Chapter Text
"Hey! Shit Lips!"
Richie rolled his eyes and clenched his fists. "It's Lipshitz! Richard Lipshitz-" Richie cut himself off when he turned around, facing whoever decided to misuse his last name again.
His words died on his tongue when he came face-to-face with Max Jägerman, Jason and Kyle accompanying him like two lost puppies who didn't know up from down. Richie's tongue automatically dried and his face paled as he realizes he just corrected Max fucking Jägerman in a rather harsh tone, something the jock doesn't take too kindly to.
"Oh! M-Max!" Richie stuttered, then gulped. "Sorry. I didn't know it was you…" He began to trail off, shrinking under Max's gaze.
"You know what time it is, Shit Lips?" Max suddenly asked as he took a menacing step forward.
"Uh, yeah. It's–uh– thi-"
Max cut him off. "It's third period! I gotta get to goddam algebra! Which means I need to get through this hallway, and I don't need to see your ugly face while you're stinking it up!"
"Sorry, Max. I-I didn't mean to walk through your hallway!" Richie retorted to the best of his ability.
"'Oh! M-M-Maaaaax! I-uh-I-uh-I-uh!'" Max mocked his stutter, making his voice high pitched and batting his eyelashes in some sad attempt at an impression. Max's expression turned serious and Richie could tell that he was losing his patience. "Grow the hell up. Would you, Shit Lips? Maybe if you talked like a normal goddam person then people would like you!"
Richie grit his teeth at the irony of Max of all people telling him to grow up! The audacity of that fucking man! And it wasn't uncommon for his stutter to be mocked and imitated, but usually it only comes out if he's nervous. So technically it's Max's fault that he can't talk like a normal goddam person.
The quarterback turned to Jason and Kyle. "What do you think, guys? Should I let him off with a warning?"
Richie saw the look on the two jocks' faces, they opened their mouths before taking one good look at Max and promptly shut their mouths. They both resorted to meekly nodding, like a couple of misbehaving toddlers being scolded for drawing on the walls or some shit.
Max crossed his arms, frowning. "Well? Should I let Shit Lips off with a warning? Or no?" He asked, low and dangerous.
The two exchanged unsure glances, then looked at Richie. Richie simply focused on the chipped paint of the walls, he talked to Kyle and Jason when Max wasn't around, and they were both pretty chill. But every time Max comes into the picture it's like Richie is nothing more than a pile of shit that just sticks around for inconvenience. And maybe they have reason to believe that, maybe they're trying to protect themselves from Max's fury.
And he absolutely despises them for it.
Richie knows it's not fair to hold it against them, he knows that it's most likely Max's fault and influence or whatever. But every time the Jägerman is around everything changes. Everyone goes back to being miserable, they go back to being bullies and afraid. You need to be on Max's good side otherwise you'll end up with a black eye and fractured ribs.
Which is why Richie isn't surprised when they agree with him.
"C-C-Come on, guys. Can't w-we work s-s-something out?" Richie squeaked, his stutter getting worse by the second.
Max glares at him and he realizes too late that he made the wrong decision. Richie is grabbed by the collar of his shirt and shoved against the wall. A whimper of pain leaves his throat and Max wraps his hands around Richie's neck.
Richie started scrambling, his feet flailing in any direction they could, kicking weakly against Max's calves. His hands grasp at Max's, trying to pry them off to the best of his ability, but to no avail. Prying turned to light pounding as he tried something — anything — to get the quarterback's hands off.
He kept flailing as he gasped for air that wouldn't come. What has been going on for thirty seconds felt like two hours and his vision is beginning to blur. He gasps a couple more times, eyes rolling to the back of his head. Jesus Christ, he's going to die by the hands of Max Jägerman, with no one able to hear his screams. Richie found himself begging in his mind to no one in particular, saying that please he doesn't want to die. Not yet, at least. There's still things he wants to do and places he wants to be so please hedoesn'twanttofuckingdie-
Max let go.
Richie fell to the floor, weak and in so much pain, but happy that he didn't die, not yet at least. He swallows in gulp after gulp of precious air that he missed so much and would never take advantage of again.
His relief was short-lived, however, when Max crouched down beside him. "Now leave, Shit Lips. You understand? I better not see your stupid, ugly face for the rest of the day." Max practically whispered, before shoving Richie as hard as he could onto the ground. "NOW BEAT IT!"
Richie didn't need to be told twice, darting down the hall, ignoring Kyle and Jason, who started cheering.
He stopped after a couple moments of running, making sure that he was far away from the jocks. Richie leaned against one of the lockers to catch his breath, heart practically jumping out of his chest.
Tears pricked his eyes but he wiped them away, lightly hitting himself in the process. Now is not the time to cry! He can do that when he gets home. He just… has to find a place to hide out till the end of school. Classes can wait, algebra isn't worth getting beat up over.
Calmer, Richie roamed the halls of the school, searching for a place to hide out until school is over. A room was just up ahead and Richie knew at this point it was his best bet.
Boy's Bathroom it is.
Richie turned the doorknob, finding it already unlocked. He opened the door and walked inside, finding his dad on his phone with an agitated expression.
"No, Mr. Young." Gary sighed. "Just because your favorite Caillou toy is out of stock does not mean-" his eye started to twitch when he got cut off. "Mr. Young, Frank might not be the most dependable man but to suggest he's a part of a cult is just preposterous!" More silence. "What do you mean I'm not dependable?! I'm the only lawyer here! And I have better things to take care of than your conspiracies! No, Mr. Young. Don't you dare drag the Foster kid into this!"
Rolling his eyes, Richie headed upstairs and shut his bedroom door. He shrugged off his backpack and flopped on his bed. If he had a nickel for every time he came home to his dad arguing with a client over the phone, he'd be on a fucking yacht right now! You'd think having the only lawyer in town as your father would get the bullies to lay off, but not when you're Richie. Everyone in school is aware of this fact, yet never cares, especially Max. It's no secret that Gary is a busy man with tons of clients, and Richie doesn't want to increase his workload. Besides, who knows what Max will do to him if he ever reveals what's been happening?
Richie sits up and starts to rummage through a pile of books next to his bed. He pulls out his journal and grabs a mechanical pencil, he flips through the pages, all of the entries being a couple days apart. Most of them are just venting about school and Jägerman, but some very few entries consist of happy memories, such as Trevor celebrating his sixteenth birthday or something more simple like Richie, Pete, and Ruth playing Mario Kart. He sees a blank page and stops, he begins to write.
Hey, journal. It's me again. I don't really know why I introduce myself anyway. Who else would it be? Trevor?
Anyways I just had the shittiest day ever, which is saying a lot coming from me. Max fucking Jägerman tried to fucking kill me, that bitch! He came up to me and said he didn't want me stinking up the hallway and didn't want to see my ugly face! Like, I know I'm ugly, you don't have to rub it in! And then the bastard started to fucking strangle me! While Jason and Kyle were standing there like pussies! They didn't even try to help, they just stood there while I was losing consciousness. Luckily, I didn't. But I was pretty damn close! And while I was running for my fucking life, the two cowardly pricks started cheering for Max! Like I didn't just almost die. The sad part is the fact that I'm not surprised, but that doesn't mean I can't be pissed about it!
I hate him. I fucking hate him. Max and his two friends. I hate the popular kids. I hate the cheerleaders and the mayor's daughter. Anyone who's popular are horrible people. I hope Max dies, I hope he fucking dies and has the most painful death imaginable. I hope in his last moments of life he feels everything he made me feel. I hope he-
A knock at the door. Shit.
Panicking, Richie shoves the journal and pencil under his pillow and pulls out his phone, hoping it looks like he was just scrolling Instagram.
"Come in!" Richie called to the person behind the door, trying to keep his voice from shaking. He hadn't realized how much he worked himself up until he opened his mouth.
The door opened, revealing his dad with a gentle expression. Of course it was his dad! Who else would it be? Trevor is out with his theatre friends right now!
"Hey, son." Gary greeted, voice soft and eyes gentle. Richie would never admit it, but he loves when his father talks like this, like Richie is just a toddler getting read bedtime stories. It brings him back to simpler times. Back when things were better. Happier. "Sorry about earlier. I'm sure coming home to your father arguing on the phone with some lunatic every time is starting to get a bit frustrating."
Richie shrugs. "It's fine, Dad. I know dealing with that Sherman guy is hard."
"Most difficult client I've ever had." Gary agreed with a nod. "So… I've been thinking… you remember that ice cream parlor I used to take you to?"
Richie immediately perked up at the mention of the small shop from his childhood, nostalgia flooded his thoughts and memories. He remembers going with him when he was in Elementary School, usually when Trevor was doing something with his friends so as to not make him feel left out due to his lactose intolerance. "You mean Ice Cream Ian's?"
His father smiled. "Yeah! I haven't taken you in years! What do you say? You wanna head over and grab a scoop like old times?"
The eighteen-year-old opens his mouth, getting ready to reply with an enthusiastic yes. Richie hesitates and his grin falters, in his excitement he forgot one major detail.
The cheer squad usually hangs out at the ice cream parlor after practice. And if he's in the same place as the cheerleaders, if he so much as looks in their direction, Max will do so much worse than what he did today. God forbid if he actually started talking to them. And the cheerleaders stay there for a long time, literal hours after finishing their ice cream. So waiting for them to leave was a no.
Gary seemed to notice his hesitation. His smile transforms into a look that screams fatherly concern. "Are you okay, son? You're looking a tad bit pale."
His father reached for his forehead, causing Richie to pull his head back. "I-I'm fine, Dad. J-Just a bit nauseous."
"Are you sure? Your stutter only comes out when you're nervous." Gary pointed out, he was now kneeling next to Richie's bed. "But if you're feeling unwell we probably can't make it today."
Part of Richie felt bad about ruining his father's plans due to being a massive pussy, while the other part felt immense relief in avoiding what could've been his final day alive.
"Do you want any medication?" Gary asked softly.
Richie shook his head. "N-No thanks. I'm probably just going to sleep for now."
Gary stared at him for a moment and Richie immediately knew what was going on. His father had always been extremely smart and observant, not to mention his ability to read people. That's probably what he's doing to Richie right. Shit. Hopefully Gary doesn't call out his bullshit and make him go anyway, his father isn't like that. But still, he feels an anxious knot tighten in his stomach at the possibility of being caught in a lie. Richie has never been a very good liar.
"Jesus Christ, Dad! C-Can you s-stop scrutinizing me please?" He snapped. Well, tried to. Instead of it sounding like a fierce demand it more sounded like a teenager that just got caught watching porn by their parents. So he sounded pathetic.
That seemed to snap Gary out of it, he stood up and ruffled Richie's hair. "Sorry about that, champ. You know how your old man can get trapped in his head sometimes." That's a trait he and his dad share, unfortunately. "I'll go get started on dinner, okay? Rest up good, bud." He kissed Richie on the forehead and walked towards the door, closing it with a soft click.
As soon as Gary left, his lip quivered and a soft sob escaped his mouth. He clasped his hand over his mouth but it was too late. Silent tears rolled down Richie's face. He aims to keep his cries as quiet as possible so his father won't hear, the last thing he needs is him pestering Richie.
Richie wants to scream. He wants to scream until his throat turns red and scratchy. He wants to punch Max in the face and trip Jason and Kyle in the hallway and spread rumors about the cheerleaders. He wants to bang his fist against the wall and scream and cry while his dad comforts him and his mom sings him lullabies and Trevor gives his big brother a hug, telling him that everything's going to be okay just like he used to.
But he can't. Because he's eighteen, legally an adult and too old to be throwing a tantrum.
So instead he bangs his fists against his mattress and pillow. Richie knows it's still childish, but he just has to do something to get his anger out, and it's better than putting a dent in the wall. It's because of Max that he couldn't go out with his dad. It's because of Max that he can't walk through the halls without fearing for his life. It's probably going to take months for Gary to find time for an outing again with his busy schedule. And it's because of Max that he has to wait.
Richie fucking hates him.
"Hey, fellas!" Pete greeted Richie and Ruth in the library. "Are we ready to make like Newton and get this physics project in motion?"
"... What?"
It was the day after Richie had his silent emotional breakdown in his bedroom, and Richie is not in the mood to deal with whatever drug Pete's on right now.
It took a bit of convincing from his father to let him go to school. Gary had insisted that Richie stay home in case whatever he had was contagious, and no matter how tempting it was to just sit on his bed and watch Death Note all day, he knew it was just prolonging his torment. And besides, what kind of friend would he be if he left Ruth and Pete high and dry?
Besides, Richie is pretty good about hiding whenever he's been crying. Sure, he's tired and sluggish and his eyes hurt (and are probably red) but everyone is none the wiser!
Whatever got Pete so excited immediately got the attention of Ruth, as her head was perked up and all of her attention was now on him. And Richie has to admit that his curiosity is peaked, considering the fact that Pete isn't wearing his fucking bowtie or suspenders.
Who is this guy and what has he done to Peter Spankoffski?
Pete's grin faltered as he stuttered through an explanation. "You- You know, like… Newton's law of motion. Like physics."
"This project's on thermodynamics." Richie told him matter-of-factly. Maybe Pete is on drugs. "What the fuck are you talking about?"
"Okay, Richie–" Pete cut himself off with a frustrated sigh. "It's a joke. Something you clearly don't understand the concept of! I'm just– I'm trying out something new! I heard from a reliable source that I'm actually pretty funny."
"Yeah, funny-looking maybe!" Richie retorted in an attempt to get his friend to wipe that smug smirk off his face. "And not even that right now. Where's your bowtie?"
"People are going to start thinking you're poor, Pete." Ruth piped up in an exasperated tone.
The ex bowtie kid rolled his eyes. "I'm trying out a new look!"
"In the library?" Richie scoffs. "Who are you trying to impress? Ruth? Me?"
Both him and Ruth laugh at the impossible thought of them being loved romantically and high-five, their arms stretched out right in front of Pete, who's sitting between him, and looking very annoyed.
"Yeah!" Ruth snickers and purses her lips in order to keep from laughing anymore, it's obvious she's about to add to the joke. "You lose the suspenders and suddenly you're the new quarterback!"
"Not even that! He thinks he's Tom fucking Holland!"
"Chris Pratt!"
"No one likes Chris Pratt, Ruth."
And just like that, Richie's terrible day yesterday has been almost completely forgotten. He can always rely on Ruth to give him a good distraction. Such as arguing if Chris Pratt is actually liked. Sure, he has his dad and Trevor, but Gary is usually always busy and Trevor honestly doesn't stay at his actual home all that much, always hanging out and having sleepovers with his theatre friends. And Pete… sometimes he wonders if Pete actually likes hanging out with them.
Richie pinches the bridge of his nose. "Okay, the only reason people like Chris Pratt is because of pretty privilege! If he was ugly like us–"
"It's more than that!" Ruth insists, cutting him off. "Sure, he's sexy as fuck, but he's also a really talented voice actor!"
".... He's really not–"
"Guys? Thermodynamics? Remember?" Pete deadpans, gesturing to their laptops.
"Look, Pete," Richie suddenly turns serious. "I know what this is about. Somebody walks to the office with Stephanie Lauter, and suddenly he's Stefan Urquelle. Well, as your friend, Pete, I'm gonna warn you right now! Don't get your hopes up! She was just using you to cheat on a test! That's what all those rich, popular fuckers do!"
"It's true." Ruth agrees solemnly. "Like, being Stephanie Lauter’s sugar baby would be the dream! But that's just what it is: a dream."
"It's a fantasy." Richie adds on. "Like a boy and his anime love pillows. It's a beautiful dream, but I'll never hold the real Rei or Asuka in my arms…"
Before Richie could continue about his anime fantasies that he's pretty sure no one cares about, Pete's phone rings. The tallest of the trio practically jumps out of his seat and scrambles to pick up his phone.
"Pete! Silence your phone in the library!" Ruth scolds, annoyed.
"Sorry!" Pete cries. He answers and walks a couple feet away.
"Who do you think it is?" Ruth whispers to Richie after a couple seconds, making sure Pete won't be able to listen to them.
"Probably a telemarketer." Richie grumbles.
The other groans. "Lucky! I'm such a loser telemarketers hang up on me!"
"Saaaaaame."
After a couple more seconds of silence, Ruth gets up and leaves Richie's line of sight. Okay, so he could turn his head and see where she's going, but frankly, he doesn't care right now. He'd be lying if he said he had a full eight hours of sleep last night. And he is so fucking tired. He rests his head on his fist and closes his eyes, maybe he could rest for a couple moments while the others are preoccupied. Just for a couple–
"HE'S TALKING TO STEPHANIE LAUTER!" Ruth explodes right next to Richie, startling him.
"NANI?!" Richie exclaims on instinct.
It takes everything in Richie's power for him to keep Ruth from lunging at Pete. He knows how excitable Ruth is, and he'd be a hypocrite if he were to say he doesn't get the same way. But something in him is holding him back. A popular kid? Willingly calling someone from their group? And now she's asking him out? Sounds pretty fucking unlikely if you ask him.
Richie isn't stupid, he's aware of the prank where some uncool kid gets asked out by a popular – or at least good-looking – kid only to get humiliated later. By either getting stood up or beat up. Both Richie and Ruth had fallen victim to these pranks. It only took two times for Richie to stop falling for these pranks, but Ruth – no matter how many times some fucked up shit happens – always says yes.
He knows she's just trying to be hopeful, that one day someone might overlook the headgear and overall freakiness to actually want to be with her. Richie sometimes worries that she'll never stop saying yes. Ruth could get herself killed some day.
But Pete. Pete has surprisingly never fallen victim to these pranks. Until now, apparently.
Part of Richie wants to warn Pete. Sure, he's pretty sure he doesn't really like him that much, but that doesn't mean he should have the same fate! But another side – a more cynical side – wants to keep quiet. To let Pete live through what he and Ruth lived through so many fucking times.
And despite his best efforts, that side wins.
Pete hangs up and Ruth is all over him while Riche lingers back, but the tallest is already out the door.
Richie really hopes Pete knows what he's doing.