saturday

Ben Hanscom crawls into the passenger seat of Bill's truck and Beverly sits in the back seat, but Ben doesn't see her until he's buckled up and Bill is rolling. Since Beverly doesn't have a car, Bill and some of the others sometimes help her set up for the Farmer's Market nice and early in the morning on a perfectly good Saturday.

It's just, usually, Ben is picked up before Beverly, and Ben is given time to prepare himself for her presence.

"Oh- hi, Beverly," Ben says with a small smile.

"Hi, Ben," she says.

Bill does his best to suppress a small giggle and flicks his eyes up to the rearview mirror. Beverly has a pink tint to her cheeks and Bill doesn't think that it is the blush she applies along with her makeup in the mornings.

"Will all of us be there?" Ben asks, drumming his hands on his jean-clad knees.

Bill nods and Ben looks down his friend's long, thin body. His knuckles are white against the thin steering wheel and Ben frowns.

"Billy, you don't have to do it all the time. Not around us, at least," Ben says. Bill looks at him from the corners of his eyes.

Beverly looks up too and noticed the tell-tale signs that Bill has his "mind-wall" up and armed. However, keeping it up comes with a high use of his energy and it's known to knock Bill out in his classes quite often. It drains him so quickly.

"Yeah, Big Bill, you'll be out by noon if you keep it up," Bev adds.

Bill sighs and makes a left turn.

His entire body relaxes and Beverly images a small wall tumbling to the ground inside Bill's mind.

Bill turns on the radio and relaxes with his thoughts, as well as Beverly's and Ben's... and...

"Ruh-Richie?"

"Thank God, that was diffi- OW!"

Beverly slaps Richie's thin arm beside her and he curls back.

"Do-Don't scare us like th-that, Ruh-Richie!" Bill scolds, looking at the tall boy in his rearview mirror.

"Is there not any way you can- I don't know-" Beverly says.

"-tell you that I'm Coming In Hot? No. It just kinda happens," Richie says, "You've been asking me this since the fifth grade and the answer is still no."

Bill rolls his eyes and his speed slows as he pulls into the alleyway where Mike waits with the truck full of goods for this week's booth. Mike looks down at his watch.

Six thirty a-m. On the dot, just like always.

Ben and Bill hop out of the car and Beverly crawls out after them. Richie simply blips out again, then reappears outside of the truck, leaning against Mike's truck now.

The lot of them simply rolls their eyes. Showoff.

"Let's get ready, yeah?" Mike suggests, pocketing the rock he was previously tossing up in the air and catching while waiting for the others to arrive.

Everyone nods and begins unloading Mike's truck and dragging their things out to the booth that the Hanlon's rent for the Market.

By the looks of the load, today is mostly peaches and many different types of apples, as well as a good selection of greens.

Beverly smiles. It'll be a good selling day, she thinks to herself.

The five of them finish setting up as well as the many other sellers of Derry. Some sold knitted goods, some sold breakfast foods, and The Loser's Club's personal favorite: Derry's Dearest Doughnuts.

Eight am rolled around and Eddie and Stanley both showed around the same time.

"Finally," Richie says, tossing his arms up into the air, "Bill's making us wait to go to the doughnut place until you two got here."

"A-And now wuh-we can go," Bill says, standing up from his sitting place on one of the crates of apples. Richie hops down from his place on top of a stack of boxes and takes a place next to Eddie.

The gang, minus Beverly and Mike, begins the trek to the Derry's Dearest Doughnuts cart, but Ben stops on his tracks and turns around.

"Do you want anything from the doughnut cart, Beverly?" He asks kindly.

Beverly grins simply and laughs. The sunlight catches the gold highlights in her hair.

Ben quickly realizes that Mike is there as well and mentally curses himself.

"Y-You too, Mike?" Ben inquires.

Mike laughs too, a smile having been present on his face since Ben asked Bev the initial question.

"No thanks, Ben," Mike says, shaking his head.

Both boys look to Bev.

"I'll have whatever you're having," Beverly says lightly.

Ben blushes down to his toes.

✨

"Guh-George had f-f-fuh-fun with you yes-yesterday, Stan," Bill says, breaking the silence between them.

Stanley looks over to Bill from his spot in the passenger seat.

"Really?" Stan asks, a bit surprised, "I thought I was boring him."

Stan thinks back to the previous day. Maybe... he was enjoying it.

"No, h-he ruh-really liked ih-it," Bill assures.

Stan's usually serious face forms a small smile. His cheeks turn pink.

"You should bring him to my baseball game tomorrow night," Stan blurts excitedly, "If he wants to come early, I could let him run the bases on the field or something like that."

Bill laughs.

Butterflies rise in his stomach and a warm, borderline painful, sensation stems down his back. Stan's face drops.

Not now, Stan pleads in his head, Please, God, not now.

"I th-think he wuh-would-would like that," Bill agrees.

When Stan doesn't reply, Bill takes his eyes off the road for a slight second and looks to Stan.

"Ah-are you oh-okay?"

Stan's eyes dart to Bill's.

"Fine," Stan sputters. Bill gives him a look like a mother would give her lying kid. Stan's entire body is rigid and tense.

"It's just my back, Bill, I promise. It hurts sometimes."

Bill begins nodding, understanding the cause of his discomfort now.

Poor Stanley, Bill thinks, he has it the worst out of all of us.

✨

Mike Hanlon sits on the ground in frustration. He pulls his gloves off and rests them on his knees and digs his heels into the ground.

"These daisies just don't want to grow, do they, Mikey?" Will Hanlon says, sitting down next to his son.

"Nope," Mike pipes. It's because the earth on this side of the farm doesn't carry the right nutrients that they need, but you would look at me like I had two heads if I told you that, Mike says in his head.

The two look at the sunset, orange and pink, just like something on a painter's palette.

"Well, I'm calling it a night, Mike," his father says.

Mike looks up, squinting his eyes. "I think I'll stay out here for a few minutes, okay Dad?"

Will Hanlon nods, then steals one last look at the sky, then goes inside.

Mike waits until he hears the door of his house shut to bury his bare hands in the dirt. He closes his eyes and feels the dirt sink under his fingernails. It's a good feeling. His favorite feeling.

When Mike opens his eyes, his hands are cupped in front of him, thin ribbons of pebbles and dirt swirl in circles in the air like a DNA strand. Mike's deep brown eyes watch intently, moving his fingers every once and a while to change the flow of the pattern.

He drops his focus and the dirt and pebbles drop as well, and Mike turns his focus to the small, failing daisy plants.

He focuses specifically on one of the smaller sprouts in the back row. Mike points his dirt-coated finger at it and closes his eyes, centering his mind and energy.

When he opens his eyes, the daisy is full and grown. Mike smiles and goes inside for dinner.

✨

sunday

Stan stands alone in the massive baseball team locker room of Derry High School. He had locked the door upon entrance and made sure no one else was inside. He needs to be alone.

Maybe not alone, Stanley thinks, Richie or Eddie or Ben or Bev or Bill or Mike would be nice company.

He now stands in front of the mirror by the locker titled "URIS - #5 - TEAM CAPTAIN."

His light blue baseball jersey is folded up in his hands. He looks down at it, then back at the mirror.

The other's would be nice to have right around now. Stanley thinks of the numerous amount of times his friends have helped him in his times like this. How supportive they have been.

The pain in his back returns for the millionth time today. Stan breathes deep and sets his jersey down on the bench behind him. His hands already tremble with nerves.

God, please, the pain!

He turns back to the mirror and folds his hands together and places them under his chin, closing his eyes as well. His entire body goes tense.

How long has it been now... two weeks? An entire fourteen days?

Damn it, Stanley, you can't keep doing this to yourself. It'll only hurt more and more each time.

His hands move from his chin to his eyes. The heels of his palms dig into his eye sockets and he clenches his teeth.

To anyone else, it would look like he was crying or praying or maybe even both, but then they would be shocked to see massive, white wings spring from the boy's shoulder blades.

Stan lets out a gasping breath and rips his hands from his eyes, nearly knocking himself off his feet.

His wide, glorious wings are white with a few grey streaks painted in like brushstrokes. The thin bottoms of them nearly touch the back of his calves, ticking them through his grey baseball pants if he moves.

The initial pain fades away, and the feeling turns into a bliss.

Stan actually laughs. It feels... so good. It feels like forever since he's been able to be free. And baby, does it feel so good.

Stan pulls himself together and balances himself before allowing a few flaps of his wings to let him hover just above the ground. He lets out a breathy chuckle and tosses his curly head back, opening his arms and lifting his legs. It feels so good. So right.

Stanley has always liked his wings. He thinks they suit him well and Bev has even gone as far to tell him that he is a "real life angel" which made him turn red in the face. He would find himself writing the words in the corners of his papers when he zoned out in class.

Real life angel...

Knock knock.

"Who's in there?" the booming voice of Coach Brumelley bellows from outside.

Stan is quick to tuck his feathery secrets behind his back.

"It's Stanley!"

"Open the door, Uris!" Coach Brumelley hollers.

Stan bites back a painful groan as his wings burrow back into his shoulder blades and he makes his way to the locker room door.

Stanley's back screams in pain and he wants nothing more than to hop out the window and fly.

He unlocks it and Coach barges in before Stan can open it for him.

"What'dya doing in here, Uris?"

Stan realizes his disheveled appearance, his hair wild his shirt on the bench and a thin sheen of sweat on his forehead.

"Stretching- I didn't realize the, uh, door locked," he sputters.

Coach Brumelley seems to buy it.

"You've got two boys waiting on the field. Said they were here for you."

Bill and Georgie.

"Right, thank you, Coach."

✨

Bill hears Stan's wild stream of thoughts in his head before he sees him jog around the corner of the school and towards the baseball field.

Blue...

"God, please, the pain..."

Prayer.

Bill...

Wings.

Growth.

Bill grabs Stan's shoulder with a firm hand once he's within reach, then remembers Georgie standing right beside him.

"Pluh-Plug your eh-ears, Juh-Juh-Georgie," Bill says, looking down at his kid brother.

"Why?" George whines.

Bill rolls his eyes. "Bec-Because bi-big kids are tah-talking."

George sighs and claps his hands over his ears and turns his back. Bill turns back to Stan, whose cheeks took a rosy tint from the chill in the autumn air.

Bill's voice drops down to a whisper, "D-Did you f-f-f-f-f-" Bill removes his hand from Stanley's shoulder and takes a breath, "D-Did you fly?"

Stan sighs and kicks at the Orange-brown dirt in the field. He scrunches the bill of his cap, curling it even further.

"Not as much as I wanted to," Stan replies. "You know I can- we all can feel it when you're poking around in our heads."

Bill sighs and stuffs his cold hands into his pockets and nods.

"D-Did it hurt?" Bill asks, remembering the thought of pain that surfaced in Stanley's thoughts.

"Yes," Stan says. He pushes his baseball hat further down on his curly hair. "I haven't done it in a while, so yeah, of course, it did."

You were thinking of me too, Bill remembers.

"Blood?" Bill asks. Stan shakes his head.

"Not this time," he stuffs his baseball glove under his armpit and sticks his hands in his pockets. "I think we need to talk to the others about this because I feel like I'm not the only one."

Bill furrows his brow. "Only o-one what?"

"I don't know, Bill, it's starting to hurt," Stan nods his head towards George, "Let's talk about it later."

Both boys look at George.

"You can stop now," Stanley says, raising his voice and smiling at the kid.

Georgie whirls around and pulls his small baseball glove out of Bill's back pocket. Bill grabs the seat of his jeans in surprise.

"So, what are we gonna play, Stanley?" Georgie asks, pounding his fist into the center of his glove. He's seen baseball players do it on TV and he saw Stanley do it once, so it has to be cool, right? Right.

"How about..." Stan begins, thinking. Bill starts walking to the dugout to get a baseball bat before Stan can get his idea out.

"I'll pitch to Big Bill, then you can catch the ball when he hits it."

"Awesome!" Georgie says. He starts running to the outfield with a massive smile on his face.

Look at me, Georgie Denbrough, playing on the big kid's field! Look! Look!

Bill smiles as George's mental exclamation sounds in his head as he taps the top of the baseball bat to home plate.

"Heyyy batter-batter-batter, swing, batter-batter-batter!" Bill hollers in a deep announcers voice. He doesn't stutter a single time.

✨

The rest of the Losers Club showed up maybe a half-hour before the game, pleasantly surprised by Little Georgie's presence. He's always fun to have around and his jokes are always something worth laughing about.

When the game begins, Bill and Mike sit behind Richie and Ben with Georgie sitting on Richie's knee, and Beverly and Eddie sit in the front row in front of Ben, Georgie, and Richie.

"Give me your glasses, Richie," Georgie says, groping the air for the thick-lensed glasses that sit on Richie Tozier's frog-face.

"Whatevuh tha' mastuh says," Richie says in a deep, southern accent, "Goes. Be cay-uh-ful, little mastuh."

Richie pulls his glasses off and hands them to Georgie, who immediately puts them on his face and turns to watch the game play out.

I look like Clark Kent! Georgie exclaims in his head. A smile takes his rosy face.

The Losers cheer when the announcer (and Richie) says, "... and this team all headed up by team captain, number five, Stanley Uris!"

Stan took his position as Short-Stop, the perfect position for him considering his speed, and crouched down into his ready position.

Stan never likes to look into the crowd during the game because it distracts him, but he knew his friends would always be there.

a//n : i really am loving writing this book... ah. it's so much fun. how are you guys??? I feel like I haven't talked to you all in forever.