Chapter Text
The fall air pinched at her nose and cheeks as she weaved through the puddles. It was only the third week of September and the weather had already took a turn. Every shitty town had the same shitty weather she couldn’t seem to escape.
The brakes screeched as the bike came to a halt, wet leaves crunching underneath it. Jamie sat there for a moment, taking in the sight of the sea of students before joining it.
Her locker was (unsurprisingly) blocked by Stacy Weisberger and her potato-headed boyfriend, tongues intwined. She made a point not to stare but to somehow make her presence known by coughing. Nothing. She coughed again. His hand just made its way further down what should be considered legal in an educational facility as she administered yet another cough.
“Oh my God, can you stop?” Stacy’s face appeared out from behind his thick neck.
“Can you?” Jamie laughed through her words so they didn’t seem as harsh. Of course, she wished she was shamelessly harsh but she couldn’t afford to stoop any lower in the social hierarchy. Push over/people pleaser was just narrowly higher than loud-mouth/wanna-be-badass so she barely made the cut.
They moved a few measly inches, just enough to get to the lock. Though, the sounds were just as prevalent and unbearable at this distance.
“Um- excuse- er-“
The slobbering was joined by a quiet voice stumbling over itself. Jamie turned to see the boy who owned the locker two down from her’s. Stan something? one of Bev Marsh’s goons. He pointed as if they saw him standing there, binder pressed to his chest. “If I could just- um-“ He met Jamie’s eyes, widening his own and sighing.
“Cough,” she mouthed with an encouraging nod. He furrowed his brow so she brought one hand up to her mouth, miming a cough, which was then followed by his own.
“I can’t deal with this again,” Stacy grasped her pet slab-of-meat by the wrist and yanked him behind her as they walked away. Stan smiled satisfactorily as he reached for his lock. “Thanks,” he spoke quietly.
“Always works for me,” she grabbed her textbook and shut the door with a metal clank, smiling again before walking past him down the corridor. He felt heat rise up his neck to his ears and mentally berated himself. That started happening a little while ago. Whenever he interacted with any human with XX chromosomes or just a vague interest in his existence, it was almost as if he lost control of his fine motor skills. And, his motor skills were quite fine indeed. His mother always bragged that he learnt how to use both a knife and fork before three. Months old.
—
“Fuck, marry, kill: me, Eddie’s mom and… Ben’s cat.”
“And good morning to you too,” Stan sat opposite Richie as his eyes flicked between each of the losers, awaiting an answer. Sure, it sucked not having any classes with any of the group. But that suckage disappeared as soon as Richie Tozier opened his mouth.
“That’s fucking disgusting- that cat has rabies-“
“How many times..” Ben looked up from his leather-bound notebook to the ceiling. “She doesn’t have rabies-“
“I have a sixth sense about these kinds of things, I’m telling you, I can see it in it’s eyes,” Eddie spoke as quick as ever as he set out his packed lunch in front of him.
“It’s a she.”
“It’s going to infect you. Did you know rabies has a zero percent survival rate? I mean, once the symptoms set in, you’re completely and totally fucked. Lock-jaw, mouth foaming, hydrophobia and then lights out-“
“Hey, Tammy b- bel- Bell is having a p- party tomorrow night,” Bill swung his leg over the bench and sat. The group fell silent and looked at him. “Bev told us,” Ben spoke as he scribbled something.
“Cool, right?”
“No, not fuckin’ cool Bill. We weren’t invited,” Eddie huffed.
“N- no, i heard everyone’s going,” Bill scanned all of their disappointed loser faces.
“Yeah, cause everyone got invited. Just not us,” Stan spun his apple by the stem.
“I don’t know about you nerds, but i’m just gonna show up anyway. There was always this unspoken vibe between us,” Richie winked at Eddie specifically, receiving a heavy eye roll.
“She poured an entire milk carton on you last week.”
“And I’m gonna make it up to her by bringing a case with me.”
“Oh yeah? And who’s gonna serve you?”
“My dad has a shit ton in the garage fridge, I’ll just take some, he won’t notice.”
“Well, I for one will not be drinking. fucking- lifelong liver disease awaits you-“
“Well, you for one will not be coming to begin with. Can’t have you cramping my style,” he smoothed back his overgrown curls with a suave expression.
“What style?” Stan chimed in.
“Oh sorry, you probably haven’t heard about fashion at the nursing home-“
“A- alright! We need to f- find a way in.”
“Bev said no, too many plus ones,” Ben mentioned her once again and Bill noticed. It was always an unspoken competition that was even more prevalent when she wasn’t there.
“Where is sh- she?” He stretched and looked around the bustling cafeteria.
“Probably putting a tampon in somewhere..” Richie muttered as he took a large bite of his sandwich. The boys shuddered, except for Ben because of his recent stance on feminism.
“Fuck- dude, gross. I’m eating.”
“What’s her n- name again?” Bill pointed to a far table, where Beverly and by some miracle, a female friend sat.
“Jamie.. I think,” Stan said almost immediately, that familiar heat twinging again. “She’s new.” He shoved his apple into his mouth.
“A tampon buddy!” Richie sang, receiving a glare from the table next to them.
“Have you ever even been to a party before?” Eddie tracks back to the previous conversation.
“Yeah, totally.”
“Like who’s?”
“Some ragers, out of control- woke up in the bath-“
“Name one fucking party you’ve ever been to, Richie,” his already high-pitched voice got even more so when being accusatory.
Richie opened his mouth to speak before Eddie spoke again, “-and not your Mom’s fortieth.”
The glasses-wearer’s mouth was left hanging open as he wracked his brain. His eyes lit up. “Oh! Your Mom’s orgy last week. Remember? Everyone in town was there-“
“Shut the fuck up!” he snapped, slamming his fist right down onto his dairy free yoghurt. “Oh, goddammit!”
He leaned across the table smearing it across Richie’s cheek. A pair of hands leapt for his throat as an elbow nudged bill’s arm.
“Hello children,” Bev watched as the pair squabbled, Richie snapping out of it immediately.
“Hey Ringwald, you wanna try get us into Tammy’s tomorrow-“
“Not a hope in hell, I’m barely going myself.”
“But you’ll get so lonely-“
“I’m actually looking forward to having a normal teenage experience for once, without a bunch of little freaks running around.”
“Freaks have ears too, y’know,” Ben pulled a face, making her laugh. “I see you’re moving on to greener pastures?” he looked over at the girl she was talking to beforehand. Bill swallowed. He hated how quick he was.
“I can’t just hang around boys all the time,”
“Why? what do you talk about?” Stan spoke through his apple chews.
“Um.. tampons mostly.”
“Ha! Knew it!” Richie pumped the air triumphantly.
“I think the talent sh- show sign up sheet is up,” Bill remarked as he looked at the bulletin board over Ben’s shoulder, wincing as he prepared for the reaction.
“Really?!” Richie stood in his spot, knocking his tray into Stan’s. He didn’t seem to care as he leapt over the bench and speedily walked his way to the board near the door of the large room.
Richie Tozier didn’t care about a lot of things: his involvement in school based activities, the language he used, his dental hygiene. But every year without fail, he waited for the talent show. It was his one chance to do whatever the fuck he wanted on a stage in front of a hundred people. Sure, he’d been censored before. But the trick was to tell the teachers he’d be reciting a poem or a tap dancing number or whatever other gay shit everyone else did.
He dug around for a pen in his pocket, biting off the lid and scribbling his name on the sheet, stepping back and squinting at it.
“Can I borrow that?”
He turned his head. “Tampon buddy!”
Her neck retracted as her mouth fell open. “I’m sorr-“
“Sorry, I got you mixed up with another- you’re Jamie, right?”
“Yeah.. and you’re ‘Trashmouth’?”
“Richie.”
“I know,” she spoke through a small laugh.
“Oh, here,” he handed her the pen and she took it, signing her name and returning it.
“So, you play an instrument of something?” she gestured her head to the sheet of paper.
“You could say that.”
“What does that mean?”
“Well, you could say I play an instrument but that doesn’t mean I have formal training. So I just say I can play the bongos to mrs Kepler and just don’t tell her I’m gonna do a seventeen minute solo.”
“-with no formal training,” she said through a laugh.
“Exactly!”
“I have big expectations Trashmouth.”
“Oh, trust me,” he shoved his hand in his pocket as he turned on his heel. “They shall be met!” he raised his pointer finger to the sky, grinned and walked off.