I pushed the door to the girls bathroom open and locked myself in the farthest cubicle. It was my time of month and that, unfortunately, meant regular toilet stops. As I sat on the seat, the kicking of a cubicle door made me jump. The dreaded voice of Greta Bowie filled the room.

"Are you in there by yourself, Beaverly? Or do you have half the guys in our school in there with you, huh slut?"

I raised my eyebrows at her interesting choice of nickname.

"I know you're in there, you little shit. I can smell you. No wonder you don't have any friends."

I peaked through the crack in the door, and saw Greta and a couple of her friends filling a trash bag with water. Whatever she was doing, I didn't like it. My mind started to race quickly, trying to figure out a way to get out of the bathroom without causing too much trouble. Why oh why did I have to choose the toilet furthest from the door?

I was about to open my mouth to tell her to piss off, when I noticed that they weren't talking to me at all. They seemed to be focused on someone in the cubicle a few doors down.

Relief washed over me as I found out I was safe, but the sound of another voice brought me back to what was going on.

"Which is it, Greta? Am I a slut, or a little shit? Make up your mind." the girl who was in the cubicle said, her voice barely audible over the sound of the tap running.

"You're trash." Greta replied. "We just wanted to remind you."

Greta gave the door one last kick, and her friend walked into the cubicle beside her with the trash bag. I could see the top of the girl's ponytail as she stood on top of the toilet. The sound of water, and god knows what else, sloshing in the bag made me gag. I pitied the girl they had decided to victimise.

Greta and her friends left, laughing loudly. I looked under the door into the girl's cubicle and saw a pair of brown ankle boots with yellow striped socks peeking over the top, the floor around them covered in brown toilet paper and water.

She didn't move or say anything as I opened the cubicle door and stepped out. I was about to ask if she was okay, but the sound of the bell and stench of garbage made me decide against it.

- - -

I sat in English, observing the dark haired boy sitting behind me in the reflection of the window.

Ever since my encounter with Patrick, I found myself subconsciously paying more attention to him. I watched as he laughed with Vic, the blonde haired boy in Henry's gang. Patrick's hair partially covered his eyes and I could see his toned chest peaking through the fabric of his rocker-style shirt.

The boy sitting next to me made a huff of annoyance at the noise Patrick was making and I heard a chair scrape from behind me. The sound of boots walking across the wooden floor filled the room and I turned to see Patrick standing next to me.

Vic snickered and the boy froze, slowly turning around. Patrick grabbed his head and forced him to look at him, baring his teeth at the frightened kid.

"You've got a problem, moose face?" he asked, causing the boy to widen his eyes in fear.

"N-no." he replied, looking to the teacher for help but was brought back to attention by a quick slap to the face.

"You better not, cunt. Make another noise like that and I'll carve each and every one of those freckles out of that munted face of yours. Capisce?"

The boy nodded his head quickly and Patrick let go.

"Back to your seat Hockstetter." the teacher said, but not very forcefully. I suspected that she had seen the whole thing but was too intimidated by Patrick to do anything. To be honest, I didn't blame her.

"Was just on my way, Miss." he replied with a smirk, turning to wink at me before heading back to his seat. I looked away and tried to ignore him for the rest of the class.

It turned out to be more difficult than I expected.

- - -

I sat at my bedroom window, looking out at the street below. The Losers Club rode past and I watched as Bill waved goodbye to the rest of the boys and walked up his driveway. I would have gone home with them too, but I had bad stomach pains after lunch and went home early.

Instead of walking into his house like Bill usually did, he walked into his garage. I leaned forward in interest, trying to get a better view, but I couldn't see what he was doing. I watched for a little longer but turned back to my homework after a minute of nothing.

About five minutes passed when I saw Billy leave the garage again. I could tell by the slump of his posture that he was upset and he sat down on the porch, his head in his hands. I found myself running downstairs.

He looked up as I crossed the road, sitting up straighter and putting on a smile his face that I knew was fake.

"What's wrong?" I asked and sat next to him, our knees touching.

"N-nothing, I'm fine."

I looked at him closely. "Bill, I know you're lying. You can tell me what's wrong."

He looked down at his feet. There was few moments of silence before he spoke.

"My d-dad isn't happy with me." he replies slowly. "I made something in his st-study, and he got mad." I put an arm around him, and he tensed before leaning into me.

I smiled at myself. I was getting better at this whole comforting thing.

"Hey, it's okay Bill. I'm sure he isn't too mad at you for using his stuff, it's a silly thing to get worked up about."

He frowned. "It's n-not just that though. I made a m-model of the sewer using pipes to sh-show what might of happened to Georgie. I th-thought it'd help to find out where he is."

My heart sank and I tightened my grip around his shoulder. Of course his dad would be mad if he did that. Heck, I'd be upset if my child tried to convince me that my other missing kid that I'd slowly been trying to get over was still alive.

"I'm sorry, Bill, that he doesn't understand. I think he's trying to get over Georgie. And I'm not saying that he's dead, I just don't think your dad has as much hope left as you do."

I felt him tense and I was worried I had said the wrong thing, but he soon relaxed again.

"I guess you're right." he said and we put our heads against each other. I closed my eyes, his warm cheek soothing my cool one.

"L-lara?" he asked, pulling away and staring me in the eyes.

I felt my heart rate increase. "Yeah, Bill?"

He took a deep breath, looking away for a second and then turning back to me.

"I-I really like you."

My heart stopped and I froze. He liked me? As in a more-than-a-friend way? His eyes widened at my lack of response, and he opened his mouth to say something but I cut him off.

"Do you really mean it?" I asked. I didn't know what else to say - nobody had ever said anything like that to me before.

"I mean, yeah-" he was cut off by the sound of a car honking.

We turned to see Henry Bowers and his gang drive past, sneering at us.

"Get a room, freaks!" Henry shouted and the others laughed. I felt Patrick's gaze on me as they drove away and I looked back to Bill.

His hand was on mine and our legs were touching, sending tingles through my skin. I hastily removed my hand and stood up, my heart racing.

"I... I should get back home. I'll see you around, Bill." I muttered and turned around to go back into my house.

There was something wrong with me, something deep down that stopped me from responding to Bill's feelings. I wanted to turn back and say something, say anything. Instead, I spent the next hour laying on my bed, staring at the ceiling in silence as my mind churned over what I should have done. He was too good for me. I was doomed the moment Patrick found me in the woods yesterday.