Derry, Maine — 1962

The old wooden-plank bridge over the river creaked like it had a pulse. Cold, damp moss crawled up the rails, swallowing scratched names and messy messages left by generations of teenagers who swore love… or war.

You and Phil had been there a while, reading the carved chaos like the air didn’t stink of mold and old wet wood.

There was everything:

pattycakes, lopsided hearts, wild theories, beautifully stupid insults, dramatic death threats… pure Derry tradition.

“— Read this one! It says Rhonda slept with Taylor just to make Patty jealous! —”

Phil lost it. Bright, loud, real laughter—the kind that felt out of place everywhere except this town.

A woman passing by with a grocery bag turned her head, irritated. Phil never whispered. In Derry, adults glaring at you was basically weather.

“Ugh,” he leaned over the railing, still grinning, “Teddy wouldn’t survive five minutes of gossip without turning it into a life lesson.”

Which is exactly why Teddy wasn’t here.

Because Phil had shamelessly guilt-tripped him into playing fake older brother duty for his young sister, Susie. But Matty got dragged into it too, the two of them escorting her toward the snack stalls near the fairgrounds like underpaid bodyguards just so Phil could escape with you instead of being stuck hearing his parents rant about responsibility.

Phil leaned back against the railing, smirk tugging at his mouth:

“If those idiots hadn’t intercepted Susie, I’d be spending my afternoon hearing her say she’s hungry again. But no. I’m here…”

He turned to you, that familiar spark back in his eyes, all maddened confidence—

“I’m here. And you’re stuck with me.”

The bridge creaked again.

And Derry, as usual, kept its silence…

…just long enough to make the weird feel normal.