Chapter Text
“You think there’s any lesbians in this school?”
“Bevie, deary, it’s a performing arts school. Everyone there is at least a little gay,” Richie sighs as he flips his turn signal on.
“Well, dumbass, I know every guy is gay, everyone knows that. I mean the girls. What I’m saying is, is there any fuckin coochie in this school?” Bev replies. “It’s not that hard, Rich.”
Richie smiles. He’s been smiling all morning, for the most part. He’s been anticipating this day since May, when his acceptance letter arrived. He can hardly believe the day has finally come.
Richie and Bev have had their hearts set on this school since eighth grade. They’ve struggled through low quality high school productions, tap practice at the Y, and working at McDonalds to pay for vocal lessons. And they did it all hoping they would end up at the place they are today. After all that time, all those hours tapping in tap shoes a size too small, they’re finally arrived.
He parks in front of the school and watches students walk in. Rannells Academy For The Performing Arts, the sign above the door reads. “Can’t wait to whip out my dick- I mean jazz shoes.” Richie smiles at Bev. Bev does not smile back. She looks almost nervous, an emotion which portrays itself on Beverly’s face as anger. Her eyebrows are furrowed as she stares at the sign that seems to tower above them.
“Come on fuckface, we’re gonna miss first bell,” says Richie, pinching his friend's cheek. Beverly reluctantly smiles and follows him.
It only took them three years of applying, but they made it. With full rides, even. It barely even seems real to Richie. It looks like a normal modern high school on the inside, just like Derry Public High School, but with less asbestos in the walls. Even though they had toured the school before, it seems all new now that students fill the hallway. He pretends to check his class schedule on his phone, even though he already has it memorized.
“Voice first period?” he asks Bev as he meanders past the students that fill the hall.
“Shit. No, I’ve got math. They teach math at this fuckin school?” Bev jokes.
“You wouldn’t think they do, these kids look dumb as biscuits,” Richie replies, as he watches two boys fly past, one on the other's back. “Jesus. I fuckin hate theatre kids, you know that Beverly?”
“Richie, I know you hate yourself, but try to not think about that. This is a new start!” she smiles jokingly at him. Richie punches her arm, and ignores how she flinches at the sudden contact.
Richie stops in front of the door to his class. “Well, see you next period Beviepoo,” he says, and wraps her up in a hug.
“Bye for now, Richiekins,” Bev replies before freeing herself and walking off towards her own class.
Richie steps into his class just before the bell rings. Almost all the seats in the semicircle around the piano are taken, except one in the third row. Most of the other students stall their (very loud and obnoxious) conversations and watch him out of the corner of their eyes. Theatre kids aren’t known for their subtlety, but Richie isn’t either. His bright hawaiian shirt goes to show that.
Before he can whip out his phone to text Bev, the teacher walks in. She definitely seems the drama type. She reminds Richie vaguely of the drama teacher from High School Musical. I bet these kids looooove High School Musical, Richie thinks to himself. They probably think they’re really quirky when they perform Bet On It at cast parties when they could be doing something enjoyable, like maybe losing their virginity. He can’t believe he’s voluntarily attending a virgin-only high school. And yet, he’s happy about it. He's pulled out of his high school musical musings when the teacher asks the students to introduce themselves, and tell the class their, “creative passions.”
Most kids really like singing. Wow. Shocking. The kid sitting directly in front of him, who says his name is Bill, says, “I’ve always had an interest in acting,” but what he really says is, “I-I’ve always had an-an interest in a-acting.” Richie wants to make fun of him, but can’t, because, fuck, he admires the guts it must take to be a stuttering actor. The curly haired kid next to Bill tells the class about his devotion to the theatrical arts for a really weird thirty seconds and Richie wants to tell this kid, Stan, to take it down a notch, but doesn’t. New school, new reputation, man!
In his old school he had a reputation. He was kind of mean, and dumb even though he was smart, and couldn’t shut his mouth to save his life. But it was a new year! Now, he could just be one of the guys. One of the theatre-guys. Nothing up with him. Nobody's gonna think he sells drugs this year, even if he happens to do so on occasion.
“Richie, what about your passion?” the teacher says, with emphasis on passion, and Richie is yanked from his thoughts.
“Oh, hi! I’m Richie, I’m new here. I’m actually a triangle prodigy!” he says, smiling wide. Bill rolls his eyes at his friend, Stan, who spoke about his devotion to the theatrical blah blah blah who gives half a fuck.
“Excuse me?” the teacher asks.
“You know,” he mines hitting a triangle, “Metal thing, shaped like a hexagon? Wait, no, sorry. Shaped like a triangle,” Richie continues, aware of the grave he’s digging himself.
“I,” the teacher starts but can’t seem to finish. Richie decides it’s about time to give up.
“Nevermind. I do musical theatre, who would’ve guessed, yahoo,” Richie says with a twirl of his hand, and slumps back in his chair. So much for his unscathed reputation.