OOh, yay, new chapter! Sorry I haven't been on for so long. I had this overnight at school so I didn't get to post when I would have liked...oh well...
Ugh, I keep forgetting to put in the little divider things, so I had to go through this time and figure out where to put them so that the story actually makes sense...the struggle...gahh

Best,

-Tommy

"Hey Dad!" Gordie called, picking up the pile of letters that sat under the letter slot at the front door of their tiny apartment.

"How was school?" Mr. Lachance called.

"Good!" He called absentmindedly, leafing through the letters. Bills, notices, work mail and final paychecks from his dad's old job. Even the bill for the extra whine his dad had chugged at his mom's funeral. Gordie grimaced, shoving that to the bottom of the small pile to reveal a tattered, grainy envelope. In shaky back pen, the letter was addressed to him, Gordie Lachance. He glanced at the return address, then shoved it into the deep pocket of his school pants.

"Mails here." He said, moseying into the dark kitchen where his dad sat in front of his typewriter, busy at work. Gordie slammed down the letters onto the small, round wooden table to catch his father's attention. Mr. Lachance looked up.

"Oh, thank you." He muttered. For the sake of parenting, he added again, "How was school?"

"Pretty good." Gordie shrugged, grabbing an apple from the fruit basket atop the dirty white refrigerator and taking a bite, looking up at the bright florescent light hanging over his head. "I met some cool people. Classes were nice, but the assistant principal is pretty tough."

"Who did you meet?" Mr. Lachance asked, suddenly interested. Gordie shrugged.

"Some kid named Caspar and another guy, Gavin. He was my tour guide." He explained with a sigh.

"What do they do?" Mr. Lachance asked, continuing to type furiously until his fingers slipped through the keys of the typewriter.

Gordie gulped.

"Well, Caspar kind of does everything…good at sports, good in school…" Mr. Lachance nodded approvingly. "And Gavin is a writer." Thinking that his son wasn't looking, Mr. Lachance rolled his eyes. "He's in the school news paper." Gordie's dad pursed his lips.

"That's great, Gordie." He said in default. "I'm glad you found some friends. Maybe we can have them over sometime, as long as it doesn't interfere with your studies."

"That would be great, dad." Gordie replied, although he knew he would never want Gavin nor Caspar to see the likes of this crappy apartment, let alone leaving both boys in the same room together. They had, Gordie had gathered, a history together, and for better or for worst, it wasn't something to be messed with.

"Good. Now, don't you have a lot of homework to do?" Mr. Lachance glanced up from his work for a few seconds to look at Gordie.

"Oh, yes sir, I'll get right on it, sir." Gordie nodded curtly, then scurried down the hall and into the closed room of his bedroom. He stared around at the mess; white walls, white bed spread, white plastic horizontal blinds letting in a few slivers of afternoon sunlight into the stained, used-to-be-white-but-is-now-cream wall-to-wall carpet. A plain wooden desk holding his typewriter sat, accompanied by a chair, in one corner, and a wooden dresser for his clothing in the other. His mirror and closet stood alone by the door on the other end of the small room. Gordie sighed at the scene, but then plopped down on the bed and reached into his pocket.

The letter was still there.

Making sure the door was locked, he set down his backpack on the ground and, hesitantly at first, began to rip open the sticky tab of the cheap, crumpled envelope. Inside, two sheets of ripped-out notebook paper sat folded into each other neatly, the strikes of black pen bleeding through the page. With excitement in his hands, Gordie glanced one last time at the door, and then removed the papers and unfolded them carefully. Straining to read the messy-but-getting-better handwriting, Gordie began to read.

September 4, 1961

Dear Gordie,

Oh man, would you look at this. I can't believe you're gone. You're off to New York city and Vern and Teddy and I are stuck back here in good old Castle Rock. Third year of Junior High isn't as bad as you'd think…the teachers have kinda grown on me, but I'm still pretty hated everywhere. Still taking the college courses. My dad's not taking very good to it, but that's alright.

I'm sure you're doing fine. That preppy school doing you any good? I swear, if anyone says shit about you, I will personally come over and kill them, alright? Guessing you're with the smartasses there as well. You made any friends, or you've scared them all off already?

Castle Rock is fine. It's really getting hot here, even hotter than last summer; 90-something digress man. Geez. Dad won't buy us an air conditioner, either, so I'm stuck here dying on my bed with every window in the house open…I swear. Vern and Teddy won't leave their houses because of this heat, not even to go to the tree house or anything. Man, I wish you were here…

Vern and Teddy still kind of hate you for leaving, but Vern not as much as Teddy. He's kinda just sad that the gang is all spit up, and is worried I'm the next to go…not quite sure he realizes that I'm not moving to some hoity-toity private school for a very long time. Oh well. At least he tried. They're still in the shop courses, anyway. Teddy's pretty sure you just ditched us because you don't like us anymore…he always takes things to heart too much.

We miss you, Gordie! I'm sure your dad is treating you right (right?) and you'll be making new friends in no time (but not as good a friend as me).

See you soon!

(But not if I see you first…)

Your best friend,

-Chris Chambers

P.S. When do you think I could come for a visit?

P.P.S. When could you come for a visit?

Gordie sighed, staring down at the letter. This was Chris. His best friend, Chris. How could he let his dad leave him?

Mr. Lachance would kill him if he found these letters. He had already said clearly that he wanted Gordie to have nothing to do with the boys in Castle Rock, to start anew and ignore Chris entirely. Gordie sighed. Oh well. He had defied his father before, and he was almost half willing to do it again.

From inside his backpack, Gordie pulled out an empty folder and a pen. On it, he simply write C.C in neat block letters, then stuck the two papers inside, closing the folder and sliding it under his mattress. He had to keep both himself and his letters to Chris hidden.

And with that, he crossed the small room and sat down at the desk. He stared at the dark green typewriter atop it for a few minutes. Dark. Menacing. But a safe haven after it all. He knew what he wanted to do. To leaf a sheet of paper into it's great rolling mouth and write to Chris, telling him his everything, his life, his feelings.

So he began to write.

Dear Chris,

I'm so glad to hear from you! I have to keep these letters secret from my dad, though, so best not to write a return address…

I hope everything is good back home! How's the house, and the new family there? Hope they haven't destroyed the place, even though it is kind of their house now. I miss that place so much, heat wave and all! I wish I was back instead of here.

The apartment is nice though, and so is the city, even though I'm not really in the city, just right on the edge of the suburbs, right on the brink before the houses start to get nice around where Huntington is. Everyone is so preppy and sports-y there. I've only found one other kid who likes to write, but at least he's allowed to to what he wants to, whereas I can't. I really wish I could come visit! Maybe around winter break, I could. I hate it here. I honestly couldn't care less if this school has the best ivy league team around. It's kind of aggravating to hear the assistant principal brag about the school's high standards and prestigious morals.

For the record, I actually have made friends, and haven't scared them all off, thank you. There's this one kid named Caspar who seems pretty cool, but is one of those kids who literally does everything perfectly, which is a little annoying, but he seems nice. Then there's a kid named Gavin, who's a reporter, which is cool, even though he's a little weird…I can't really put my finger on it, though. Maybe I'll send you a picture if I ever get one. I'm sure I can get him to take some pictures of the school for you, as well. The place is enormous! It took us almost two hours to do a full tour! And even though it's the beginning of the year, I'm the only new kid there. Apparently they overloaded the year before and only had room for one new kid before high school. Oh well…

I hope Castle Rock is doing great! Send my word to Teddy and Vern!

Your friend,

Gordie.

Gordie smiled down at his paper, unraveling it from the typewriter and folding it up, then reaching into his desk drawer and pulling out an envelope, pushing the letter it inside. On the front, he scrawled;

Christopher Chambers

61 Apple Bury Lane

Castle Rock,

Oregon

And then a return address in the corner;

Gordon Lachance

888 Markman Street

Apartment 4C

NY

He sighed, satisfied at his work. He sealed the front, stuck on a stamp and slid it into his backpack.

"Bye dad!" Gordie called, dismounting from the dark blue Subaru and closing the door behind him. His dad drove off without much more than a grunt. Gordie looked around. The parking lot was nearly deserted, save for a few groups of boys flocking about in the quad, goofing around and tossing a ball from person to person. He bit his lip, his mind reverting back to the unknown letter sitting in the pocket of his book bag. He sighed, hitching it up higher on his shoulder, then crossing the parking lot with bitter determination, walking under the gates and onto the outside commonplace. It was another bright, sunny day, and Gordie wasn't exactly looking forwards to being kept inside, but there wasn't much else he could do.

He jumped the front steps to the school with pep in his shiny black shoes, hopping in through the open front doors and looking about the empty front hallway. The boarding houses were bound to be around here somewhere…maybe there was a mailbox there…

"Oh, hey, Lachance!" A voice called. Gordie spun around to find Caspar moseying across the foyer, one hand in his pocket and the other on the strap of his backpack, two baseball bats sticking out of the side pockets. He lifted his one hand out in a sheepish wave, smiling and tilting his head, as a result, tipping his mop of hair to the other side of his face. Gordie smiled.

"Hey." He said in response.

"You're here early." Caspar came to stand close to Gordie; so close, even, that Gordie could pinpoint the slight smell of cologne and some kind of warm, natural musk wafting from Caspar that was something of a combination of a clean house, lemon grass, possibly aftershave and a hint of peppermint or licorice.

"Yeah." Gordie shrugged. "Have to drop of a letter. Do you guys happen to have a mailbox around here?"

Caspar nodded.

"Of course." He said. "It's near the dorms. You would know where that is, right?"

Gordie shook his head, even though he had a vague idea. The pink-lemonade-fizz feeling was filling up his stomach and clogging his brain.

"No. I'm not boarding here." He told Caspar.

"Well, I know where they are." Caspar replied. "I'll take you there if you like."

Gordie smiled.

"Sounds good."

The boarding houses were all the way on the far side of the school. Gordie didn't talk much to Caspar as they walked, just thought. He thought about what was happening to him, what he was feeling. He couldn't quite pinpoint it. But when he looked over at Caspar, it was something different. He couldn't really explain what it was. He was so attractive to the eyes, the way his nose sloped and then turned upwards, how his freckles flushed just above the cheekbone, how his chin jutted just a little, and his jawline was prominent, but still soft with the touch of childhood that he was about to lose as he neared closer and closer to the end of puberty. How his voice kept at a steady rate, medium-low in his throat, not scraggly and cracked like Gordie's. Caspar's serenity reminded Gordie so much of Chris, even if Caspar was more of the happy-go-lucky type and Chris was the troubled boy always with an eye on the light that was bound to appear at the end of his dark and abusive tunnel someday. But they were both wise, pained with something not precisely visible to the human eye. Gordie already knew what Chris's trouble was; it was obvious enough once you got a good look at his bruised up arms and legs and unexplained socked eyes after his father had been out on a drinking rampage. Caspar, however, was harder to unravel; less obvious, less intense, and less illegal, but still something buried deep in his chest. And the way that he allowed himself to talk to the new boy instead of hanging out with anybody he ever wanted to, well, that showed something about him that reflected Chris in Caspar even more greatly; a kind soul that cared more for his own well-being of others than himself, although wasn't afraid to take a stand when something wasn't right in his own life. Two gorgeous, golden haired boys, in two separate worlds, but both with a dirty secret, a well-meaning heart and a wise mind.

"Who's the letter for?" Caspar asked finally, looking over at Gordie, and then ahead again.

"Oh…" Gordie thought. "A friend."

Caspar laughed.

"Don't you have a mailbox near your house?" He asked. Gordie cringed.

"I do…" He paused, thinking. "I do, but my dad really doesn't want me contacting this person right now."

Caspar laughed again, looking Gordie over with a new light.

"Wouldn't take you for the rebellious type." He said, then turned his head back to face frontwards. "But, hey, first impressions are almost almost wrong."

Gordie shrugged.

"But he-or she-is your friend, right?" Caspar pressed. "So why isn't your dad letting you talk to them?"

"He just has a grudge on him." Gordie explained simply, then added under his breath. "Probably because he's nothing like my brother's friends were."

"Awe, that sucks, man." Caspar empathized. "Hey, I've got uptight parents, too. That's probably why I don't live with them."

"Really?" Gordie asked, gathering all these small tidbits of information about Caspar up in his head. "So where do you live?"

"Here." Caspar gesturing around the long enclosed bridge crossing from the school to the boarding houses. "Well, not here, on the bridge, but at the school. I honestly prefer it better than my parent's house, but it wasn't exactly my decision. Besides, there was an uneven number for kids in the boarding houses, so I get to room alone."

Gordie nodded.

"Good deal." He admitted. "Why don't you want to stay at your parents'?"

"Dunno." Caspar admitted, shrugging. "The real question is, what did that kid do that made your dad not let you talk to him?"

Gordie sighed as the stepped off the bridge and into the boarding houses. The place was a big, old building with two pairs of stairs heading downstairs to a commonplace. The boys began to descend the stairs, Gordie beginning to speak hesitantly as they did.

"He stole some milk money at school once, and is just a downright bad kid, I guess…" Gordie thought for a moment. "Well, no, he's not. His family is. His brother's part of this gang of guys that we hate, but that barely has anything to do with him. He's always been my best friend, but now that I'm here, my dad took the opportunity to cut the ties completely…" Gordie gave a 'what can we do' face out to the world.

Caspar sighed.

"I hate parents." He muttered. Gordie nodded in agreement as then dismounted the stairs and Caspar lead him down a hallway branching off from the commonplace.

"The mailboxes should be right around here…" Caspar muttered, turning a corner. "I don't really go down here that much, but-"

It was then when they heard the scream. It was muffled at first, shot out from a few doors down in the long, winding tunnel-like corridor the boys walked upon. It sounded like that of a male voice, but of a younger one, crackled with fear and the transition to deeper vocal ranges combined. Caspar and Gordie exchanged glances. Gordie spoke quickly.

"Do you think we should-"

"You bet." Caspar replied, and the two shot down the corridor in the direction of the voices.

"You're gunna pay for this, kid!" Someone yelled, an older or more mature boy with a deep, gruff voice and a heavy tone. Gordie gulped as they slowed in front of a flimsy yellow-painted wood door. The voices seemed to be emitting from there. The younger screeched again.

"No!" He yelped. "No, please! I didn't mean to, I swear! I just-"

"Shut it! Your ass is grass!"

Caspar placed a pale hand over the doorknob, looking Gordie dead in the eyes. Instantly, the world began to spin, and Gordie was locked in the moment, looking into Caspar's deep silver, moon-toned, galaxy eyes with determination and concern. There could be anything beyond the door, but if Caspar had courage, Gordie should too.

So he let him turn the handle.

The door flung open, hitting the wall with a bang. Caspar looked straight ahead, his fists at the ready. Gordie tried to do the same, but untimely gave up and let his balled hands fall to his side. In front of them, a large, beefy boy of the Gordie's age or a bit older stood in an empty storage room, one hand pinning a squeamish, young kid against the wall, his eyes coated in fear while the beefy boy's were coated in mean, threatening anger. But now, as his head turned to Caspar and Gordie, he looked more more confused, which was soon replaced to mockery. The kid made to run out of the room, but the boy caught him by the collar. He cried out, a feeble squeak in the back of his throat, but no more.

"Awe look." He said in a mocking voice. "It's Caspar the friendly ghost!" Caspar tensed. "And the new kid from the boring capital of the world." Gordie almost laughed at this; the truth was inevitable. He smirked to suppressed a snort.

"What, you think that's funny?" The boy demanded, taking a step closer. Gordie wiped his face. "That's better."

"What the hell are you doing, Arthur?" Caspar demanded with pity.

"The kid tried to take my lunch money!" The boy, apparently Arthur, answered sweetly. "I was just trying to get it back!"

Caspar gave him a look.

"Really?" He asked. "That tried to take your lunch money? Come on, man, just let him go before he goes and tells his mom."

"What you gunna do?" Arthur asked. "Fight me?" He scoffed. "I don't want to relive 6th grade all over again, D'Anthony. I really don't feel like," he laughed, "accidentally shutting your arm in a car door. You wouldn't want that to happen again, would you? So why don't you take your little new kid to do whatever you assholes were doing and get your good-do-er asses out of here and let me finish what I started. Alright?"

Caspar advanced on Arthur, Gordie watching tensely from the door frame.

"I'm bigger than 6th grade, Kastler." Caspar admitted. "I can leave you with a pretty good black eye and a suspension if you don't leave the kid alone."

"Alright." Arthur tilted his head. "How about I let the kid go, but only if you let me have my fight. I'm interested. Can you sock me in the eye? Or are you as good a liar as you were in 6th grade too?"

Caspar gulped.

"Let's find out." He said. Arthur put the kid aside, who whimpered, but obliged. In a moment, he had swung his first punch at Arthur, who was unprepared and got himself a painful-sounding thwack right across the cheek. Surprised, the burly kid bounced back, a shocked look on his face.

"You're sure a better puncher than 6th grade, I'll give you that." Arthur admitted cockily. "But you didn't get me yet."

Powered by a surge of energy and maddening rage, Caspar swung another punch, which Arthur ducked, sending Caspar around in a circle. Arthur grabbed him around the waist, punching his fist into Caspar's stomach from behind. Gordie's friend slid to the ground in agony, clutching his midsection. Gordie stared at Caspar, open-mouthed and shocked, then back at Arthur, who looked just as pleased as a kid finding that he had gotten all As on his report card and had put the minimum effort possible to doing so.

"Woah, man, are you okay?" Gordie said quickly after the shock faded, running to Caspar's aid, and crouching down next to him. He clutched his stomach, but managed a smile and a thumbs up.

"Fine!" He croaked. "I'm good."

"What the hell did you do to him, man?" Gordie demanded of Arthur.

"Nothing to far from what he deserved." The larger boy replied, shrugging. "He walked in on my fight. It was only a price to pay."

Gordie glared at him. Caspar cowered.

"You think this is how to deal with that?!" Gordie yelled in a dark voice.

Arthur grinned with surprise, taken aback by Gordie's uncharacteristically serious tone.

"Woah, it's okay, New Kid," He said through gritted teeth. "Wouldn't want anyone hearing, would you?"

"Just let the kid go and get out." Gordie growled. Arthur just laughed.

"No…" He said matter-of-fact-ly. "It's my fight. I can do what I want with it, and I say you get out and take blondie with you!"

"What if I make it my fight, then?" Gordie questioned, feeling a surge of energy. His fists balled, and for a moment, he was transported back to that day back on his last days of the summer before 6th grade, when him and Chris and Teddy and Vern were faced with the infamous Ace Merrill, Gordie holding a gun up to his face and growling 'Suck my fat one you cheap dime store hood' through his teeth.

Arthur scoffed.

"Is that a threat?" He laughed, looking Gordie up and down. Gordie's blood pounded.

"Yeah." He tilted his head. "Yeah, yeah it is."

Arthur raised an eyebrow, looking Gordie over skeptically.

"You don't look like a fighter…" He admitted. Gordie's chest surged, a wave overcoming his mind. All he could see was Arthur's smug face surrounded by a blur of a room. Without even commanding himself, his fist shot out, planting a straight punch right in the boy's gut. Arthur let out a thick grunt, stumbling backwards. His anger faded, and he saw clear again; his opponent's face was filled with complete shock. Gordie smirked.

"Now if you'll excuse me," Gordie said nonchalantly, bending down and beginning to help Caspar up from the ground. "I'd best be going. Have a nice day!"

"Not so fast, asshole!" Arthur yelled, running over and grabbing Gordie around the waist. Gordie shrieked involuntarily, struggling to get away, but Arthur was stronger than expected. He dragged Gordie away from Caspar, who laid limply on the floor, half sitting up and watching with horror. With the strength of four bulls, the bully slammed Gordie up against the wall in the corner of the room, surprisingly close to the little boy, who shrieked and ran for the open door. Still holding Gordie down with one arm, Arthur grabbed the boy with the other and pulled him close.

"Better not tell anyone, you little bastard." He hissed, then released him, watching the kid as he scurried for the door. He turned back to Gordie.

"Don't mess with me, New Kid." He growled.

"Come on, man, let's settle this like normal people!" Gordie squeaked, watching as Arthur admired his beefy fists, licking his knuckles so that it would sting when they hit him. Gordie cringed, his stomach churning, almost squeezing his eyes shut, but opening them at the last second. He couldn't cower away from this. He couldn't start his second day at Huntington with a punch to the face and a reputation of a wimp.

Gordie quickly assessed his surroundings. The kid had left, which meant two things; either he would come with help soon, or he would chicken out and, ultimately, this was the last Gordie would see of the light of day. He looked around. Caspar had collapsed almost entirely on the ground, his chest heaving; Arthur had surrounded him with his beefy frame, encasing him like a tiger in a carnival tent, smiling evilly down on him. There wasn't any way around him…but there was a way through him. Gordie spied the small parting in between his legs. He was skinny enough to fit through it, and then he could flip around and pin him up…

"Say goodbye…" Gordie heard Arthur growl. This was his chance. As his enemy threw his punch, Gordie dove through the space between his legs, jumping up and catching Arthur by surprise. In one swift movement, he spun around, placing one hand on the boy's chest and slamming him into the corner. Suddenly, Arthur's eyes were filled with surprise and…was that fear? No. Gordie shook his head. He threw a punch, socking him straight in the eye.

"Agh!" Arthur cried, sinking to the ground, clutching at his skull with chubby fingers.

"You wanted a black eye?" He asked the boy on the ground. "You got a black-"

"Excuse me!" A voice cried. Gordie, Arthur and Caspar each in turn swiveled their heads around towards the door. Gordie's stomach dropped. There stood Ms. Graves, one hand on the little boy's shoulder, her eyes narrowed with shock. "What exactly is going on here!?" Her mouth hung open. Next to her, a man in a janitor uniform stood, watching and judging.

"Ms, I'm so sorry!" Gordie blurted quickly, stepping away from Arthur as if he suddenly had become a puddle of acid. "It's-it's not what it looks like!"

She pursed her lips, frowning.

"Oh, I'm sure this is exactly what it looks like." She said. Her eyes wandered, catching Caspar. Her mouth opened. "What happened to him?!" She demanded, coming over to kneel next to the injured boy.

"I-I can explain…" Gordie muttered. She glared at him.

"I hope you can." She growled, turning to the janitor. "Mr. Price, get D'Anthony up to the infirmary." She turned her head to Gordie and Arthur, who had made a quick recovery and was now standing side to side with Gordie, the tender-red area around his eye socket beginning to bruise up in black and blue. "I'll deal with these two."

The janitor nodded curtly, trading places with the assistant principal, who stood, eyes flashing, and began to advance on the boys. Gordie leaned around her, watching as Mr. Price helped Caspar limp out of the room, doubled over and clutching his gut as he did.

"Do you think he'll be okay?" Gordie murmured to himself.

"He's not as bad as me!" Arthur hissed back. "My eye is going to bruise up right when we get our pictures taken! Nice going, you wet end-"

"Mr. Kastler!" Ms. Price yelped to shut him up. Arthur rolled his eyes, but shut his mouth. "You boys had better explain what happened and keep your stories straight or there will be serious consequences, do you understand?"

Damn… Gordie mused. She doesn't play around…

"Our school has very high standards, and if Mr. D'Anthony has any serious damage done, there will be prices to pay and a reputation to clean up for this entire school. Understand that these actions will not go un noticed. Is that clear?"

Gordie gulped, then nodded. Arthur did the same.

"Wonderful. Then I'll be seeing the both of you in Headmaster Anderson's office in ten minutes sharp. Chop chop, boys!" And with that, she was gone.

Arthur turned to Gordie.

"Nice fucking going Lachance! Thanks to you, I've got a black eye and I'm gunna get my ass whooped by Anderson! That guys a demon, and best you believe that he ain't going to take any mercy on you neither. Mark my words, kid!" Arthur gave Gordie a glare, then stormed out of the room. Shocked, Gordie stood for a few moments, then took after the other boy.

"Woah, what's so bad about Anderson?" Gordie asked feebly, matching just a few paces behind Arthur. "My dad met him-"

"Dads are a different story!" Arthur blurted, spinning around and coming to face Gordie, pointing a finger at his face. "With dads, he's all nice and funny and talks about sports and the next Giants game….But with kids?" Arthur laughed with pity. "No. That guy is insane, I swear, I mean, he can be nice, but if one kid steps one foot out of line…" He shook his head. "Heard of this one kid…Parker or something…He set a firecracker off the high school roof. Got sent to Anderson's; he was never the same again; not in school, I mean. He walked the halls like a living corpse-I'm not kidding." He laughed again, putting a hand on his forehead. "I'm not kidding…Couldn't even walk past the guy's office without screaming."

Gordie gave him a look.

"I'm serious!" Arthur shrieked, his voice cracking. "Look, you'd better not say anything that's gunna get me in trouble; least you want to end up like D'Anthony." He smirked, a face that sent shivers down Gordie's spine, and continued to walk.