"How did you know?"
The words lingered and stained the summer air longer than Richard would have liked. Bulging brown eyes stared out from behind magnifying frames as he watched the Jewish boy opposite him.
"How did I know what? That I liked boys?" Stanley's voice was one of disbelief. Really, he had expected more from Richie. Well, more like less. He had expected jokes and slurs thrown his way, something he had grown used to being the only Jew in their group of friends. The comments weren't malicious, of course, though that wasn't to say they didn't irk Stanley to death.
Richie nodded.
"Well—I don't—I don't really know." Stan started, almost anxiously rubbing at his knees as his eyes seemed to shift about the creaky floorboards, as if searching for his thoughts between the cracks.
"What do you mean you don't know?"
"I mean, I don't know." Stanley assured, looking far too disinterested in how the conversation was turning. He was in the right mind to try to divert the conversation to the Cardinals he could hear, though he knew better. Richie would latch onto Stan's fear. His obvious embarrassment. He would never live it down.
"I mean—I don't know… I guess—I guess I kind of figured it out when Mike started hanging around…"
"Mike—?!" Richie interjected, bright eyes shifting between Stan and Bill, "What the fuck, Stanley?"
"What do you mean 'what the fuck'?" Stan asked, brow furrowed low as he watched the brunet opposite him. "He's a nice person, Richard. Which is more than I can say for some."
"Hey! I'm nice! I'm really fuckin' nice. Tell him, Bill!"
Bill only pursed his lips, looking between the two boys before shrugging. "I don't n-nuh-know, Richie. Stan has a p-puh-point."
"A point? A point!? What the fuck? You know who else has a point, Bill? My dick when—"
"Don't even fucking start, Richie."
"He started it!"
"Look, do you want me to fucking explain this to you shit-brain, or not?"
That was enough to render Richie silent. He had been about to retort, mouth open at the ready (as always), though his lips soon snapped shut, oak eyes turned the blond boy's way. Well, he wasn't really blond anymore; not like he used to be. Stanley's hair had been getting progressively darker for about a year now. It was more of a mousy brown that it was blond.
Stan breathed a short sigh through narrow nostrils, "Okay, well—it didn't start straight away. I mean, it was kind of instantaneous, but not really, you know?"
"No."
"I mean, I thought he was—I thought he was good looking straight away, but I didn't realise that I thought that until later. Until like—I don't know, it was a couple of weeks. We were hanging out by the Quarry—he came bird watching with me, and he told me about all the birds he sees at his farm and I just—I got this feeling and it kind of just—kind of just clicked, I suppose."
Richie had stopped listening half way through. He was still staring Stan's way, of course, but his eyes were seemingly glazed over, like he wasn't present in the cabin with his two friends, having retreated into his mind.
He couldn't help it. The moment he had heard the word Quarry, he had thought back to when he was last there with Eddie.
It had been raining the morning they had gone together, meaning the water was colder than it usually was; especially for it being summer. They had gone swimming, splashing and laughing in the summer sun. Eddie had forgotten to pack his sunscreen, leaving him with pink, burnt shoulders.
Richie had always adored Eddie's shoulders. It was an odd thing to like, and he knew that, but they were so perfect and smooth and freckled. He loved the freckles. He always thought it was just because he and Eddie had that in common, but when he tuned back into Stanley's voice about the feeling, he wasn't so sure.
"It's like—my stomach twists. Heaps. Like my guts are in a cotton candy machine, just spinning and spinning getting sweeter and sweeter."
Oh, Richie knew that feeling all too well. He distinctively remembered the first time he had felt that. He and Eddie had been at a sleep over with Bill and Stan. They had been sharing a blanket and a bowl of popcorn on the floor, and their hands had touched in the bowl. Eddie had been quick to pull his hand away, but Richie could still feel it against his own a whole week later. He was always looking for ways to feel it again.
"That's gay." He said quickly with a scoff, looking Bill's way as if he would back him up. Bill only sighed.
"Yeah. That's kind of the point, Richard."
The three boys didn't stay in the cabin for much longer after that. They knew better than to hang around until dusk or later. That's when the older kids would come along with their alcohol and cigarettes. Richie couldn't wait to be older, to be like that. His friends thought he was crazy.
Stan and Bill set off up the hill with Richie in tow. He lagged behind, a little further than usual. He couldn't rid his mind of what Stan had said. At least, the parts of what he heard Stanley say; about the feeling. The stomach twisting. The cotton candy. Richie remembered how the candy stained his fingers pink. Eddie had pointed that out. He laughed. He laughed and it made Richie laugh. It made him happy. Why did Eddie make him so damn happy?
He was beginning to think he knew.
