Mixtape

13

13

"Mr. Tozier, you must realize that this is your third strike for fighting on school property, yes?" The principal, Mr. Vaughn, stares down his nose as if Richie is a piece of dirt contaminating his immaculate office.
"Mhm," Richie stares out the window next to him, slumped down in the chair, defeat running his body ragged.
"And Mr. Bowers, you said that he was the one who started it?"
Henry Bowers, sitting in the chair next to Richie, pathetically cries out "Yes! You can ask my friends, too, they all saw it! He just started attacking me for no reason, sir. I think he's mental."
Richie's fist tightens around the arm of the chair, but he remains staring out of the window with a fixated gaze that can't be intercepted by anything else on earth.
"While I do believe you, it is still our school policy to issue a detention to anybody who engages in physical fights, whether or not it's self defense, so I regret to inform you that you'll be serving detention this Friday with Mr. Tozier."
"I understand, sir," Bowers says in his faux voice. Richie knows his manipulation tactics all too well, but there's no point in even trying to argue his side of the story. The adults in this town never listen anyhow.
"Now, Richie, because it is your third strike, I have no other choice but to send a letter home to your parents. They will need to come in and have a session with me and a counselor to get to the bottom of your anger issues," Vaughn says. Richie's heart hardens at the mention of his parents, but he doesn't have time to decline the meeting. "As for your relationship with Mr. Bowers here, I would like both of you to write a letter to each other apologizing for what you've done and the pain you have inflicted. I will be reading over it, and I advise that you don't turn anything in unless it's more than three pages. Is that understood?"
"Yes sir," they both say in unison, although Richie's is less enthusiastic as Henry's ass-kissing tone.
"Then you are to be dismissed. Get a pass from the secretary and return to class immediately. No dilly-dallying in the halls, boys."
Richie and Henry stand up, and as Richie gathers his bag from the chair, he watches the way that Henry shakes the principal's hand. Fucker.
Neither of the two grab a pass, just exit through the left door and quickly leave the office as fast as possible.
"Did you fucking snitch, Tozier? Did you fucking rat me out?" Henry growls, approaching Richie closely.
"Right, because that's a genius move," Richie rolls his eyes. "Seriously, Hen. Use your fucking brain. Why the fuck would I snitch on myself?"
Henry backs down for a second, but his anger doesn't subside. It never really does, but Richie has learned to ignore it.
"Do you think they'll come?" Henry asks. Richie's pace slows down in the hall, and for the first time since he was called into the office, he finally looks at Henry. Sure Richie's face is bad, but Henry's got bruises that make him feel proud of his right hook.
"No," Richie says honestly. He hates that Henry even asked, but he hates the fact that Henry knows how Richie's parents are in the first place. "When have they ever given a shit about me enough to discuss my anger?"
Henry laughs, just slightly, and for a moment, it feels real again. It doesn't feel like high school, and it doesn't feel like Richie is taller than Henry, and it doesn't feel like November. Just for that brief second, as the two stand in the hall after getting their asses chewed out, it is fourth grade again when Richie and Henry saw each other everyday. Back then, the two used to fight for fun. Roughhousing. It's what boys did.
But then fifth grade came, and Henry no longer wanted to just roughhouse.
Richie shakes his head, bringing himself back to reality, which is, they aren't friends and this isn't anything but high school.
"Sorry about your glasses," Henry laughs again, but it's not as genuine this time. He must be thinking about it too.
"It's fine," Richie shrugs, shoving his hands into his pockets. He looks up at Henry through the massive crack in the lenses, and he says "Don't care. They'll get fixed eventually. Sorry 'bout your eye."
Henry grins. "Don't care. It'll heal eventually."
It all feels far too friendly for Richie, so, before the two can relapse into their old ways, Richie asks "You got a cigarette to spare?"
Henry gives him the pack, which would normally not happen if he weren't feeling so nostalgic. Richie has that effect on him. Nobody else does.
"Cheers, mate," Richie does his terrible British accent, the one that always made Henry laugh. This time, he doesn't laugh. He doesn't even smile. The fond filter that lingers from memories must have worn off, the coldness of reality creeping back into their hearts. "Listen, Bowers. You and your gang can continue on doing whatever it is you do, but you leave Eddie Kaspbrak and his friends alone."
"Aw, don't want your little boyfriend to get hurt?" Henry sneers.
"You of all people should know that I don't swing that way," Richie defends himself. Henry stiffens up, drawing his fist back, but Richie waves him off tiredly. He doesn't have time to fight, not now. "Just give the kids a break, for fucks sake."
Henry pauses, considering the options and Richie's proposition. After reaching a conclusion, he says "I'll let Bill slide. I heard about his brother."
"And...?" Richie trails off, waiting for Henry to finish the sentence.
"And that's it, you fucking waste. Not going to stop having fun because you decided to make friends with the geeks and queers," Henry steps closer to Richie, trying to look as intimidating as he can despite the fact that Richie is much taller.
"Alright, fine. Bill," Richie nods, lifting his head up as the bell rings and class doors begin to open. Henry looks as if he's been caught, desperate to get away so he won't be seen with Richie Tozier of all people. Before he can slip off, however, Richie reaches out to grab Henry by the front of his shirt. He lowers his head, making sure that his mouth is so close to Henry's ear that he won't be misheard, and he threatens. "And Eddie Kaspbrak. Leave those two alone, Bowers, or I will fucking bring your dead body to your father's doorstep and explain what kind of person his son has become."
Henry backs away in fear, his eyes wide and chin quivering. Richie and Henry have known each other for their entire life, and not once has Richie ever been so threatening. Why the fuck does he care about Eddie Kaspbrak so much? The two aren't even friends.
"Whatever, Tozier. I'll tell the others not to hit your faggot fucking boyfriend," Henry tries to act tough but is failing miserably.
"Aw, how kind of you," Richie smiles sickly. "Off you go, then."
Henry scurries away quickly, getting lost in the sea of people. As Richie takes a step back, he bumps into someone and turns to apologize.
"Sor- Eds?"
Eddie is standing behind Richie, his eyes wide with fear. "What were you doing talking to Henry Bowers? Is he going to kill you? Are you in danger, Richie?"
The genuine concern written on the boy's face makes Richie's heart warm with affection. He forgets all about the insults that Eddie spit at him this morning, his mind focusing solely on the sheer fear Eddie is feeling for Richie's safety.
Richie throws an arm around Eddie, and the two start walking down the hall. "No, Eds, he's not going to kill me. And he's not going to bother you anymore, alright? You're safe now."
"The fuck did you say to him?" Eddie looks up at Richie's swollen face.
"Just a few words," Richie shrugs. The two abruptly stop, and as he watches Eddie start twisting a lock, he leans against the locker next to the smaller boy. "Nothing major. If he - or any of his gang - give you shit from now on, I want you to tell me."
"...Alright, Rich," Eddie says apprehensively. "You're kinda scaring me, dude."
"Nah," Richie shakes his head.
Eddie opens his locker, and Richie's eyes automatically fall onto the pharmacy the boy has stashed inside. Prescription bottles and vitamins gummies take up the entire top shelf, leaving no space for notebooks or supplies. Eddie kneels down to retrieve an algebra book, and when he does so, he reveals the singular picture taped to the inside of Eddie's locker.
Richie, two cigarettes on his nostrils, goofy smile on his face. The same photo that went missing from his wall last night. Eddie kept it? And nonetheless, taped it inside of his locker when he got to school this morning? Richie could die right this second and he would die completely euphoric and happy.
Eddie stands up, and with these butterfly wings sticking to the inside of his chest, Richie finds the courage to ask "Do you want to skip? We could... we could go down to the movies, or walk by the quarry. Anything you wanna do, y'know. Let's just... let's go. Just us."
Eddie looks at him like he's crazy. "Are you serious? It's the middle of the school day. I can't just leave. Do you know how much trouble I would get in?"
"I-I know," Richie's smile falters, and the butterflies quickly turn to moths. "I just thought it could be fun."
"All you ever do is think about fun," Eddie scoffs, "I can't just leave school and still get perfect grades like you, Richie. My mom would have a heart attack if they called home. Not all of us have parents that don't care whether or not we're at school."
These words hit Richie harder than Eddie intended them. Richie takes a step back, his arms coming up to cross over his chest as if protecting himself from Eddie's painful little daggers. The dread that rushes through him makes his limbs feel heavy, like his bones were soaked in concrete. He feels nauseous, and as he shakes his head, he can't seem to stop thinking you fucking waste. Even your parents don't care. Fucking garbage.
"Richie, hey, I didn't mean it-" Eddie reaches out to touch Richie, but the tall boy quickly pulls away and lets out a sound of frustration.
"God, no, it's fine! It's fine, fuck," the side of Richie's fist hits the locker next to them, creating an echo of shivering noises. "It's fucking fine, Eddie. Whatever. Go, go to class."
"Richie, wait," Eddie pulls on his sleeve, but Richie shakes his arm free and starts moving down the hall. He expects Eddie to chase after him, but he's glad that he doesn't. Richie doesn't want to deal with him right now, not with all his confusion and mixed signals. One second, they're holding hands and Eddie is telling Richie all about how he wants to fall in love, but the next moment, Eddie is only reminding Richie of how shitty his life is. Richie doesn't want to deal with it, no pretty boy is worth this much.
"Trashmouth!"
Richie's blood stiffens, and he turns on his heel as if he's ready to pummel Eddie's face for following him anyway. Instead, Stan's curly hair bounces through the crowd as he fights to get through, his skinny arms pushing people aside until he finally reaches Richie, out of breath.
"Hey, I was looking for you," Stan says.
Richie's fists loosen up, his ears perking up. Someone was looking for him? Why him? What for? "You were?"
"Yeah," Stan nods, "I was just going to wait until lunch, but I didn't know if you were going to sit with us again. What are you doing this weekend?"
"Uh... nothing," Richie replies.
"Do you like birds?"
"Birds?" Richie asks, his face twisting up in confusion.
"Yeah, birds," Stan nods eagerly. "Like, local birds? And non-native birds? Migration patterns?"
"You lost me, Stan."
"Well, Bill and I were going to have a picnic down in Derry square and then hike the trail so we could go bird-watching. Do you want to come?" Stan asks.
Richie's heart cannot take this back and forth with his emotions. He wants to feel happy, to let his chest swell with the idea of being wanted, but Eddie's words are wrapped around his lungs and won't allow him to feel the excitement.
"Sure, Stan," Richie nods. "I would really like that. Are you sure?"
"Wouldn't have invited you if I didn't want you to come," Stan laughs.
Richie cracks a smile, some of his bad feelings falling away. "Hey, do you wanna skip? I want to skip. What class do you have next?"
"I've got a massive test in history today," Stan says apologetically, "Aren't you worried about missing it?"
"I can make it up," Richie shrugs. "You sure you don't wanna ditch?"
"I would if I could, Richie," Stan promises him. Something in his expression screams honesty, so Richie believes him. Unlike Eddie, Stan rejected Richie in a civil, humane way. No harsh words, no mean comments. "Oh, but you know who would love to?"
"Bill? Ben? Beverly?" Richie asks.
"No, no, Mike," Stan says. The bell rings, and instead of rushing off like the rest of the population, Stan remains still. "He's homeschooled, he works out on the farm just out of town. He's always looking for ways to get out of work. Do you want to call him?"
"Sure," Richie says, desperate to be with anybody. He hates being alone, especially since this day has already turned as sour as spoiled milk.
Stan pulls a pad of sticky notes from his breast pocket and a pen from his khakis, then uses his leg to write down a neat order of numbers. He peels the sticky note off, pasting it onto Richie's forehead, and then giving the taller boy a farewell smile.
"See you 'round, trashmouth!" Stanley calls out as he's halfway down the hall.
Richie reaches up, smiling like an idiot as he reads the numbers printed down. He lifts his head, replying "Stan the man, you're a lifesaver!"
Nobody stops Richie from walking right on out of the school. No teachers call after him, no students tattle, no adults who live nearby report him, nobody cares. Richie tries to ignore this fact, just walking down to the nearest payphone and punching in the digits that Stanley has recorded.
It rings four times, and halfway through the fifth, a voice interrupts. "Hanlon's farm, who is this?"
Richie can hear the authority in the voice, so he quickly comes up with a fake posh voice and says "Mmmyes, hello, good afternoon Mr. Hanlon, I represent a small group of entrepreneurs in city hall and we are taking a survey of all adolescent kids in Derry. Is there a Michael Hanlon home?"
There's a pause so long that Richie is convinced he didn't pull it off. Then, just as he's about to hang up, he hears "Mike! Some city hall person wants to talk to you! Get your ass down here, boy!"
Moments later, Mike's comforting voice is on the phone. Richie noticed how smooth he talked when they first met, but he didn't realize how homely it was until he says "Hello, sir. This is Michael Hanlon speaking."
"Mike! It's me, Richie," Richie grins. He instantly feels better, just from getting attention that he usually lacks. "Do you wanna hang out?"
"Hang out? It's eleven in the morning, Richie, don't you have school?" Mike asks.
This does not discourage Richie in the slightest. "Hell yeah I do. You wanna go to the Aladdin and sneak in?"
Mike is quiet for a second, and then he says "Meet me outside the Derry library."
"Oh, fuck yeah," Richie laughs, hanging up the receiver and feeling weight float off of him. He's gotten invited to bird watching and successfully managed to hang out with someone in one day, so he must not be as annoying as he originally thought. Eddie Kaspbrak is just a fleeting thought.
Richie walks across town to the library, taking a seat on top of the steps so he has a better view to watch out for Mike. He doesn't wait long, just twenty minutes, before the familiar friend is riding up on his bike and skidding to a halt in front of the staircase. Richie smiles, bounding down the steps and greeting the virtual stranger with a hug. He feels so attached to Mike in this moment, the one person who would hang out with a kid he barely knows. He thinks that says a lot about Mike; how he's kind hearted and sees the good in everybody. He doesn't care who you are or what reputation you've got, he still will take a chance to become your friend. Richie is grateful for that.
"Where to?" Richie asks excitedly, "Movies? We can sneak in through the back door. The arcade? The arcade sounds fun."
Mike smiles, a twinkle in his eyes, and says "I know a place. Hop on."
Richie looks at him in confusion, but when Mike gestures towards the heavy duty basket attached to the front of the bike, he doesn't hesitate to climb in. His awkward, lanky legs dangle out the side, but Mike just chuckles and begins pedaling down the street as if he's not carrying Richie's weight as well. To Michael, this is nothing. He makes deliveries heavier than Richie, he's used to having a little weight in his basket.
Mike takes Richie around Derry and shows him places that Richie didn't know a thing about. He shows Richie statues and explains who they are and why they're built there, and landmarks with such significance that Richie would have never guessed. They ride alongside the river, turning around and looping back before they can enter the Barrens, and Richie doesn't think he's ever felt as wild and free than he does when he is riding down rocky hills with Mike Hanlon.
The two hit a pebble in the road, causing the bike to sputter to a stop and flip forward. For a second, when they're airborne and the world seems to slow down, Richie catches Mike's eyes and he bursts into a laugh that does not sync up properly with the sluggish speed they've been reduced too.
Richie's jeans rip at the knees, and he tumbles and rolls farther than Mike does. The stronger one of the two immediately sits up and comes to Richie's side, asking "Are you okay?"
Richie looks up at Mike, a smug grin on his face, scratches and cuts littering his face. Mike looks concerned, and in that second, Richie could kiss him. The boy doesn't realize how starved for attention he is until he's finally shown an ounce of a spotlight. He craves more, but for now, all he can do is nod and accept Mike's hand as they stand to their feet.
Mike drives Richie home, the lanky boy sitting in the basket and tilting his head back to watch the sky. His eyes travel from his torn jeans and bleeding knees, over to Mike's arms and each protruding muscle, up to his face and how the sun creates a halo behind his head. The light blinds Richie, and he can't notice much about Mike's features except for his strong jawline and full lips.
"Hey, Mike?" Richie asks.
In the quiet neighborhood that they're pedaling through, his voice sounds like a thunderstorm rolling in from the east.
"Yeah?"
"Do you think we're friends?" Richie asks. Insecure.
"Of course we are, Richie. We just had a grand day, didn't we?" Mike responds, looking down at Richie's magnified owl eyes.
"Yeah," Richie mumbles, his head rolling to the side to watch the street. The perfect suburban lawns and their white picket fences all pass by in a blur. "Thank you for it, by the way. I really needed it."
"Me too," Mike says, and for a second, he lets go to push some of the hair out of Richie's face. "You need a haircut, chap."
"Oi oi, who d'ya think ya are, tellin' me's to get a haircut, mate?" Richie's accent gets worse with each word that he speaks.
Mike laughs anyway, and he says "I didn't know you could do that, Rich."
They turn down Richie's street, and knowing that he's only returning to an empty home, he sets his head back on the brim of the basket and returns to staring at the sky. The clouds move without care, and Richie wonders what it would be like to be floating up there with them. God, what he wouldn't give to just... float.
"Oh, look! Eddie is here!" Mike exclaims happily, clearly excited to see his friend. "I wonder if he wants to hang out too?"
Richie sits up, nearly toppling out of the basket and sending Mike into an imbalance. Richie squints his eyes, and sure enough, little Eddie Kaspbrak is waiting on the front porch again. Is this going to be their routine?
"God," Richie sighs, feeling the bump as Mike moves his bike over the curb to get to the sidewalk.
"Richie!" Eddie calls out, and just the voice gives Richie goosebumps.
When Mike comes to a complete stop, Richie slowly lifts himself out of the basket and retrieves his bag from where it was hanging off of one of the handlebars. In his peripheral vision, he can see Eddie running down the sidewalk towards them, but Richie chooses to turn towards Mike instead.
"Here, I wrote my phone number down in case you ever want to do that again," Richie hands over the same stickynote that Stan gave him, now with Mike's number scribbled out and replaced with the Tozier landline. "I had a lot of fun today. Do you think you can take me out to the farm next time?"
"Yeah! That sounds great, Rich. I can show you my favorite donkey," Mike smiles so bright that it makes the sun look pale in comparison.
"Hey, man, your favorite jackass is standing right here. Don't need to see no donkey," Richie jokes. Eddie has reached them now, his persistent tiny hands clenching onto Richie's jacket with no regards to Mike. Richie pretends like he doesn't notice, only says "Well, I'll see you around, Mike Hanlon."
"I await more calls from the city hall!" Mike laughs, mounting his bike and waving one last time before turning down the street and pedaling away.
Richie turns on his heel, walking down the sidewalk to get to his house, still not taking notice of the boy begging his name.
"Are you seriously ignoring me? Dude, come on, look at me," Eddie says.
Richie glances over just to shut him up. When he does so, Eddie's face changes from annoyed to curiosity.
"For fuck's sake, Rich, what the hell were you doing?" Eddie clasps onto the sides of Richie's face, pulling him down to Eddie's height so that the emergency first-aid kit wielder can inspect the scrapes from flipping over the bike.
"Fell off the bike," Richie mumbles, his cheeks squished together under Eddie's hands.
"You've gotta be careful!" Eddie scolds him, taking hold of Richie by the wrist and dragging them back to the Tozier residence. "Are you sure? Was it Henry Bowers? Did he do this to you?"
"Henry Bowers is a coward," Richie mumbles. Eddie stops and looks back at him, but otherwise continues leading Richie right up to the front door. As Richie unlocks it, he catches sight of the watch on his wrist and realize that it's still school hours. "Eds, you know you're supposed to be in class."
"I know. I left in the middle of fourth hour because I couldn't stop thinking about you sitting at home alone. Guess I was wrong, I've been waiting out here for two hours, you know," Eddie frowns, shoving Richie by the shoulder. "And don't call me that."
"You didn't have to do that, Eds," Richie smiles. "Mikey boy was more than enough company."
Eddie shrinks down on himself, pausing when Richie finally unlocks the door. "Should I go home, then?"
Richie gives him a look that says he's talking nonsense, reaching out to pull on Eddie's hand. "Never said that, dweeb."
Eddie smiles and pushes Richie into the bathroom, saying "Are we making a routine of this, Richie Tozier?"
"Looks like," Richie digs out the cigarettes that he got from Bowers, putting one between his cut up lips and lighting it without any regards to the smell lingering in the house. He doesn't know when his parents will be home, but he has a feeling it won't be soon.
"That's gross, you know. Your lungs are going to shrivel and turn black, Richie. Black!" Eddie says, watching as Richie persistently smokes anyway. "I hate the smell of anything but Camels. Cigarette smoke smells so much worse when it's not... when it's not the smoke you grew up smelling, you know?"
"Your mom smokes?" Richie asks, a chuckle escaping his lips.
Eddie plasters another bandaid across Richie's face, his brows knitting together. "No. My dad did."
"Where's daddy-o now, eh?" Richie does his best Canadian accent.
"He passed when I was just a kid," Eddie's voice softens down to a honeysuckle whisper. He doesn't look sad, no, just more forlorn than anything. This is a pain that he's used to, one that he's thought over, and it's clear that he has adjusted to just how bad it hurts.
"I'm... I'm sorry, Eds," Richie reaches out and lets his hand brush against the side of Eddie's smooth skin. "Sorry, I meant Eddie."
Eddie smiles but doesn't say anything, just continues wiping at Richie's exposed skin. When he takes a step back, Richie assumes that he's finished, but Eddie only drops down to his knees and kneels in front of Richie.
"Woah, kid, what are you doing?" Richie moves backwards on the toilet seat lid.
"Your knees are scraped, aren't they?" Eddie says, letting his tiny fingers slip between the rips on Richie's jeans. "Yeah, look at them. Come on, take em off."
"Just roll my pants up, you fucking weirdo," Richie shakes his head.
"Are you kidding? In your stupid slim cut jeans? They wouldn't get past your calf, come on, take them off," Eddie insists in his beautifully stubborn manner.
Richie reluctantly stands up, Eddie still kneeling in front of him, and he maintains eye contact as he slowly undoes his belt. Eddie's eyes widen and he looks away, his face turning a color brighter than the blood dripping from Richie's knees.
"It would be hard to explain this if someone were to walk in right now," Richie chuckles, sliding his belt out of the loops and works on unbuttoning them next. Eddie fidgets with his hands, shifting around with nervous twitches.
"What, like Bev did this morning?" Eddie asks.
"That was different. That wasn't as suggestive as this," Richie says, sliding his jeans down his legs, exposing boxers and painfully pale thighs.
"I don't know, Tozier. You hiding in the bathroom while I'm naked on the other side of the curtain seems pretty suggestive to me," Eddie sits him back down and starts cleaning the scraped with peroxide. They sting, and when Richie takes a sharp breath in, Eddie softens up his cotton ball dabs.
"Yet you didn't tell me to go downstairs," Richie remarks. Eddie blushes even deeper, his face full of excitement and flustered.
Eddie doesn't explain himself, just puts bandaids on each knee (two on the left, one on the right) and stands up. Richie pulls his pants back up quickly, leaving his belt undone and shirt untucked.
"Okay, well, I guess I better get home," Eddie says. He starts reaching towards the door, but Richie puts a hand on the frame and blocks the small boy from leaving.
"You're going home? You just got here," Richie says, alarm in his voice.
"I didn't go home last night, Richie. My mom will be worried sick," Eddie shakes his head. "I left class because I was worried you were... I don't know. I wanted to make sure you were okay. Now that I know you are, I have to get going."
"I'll make dinner again," Richie suggests, his back flattening against the door to prevent Eddie from taking off.
"Richie," Eddie smiles, his tiny hands settling on Richie's chest. "I have to go. You've gotten me into enough trouble as it is. I'm gonna be grounded, you know."
Richie knows when to give in, so he steps aside and lets Eddie pass through the door. However, he still walks Eddie to the door and feels anxious the closer they get.
"Was it worth it?" Richie asks in one last desperate attempt to get Eddie to stay. "Was it worth getting grounded for?"
Eddie looks at him and smiles as he slips through the front door, holding the screen open as Richie leans against the doorway.
"Of course it was, Richie Tozier," Eddie says, leaning up and saying "You know, you've gotta work on your separation anxiety. Learn to love being alone with yourself."
Richie opens his mouth to respond, but he's cut off by Eddie yanking him down and pressing a kiss to Richie's cheek. It burns just the same as it did before, if not worse. Now Richie is the blushing idiot, and Eddie is bouncing back down on his feet as if he didn't just drop an atomic bomb on Richie's heart.
"I live on Ashburn street," Eddie says, running down the porch and mounting his bike. Richie looks at him with a confused expression, trying to figure out what the other boy means. Eddie clarifies with, "You know, just in case you wanted to come say goodnight to me after my mom falls asleep. Around nine or so?"
Richie breaks into his ridiculously contagious smile, shaking his head and sheepishly looking towards the floor as if he is in constant amazement about Eddie Kaspbrak. "You always find a new way to surprise me, Eds."
Eddie grins, closing his eyes and saying in a voice that sounds euphoric to Richie, "Last house on the street, red mailbox."
"I'll see if I can stop by," Richie says, even though they both know he will be there.
"Looking forward to it, Tozier," Eddie calls out, riding his bike down the street and disappearing from sight. Only when Richie is certain that the boy won't come backpedaling with a changed mind does he allow himself to go inside.
He finds his way to the phone, picking it up from the receiver and dialing the number that he has memorized more than his own. The Marsh residence, one that forces Richie to practice his more effeminate voices.
"Hi Mr. Marsh! It's, like, totally Tiffany again," he giggles, his voice straining to hit high notes that most boys his age can only achieve through voice cracks. "Is Beverly home? I, like, so totally have a question about our math homework."
Beverly's dad grunts and calls for his daughter, which makes Richie relax. He hates talking to her dad, especially when he knows what would happen to Bev if her father ever found out that Tiffany was actually a skyscraper boy named Richard.
"Hey, Tiff," Bev laughs easily. "What's up? Something wrong?"
"I've got plans tonight," Richie strips the girlish voice to talk normally, losing the tone as fast as it is for him to take a coat off. "I know we haven't been hanging out lately, but I just thought I'd tell you that I can't make it to the gas station tonight."
"Eddie?" Beverly knows before Richie even has a chance to pedal some excuse.
Richie, who doesn't know why he should lie in the first place, says "Yeah, Eds. Is that a problem?"
"No, not at all," Beverly smiles into the phone, "Be nice to him, Tozier. I'll kill you if you break his heart."
"Whatever," Richie smiles, subconsciously twirling the phone cord around his finger. God, Tiffany must be lingering. "I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"
The two say their farewells, and Richie just cannot, for the life of him, stop smiling. This day started so shitty; being punished for a fight he didn't start, being berated by the boy that is now his reason for feeling so giddy. On top of that, Richie wreaked havoc all over Derry with a kid who he would have never met up with if it weren't for Stanley inviting him out and writing down a phone number.
Richie weighs the outcomes from today and decides that the good things outnumber the bad, so as he carries himself up to his room on a pixie dust high of delightful pleasure, he lets himself fill up with the fumes of euphoria. It's not often that he finds himself feeling happy, but today seems to be the best day he's had, quite possibly, ever.