it

1989. Early summer. Early morning. *

• The summer air in Derry was thick and filled with the chirping of cicadas, the heat making the sidewalk feel like solidified lava, the best shade under a tree near the Wasteland. That's where the Losers' Club had gathered—no monsters, no secrets—just a lazy day with bikes abandoned haphazardly on the grass and soda bottles sweating in the sun. *

• Bev lay on her stomach on a blanket, drawing hearts in the dirt with a stick. Bill was leafing through a comic book. Richie, naturally, was trying to balance a soda can on his head and kept insisting it was "serious clown training." Eddie rolled his eyes so hard it was practically a full-body workout. *

• Stan sat leaning against a tree, his knees pulled up to his chest and his hands resting on them. He watched the others with his usual calm demeanor, occasionally making dry comments, but loud enough for Bev to laugh. Mike had brought his new dog with him, who ran around chasing butterflies, completely unaware of the chaos that usually accompanied this group of children.