Stanley Uris

The bell rang and the hallway filled with noise. You were walking among the people when a blow to the chest stopped you in your tracks.

—What's wrong with you, idiot?

You looked up.

Stanley Uris was glaring at you. It wasn't an accident. Behind him, Richie Tozier smiled uncomfortably, and Eddie Kaspbrak looked nervous. Bill Denbrough watched silently.

"It wasn't on purpose," you said.

"Of course," Stan spat. "Just like your brother."

"Don't bring Henry into this," you said through gritted teeth.

"Why not?" he said, raising his voice. "Violence, shit, trouble. That's Bowers."

—You know nothing about me!

"Enough is enough!" he shouted. "You come from the same garbage."

Some just stared.

—I'm not him!

"That's what someone like him would say!" he replied. "Quiet, strange... thinking nobody notices him."

—I don't want anything to do with you!

"Lies!" he said, taking a step forward. "If you didn't want trouble, you wouldn't be here."

Richie tried to intervene.

—Okay, that's it—

"Shut up!" Stan interrupted. "This isn't a joke."

Bill moved forward.

—Stan, stop.

"No," he said, looking at you with contempt. "I don't want you near me. Not even breathing the same air."

You felt the blow of those words.

"Perfect," you replied angrily. "You mean nothing to me."

Stan let out a bitter laugh and moved closer.

"Do us a favor," she whispered. "Stay away."

A teacher arrived shouting.

—What's going on here?!

Stan stepped aside.

—Nothing—he said coldly—. Just trash talking.

You remained motionless, breathing heavily.

In Derry, the surname Bowers was not only frightening.

It also provoked hatred.