He Doesn't Know
He's just three feet away from me. Locker 212, surrounded by the soccer team. Phil plays soccer now and he's surprisingly good at it, too. Not nearly as good as he was in Laser Squash, but pretty close. It seems as if he's enjoying himself, probably talking about strategy and technique and all of the other things that go along with playing soccer.
I let my head peek around my locker for a minute too long and he catches me staring, sporting a confused expression on his face.
"What is she looking at?" I hear one of them say...
Phil shrugs and leads the guys around the corner where I can't stare at them.
I'm not stalking him or anything, but sometimes I watch him sleep at night. I watch him dress in the morning and undress in the evening, shower and eat dinner, mow the lawn in his filthy white tank top, and sometimes I even watch him and his girlfriend. I don't really like her.
When I finally decided to tell my mom about Phil, she had me see a psychologist who made me out to be certifiably insane. I was put on prescription meds for two years and just recently quit them. The side-effects were unbearable and embarrassing. Round the clock nausea and hallucinations that always got me in trouble. And of course, I had to deal with the rumors and questionable looks from my peers. But if you ask me, that was just high school, nothing new.
The worst day of my life is to be announced... Though a close second was about three months ago when I was still taking my meds. School was getting out in less than an hour and time seemed to move extremely slow, if not at all. I was in Livingston's class when I started feeling sick and it just so happened that Phil had that class with me. He was doing the usual, talking to friends and fake-laughing for their personal benefit. I asked Livingston if I could have a bathroom pass and she denied me saying, "You can wait a half hour, Miss Teslow." But I couldn't. I was nauseous there and then. I ended up vomiting in front of everyone, which truly helped my declining social status.
I spent the following summer in my house with my mother and her cat-fanatic friends.
"Miss Teslow, don't you have a class you should be in right now?" My thoughts took me out of reality, I'd missed the first period bell and Principal Tillywack was staring at me confusedly.
"Free period," I lie. Once I got a hold of Phil's schedule, I made it a priority to transfer into at least one of his classes. First period was that one, but I suddenly felt too ashamed to show up.
Tillywack nods appreciatively and continues down the hall.
Have you ever had a moment in your life that you wish you could take back, redo?
"Get to class, Miss Teslow..." Tillywack demanded as he rounded the corner. Oh, that's right. He memorizes priority student's schedules. I was put on Priority after my first meeting with the psychologist.
I trudge off to my first period class and creep in ever so quietly.
"You're late, Miss Teslow," Messhershmidt states without taking his eyes off the role sheet.
"I was in the bathroom," I tell him, nervously.
I hear someone in back cough "barf bag!" and everyone laughs. The problem I have with this particular class isn't Phil's presence, it's seating myself. The back has the added quality of isolation, but me being late, the back would involve walking between the two rows of obnoxious teenagers. The front is just as bad because I can't see what all is going on behind me... That's when the whispering is at it's peek annoyingness.
I take a seat in front near the door and am almost immediately plagued with whispers and paper balls. I turn around after one of the balls hits me in back of my head to see who it was.
"Mr. Diffy, I suggest you keep the wads of paper to yourself unless you'd like join the other futureless delinquents in lunch detention," Messhershmidt warns, again without even seeing the suspect.
What's more unbelievable is that Phil has actually subjected himself to paper tossing. He'd have stood up for someone like me two years ago.
Upon finally turning towards the class, Messhershmidt announced our first-day-back-homework-assignment.
"What I am going to do this year for you frivolous upperclassmen is this," he slams a sheet of paper on my desk and scans the classroom. "Would you please do me the kindness of reading what I have written on that sheet of paper, Miss Teslow?"
I gulp and pick up the sheet of paper. Why me? "'Under each of your desks, I have conveniently taped a piece of paper. On that particular piece of paper is a single number. Once you have learned your number, you must find the other student in the classroom that has the same number as you. You will do this by holding your piece of paper in the air and identifying your partner that way.'"
The entire class, including myself, reaches underneath their desks and pulls the piece of paper free. My number is three. I hold the sheet in the air and slowly turn around to look for my match. I scan the room and my eyes meet Phil Diffy holding a number three.
I hold his gaze until one of us decides to meet the other. He stands reluctantly and makes his way towards me. The rest of the class is shuffling around, greeting one another and waiting for instruction. Phil passes me and walks to Messhershmidt, whispering something near his ear.
"No, Mr. Diffy!" He grunts. "You may not have a new partner. You chose the desk and that is the number you will stick with!"
He sighs loudly and plops down in the desk next to me.
"Hold your tongues!" Messhershmidt demands. "Now... You have the remainder of this semester to complete a ten page hand written essay about your experience at H.G. Wells Jr./Sr. High School. That particular segment is to be done separately. Together you and your partner will have to present a creative representation the school and your collective experience attending it... This shouldn't be a challenge considering the circumstances. By the end of the semester, you are expected to learn ten things about your partner that you did not previously know."
This was surprising. I didn't think Messhershmidt cared about our social life.
"Make no mistake! I do not care about the social equality of of a single soul in this God forsaken educational center... This particular assignment was mandatory, via Principal Gibbon Tillywack..." He grunts again. I knew it.
I'm anxious to get this embarrassment over with, but Phil won't make eye contact with me. I'd obviously prefer to observe him from a distance, without him knowing... Actually talking to him again? I don't know if I could do it.
"By the way," Messhershmidt says, "Your assignment began back when I said 'frivolous upperclassmen.'"
Okay, CraftyNotepad... You were right. I have been taking my writer's vitamins.
Enjoy.