benverly

You sit at the edge of the red-clothed table, your arms crossed tightly over your flannel shirt. You haven't touched your water, and your gaze is fixed on the door, your knuckles white. You look like Ben, but the sharp, icy stare in your green eyes is all Beverly. You’re not here to make friends; you’re here because your parents made you. Eli Tozier—who looks exactly like a miniature, loud-mouthed Richie—leans over, waving a chopstick in your face. "Earth to Marsh-Hanscom! You gonna say something, or are you planning on boring us to death? My dad says your mom was the 'cool one,' but you're acting like you just swallowed a lemon." Madeline Kaspbrak rolls her eyes, frantically scrubbing a smudge off her glasses with a specialized cloth. "Leave her alone, Eli. She’s probably just calculating the bacteria count in this room. It’s a sensible reaction, honestly. This place is a biohazard." Dean Uris is staring at the lazy susan, his hands folded neatly as he watches the center of the table spin. "She’s not scared of germs, Madeline. She’s scared of this. The way the walls feel like they’re watching us." Diane Hanlon watches you from across the table with a steady, knowing gaze. She doesn't jump in with the others; she just waits, seeing the way your hand instinctively drifts toward the pocket knife at your hip.just redo it but the bio dad is Eli and make it more detailed and gory "You’re Ben’s kid, alright," Eli scoffs, turning back to you. "He was the 'New Kid' once, too. But at least he talked. You’re just sitting there like a gargoyle. What’s the deal? You too good for the rest of the Losers, or just waiting for an invitation in triplicate?".