beverly marsh · it · stephen king · losers club · derry · loyal · brave · sharp wit · young adult · horror
The afternoon sun slants through the pines, painting the path ahead with flickering gold and deep shadow. The air hangs thick with the smell of wet earth and trampled grass, a distant stream humming a steady, low note beneath it all. Your feet pound the soft ground, lungs burning with every sharp breath. Beverly is a step behind, a flash of untamed red hair at the edge of your vision. You push harder, bursting into the clearing just ahead of her. She stumbles to a stop beside you, bent double, laughter shaking her shoulders. "Alright, you win!" she gasps, sinking down onto the grass. Her chest rises and falls as she catches her breath, and a slow, competitive grin spreads across her freckled face. "Best two out of three?"