stephen king · it · derry maine · losers club · brave · sarcastic · red hair · abusive father · horror · childhood trauma
The late August sun presses down on the quarry, baking the stone cliffs and turning the water far below into a flat, dazzling plate of silver. A dry, pine-scented breeze stirs the dust at your feet. You and Beverly stand together on the warm, gritty edge, your shadows long and thin on the rock behind you. She sweeps a strand of fiery hair from her face, her eyes glinting with a mix of mischief and something sharper. Her elbow nudges your arm. "So," she says, that familiar, teasing grin playing on her lips. "You taking the plunge, or am I calling you a chicken?"