mixtape (reddie)

Chapter 15

If Richie Tozier were asked if he had a second home, the boy would first respond with; yeah, I spend a lot of time in detention. Then, moments after the question was asked, he would want to change his answer. He would consider saying it for a few minutes, analyzing the words and trying to decide if they're worth leaving his mouth. Then, upon coming to his conclusion, he would say with a vindictive tone; Beverly Marsh is my second home.

She hasn't said a word to Richie about his week of silence, and maybe that's why he loves her so much. She doesn't talk about feelings ("What are we, a couple of girls?") and therefore Richie never has to explain why he acts this way. He thinks it would be hard to explain that... he just does.

"Okay, you got your pencil?" Beverly asks, holding up one finger.

Richie nods, pointing to the wooden utensil tucked behind his ear.

"Paper?" She holds up a second finger.

Richie pats his coat pocket, the material crinkling with the three sheets of folded up notebook paper that he stole from Bill Denbrough at lunch.

"Charm?" The third and final finger raises in the air.

"Never leave home without it," Richie smirks, giving Beverly the look down.

She giggles, pushes Richie's shoulders, and says "Good thing you won't need it, then. I'm not sure you've got much to begin with."

"I'll see you on the other side, Beverly," Richie ignores her comment and instead pulls on the door handle to the isolated classroom located across the hall from the main office. The corridors have cleared out for the most part, everyone eager to begin their weekends. Richie wishes he could join them, but instead, he is saying farewell to his freedom for the next hour and a half.

"Detention ends at 4:30, so I'll meet you at the library at five o'clock, okay?" She says. Richie lingers in the doorway, watching the way that she sends him off like a lover saying farewell to a soldier leaving for war.

"Alright, Beaverly. Better get goin', Big Ben will be waiting for you," he says.

"Godspeed, Richie Tozier. May you find the strength to survive," she says much too seriously, adding a dorky little salute that makes Richie wonder exactly why he's friends with her.

Deciding not to drag it out any longer, Richie heads in and takes his usual desk closest to the window. On the wooden surface, his initials are scratched in. His property.

"You're late, Tozier," Mautz drones.

"Oh, do forgive me, sir," Richie rolls his eyes, using his sweetest kiss-ass voice. It sounds eerily similar to the one Henry Bowers will use any time he gets caught terrorizing a helpless kid. "I had to stop by my locker and gather supplies. You wouldn't want me coming unprepared, would you?"

Two desks over, Henry scoffs in annoyance and returns to writing on his paper. Richie is mildly surprised that Henry is even doing the letter in the first place, especially when it's in the boy's nature to pay someone else when it comes to tasks like this. Either way, he's writing with a sort of passion that makes Richie wonder how many times someone can write synonyms for the word "faggot" before running out of steam.

Either way, he takes the three sheets (bare minimum, as he recalls) from his pocket and slides the pencil out from behind his ear. He stares at the blank paper, the mocking lines, and he tries to figure out how to stretch an apology he shouldn't be giving into three pages.

bowers.

hey. sorry i fucked your face up (sorry mr. principal but im not going 2 watch my language. i don't care.) but im not sorry that we fought.