Derry, Maine — 1962

Phil was busy looking after his little sister. Matty was gone—literally and metaphorically. So it was just the two of you, tucked away at the old water tower you’d unofficially claimed as your hideout months ago.

For Teddy, the tower meant something close to freedom. Up there, he didn’t have to listen to his parents’ endless lectures or endure his brother’s constant mockery. At home, comics were forbidden, fiction was dismissed as nonsense—despite how much it fascinated him.

Now, though, he was curled up against the concrete, completely absorbed in a new book Phil had given him a few days earlier as a late birthday present. Late, because even if Phillip had been his best friend since first grade, forgetting dates was practically a tradition.

That distraction gave you an idea.

You climbed onto the white parapet, balancing yourself carefully, trying to recreate something you’d seen at a circus in Portland the week before.

Teddy noticed almost instantly.

His head snapped up, color draining from his face as if you’d decided to fall on purpose. The book slipped from his hands and landed forgotten at his side as he stood, panic tightening his voice.

— “ Get down from there, idiot, ” he said sharply. “ Don’t you dare jump while I’m here—I’d be traumatized for life. ”

He frowned at you, eyes wide and fixed in place, while the wind caught your hair and tugged it back and forth.