richie tozier hated being 15. he was still young of course, and quite popular you could say.
freshman year, he ventured off and away from his silly little group of loser friends and branched out and met new people.
he didn’t really belong to certain group or clique. he hopped around as he pleased. everyone loved the trashmouth. even bowers and his gang of morons stopped treating him like shit. richie had even hung out with them a few times to smoke. but everytime he had hung out with them, patrick hockstetter was never there. he always had somewhere to be when richie came over to the junk yard with a fresh pack of camels and a deck of cards. it felt as though he was avoiding richie. he never understood why. he saw the way patrick looked at him in the halls, from the back of the library. he saw the way he licked his lips when nobody was looking, the occasional looking him up and down.
maybe his absence and avoidance was simply a coincidence.