when stanley arrived at greta's house, he started regretting the hour and half walk that took him there. it was clear that she was having a party, there were people out front on the porch, cars lined up down the street, and the front door was wide open.
he needed to do something other than just lie in his room sleepless, though, so he walked up to the open door.
hesitantly, he took a step into the house.
it's not like it was completely full and crowded, there was a bit of space in every room, but stanley would probably guess that greta had invited their entire grade, and maybe some people in the grade below them. he was vaguely recognizing people here and there, and he let his brain wander to the idea of his past friends being here.
he wondered if bill, eddie, and mike were here. he tried not to think about richie.
as he always tended to at parties (not that he went to enough to call it a habit), he found himself in the kitchen, and he picked at a platter of fruit that was sitting next to a bowl of punch. the punch, suspiciously fluorescent pink, smelled good, so that was at least a good sign. i mean, why had he come to a party if not to drink a little?
so he took a cup and filled it with punch, not arguing with the flavours in his mouth as he gulped down half the cup.
"wow, stan you came," suddenly, betty had showed up next to him, a can of what appeared to be orange flavoured vodka in her hand. "i'm gonna be honest, greta told me she invited you but i wasn't expecting you to come," she continued, stanley nodding along as best he could.
this was a bad idea, he decided. how was he supposed to talk to anyone at this party if he hadn't spoken a word in months? especially talk to his ex, who he hadn't seen in a while, and honestly wasn't sure he was on good terms with.
it didn't seem to be much of a problem, however, as betty cued in on the fact that stanley wasn't talking, and did all the talking herself.
"i hope you're doing well, stan, i don't mean to pry, but i've been seeing you here and there and you don't, um, you don't look fantastic. i hope that wasn't my fault. sorry." stanley shook his head, assuring her no, it was not her fault.
not at all, he thought, picturing richie's smile in his head.
"anyway, you've got, like, wicked undereye circles right now. are you sleeping? and you look like, skin and bones, sorry. sorry, my resolution for this year is to stop giving people my opinion on their bodies. i'm not doing great, clearly, but that's okay! anyway, i should get back to my friends. i'll see you around, stan! have a good night," and with that she disappeared into the living room, leaving stanley, speechless, to eat more grapes and strawberries.
he fumbled with the top button of his shirt, feeling a little stuffy. as he unbuttoned it, he looked up to see bill across the room, just staring at him. he looked pissed off. stanley couldn't tear his eyes away from bill's, but bill certainly could, doing what appeared to be scoffing, bill walked away.
oh good, so his friends did hate him. his ex-friends, he supposed. he took another sip.
fuck, he had to pee. he decided to find a bathroom, greta waving at him as he walked through people, looking for a small door that could indicate a bathroom. he smiled weakly at greta.
