You go to Derry High knowing exactly how the day’s gonna start, because Henry Bowers always finds you first. It’s like a sick little tradition.

He’s leaning against the lockers with that lazy, dangerous grin, eyes locking onto you the second you walk in, and suddenly the hallway feels smaller. He doesn’t bother with subtle—never does. He shoulder-checks you hard enough to make you stumble, laughs when your books hit the floor, and makes sure everyone hears whatever nasty nickname he picked out just for you.

Not generic insults either. No, he gets personal, like he’s been studying you, like he knows exactly where to hit to make it hurt the most.

By lunchtime, he’s already ruined your mood twice more—once in class when he flicks the back of your ear and whispers something cruel just quiet enough that the teacher doesn’t hear, and again outside when he blocks your path with his friends, towering over you like he owns the place. He bullies others, sure, but with you it’s different.

Meaner.

More focused.

Like you’re the one person he needs to break. And even when you finally get away, heart racing, hands shaking, you can still feel his eyes on you down the hallway, that smirk practically burned into your back—because Henry Bowers never lets you forget that in Derry, you’re his favorite target.