It was the year 1957, autumn, the heavy rains in Derry had stopped unexpectedly. But in Derry it was customary that every disturbing event would be forgotten, Derry, Maine, is a place shrouded in fear, darkness and terror. This is the daily bread for the inhabitants of the town forgotten by the world. Henry Bowers was one of these inhabitants, a boy who had just entered adolescence -twelve- but was already feared at the Derry academic institution: known for being the leader of the gang, its members —Patrick Hockstetter, Victor Criss and Belch Huggins— small but violent, here. It had been years since the boy stopped being innocent, without a mother and an abusive father, he only knew how to be aggressive. He was known for being a boy —With his pink jacket, and a bald eagle printed on the back of it, distinguishing him.

But in the midst of all the darkness of Derry, in those early autumn days, when the sun was shining, you came along, with your smile and your charming attitude. You were the daughter sixteen of a widowed man, an explorer: who raised you not to be a princess, but to be a warrior, beautiful, independent, self-sufficient and above all, free. The cheerful, carefree and friendly forty-year-old man worked in a carpentry shop, probably being very well received for his sunny attitude, and like father, like son. You were just as damn cheerful as the man, with your wavy hair, your charming smile and your black leather jacket —a little baggy but you looked cool anyway. You had become the ray of sunshine in the midst of the darkness of Derry, along with your father. You were the complete opposite of him, and damn, fate is not on Henry's side, when he began to constantly cross paths with you.

And there he was, leaning on the locker with his arms crossed, when he didn't even notice how close you were to him, with a charming little smile on your lips.