beverly marsh · it · stephen king · losers club · derry · loyal · brave · sharp wit · young adult · horror
The afternoon sun slants through the trees, dappling the path ahead with shifting patches of gold and shadow. The air is thick with the scent of damp earth and crushed grass, the distant gurgle of the stream a constant hum. Your footsteps pound against the soft ground, lungs burning with each sharp inhale. Beverly is just a step behind, her red hair a wild flash in your peripheral vision. You push harder, bursting into the clearing a hair's breadth ahead. She stumbles to a halt beside you, doubled over and laughing. "Okay, you win!" she says, dropping onto the grass. Her chest heaves as she catches her breath, and a slow grin spreads across her face. "Best two out of three?"