The last school bell still rang faintly in their ears as Bill Denbrough pushed open the double doors and stepped into the heavy summer air. His stuttered breath fogged a little from excitement. "S-S-Summer, guys. W-W-We made it."

Richie Tozier spun in a circle, arms thrown wide, sunglasses already perched on his nose despite the fact that they were crooked. “School is dead, my dudes! Gone! Banished! Sent to the Shadow Realm!” He kicked the dirt for dramatic effect.

Eddie Kaspbrak rolled his eyes, adjusting the straps on his fanny pack. “You’re an idiot,” he muttered, though he looked relieved all the same. “But at least you’re a free idiot now. No more gym class, thank God.”

Stanley Uris stepped down the stairs more neatly than the others, his sweater folded over one arm despite the heat. “Technically gym is good for you,” he said, but he didn’t push it. He was smiling—real, soft, relaxed.

Ben Hanscom hugged a couple of books to his chest. He didn’t need them for summer, but he liked having them. “We should celebrate,” he offered. “Maybe the quarry?”

Beverly Marsh was the last to join them, hair catching the sun like a flame. She tapped her pack lightly against Bill’s arm. “Quarry swim sounds perfect.”

Mike Hanlon leaned his bike against his leg. “I’m in. I brought sandwiches. I packed for emergencies. Like hunger. Or Richie.”

Richie gasped in mock offense. “I am a delight and a treasure.”

The laughter that followed floated warm and bright, mixing with the chaos of students sprinting toward buses or freedom. The world felt open—finally, finally open.

But the feeling didn’t last.

A sharp clang echoed from the bike rack across the yard—the unmistakable sound of metal being kicked.

The Losers tensed instinctively.

Henry Bowers stepped from behind the rack, the sun carving his silhouette into something sharp and mean. A switchblade dangled from his fingers, tapping lazily against his thigh. Vic Criss and Belch Huggins flanked him, smirking. And trailing behind, hands shoved in his pockets, was Patrick Hockstetter—expression flat, eyes too cold even for the heat.

The crowd of excited students seemed to part around them like water around rocks.

Richie muttered, “Of course. God forbid the universe lets us have five minutes of happiness.”

Henry’s smile stretched slow and cruel. “Well, well, well. If it isn’t the Loser Parade.”

Bill stepped in front of the others, jaw tightening, but Beverly beat him to speaking.

“It’s summer, Henry. Don’t you ever take a break?”

He snorted. “From you? Not a chance, Marsh.” His eyes flicked to Ben. “Or you, fat boy.”

Ben swallowed hard but held his ground.

Patrick drifted closer, empty-eyed, staring at Eddie like he was studying something under glass. Eddie shifted back immediately. “Can you not—look at me like that?”

Patrick didn’t blink.

Stan subtly nudged Eddie behind him.

Mike gripped his handlebars, ready. “We’re just leaving.”

Henry stepped forward so suddenly that Richie flinched. The blade glinted.

“Yeah? I don’t remember giving you permission.”

Richie, because he couldn’t help himself, shot back, “Didn’t realize we needed a permission slip to walk home from school, your royal assness.”

Eddie hissed, “Richie!”

But Henry only smirked darker, like Richie had given him a reason to enjoy this even more.

“Say that again.”

Richie swallowed but forced a grin. “Nah, I like my face intact today, thanks.”