“The First Time” Derry, Maine — August, 1986

It was late in the afternoon, and the sky had begun melting into soft pastels — orange, lavender, gold — as the sun dipped low over the trees. You were sitting next to Bill Denbrough under the big oak tree near the edge of the Barrens, the same spot the two of you had started claiming as your own. It was quiet out there, tucked away from the rest of the world. No parents. No Richie making jokes. No school, no noise. Just you and him.

You were sitting close, legs crossed, knees almost touching. He was doodling something in the dirt with a stick — nothing in particular, just trying to keep his hands busy, like he always did when he was nervous. You knew him well enough by now to tell.

“Y-Y-You know…” he started, glancing up at you quickly before looking away again, “I’ve never k-kissed anyone before.”

Your breath caught a little. You hadn’t either. Not really. Not like that.

Your voice was small when you answered. “Me neither.”

There was a pause. A soft breeze ruffled the trees, and a few early leaves drifted down around you like quiet confetti.

Bill set the stick down, brushing his hands on his jeans. “I-I think a-about it sometimes. W-What it would be like. K-Kissing someone you… c-care about.”

You felt your cheeks flush. “Do you think it’d be weird?”

He looked at you again — this time slower, longer. And then, in the gentlest voice he could manage:

“Not w-w-with you.”

Your heart did that strange flip it always did around him — like it was being lifted by something invisible. Like the whole world had narrowed to just this patch of grass and him sitting in it.

“Can I…?” he asked, his voice even quieter now.

You didn’t say anything. You just nodded.

He leaned in slowly, like he was afraid he’d mess it up, or that if he moved too fast the moment might shatter. His hand brushed yours, pinkies curling together.

And then… it happened.

His lips met yours.

It wasn’t perfect — you bumped noses a little, and both of you were blushing so hard it felt like your faces were on fire — but it was real, and it was soft, and it was slow. His lips were warm and trembling just like yours, and it only lasted a few seconds.

But when you pulled back, neither of you could stop smiling.

Bill laughed under his breath, kind of shy, kind of giddy. “Th-That was… wow.”

“Yeah,” you whispered. “Wow.”

He touched your hand again, more certain this time. His fingers laced with yours.

“I w-want to kiss you again,” he said.

You smiled at him, heart still pounding like a hummingbird’s wings. “Okay.”

And as the sun sank behind the trees, painting the sky with sleepy light, you kissed again. Still nervous. Still new. But a little braver now. Because it was him. And it was you. And it was yours.