip on the floor of the arcade and thought about the way that Eddie's eyelashes flutter against his cheeks every time he blinks up at the chalkboard in class.
"D-D-Do you think Beverly w-would think so?" Bill asks, then quickly shoots an alarmed look at Richie as if he remembers who he is standing in front of. "I mean, uh, n-n-never mind."
"Do you have a crush on Beaver-ly?" Richie laughs tauntingly. "You seriously got a crush on that nerd?"
"S-Shut up," Bill says but he still smiles. "S-She's pretty."
"She's a complete dork," Richie remarks, lying down on his bed and staring at his ceiling. She's a dork, yeah, but Richie loves her with everything that he is.
"She's not pretty, she's beautiful," Stan corrects Bill, causing Richie to look over at the two in disbelief.
"Both of you?!" He asks.
"No, I don't see her like that," Stan sits in Richie's desk chair, his posture straight and proper. "I can recognize beauty without being attracted to it."
"Is that so?" Richie leans on his side, propping his head up with his hand.
"Mhm," Stan says matter-of-factly.
"Hm," Richie's attention drifts away, images of crooked smiles and cough syrup floating across his eyes.
"S-She's pretty, but I would n-n-never do that to Ben. He l-luh-loves her," Bill says, sitting down on the pile of blankets that Richie has pulled from every cupboard in his house.
"We're only fifteen," Stan says.
"D-Doesn't mean we can't fall in l-love."
Richie smiles again, but then quickly wipes it off his face. "What about Eds? Heard he's got a crush on Greta Bowie."
"Ugh, don't say her name," Stan shakes his head.
"What does he even see in her?" Richie asks defensively.
"T-Two C-C-C cups," Bill snickers.
"Gross, Bill!" Stan kicks at the air in Bill's direction. The stuttering boy grins harder at Stan, just to spite the other one.
"That's it? Wow," Richie scoffs, lying flat on his back and resuming his ceiling-staring. "Eddie Kaspbrak is shallow."
"He's not," Stan then says, his tone softer. "He's... hm. How do I put this? Bill, could you help me out?"
"H-He's attracted to the p-p-people who treat him p-poorly. He... he d-doesn't think he deserves any buh-better."
Richie's heart breaks. Is that why he's so nice to Richie? Because Richie is a fucking ass?
"That sucks," Richie says quietly.
"Maybe one day he'll get a good girlfriend," Stan says.
"N-Nobody... nobody is g-good enough for Eddie," Bill says honestly. "Eddie is rare. No g-g-girl could compare."
"You talk awfully highly of him," Richie mentions.
The chair that Stan is sitting on squeaks as he swivels towards the direction of Richie's bed. He says, with certainty in his voice "Its only the truth. Don't you think so too?"
"No, no, yeah, Eddie's great," Richie agrees, a small smile spreading across his face. "Eddie is... he's great."
"Yeah, really g-great," Bill confirms.
There's a silence over the room as everyone sits and contemplates just how great Eddie Kaspbrak is, one boy thinking more fondly than the rest. Bill reaches over and picks the Rubix Cube back up, resuming his puzzle, while Richie remains lost in his thoughts.
It's that very second that Richie is hit with the realization that he is making friends. No, he has friends. Plural. More than one, more than just Bev. This is how normal teenagers typically spend their nights, surrounded with people who make them laugh. This epiphany makes Richie smile so hard that he has to hide his face behind a pillow as Bill and Stan continue their conversation.
"Richie!" Stan gets the dreamer's attention.
"Sorry, what?" Richie pulls the pillow away from his face.
"W-We wanted to know if you wanted to eat lunch with us and t-the other losers on M-Mon-Monday," Bill repeats his question.
The feeling of having friends only spreads, leaving Richie with a soft, limp mush inside of him.
"I'd love that, yeah. Are you sure?" He asks, and then holds a finger up when he sees Bill open his mouth. "You wouldn't have invited me  if you didn't want me to come, I get it."
The three boys crack up laughing and spend the rest of their night making jokes and talking about their school classes. At one point, Stan talks Richie into doing some accents and impressions, which Bill finds absolutely hilarious. Richie isn't very good at it, he still sounds exactly like himself, but it makes the two boys in his room laugh so hard that for a split second the house doesn't feel as empty. Almost as if it's a home, a real one.
Bill and Stan fall asleep by the foot of Richie's bed despite the fact that he insisted one of them sleep on the mattress. They both declined, and then unrolled their sleeping bags gleefully. It seems normal to them, comfortable, even, and Richie wonders how many times the two sleep over at one another's house. And then, with the pressure of feeling accepted, he wonders how many more times they will stay over at his.
The thought of it makes him smile.