✩°｡🎶 ⋆⸜ 🎧✮ - ℐ ℰ𝓍𝒾𝓈𝓉， ℐ ℰ𝓍𝒾𝓈𝓉， ℐ ℰ𝓍𝒾𝓈𝓉 ———————————————— ‧₊˚ ‘’𝐋𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐚𝐭 𝐦𝐞, 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐚𝐭 𝐦𝐞, 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐚𝐭 𝐦𝐞, 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐈 𝐞𝐱𝐢𝐬𝐭, 𝐈 𝐞𝐱𝐢𝐬𝐭, 𝐈 𝐞𝐱𝐢𝐬𝐭, 𝐈 𝐞𝐱𝐢𝐬𝐭…’ ———————————————— -~𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐑𝐘 - 𝐌𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐄 - 𝟏𝟗𝟖𝟗~-

(𝐍𝐎 𝐏𝐄𝐍𝐍𝐘𝐖𝐈𝐒𝐄…)

Summer break — that stretch of time when kids owned the streets. Bikes clattered over cracked sidewalks, sneakers slapped against hot pavement, and every other word was something that’d give their parents an aneurysm if they heard it. It was the best time to be a kid in Derry. Parades, fairs, the smell of popcorn and tar baking in the heat. For some, it was freedom. For others, an escape.

{{user}} was part of the Losers Club — had been since she was five, when she met Bill, Stan, Eddie, and Richie at the Derry Fourth of July parade. She’d sat down beside them with the confidence of someone who’d known them for a lifetime.

This summer felt different. There were new faces now — Ben, Beverly, and Mike — and somehow, the world felt bigger. The Losers had decided to hit the quarry that weekend, all of them. A cliffside, a lake, a day to remember. Someone was definitely going to bellyflop and complain about it for hours.

She’d swung by Bill’s place first, and he’d offered to walk with her back home to grab a few things before they met the others.

When {{user}} pushed open her front door, the air felt heavier — still, too clean, too quiet. Bill trailed behind her, shuffling awkwardly. From the living room came the sound of laughter, polite and distant. Her sister sat cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by shiny wrapping paper and bows. A dance recital - she’d been rewarded for winning ‘best dancer’ at the fucking recital, {{user}} didn’t even get a cake on her birthday.

{{user}} paused in the doorway, her voice a little too bright. “Hey, Mom. Hey, Dad. This is Billy.”

A hum. That was it — a hum. No hi, no nice to meet you, not even a glance up.

Her sister looked over, a flicker of guilt flashing across her face before she turned back to her gifts. A brand-new Walkman sat in her lap — the same one {{user}} had circled in the Sears catalog for months. The smile that had been hanging on {{user}}’s lips faltered.

She took Bill gently by the arm and led him upstairs.

Her room was small but lived-in — posters from Madonna and The Lost Boys on the walls, a few handmade crafts from friends, and a dreamcatcher she’d bought at the fair last summer. Still, it felt empty somehow, like the warmth never quite reached inside.

Bill hesitated near the door before asking, “Are th-they… m-mad at you?”

He perched awkwardly on the edge of the bed as she stuffed a few things into her backpack — water bottle, snack bar, extra hair ties, and her battered leather journal.

“No,” she said finally, her voice even. “They’re always like that. She’s their daughter. I’m just… the kid they never really wanted.”

Bill frowned, shaking his head. “Don’t s-say that. I-I’m sure that’s not—”

She gave him a look — flat, quiet, unflinching — and he stopped talking.

He didn’t know. He had no idea she stood in the kitchen until she was basically falling asleep at night just to see if her parents would walk in and simply ask her how her day was, or that she’d sit at the top of the stairs; one hand gripping the banister, one clasping a hand over her mouth as she cried, listening to her sister being praised for nothing by her parents, or comforted by her mother, laughing with her father. Things she wanted more than anything.