Chapter Text
September 23rd, 2020. Hatchetfield High.
Let me ask you something. If there was something you wanted, more than anything in the world, something you’d been holding out for since you were a particularly lonely child, how far would you go for it? Would you stop at your driveway? The limits of your town? A town over, a country over, a continent over? Would you give up everything, throw caution to the wind, and risk your own life for a chance at what you really want?
Peter Spankoffski, as I introduce you to him, would not.
“Richie. Get real. It’s Stephanie Lauter, man. I’m sure she’d rather die than go out with me.”
Peter slammed his locker shut and turned to face the other boy. Richie didn’t budge, fixing his friend with a tired look.
“I am real, Pete. I’m the absolute realest, thank you very much. And I’m telling you, you need to ask her out!”
Peter’s expression soured. They could be at this for hours. Richie seemed to give up then, tossing his hands in the air with unnecessary flair.
“Fine! Fine, you go ahead and blow your shot. I’m telling you, man, I heard her describing her type to one of those cheerleaders. You fit the bill. Matter of fact, I’m pretty sure you are the bill!”
“That doesn’t make any sense!”
“Does it have to!? Christ, Pete, you wouldn’t recognize a potential score if it kissed you on the mouth. I’m just saying, man, get a little closer to her, see what happens. Could be what finally gets you laid.”
Peter rolled his eyes. Did everything have to be about sex? Sure, they were in high school, but they were seniors. Richie had his anime crushes, and Peter had his algebra textbooks. The world would keep spinning, they’d keep being nerdy prudes, their bedsheets would remain blissfully unstained. That was just how things were meant to be.
“Don’t be gross. Steph is… nice, I guess, but about 100 yards out of my league. Plus, she’s on Jägerman’s radar. I step a foot closer to her, they’ll be scraping what’s left of me off the walls!”
“Good point, I guess.”
“Thank you! Now, I’m going to Biology, and I don’t want to hear another word from you about Stephanie Lauter or the nerdy prude kink you’re convinced she has. Got it?”
Richie shrugged, looking at the digital clock mounted on the wall above the lockers. 7:50. Ten minutes until Bio.
“Fine! Got it. Your loss, Pete. Don’t come crying to me when you never get another shot like this again.”
Peter stormed off, leaving his friend at the lockers.
Richie didn’t get it. Nobody did.
Sure, he wanted a girl to like him. God, did he. But it just wasn’t worth the trouble! Starting a conversation, finding something in common, asking her out, figuring it all out for the first time… It was more than he knew he could handle. He couldn’t take the lead. Besides, he wasn't exactly a hot ticket. Whatever Richie was saying about Steph was probably something he made up to get his friend’s hopes up. Asshole.
Halfway down the hallway, he heard a shout and whipped his head around.
“Hey, Shit-Lips! You got a death wish, or do you just get a kick out of stinking up my territory?!”
Oh, Christ. Max Jägerman, stalking down the hallway, parting Hatchetfield High like the Red Sea.
And he was headed straight for Richie.
“No! N-No, I don’t, I swear. Please, Max. I’m just trying to get to class!”
“Really? Because it seems to me that both your nerdy little sneakers are planted real firm on the ground. On my turf. You got an excuse for that, Lipschitz?”
Richie was shaking like a leaf. Sick to his stomach, Peter realized he had stopped on the edge of a crowd, with a front row seat to watch his friend get the shit kicked out of him. And he couldn’t do anything about it. Hardly a week into their last year of school, and the beatings had already begun.
“Max, dude, please! Please let me go! I don’t want any trouble!”
“Trouble? You don’t know trouble, Shit-Lips. How about I show you trouble?”
Peter shut his eyes, but he couldn’t avoid the sound of the sickening crunch as Jägerman’s fist broke Richie’s nose. The scream that followed was sickening, Max’s laughter just as horrific. Opening his eyes, Pete saw his friend on the ground.
But Max wasn’t done yet.
“Aw, wittle Richie, down so soon? I was just getting started! Don’t you want to have some fun?”
Richie whimpered, covering his face with his hands. Peter had to cover his mouth to stop himself from gagging. How far was this going to go? The crowd around him had gotten quieter, as if unsure of Jägerman’s next move. Hatchetfield High wasn’t known for good manners, but a kid being beaten to death in the hallways wasn’t exactly great press.
Max wasn’t done yet.
The monster kicked Richie in the head, over and over, that vicious laughter echoing through the now-silent halls as the boy yelped and cried out. Somebody put a hand on Peter’s shoulder, like they were trying to hold him back, and he realized he was shaking. His whole body was screaming at him to do something. Scream. Hide. Run. A much quieter voice pleaded for revenge, and suddenly it was the only one he could hear.
“Hey! Jägerman!”
Who was shouting? With a burst of adrenaline, he realized he’d stepped forward.
“Come here a-and kick my ass instead! How about that!”
He could hear Richie sniffling as Max walked away from him. Good. Rich was safe. If he got his ass beat, so be it. At least he didn’t have to watch Max Jägerman murder his friend via sneaker to the cerebral.
“You got a problem, Spankoffski? You wanna end up like him?”
Peter looked to his sides, and realized he was trapped. The heat of the moment was fading, the ice cold fear began to creep into his body, through his veins and his quivering hands, down his spine and into his legs. Somewhere behind the looming harbinger of death in a varsity jacket, a bloodied Richie stumbled to his feet and towards the nurse’s office.
Right. Keep the Jägerman distracted.
“…Y-Yeah. You know what, Max? I do. I think you’re scared.”
The crowd got louder then, whistling and whooping as Pete rolled up his sleeves. God, what was he doing? He couldn’t fight Max. He couldn’t even fight Ruth! He locked eyes with the other boy, and tried to imagine himself as somebody stronger. Somebody he wasn’t.
“You’re too scared to fight somebody who actually wants to fight! Prove me wrong, Maxie, why don’t you?”
Was he possessed? Christ, he sounded like Ted.
Jägerman smiled, and shrugged off his jacket.
“Alright, Bowtie. I’ll prove you wrong. I’ll prove all your stupid little nerdy friends wrong. When I beat your fucking face in!”
Max charged. Peter shut his eyes again, preparing for the crunch of his own skull.
It was a good run, Hatchetfield. Richie, tell Ted his little bro loves him. If you’ve got time, maybe work on his drinking problem, too. And the whole sex pest thing. Also, Ruth, tell Richie to throw that goddamn body pillow in the washer.
Just as he’d accepted his fate, somebody got in between them.
“Max! What the fuck are you doing to these nerds!?”
Steph! Stephanie Lauter! He opened his eyes to see her standing squarely between him and the Jägerman, his knight in a Fleetwood Mac crop top. Did Richie have a point, or was this pure chance?
“Steph, you’re just in time! I was just about to pummel this little freak to the ground. No biggie. Wanna watch?”
“No, Max! Fuck no, Jesus Christ. I just saw this geek’s weird little friend walk down the hallway looking like a crime scene. You’re still not satisfied?”
He could already see the headlines. Stephanie Lauter, Savior Of Nerdy Prudes, Disarmer Of The Jägerman. The math club would worship her for years to come, he’d make sure of it. He just had to make it to Bio alive first.
“Of course not, Stephie! Now get out of the fucking way.”
He felt the girl’s elbow jerk back to meet his ribs, and realized this was his chance. Not to hit on Stephanie (still a stupid idea, Richie), but to take the warning and possibly survive. He took off running down the hallway behind him, the crowd dutifully parting as he hauled ass towards the Biology classroom.
Behind him, he heard the faint sound of a screaming match. Jägerman definitely wasn’t happy his prey had gotten away.
Well, fuck Jägerman. And fuck being prey. He lived, damn it, and it was all thanks to Stephanie goddamn Lauter. Who, for the record, did not give a shit about him beforehand.
He owed her one. Big time.