Beverly said something about watching Ben's football practice after school Monday, also indirectly hinting she wouldn't be needing a ride home that day. To which Richie didn't mind, but the car felt empty without her sitting in the passenger seat.
Now as Richie sits in his living room with the TV on as background noise, he can't keep his focus on one thing for longer than a few seconds. Not with one certain boy running around in his mind.
He catches himself smiling brightly every once in a while, having to swallow it down only for it to grow on his face once more. He could get sick from the warmth swelling up in his chest, but if it means Eddie stays in his mind, he wouldn't care if he were bedridden.
Just as promised, Eddie had talked to him at school that day. He talked to Richie every chance he got. In the halls, during classes, at lunch.. Almost got them into trouble in World History, not that Richie cares.
It was nice to have him back. Really nice.
Richie sinks deeper into the couch, his cheeks starting to grow sore at the excessive grinning. Perhaps this is what Beverly was talking about, finding a reason to stay.
Richie was on the train tracks, the same ones he dreamed would roll him to a new life, and along the way he stumbled across Eddie. That couldn't be a coincidence. Couldn't be.
He's contempt to waste the last few hours of his Monday to daydreams and replays of yesterday. Maybe he'll even drift off to sleep with the boy right there with him.
Before Richie could delve in deeper, the slam of a car door too close to be his neighbors catches his attention. He hears a voice, then the slow disappearing of an engine seconds before his front door glides open.
Speak of the Devil, Richie thinks and almost chuckles at it.
The girl with curls so strawberry red to the point it barely looks natural comes strolling in, both hands clutched onto her backpack straps. She doesn't see Richie, instead walking to the stairs and craning her neck up.
"I'm right here, intruder," Richie says.
Beverly flips around, startled fear in her eyes until she realizes it's only the boy she was looking for. "Rich," she says as she shrugs off her backpack and drops it to the floor, "You won't believe what had happened."
Before she could take a seat, Richie stands up and gestures to the kitchen. "Food for me first and then you can spill whatever is going on in the life of Ms. Marsh."
He hears her footsteps right behind him, then listens as they depart for the counter. She likes her spots on counter tops, her feet dangling off the side. It reminds Richie of the times they used to climb to her apartment roof and sit on the edge. Somethings never really change, do they?
"I'll tell you as you make yourself something," she says, leaning forward slightly. Richie nods and pulls out a plate to make himself a batch of pizza rolls. "I'm not sure if it's fair for me to tell you this, but holy shit Richie! I have to tell someone, alright?"
"Okay.." he replies, starting to slow down his movements to give her his full attention.
"Bill kissed me in the bleachers."
Richie doesn't think his head could've snapped over any faster. "What?" He gasps out, forgetting the plate and turning around to face Beverly.
"I know!" She says, her eyes wide as if she's having trouble believing it herself. "No warning, too! Ben and his team went into the locker rooms and he just.. leaned over and- and kissed me."
Richie breaths out a laugh and falls back onto the counter. The first words out of his mouth is, "God, poor Benny Boy" and instantly receives a groan from Beverly.
She slumps in on herself, both hands slowly dragging up to her hair as she stares at the ground. "I'm just glad Ben didn't see. I wouldn't know what to do with myself if he did.."
"You sure you know what to do with yourself currently?" Richie asks, half jokingly and half serious. Beverly peaks up at him, then closes her eyes and shakes her head.
"No," she confesses. "I don't know what to do with myself... What the hell is going on in our friend group? Are we doing unwarranted confessions now?"
Richie drops his gaze to the kitchen floor, breathing out heavily as he turns back around. "Yeah, I'm sick of it, too," he says. He doesn't think about it, the words just slip past his lips.
Beverly is quiet for a moment, tricking Richie into thinking she's contemplating about her own situation. But as he's turning to go to the fridge, he catches onto her stare.
"What?" He asks, totally helpless.
"Do you know something I don't, Richie?"
Her words pierce the air and Richie's heart. He pauses in his place, desperately ramming his head for an excuse to dig himself out of this hole.
"Richie," she demands.
He lifts her eyes to hers and within that second, it's obvious there's no getting out of this. He has to keep Stanley's secret safe because Richie knows what it's like to be outed (even if it was years ago, it still stings to think about).
"Um.. So you see, Bev," he starts, still grasping at ideas that turn to dust the second he touches them. "I.. uh.. talked to Eds during the weekend."
Beverly seems to ease off, the way her shoulders relax just the slightest bit and her gaze falters. "Yeah," she says, "I saw you two talking throughout the day. Were you the one who got him and Bill to sit with us again?"
Richie shrugs and takes this as an opportunity to finish getting his pizza rolls. "If you wanna give me credit, then sure. I guess I did have some of a role in it."
Even if he hears Beverly hum lightly, he can still feel her stare digging into his back. "What?" He asks, looking over his shoulder. "Stop staring. You already broke into my house, there's no need to keep being a creep."
"Oh, shut up. I'm not a creep," she says and pulls a leg up onto the counter. "Is there anything more you want to tell me?"
As much as he doesn't want to, Richie has to admit he doesn't give Beverly enough credit for being so intuitive. It's hard to keep anything from the girl because she'll always find a way to draw out whatever is bothering him, or anyone really.
Richie doesn't respond right away, debating on how he wants to tell her about the train yard. There's so much to spill, everything from how he was taking her advice only to stumble across Eddie, and how their interaction ended with a kiss to the forehead.
Before he even realizes, he's already started to drop the story onto Beverly. She sits quietly on the counter, listening closely to every word that falls from Richie's lips. She smiles when he grins and lets out a long "aw!" when Richie starts to slowly recall the last few moments.
"Now I know why Eddie was so excited to sit at lunch today," she remarks and lifts an eyebrow at him.
"Shut up," Richie says, glancing at the few seconds he has left on the microwave.
Beverly laughs and jumps off the counter, walking to to Richie and wrapping her arms around him. "In all seriousness," she says, squeezing lightly, "I'm so glad you finally got him. Gosh, how long as it been?" She asks, looking up at him.
"Too long."
She lets out a giggle and drops her hug, stepping back to return to the counter's edge as Richie pulls out his steaming pizza rolls.
"Mind if I take a few?" She asks, peering at them as Richie brings the plate over to the table.
"Sure, but not a lot. I don't have much left in the bag," he tells her and leaves for the living room to retrieve his drink, coming back seconds later.
The two sit down at the table, binging on the snack and talking about whatever came to mind. Beverly stayed for hours after, their time spent together lasting well until the sun sets and time for actual dinner comes.
"Want to make something with me? Unlike popular belief, I'm a master at cooking," Richie says as he gets up off the couch. The two have been scrolling through Netflix, searching for the trashiest movies one could find.
Beverly lifts the blanket off her legs and stretches out, forcing out a strained "sure," as she does. She catches up to Richie in the kitchen, waiting patiently as he begins to gather all the ingredients and pots for Mac&Cheese. It's one of the few things the Tozier household has plenty of.
Beverly takes Richie's phone and does the honors of choosing the music. Much to Richie's relief, it is not Lana Del Rey.
"So she does have a taste in music!" Richie laughs. He receives a soft smack across the arm but easily shakes it off, knowing it's all joking.
"Says the boy who listens to three bands and outdated music."
"Eighties music is fucking far from outdated, Beverly. Get your facts straight before you come and attack me," Richie shoots back, not even attempting to cover up the offense in his voice. Beverly has to pause the stirring because of how hard she is laughing.
The pair finishes up their dinner for the night and brings it into the dining room instead of the kitchen table (Beverly's idea).
"Why in here?" Richie asks, purposely dragging his feet to prolong the inevitable. It's no secret he hates the dining room. He hates his mother's china cabinet, the family photos that lead up until he's ten, the closed curtains, everything.
"Because, Richie," she says, setting down her bowl and pulling out a chair. "You need to learn to like where you're at."
Richie stares at her for a moment longer, then drops his gaze to the floor. He reluctantly walks up the the table and takes a seat across from Beverly. He knows exactly what she means, and by the way she watches Richie take a seat with smugness behind her eyes, she knows that he knows.