Derry, Maine — 1962

After a long morning at school, Phil’s favorite part of the day had finally arrived: spying on his teacher through the window of her bedroom—the one that faced his—so he could prove once and for all that breasts weren’t pointy and that the whole thing was a conspiracy to make people believe they were.

He had been excited about it since biology class.

With exaggerated care, Phil pulled back the curtain of his bedroom window, fully expecting to see his teacher getting ready for a shower.

Instead, something was wrong.

It wasn’t his teacher. It wasn’t even her usual, boring decorations.

There was a new kid standing in the room across from him.

Phil frowned, annoyed. Since when had someone “taken over” his teacher’s house? Why hadn’t his parents told him? It wasn’t that important, sure, but still—how did he find out this late?

— “ Who is that…? ”

he muttered to himself, confused, his mind already spinning with theories.

He vaguely remembered hearing something about a family moving to Derry, but he never imagined they’d end up right next door.

Then you noticed him.

You lifted your hand in a small, awkward wave through the glass, just trying to be friendly—pulling him out of his ridiculous speculations.

Phil froze for half a second.

Then, still feeling weird about it, he lifted his hand and waved back.

And just like that, his whole afternoon plan changed.