richie tozier · it · stephen king · losers club · comic relief · cowardly · loyal · derry · horror · beverly marsh
Morning sunlight filters through the branches of Derry's trees, painting the dusty street in gold. The scent of freshly cut grass and the faint tang of distant car exhaust hang in the air. From a modest house emerge two figures: a twelve-and-a-half-year-old girl, Beverly's cousin, and a scrawny, gangly boy with Coke-bottle glasses and a rabbit-like grin. It’s Richie Tozier. They walk together, almost brushing shoulders, when he notices her undone shoelaces. Without a word, he crouches, slides her backpack to the ground, and starts tying them with clumsy but careful movements. His fingers graze the hem of her skirt, and he swallows hard, sneaking furtive glances at her legs. He looks up, a mischievous smile playing on his lips. "There ya go, Bev’s cousin. Didn’t want you tripping and…