1

Evelyn woke up in the living room with a pounding headache and a kink in her neck.

The rest of her family was in the kitchen, sharing a modest breakfast of bacon, toast, and eggs cooked to order (Richie liked his sunny side up over toast, while Mr. Tozier preferred his poached with lots of black pepper). Mrs. Tozier was chained to the stove, frying up another six strips of bacon for her son while her own breakfast sat on the table, getting colder by the minute. The smell of eggs and sizzling meat made Evelyn's stomach churn. She spun around and ran straight for the bathroom.

Mr. Tozier heard the door slam, then flipped to the business section. "And that, son, is exactly why you don't drink."

Richie snickered into his orange juice.

Her parents were far more compassionate than Evelyn expected. When she finally entered the kitchen, she didn't receive any disappointed looks or stern lectures. Instead, she found a glass of water waiting for her at the table, along with two ibuprofen. Evelyn thanked her mother and swallowed the pills in one gulp. Her father offered her a slice of plain white toast to nibble on while her stomach settled. His tender smile made her feel forgiven.

Mrs. Tozier came over with a plate of hot, crispy bacon. "I got a call from Liz Mueller this morning, Evelyn. She apologized profusely for what happened last night and wanted to make sure you got home okay. Nice girl. I told her you'd call her later."

Evelyn nodded and said she would. After all, it was the polite thing to do.

Meanwhile, Richie was helping himself to more bacon. "Hey, Evie," he said, whispering across the table like he had a secret to tell her. Evelyn glanced his way and felt sick all over again. The little jerk was holding a thick slice of bacon by the fatty end, letting all the grease slowly roll down and drip, drip, drip into a yellow-brown puddle on his plate. "You want some?" he asked, giving it a little wiggle.

Evelyn's face paled as she gripped the table's edge. Once again, the bile was rising up from the back of her throat. She fought hard to keep it down.

"Enough, Richie," Mr. Tozier said. "Your sister's not feeling well this morning."

"Because she got wasted." Richie crunched down on the bacon, getting brown bits everywhere. "Man, you're really going for the full high school experience, aren't ya, sis? Next thing you know, she'll be ramming her tongue down some loser's throat in the backseat of his car."

"Shut up, Richie," Evelyn spat, ripping the corner off a piece of toast.

Richie pushed up his glasses. "So what are you gonna name your backseat baby?"

"I said, shut up!"

"That's enough, both of you," Mrs. Tozier said, calling for silence with her hand. "Richie, go upstairs and clean your room before your friends get here."

"I already did."

"To my standard, not yours. I don't wanna go in there and find everything shoved in your closet. If you wanna have company, your room needs to be clean. Those are the rules. Now, get upstairs."

"Fine, fine." Richie downed the rest of his juice and left the table without pushing in his chair. His mother pulled it back in with her foot.

The kitchen got quieter after he left. Mrs. Tozier ate her spinach omelette neatly with a knife and fork, stopping only to take a sip of her coffee or to ask Mr. Tozier about his schedule for the upcoming week. "I've gotta work late on Wednesday," she said, "so you'll have to take care of dinner. Pick up a pizza or something. Whatever you wanna do."

"Pizza sounds good."

Evelyn put down her water glass. "I could always cook," she said, interrupting their pleasant table chatter. Mr. Tozier raised a curious brow and lowered his paper. Mrs. Tozier put down her fork. "Yeah," Evelyn went on earnestly, "I could make spaghetti and meatballs or something. Richie likes that, and it's pretty easy, so ..."

She trailed off, sucking in her lower lip. It was an obvious gesture of remorse: calculated, yes, but also sincere. She hoped her parents would recognize that.

Mr. Tozier smiled. "That'd be great, sweetie. I'll pick up some garlic bread on my way home."

Beside him, Mrs. Tozier was smiling, too, but hers was a knowing smile, tight-lipped and thin. "That's very generous of you, Evelyn. Thank you." She dabbed the corner of her mouth with her napkin. "Now, I suppose we should move on to the subject of your punishment, hmm? That's what you're really waiting for."

Evelyn nodded, already prepared for the worst. "I'm grounded, aren't I?"

"Grounded?" Her mother laughed. "No, honey, you're not grounded."

"There'd be no point," said Mr. Tozier. "You hardly go out as it is."

The two of them shared a chuckle over that while Evelyn rolled her eyes. Then Mrs. Tozier took her coffee mug in both hands and leaned back in apparent contemplation. It was all theater, of course. How they loved to put on a show.

Evelyn begged them to get on with it before her stomach started doing somersaults again.

"So we got a little creative," Mrs. Tozier went on, smirking. "Tomorrow, you'll be cleaning the entire house, floor to ceiling, dusting, sweeping, mopping, vacuuming. You'll scrub all the toilets and wipe all the windows until they shine like new. And you'll do the laundry, too, which is great because I haven't been able to get to it all week. You'll sort it, wash it, dry it, and fold it. Oh, and you'll be taking your brother and his friends to the movie tonight."

"What?" Evelyn whined. "Come on, why do I have to take Richie to the movie? He's old enough to go by himself."

"Mind telling him that?" Mrs. Tozier replied dryly. "The last time I let him go to a movie by himself, I got a call from the theater saying they caught him trying to sneak back in for a second showing. You know your brother, he gets hyper when he has to sit still for too long. I'd take him myself, but I have to work tonight, and your father wants the night to himself, so I guess you chose the wrong time to go boozing, huh?"

Evelyn leaned on her elbow, smushing her cheek with her fist. "I didn't go boozing," she muttered against her knuckles. Still, she saw no point in fighting her parents' decision, annoying as it was. "Okay, I'll do it, but can I invite Hannah?"

"What? No, this is a punishment, Evelyn, not a fun girls' night out."

"Well, I can't sit with Richie, and I don't wanna sit by myself like a weirdo." She shrugged. "What else am I supposed to do? At least with Hannah there, I'll have someone to talk to. It'll make the whole night go more smoothly."

Her mother thought it over while she drank her coffee. "Fine," she said. "Do whatever you want. As long as you go, I don't really care."

"Cool." Maybe it was just the medicine kicking in, but Evelyn was starting to feel a bit like herself again. She hopped out of her chair and left the room. "I'll see if she wants to spend the night, too."

"You do that." Mrs. Tozier went to take another drink, then paused. "Wait, what? I never said she could stay the night. Ev, Ev—Eh, she's already gone."

2

Later that afternoon, Evelyn saw Bill Denbrough walking his bike up the driveway as she was preparing to leave. He had his backpack strapped on and a rolled-up sleeping bag tucked under his arm. Evelyn told him to head on in. Richie was up in his room, reading an old comic he'd found under his bed. "Oh, and my mom's ordering a pizza for dinner tonight. If you want any special toppings or anything, you better speak up now or settle for pepperoni and olives."

"That's fine," he said. Bill was always so easy to please. "Where are you guh-guh-going?"

Evelyn had her red cardigan in hand. She slipped it on and then skipped down the porch. "Just for a little stroll around the block. I could use some fresh air." It was nice out today, warmer than it had been in a while. Sixty-five according to the weatherman, but in the sun, it felt like a perfect seventy, with a cool, refreshing breeze to blow all your troubles away. It was just what Evelyn needed. "Anyway, I'll see ya later, Bill."

"Buh-Bye, Evelyn."

She turned onto the sidewalk and started walking.

Today, it seemed like everyone was out enjoying the good weather. Evelyn's next-door neighbors, the Potters, were jogging with their chocolate lab, Bruno. Mr. Tinsley was underneath his piece-of-junk car, cursing up a storm over not having the right wrench, while his twin sons tossed a baseball around. A couple houses down, the Muntzes were drinking lemonade and playing croquet in their front yard. Mrs. Muntz asked if Evelyn was free to babysit tonight, but Evelyn said she had other plans.

"Oh," said Mrs. Muntz, a little disappointed. "Another time, then."

"Sure, just give me a call. Oh, hello, Mrs. Carson."

The old woman was out tending her garden, like she did every day. Mrs. Carson was often snippy with strangers, and she hated kids, but Evelyn could usually squeeze a couple minutes of pleasant conversation out of her, as long as she stayed on the topic of flowers, of course, and led off with a compliment.

"Your hydrangeas bloomed nicely this year," she said. "The color's so pretty."

Mrs. Carson came towards her, shaking a fistful of uprooted weeds. "Someone's trampled my shrubs."

"Oh? They look all right to me."

"The hell they do. Just look at 'em!" She shook her fist again, dirt flying everywhere. "They're all smushed and misshapen. It's like a damn tragedy, that's what this is. And when I catch the little prick that did this, I'm gonna take my shears and stick 'em where the sun don't shine, that's what I'm gonna do. Those damn kids are always messin' with my flowers."

"Well, I'm very sorry to hear that," Evelyn said. "You have lovely flowers."

"I appreciate you sayin' that." She focused her gaze then, bright blue eyes staring out from underneath her wide-brimmed hat, and smacked her lips together. "You all right, dear? You look tired."

"I was up late last night."

"Ahh, out on the town, huh? You best be careful with that. Catches up to you real quick."

Evelyn nodded. "I will. Bye, Mrs. Carson."

The old woman resumed her weed-pulling, and Evelyn continued on her way, passing the hand-painted tin mailbox that bore the Criss family name in crisp white letters.

Much to her surprise, Victor was out in the driveway, washing his father's car with a bucket of soapy water and a sponge that never seemed to stay wet enough. He bent down to dunk it again, then cursed under his breath. His father yelled something from inside the house. Vic hollered over his shoulder, "All right, all right, I heard you the first time! Fuckin' A." He pulled the sponge back out and started cleaning the wheel rims.

Evelyn leaned over the hood to watch him. "This part of your punishment?"

Her voice made him jump, but he recovered quickly, flashing a metal grin in her direction. "What's up, party animal?" He sloshed the sponge around in the water for a minute and then pushed himself to his feet. "So were you sick this morning?"

"Yeah, a little," Evelyn answered, blushing. "I threw up."

Vic held in a laugh. "Yeah, kinda figured you would. Man, you were a wreck last night. You probably don't even remember."

He started scrubbing the hood of the car with a steady motion, making little circles with his hand. Evelyn found it relaxing to watch. With each pass, the soap suds spread further and further across the car's black exterior, bubbles shining like tiny rainbows in the sunlight. Evelyn popped one with the tip of her finger.

"I remember some of it," she said. Most of the details got washed away by the long night's rest, but the raw emotions lingered, powerful as they had ever been. "Mostly I just remember this strange, overwhelming sadness that came out of nowhere and made me feel so heavy. It was like I was drowning, Vic, and the scary thing is, I don't even know why I was so upset."

Vic frowned, arm outstretched over the hood. "Well, alcohol does funny things sometimes."

"Did that happen to you?"

He put down the sponge and thought about it for a minute. "No, nothing quite like that, but you know what, I had a panic attack the first time I got high. Don't laugh, I'm serious. It was a full-blown freakout. All my anxieties just sorta hit me at once, and I felt like I was spiraling outta control, and I spent the whole night huddled in the corner, too afraid to sleep because I thought I wouldn't wake up again."

Evelyn clutched her chest. "God, that sounds terrifying."

"Yeah, it was pretty bad, but I survived and so will you. Just stay away from the booze for a while, okay? You really freaked me out last night."

"I did? Why?"

He bonked her on the head. "Why do you think, dummy? Seeing you sitting there on the curb, crying your eyes out like that. I thought something bad happened to you, like somebody hurt you or something." He picked the sponge back up, squeezing it harder than necessary. "Look, I know you're not stupid, Evelyn. You know what could've happened if some other guy found you."

Someone like Martin Davers. The thought passed through them both at the same time, but it hit Vic the hardest, like a fist to the stomach. Suddenly, he felt guilty for ignoring all those girls that Martin had lured into his pickup after a night of heavy drinking. If Evelyn ever found out about that, she would never smile at him again.

"I'm sorry, Vic," Evelyn said, her voice full of remorse. "I should have been more careful."

Vic went back to work. "Let's just forget about it, okay?"

"Okay," Evelyn said, going quiet again. She shifted awkwardly in her stance, throwing her weight from one leg to the other and then back again. "So, uh, what were you guys doing out so late, anyway?"

"Huh? Oh, nothing, Belch was just giving me a ride home."

The lie came out effortlessly, almost like a reflex. Evelyn accepted it without question, believing the whole thing to be some kind of fateful coincidence. Perfect timing, she'd called it. She sounded so grateful. It was better that way, Vic decided. Evelyn didn't need to know the truth: that Henry Bowers had gotten drunk and depressed and went looking for her; and if she had arrived just a few hours earlier, she would have seen him coming out of Vic's house this morning.

Vic turned on the garden hose and started rinsing off the car. "So, any fun plans tonight?"

Evelyn let out an exaggerated moan. "Yeah, I'm babysitting."

3

They arrived at the Aladdin twenty minutes before the movie was supposed to start. Mr. Tozier dropped the kids off in his wife's minivan and told them he'd be back to pick them up at nine o'clock sharp: "That's nine o'clock on the dot, okay? You all better be out front and ready to go when I arrive. Otherwise, you can walk home."

"Yeah, okay, Dad!" Richie flung open the front passenger door and jumped out, making a break for the box-office window. "Come on, guys, we gotta get in line!"

Bill Denbrough and Stan Uris were sitting in the third row because, as Mr. Tozier reminded them, it would have been ungentlemanly to make the ladies sit all the way in the back. They didn't mind, though, not after Hannah-Beth Stokes smiled at them like she did. It was this shy, girlish smile that made their chests throb with a sweet, sweet ache. They spent the whole car ride staring at the back of her head, wondering what kind of shampoo she used to make it look so soft and shiny.

Bill reached over Evelyn and pulled open the sliding door. "Guh-Go ahead."

Evelyn swooned, glancing back at her smiling friend. "Aww, you two are so sweet. You're gonna drive the girls nuts when you're older."

When you're older. Such deflating words for a twelve-year-old.

Outside, Richie was pushing and squeezing his way through the crowd, trying to find where the ticket line began and ended. "Jeez, it's like everyone and their grandma's here tonight." He shoved past a middle-aged couple, muttering an apology under his breath, and pressed his face against the bank of windows leading into the lobby. Everybody was gathered around the concession stand, forking up cash and coin for bags of candy, sugary soft drinks, and huge buckets of warm, buttery popcorn. Richie could hardly wait to get inside. Even the arcade was packed, game lights flashing and sound effects roaring; sirens wailed and bells rang: "Winner! Winner! We have a winner!" Grant Elmhirst was hogging Street Fighter again, mashing the buttons and working the joystick with godlike precision and speed. Richie cupped his hands over his mouth and yelled, "Get a life, Elmhirst!"

"Richie!" his sister called from her spot in line. "Come on, let's go!"

Richie ran to join them.

Evelyn examined the marquee overhead. They were showing three pictures tonight: Vampire's Kiss, Cocoon: The Return, and The Blob. "Which one are we seeing?" she asked her brother, because none of the titles sounded even slightly appealing to her.

"The Blob, duh! I've been waiting all year for this movie to come out."

Evelyn looked at the sign again. "Richie, that movie's rated R."

"Yeah, so?"

"So you're just a bunch of kids. They won't let you in without an adult."

"Sure they will. They let anybody in here."

Behind him, Stan and Bill were nodding their heads, completely unfazed. Clearly they had done this before, but that didn't mean Evelyn had to like it.

She crossed her arms over her chest. "Does Mom know you're seeing this movie? She doesn't, does she? Because there's no way she'd let you see an R-rated movie by yourself. For God's sake, Richie, it could have sex and nudity in it or something."

"Who cares?" Richie groaned, glasses sliding down his nose. He pushed them back up angrily. "Gosh, fuckin' killjoy over here. Besides, you're worrying over nothing. Everybody at school's already seen it. There's no sex or anything, just some good ol' fashioned blood and gore." He looked past her and raised one hand to wave. "Eddie! Eddie, over here!"

Eddie Kaspbrak came around the corner, wearing a jacket because his mother said he had to. (Otherwise you'll catch a cold, Eddie.) None of his friends were wearing their jackets, though, and that made Eddie self-conscious. He considered taking it off and tying it around his waist, but that was something only girls did; and around the shoulders was no good either because then he'd look like one of those preppy guys that feathered their hair and hung out at the mall all day. Eddie didn't want to seem like one of those guys, so he just left it on.

"A bit nippy, innit?" Richie teased in his British voice. He tried to mess up his hair, but Eddie pushed him away. "You missed a good pizza tonight, Eds. Extra cheesy, just the way you like it. I was gonna smuggle you a slice, but my dad ate the last one."

Eddie frowned. It wasn't fair. His mom made him stay home and eat lasagna.

"Next time, though," Evelyn said, smiling. "I'm sure things will blow over soon."

"I dunno," said Eddie. "My mom's still pretty mad."

"Well, she can't stay mad forever."

Richie laughed. "You clearly don't know his mom."

The line lurched forward at a snail's pace, but they eventually reached the window. Seth McFadden was taking tickets tonight, looking bored in his red vest and black slacks. Richie dug into his pocket to grab his cash (the ten crisp dollar bills he'd earned for mowing his parents' lawn), but Evelyn put a hand on his shoulder and told him not to worry about it.

"Huh?" he said, staring up at her. "But I got money."

"Keep it," she said, smiling. "I've got you guys covered this time. All right, Seth, it'll be, uh—one, two, three—six for The Blob, please."

"21.72."

Evelyn reached into her crossbody purse and pulled out the brown faux-leather wallet that her parents had bought her two Christmases ago. She counted out the bills like a pro: "Ten, fifteen, twenty, -one, and -two. So, how long you been working here, Seth?"

Richie stared up at his big sister and felt his face get hot. In all his life, Evelyn had never looked so cool. If his buddies weren't around, he would have hugged her like a little kid, but instead he stammered, "I'll, uh, I can buy your snacks, if, if you want."

"Sure, that'd be nice, Rich. Thanks. Umm, I'll have a diet soda and a large popcorn, no butter."

Richie nodded, then raced through the double-doors. "Extra butter, heard!"

4

The theater was nearly three-quarters full when they walked in, snacks and drinks in hand. Richie and his friends rushed ahead to claim the last few seats in the second row, while Evelyn and Hannah-Beth stayed behind to search for seats a little further away from the screen.

Eddie turned back. "Wait, you're not sitting with us?"

Bill and Stan had stopped too. They seemed surprised and slightly disappointed. Richie was already in his seat, shoveling popcorn into his mouth by the handful.

"Do you need me to sit with you?" Evelyn asked, amused. She made a shooing motion with her soda-carrying hand. "Go, enjoy your movie. We'll sit back here and leave you guys alone."

Eddie shrugged and carried on. The other two sluggishly followed.

About six rows back, Evelyn and Hannah-Beth settled into their seats and got comfortable. The whole theater was buzzing with excited chatter as everyone waited for the lights to dim. There were a lot of high school students in the audience tonight. Most were sitting in pairs or in small groups. Some were even on dates, which made Evelyn sigh with envy. It looked like fun.

Hannah-Beth slurped her drink. "This sounds really sad, but I always kinda hoped my first date would go something like this. I'd get all dressed up, and he'd pay for my ticket, and we'd sit shoulder to shoulder just like this and share a big bag of popcorn."

Evelyn offered her the bucket. "So does that make this our first date?"

Hannah-Beth blushed, then snatched a couple kernels and popped them into her mouth. "I guess so."

Evelyn sighed again. "You're right, that does sound sad."

Hannah-Beth stole a few more kernels. "So was Liz's party really no good? You've hardly said a word about it all night. It wasn't fun at all?"

"No, it really wasn't."

"Really?" She sounded doubtful. "Well, what happened?"

"Nothing. Liz just wanted to warn me about something, I guess."

Hannah-Beth scrunched up her nose. "Warn you about what?"

There was a howl of laughter somewhere behind them. Evelyn looked over her shoulder and saw Patrick Hockstetter sitting in the back row with his boots up on the seats. Steph Price was beside him, eating small, dainty handfuls of popcorn. She flicked a piece at his face (for what, Evelyn couldn't tell), and Patrick started laughing again.

A man in Evelyn's row shouted, "Pipe down back there!" and she whipped around when Patrick glanced in her direction.

He didn't see me. Please, God, tell me he didn't see me. She sank into the cushion and checked her watch. It was 6:54. Six more minutes, just six more minutes before the theater went totally dark. She could make it until then. Patrick hadn't seen her. Evelyn started counting down the minutes on her watch.

Hannah-Beth asked what was wrong.

"Nothing," Evelyn said, her eyes glued to her watch. The big hand kept going tick, tick, tick.

Then a hand fell on her backrest, making her yelp.

"Well, well, well, fancy meeting you here," said Patrick, a smile in his voice. "I didn't know you liked movies."

Evelyn took a nervous sip of her drink. "Well, doesn't everybody?"

He was standing in the row behind her, taking up what little walking space there was. A young couple tried to get past him, but Patrick refused to move, so they had to turn around and go the other way. Patrick didn't care. He squatted down to Evelyn's level and propped his elbow on the seat next to her.

"So," he asked, "how was your night?"

Evelyn kept her answer short. "Could've been better. Yours?"

"Could've been better," Patrick echoed flirtatiously, purring the words into her ear. He laid his chin on his wrist and gazed at Evelyn's unmoving profile. "So, are you gonna tell me what you were doing last night? Or should I just ask your cute little friend here?"

Hannah-Beth twitched at that but stayed silent, squirming with discomfort. Evelyn got angry. She didn't want to see her best friend dragged into this.

"You should go back to your seat, Patrick," she said. "Steph's probably annoyed you left."

"Oh? You jealous?"

His accusation made Evelyn turn to face him, and oh, how his eyes lit up when she did; they sparked up like two bolts of lightning.

"I'm not jealous," she said. "I just think it's rude for you to come here with a girl and then ignore her. I'll bet Steph's feelings are really hurt right now."

Patrick cackled. "What the fuck do I care about Steph's feelings? Not like this is a date or anything. She asked if I wanted to go to a movie, and I said sure. Plain and simple. If I decide to ditch her, then she's just gonna have to deal with it." He stopped. To his left, a middle-aged woman was clearing her throat, urging him to move. Patrick glanced at her once and went on talking. "If I'd known you were free tonight, I would've blown her off anyway, so I don't see the issue here."

The woman answered before Evelyn could. "The issue is you're blocking the aisle, asshole. Move before I get the manager involved."

Patrick stared her down. "We're just having a conversation, lady. You can wait a few more minutes."

"Just go, Patrick," Evelyn pleaded. "Please, you're making a scene."

Patrick turned back to her, pale eyes narrowing into a cold, unfeeling glare. His expression disappeared when the lights faded to black, then came back into view, now framed by the eerie green glow of the preview introduction screen. Evelyn drew back, suddenly afraid. Excited cheers rose up around them. In the second row, Richie Tozier was pumping his fists in the air, shouting, "Yeah, let's go!"

Please, Evelyn begged. Please, just go!

Finally, Patrick let out a frustrated huff and slunk back to his seat in the back row. The woman sat down, too, and the first trailer began to play. Evelyn put her hand to her chest. Her heart was beating so fast.

5

The movie seemed a lot less frightening after that. The so-called "Blob" was as disgusting as Evelyn expected, oozing its way through town and killing its unsuspecting victims in a slow, suffocating, and often bone-crushing fashion. In one particularly disturbing scene, the Blob pulled a man through a sink drain. Hannah-Beth grimaced as soon as blood started flying. Evelyn was more bothered by the sickening crunch of his bones breaking one by one. Oddly enough, Patrick Hockstetter was cracking up during that scene. His laughter sprang up out of nowhere, cutting through the distressed silence.

Evelyn pushed the bucket of popcorn onto Hannah-Beth. "I have to go to the bathroom."

"Okay. Want me to go with you?"

"No, it's okay. I'll be back in a bit."

In truth, Evelyn couldn't get out of there fast enough. She side-shuffled her way through the narrow walkway and escaped down the aisle, pushing the heavy door with both hands.

The silence of the lobby was a welcome change. A theater worker went by with a carpet-sweeper, smiling at Evelyn as he passed. He asked if she was enjoying the movie. Evelyn said she was, but she needed a break from the noise. Back inside, the audience was screaming as the Blob claimed another victim.

Evelyn cringed. Yeah, I think I'll just take my time out here.

She walked into the bathroom and found an empty small. Outside, an employee was humming while she wiped down the counters and changed out the trash bins. Plastic rustled in her hand as she flapped open a new bag: whoosh, whoosh, whoosh! Toilets flushed one after another. Two teenagers came out and chatted as they washed up. Whispers. Giggles. Whoosh, woosh, woosh! They left their crumpled-up paper towels on the counter, making the worker sigh noisily through her nose. She tossed the paper in the bin before walking out.

There was a moment of silence after that (the score to Cocoon came pouring in through the shared wall), then the door opened and closed quietly. Evelyn didn't think anything of it. She came out of the stall and started washing her hands, letting the warm water run for a while. It wasn't until she reached for the paper towels that she noticed Patrick Hockstetter standing against the wall.

A gasp escaped her mouth, threatening to become a scream. Evelyn reeled backwards and slammed into the counter. "Jesus, Patrick, what the hell are you doing here?"

He tipped his head curiously. "Are you mad at me or something?"

"What?" she blurted out. "No, of course not."

"Then why are you acting so weird?"

"I'm not acting weird."

"Oh, really?" he challenged, peeling himself off the wall. "Then how come you don't wanna talk to me all of a sudden? We used to have some pretty fun chats, didn't we? Now I can hardly get a word out of you. Why's that?"

Evelyn's eyes went to the door, then back to Patrick. It was too far away, she realized. Even if she got a jump on him and ran as fast she could, she'd never make it in time. Patrick had those long, long legs. It would take him three steps at most to catch her.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Patrick."

Her breath hitched in her throat. He was moving now with those long legs, moving towards the door. His hand went to the deadbolt and gave it a slow, agonizing twist.

"Why'd you lock the door, Patrick?"

"So you don't try to leave."

A chill ran down Evelyn's spine, but she shook it away. "Why would I try to leave? We're talking, right? That's what you wanted. Let's talk."

His smile was relaxed, but a restlessness stirred in his eyes as he approached her. "I wanna know what Liz told you. That's where you were last night, right? A little birdie told me that Liz gathered up some girls to try and badmouth me. I'm curious about what she said."

"It's none of my business," Evelyn said. "That's between you and her."

"Well, now it's between me and you, because whatever Liz said clearly spooked you. Otherwise, you wouldn't be looking at me like you are right now."

"How am I looking at you, Patrick?"

"Like you're scared of me."

He sounded sullen and disappointed. It threw Evelyn off her guard. One more step and Patrick had her pinned against the counter, hands on either side of her hips, close but not touching. He had been careful of that. Evelyn gazed up at his face and felt her heart clench painfully. The look in his eyes was desperate and intense.

"Why are you scared of me, Evelyn?" he asked, his dark hair falling down around them. "Because I've been good to you, right? I got those shirts back and bought you that postcard you like so much."

Evelyn nodded weakly. "I like it a lot."

A smirk crept up his face. "Is it on your wall right now?"

"No," she said, her voice trembling, "it's in a frame on my nightstand. I like looking at it sometimes."

Her answer drew him closer, his lips hovering over hers as they shared a breath. "See, that's what I like about you, Evelyn. You're so genuine. I don't think you could lie to me even if you wanted to. And that's a good thing because I don't wanna lie to you, either. That's why I'm gonna be completely honest with you right now. Okay? So listen real carefully. Whatever Liz told you, it's probably true. I'm an obsessive person, and I go after what I want. Right now, I've decided I want you, and nothing—I mean nothing—is gonna get in my way. Not Bowers or Criss or even that bitch Liz Mueller." He hissed the name like it was a curse, then chuckled, low and deep in his chest. "I like you, Ev, and I think you're starting to like me, too. Am I right?"

His breath on her face was making her dizzy and light-headed. Evelyn attempted to say his name, to tell him that he was wrong, but the words came out as a long, whispery moan that sounded more like a cry of affirmation.

In response, his palms pushed hard into the countertop, fingers flexing with frustration. "I said I wouldn't touch you, and so far I've kept my word, but right now I really, really wanna touch you. Can I touch you, Evelyn?"

He didn't wait. His mouth came down as soon as she found her voice again.

"No," she said, turning her head to the side. His lips grazed her cheek and drew back with a snarl. Evelyn closed her eyes and sucked in a deep breath. "I think we should keep our distance from now on, Patrick."

He hissed through his teeth.

"I thought we already agreed to keep our distance," he said, trying to recapture her attention with his eyes. When that didn't work, he took her chin and tilted it upwards, forcing his heavy gaze onto hers. "You really wanna do this?"

It was a genuine question, not a threat.

Evelyn nodded. "I'm sorry, Patrick."

He snorted briefly, not quite a laugh. "Liz must've really scared you off, huh?"

"No, she didn't." It would have been easier if she had; then Evelyn wouldn't feel so bad. "Like I said, that's your business, Patrick. It has nothing to do with me."

He seemed confused. "Then, why?"

"I already told you, Patrick. I don't have time for dating. I told you that before, and I meant it, okay? I've got a lot going on right now, and the last thing I need is a distraction."

His eyes darkened. "A distraction, huh?" The word sounded so harsh when he said it. "That's how you see me?"

"Yes, Patrick." She saw no point in lying to him. "I'm really sorry."

His hand lingered under her chin for a moment longer, cupping it a way that almost seemed loving and tender, even though Evelyn knew it never could be. Patrick Hockstetter wasn't capable of genuine affection. He was just really good at faking it.

Evelyn left the bathroom and returned to her seat in the theater.

Hannah-Beth handed her the popcorn. "Everything all right? You were gone an awfully long time."

"Mhm," Evelyn answered. "Everything's fine now."

Back on the screen, the Blob was rampaging down the street and devouring everyone in its path

Evelyn stuffed some popcorn into her mouth. "This movie kinda sucks."