When I was almost five years old, I started Kindergarten. When I was almost twelve, I started at a new school, high school. Technically, I've never been the new kid, not on my own. I've never started school mid-term, nor have I started school alone, so I honestly don't know what it feels like to walk into a classroom by myself and introduce myself to a teacher in front of a crowd of kids my own age watching on as if I'm some kind of spectacle. Yet, this is exactly what the black haired boy at the front of the room has just done. He's tall, taller than me, and he walks with a confidence that I can't quite put my finger on. It's like he's confident in himself, but not the people around him, the only cautiousness he exudes is one toward us, the strangers in his presence. I guess I'd be the same if I were him. He walks down the centre of the room, head held high, and takes a seat, immediately pulling out two pencil cases – who the hell needs more than one pencil case? He proceeds to pull a small book from the second case, does he have notes already? No. No, they're not notes. I look across the room, almost down on him from where I'm sitting, and spy the pictures and splashes of colour between the thickened black lines and intricate patterns. It's a colouring book. My friend, Chris, stifles a chuckle and clearly he's noticed too, I shake my head at him with an amused smirk, letting Chris know that I see it and that I'm about as amused as he is, leaving this weird new kid to colour his book in complete ignorance of what's probably in store for him later as a result.
Why the hell is he always colouring? He literally carries around a colouring book, who does that? No one. Other than him, obviously. He colours in maths, physics, English, and he probably colours in every other class that I'm not in as well. It's embarrassing. It is literally no wonder he winds up battered and bruised, he's a complete loser. His name is Philip Lester and he's been here for what, three days, and how many times has he gotten himself beaten up? Like, four. I would actually bet good money that Chris and Jacob are plotting their next move as he sits there colouring, completely oblivious. Oh, and now he's dropped his pencil. Don't pick it up, Philip, you're just drawing attention to yourself. Fucking hell. Just leave – oh, nope, you're really picking it up now aren't you? Far out…
"Philip," our English teacher, Mr Tacker, speaks his name, "Can you tell me what I've just said?"
Yeah Philip, can you tell him anything that's gone on this lesson, or were you too distracted by the pretty flowers you're colouring in?
"Uh," Ah, he speaks! "That the dark version of himself represents his fear of being who he really is, and so when he banishes it, he's unlocking the freedom to be himself without self-ridicule?"
"Thank you, Philip," Mr Tacker says, flashing him a look that says that he's lucky he wasn't wrong. How did he do that? I'm lucky to get it right even if I'm listening. Philip shoves all his pencils into his pencil case, followed by his little colouring book that seems to fit in there quite perfectly, and as if on cue, the bell rings.
Walking down the hallway toward the school canteen is when I spot the inevitable: Chris and Jacob forcing Philip into the handicap bathroom. Okay, Dan, just breath in and walk by, do not make eye contact. Do not make any eye contact at all. I repeat, do NOT make eye conta-
Wow, this Philip guy has really shiny blue eyes. They're actually quite stunning, captivating even. Fuck. Eye contact. No. I roll my eyes and break the gaze, continuing my stride toward my regular lunch table. I feel bad, I honestly do, but it's just something that happens to some people. I can't stop, I have friends waiting, and food to eat, assignment or something to help PJ with, and things to think about… But suddenly I'm turning around and walking back down the hallway to the handicap bathroom to rescue the cerulean-eyed loser with the colouring book. I swing the door open just in time witness Jacob executing a swift kick to the black-haired boy's stomach and I swear I can hear the pain in his sudden intake of breath.
"Chris, Peej wanted you near the library," I lie, not addressing the situation before me at all,
"Shit," Chris turns to face me and Jacob quickly does the same, "C'mon," Chris is speaking again, directing both himself and Jacob out of the small space, and he calls over his shoulder, "Thanks for reminding me, Dan." At least now Chris will be able to help PJ until I get there.
The second they're out of sight, I shut the door behind me and make the sudden realisation that I don't know what to do. I don't do this. When have I ever helped a stranger? Why am I doing this?
"Are you… okay?" I manage to ask, immediately regretting doing so because clearly he is not okay. He looks scared. He's not stupid, he knows I'm friends with the people that shoved him in here and left him bruised on the floor, but he nods.
"I'm fine, thanks," he replies, not making eye contact with me. His voice sounds shaken, I think it's because he expects me to hurt him too, not that I've done so since he's come here, but I've certainly made no effort to stop it and… and I encouraged it yesterday. This probably wasn't a good idea, come to think of it.
"Do you want any help up?" I ask, glancing up at the mirror on the wall and quickly fixing the fringe of my brown hair. He shakes his head, struggling to pull himself into a sitting position with his back against the wall.
"My name's Dan, you're Philip, right?"
"Phil," he corrects me, I've got to admit that Phil is a lot easier than Philip. How didn't I assume that was his nickname anyway?
"Phil," I repeat his name, enjoying the way my mouth feels when I say it,
"Thanks for, uh, stopping… that," he struggles to say to me, looking up at me now with his wide, blue eyes. Now that I'm closer, they have little specks of yellow and they're… why the fuck am I looking so deeply into his eyes? He's going to think I'm a freak, and that I'm more invested in him than I am.
"You're welcome…" I say, looking up at the flickering ceiling light, "I haven't really asked anyone yet, but what happened for them to think you deserve this?"
"I existed," he states painfully.
"Okay, I lied. I know everything," I tell him, sitting down beside him and watching as he flinches away the second my arm accidentally brushes against him,
"Do you now?" he says, regaining what I can assume is his regular composure, a little more confident and sure of himself and what he's saying. Clearly he doesn't want to be the victim. I nod in reply and Phil sighs with a shake of his head before looking at me as though he's telling me to elaborate.
"They took your phone yesterday," I begin to recount to him, and he nods, "Apparently you have some absolutely lovely photos of you kissing some absolutely lovely…" I pause for a moment, letting him prepare himself before I finish my sentence, "Boy."
"Sounds like an absolutely lovely affair then, doesn't it?" He rolls his eyes, "What and why does it matter?"
"I dunno, I'm not the one that can't pick themselves up off the bathroom floor," I shrug,
"So you think I deserve this, then?" and he looks at me properly now, no longer timid or scared in the slightest, but instead as though he's rather disgusted by the idea that I would think it's okay. Not only disgusted, but disappointed, as if he had expected better from me.
Of course he doesn't deserve this for being gay or whatever he is. There's nothing wrong with someone liking the same gender, but he had to expect that this would happen, wouldn't he? Or maybe- I don't know. No one deserves this, especially someone that hasn't done anything wrong in the first place. He's looking at me now through narrowed eyes and I know he's right.
"No…" I answer, realising I'd been quiet for at least a few seconds too long,
"Good," is all he says.
"How did you know you were… are you gay?" I fumble with my words and find myself feeling the rush of blood to my cheeks as my eyes are drawn back to his. Fuck.
"I'm gay," he sighs, "Thanks for actually asking. I knew because I'd always just been attracted to guys, it was weird when we did the whole sexual education crap a few years ago and no one at my catholic school explained that it wasn't a totally weird thing, but after I sort of started embracing it all, I knew I definitely preferred dicks to chicks," he laughs.
His usual demeanour has definitely returned and I laugh with him, a little envious of his ability to make conversation with someone like me in a situation like this.
"How come you moved here, then?" I ask, running my fingers through my fringe again, making a mental note to stop touching my hair and my face, it's getting weird and he probably thinks… I don't know what he probably thinks, but whatever it is, it's wrong.
"Expelled," he breathes quietly through his mouth, his soft looking lips moving almost in slow motion before he catches the bottom between his teeth, biting his lip, and I know he's not lying. PJ, my best friend and complete suck up to the office staff, overheard the deputy principal talking to Phil about his previous exclusion on his first day here, unfortunately not able to pick up any actual details. I shuffle slightly, feeling a little uncomfortable all of a sudden because it takes an awful lot to be expelled from private schools – they're the schools parents pay fair sums of money for their kids to attend, so they're not often kicked out lightly.
"What'd you do?"
He pauses, clearly catching my uncomfortableness. He just looks at me for a second before his shy, just-short-of-polite, smile curves into a grin.
"Got caught sucking a guy off in the handicap bathroom after his friends made a poor attempt at bullying me."
He's fucking with me. He's joking, right? He's got to be fucking with me. That's very, very specific. He can't be serious. I could almost hear the smirk in his words, so he's joking. He's trying to get a reaction out of me. He's doing it on purpose.
"That sounds like an absolutely lovely experience for you," I answer, purposefully sounding as though I'm not uncomfortable as hell.
"It absolutely was," he pauses for a second and his attractive smirk graces his face again, "Lovely."
Did he just call me "lovely", like a pet name, or compliment thing, or something, or was he repeating that I said that it was lovely? He's definitely doing this on purpose now.
"Lovely is such a weird word," he speaks again with a short laugh and his demeanour has shifted to one much softer, the kind a composure a small child would search for in a person when seeking comfort. "I feel like an old lady with lots of lavender cardigans and an eye for collectable antiques whenever I say it."
"You're really fucking weird," I murmur just loud enough for him to hear it.
"I'm aware."
"What's with the colouring book?" I finally dare to ask, my voice sounding slightly as if I'm accusing him of something. Jesus, I really need to work on not sounding like a complete asshole.
"What's with the denial?" he retorts,
"Denial?" What's he talking about? He's not making sense.
"You know what they say," he says, almost as if he's fully aware of just how captivating he really is, as he stands up, brushing off the dirt and lint from the floor, "It ain't just a river."
With that, he's out the door, shooting me a smile as he leaves me alone on the floor of the handicap bathroom. I'm not in denial of anything… so what, the unqualified fuck, was that?
Another day, another innocent victim shoved into an unused room of the school by one of my best friends. I watch as Chris wanders over to join PJ and I at our table after witnessing him grab some kid and thrust him inside a random utility closet before he plonks himself down on the picnic table bench-chair-thing across from me,
"Is it really necessary to shove poor boys in broom closets?" PJ looks up from the stage design he's been working on for his Drama assignment,
"Yeah," Chris laughs and turns to me, "Oi, Dan?"
"Mmm?" I look up from picking at the skin around my nails and he begins to talk again.
"Jacob's mate-" Chris starts again before PJ interrupts,
"Ian?"
"Nope. Matt."
"Okay, continue with your gossip," PJ waves his hand dismissively and routes his focus back to his work,
"Thank you, Peej," Chris replies sarcastically, turning back to me, "Matt says he went to push some kid into the disabled bathroom at the end of lunch yester-"
And once again Chris is interrupted by PJ,
"Hey, yeah!" he turns to me as well, "Where were you at lunch yesterday? My whole Wednesday afternoon schedule was thrown off! I was gonna make you help me with my debate homework…"
"PJ! Would you shut up?" Chris demands, "Anyway, Matt says he pushed the kid in and you were in there… sitting on the floor?"
Well, fuck. Fucking Matt needs to learn to keep his mouth shut, but perhaps staying in there for about twenty minutes after Philip, I mean Phil, had left wasn't such a great idea…
"Did that Philip Lester faggot give you trouble after we left yesterday?" Chris asks, and I'm brought back to the conversation, realising that I've been silent for far too long.
"What? No!"
"Are you sure?" Chris enquires, sparking PJ's interest with his concerned tone. I just nod and project a smile, hoping that's enough to get them to change the topic. "Did something else happen?" he asks me now, and I just shake my head and continue breaking apart my sandwich in front of me.
"What were you doing sitting alone in the handicap bathroom though?" PJ asks, folding his book shut and giving me all of his attention. PJ rarely diverts his attention from his homework at lunch, and Chris seldom sounds legitimately concerned about anyone. I know what this means. They're worried. Again.
"Dan, is everything alright?" Chris asks, suddenly sounding very serious, I can tell by his tone that he expects a real, probably verbal, answer.
"Everything is fine," I say with as much conviction as I can muster, "I was just in there because-"
Why was I in there? I could have gotten up to leave after Phil did, but I didn't. I just sat there like statue, still and silent, until Matt burst in with some tenth form kid.
"Because?" PJ coaxes me,
"I don't know. I was talking to that new guy and after he left I guess I just stayed in there…"
PJ crinkles his forehead, he can tell that's out of character for me, except of course when-
"Are you feeling down again?" Chris asks slowly and delicately as if I could break at any moment. Which I won't. I'm fine. As I was saying, except of course when I'm depressed. I'm lucky I have Chris and PJ, though. They care about me and check up on me, making sure I'm okay now. I try to do the same for them, as they also do for each other, but they don't really give anyone much to worry about.
"No," I answer quietly, "I'm not." I don't know why, but I suddenly don't feel like talking about it with them anymore.
I'm really quite appreciative of Chris and Peej. Sometimes Chris gets pissed off, he fights with his dad a lot and takes it out on innocent people at school, but that's been going on consistently since he was a kid and we all know that it's mostly because he's a bit of an asshole more so than because he's a "menace" as our principal once called him. Overall, it's easy to detect if there's something serious going on with him. PJ, on the other hand, is pretty stable. He's invested in a lot of creative arts subjects, and if it weren't for the fact that PJ and I had grown up together he'd probably be one of Chris's targets. I know that PJ is thankful for my befriending of the dreaded school bully, not so much as for protection like it used to be when we were twelve, but because Chris and Peej have developed a friendship of their own now. Somehow we all fit together, and somehow it all works with minimal bumps and very occasional issues.
"You'll tell us if something's wrong, yeah?" PJ asks this time and I nod at him with a smile,
"I promise," I assure him.
"Are you going straight home after school?" he asks again, pulling his school bag onto his lap and beginning to rummage around in it,
"Yeah, why?" I ask, fearing the inevitable. He's going to ask me to take his bag home with me.
"Can you take this?" He thrusts his bag full of text books and who-knows-what-else toward me across the table, "I'm staying back to help with the school musical production stuff," he beams at Chris and I.
"Fine…" I groan loudly, extending the length of the vowels in the word and taking his stupid, heavy bag from him.
"You're the best," he grins at me, "Thank you."
"You're such a fucking loser…" Chris castigates him and PJ responds by poking out his tongue. Unable to tolerate much more conversation, I'm hauling PJ's bag over my left shoulder and standing up to leave,
"See you tomorrow, Chris," I breathe, and he smiles back to me as I turn to head toward the library.
"Don't I get a good-bye?" PJ calls from behind me, I turn around just in time to be greeted with his playful pout,
"I'll see you at home, you twat," I laugh,
"Tell my dad I'll be late?" he begs, and I can see Chris mimicking him on the other side of the wooden table.
"Yup," I nod and begin attempt number two toward the library.
PJ and I have lived together since we were almost twelve or thirteen, it gets a bit hazy because it was a slow process, not like in movies where everyone moves into a new house in one day. PJ's about six months older than me, but we were born in different years. His mum died when he was two and my dad left when I was seven, I haven't heard from him since then, with the exception of a single letter almost four years ago now . PJ's dad met my mum in our primary school's office when they'd both been called in after I pushed Peej into a creek on a school excursion during a childish argument. We were about seven then too, and not much has changed. I have no regrets about the matter because red cars do, in fact, go faster than every other coloured vehicle. He had to learn somehow. Go on, ask him what the fastest car is and he'll tell you it's the red one. It also might have something to do with his lack of knowledge or interest in cars… I'm choosing to believe it was my doing, though.
After a while, lots of "play-dates" and many afternoons being baby-sat by PJ's dad, my mum got to know him a lot better, and after asking my permission, she agreed to a date with him. Roughly four years later they got married, right before PJ and I started seventh form. It was the most beautiful, incredible wedding I could have imagined, not because my best friend was there and we were going to be step-brothers, and not because of the giant cake, but because of the smile on my mum's face. Jamie, PJ's dad, makes my mum really happy, and he cares about all of us. We're a real family and that means the entire world to me. I love them - my mum, Jamie, PJ, and the cat that lives down the road that PJ feeds sometimes - they're my family.
I continue my walk through the school building and just as I'm about to round the last corner to the library, I walk smack-bang into someone else, sending the both of us crashing to the floor. Suddenly the only thing I can feel is something stabbing into my hip, and I know that whatever it is would pierce the skin were it not for the layers between it and me, at least PJ's bag protects me from his deadly school bag contents.
"Look, I'm so sorry, I should have watched where I was going and… oh. It's you," a familiar voice speaks before I'm able to look up from the space on my hip that will soon be discoloured. The second I flick my eyes from my side and up to see who it is, my eyes connect directly with his blue ones, locking with them, and for a moment I'm speechless. It's Phil.
"I, you- I'm… what?" is all that I manage to get out. Fucking smooth, Dan. Well done, you're a regular smooth talker, you are.
"What was that, sweetheart?" he smirks. Sweetheart? SWEATHEART? What the hell?!
"I, uh… I don't know," I reply, choosing to ignore his latest pet name for me.
"Hey, are you okay?" he asks, looking at me properly now and changing his tone to one matching that of Chris and PJ's from earlier. Why do people keep asking me that? Do I not look okay? Am I not okay? I don't get it.
"Do I… do I, um… not look like I'm okay?" I ask hesitantly, and I can suddenly hear the trembling in my voice. That's weird. That's not normal. Maybe I'm not okay. How do I know if I'm not okay? I'm so out of touch with my emotions that not even my inner-monologue is aware of them! Oh, unless it's not actual emotion-emotions. Maybe I have been feeling a little depressed lately… and meaner than usual… Maybe I'm not okay.
"Uh… I don't know how to answer that," Phil answers honestly, "Sorry…"
"No, no! Don't be sorry, I'm sorry. I'll- I'll get out of your way," I say, standing up and trying to sort out PJ's back-pack.
"Wait, Dan?" he stops me in my tracks and, unexpectedly, all I want to do is obey him, "You don't look okay," he says this time,
"Thanks."
"I don't mean…" he sighs, obviously frustrated and unsure how to continue,
"Don't worry about it," I smile, "It's all good."
"Do you have class now?" he asks, reaching to take the bag from my shoulder, and I let him.
"I have free study," I answer quietly but just loud enough for him to hear me, and then he lowers his voice too,
"Wanna come with me then?"
I don't know Phil very well, but here I am, at the front door of his small house. He unlocks it and gently places PJ's bag by the front door, immediately offering me a drink or something, to which I politely say no. I feel weird being here. No one knows where I am or who I'm with, and I don't want them to know. I don't want anyone to know and I wish I knew why. Maybe Phil's lured me home to kill me, but I doubt I'm that lucky. I guess I'll probably live another day, that's fine, maybe Phil will make it worth my wild. It's the least he could do if he's not going to treat me to my own funeral. Oh god, that got morbid. Whoops. Just smile. I'm fine.
"My parents won't be here," Phil says plainly, dressing the statement with a small smile, "So it's just us. Is that okay?"
I nod.
"Alright," he whispers, smile still highlighting the intricate features of his face, "Wanna come upstairs?"
I nod again.
"What's your vow of silence for? I hope it's a good cause because you really do have a voice worth listening to." His voice is smooth and charming, but I ignore him.
"Don't you have any friends?" I ask thoughtlessly, and suddenly I don't care if I'm offending him, or hurting him, or anything of the sort.
"Oh… I- I, um…" he looks at the white tiles of the floor and shuffles his feet awkwardly. I have hurt him. I take it back! I take it back! I care now, I don't want to hurt him, he's done nothing deserving of my habitual asshole-ness.
"No, Phil… I'm sorry, I didn't mean that…" I plead, gently gripping the top of his arm and reminding myself how much my mouth had enjoyed saying his name that singular time yesterday.
"Its fine, Dan," he says unconvincingly,
"I'm sorry…" I whisper, "I know you just moved here, and I'm a jerk. I'm sorry."
"Thanks, but yeah, it's alright," he smiles again.
"Do you still want to go upstairs Phili-" Am I about to say 'Philip'? No. Don't do that. Save it! Fix it, Dan! Come on! "…Philippa?"
"Philippa?" he's looking at me quizzically, I fucked up. I did not save it. I did not, at all, fix it.
"Uh- I'm not sure what really happened there," I confess and he's clearly trying to hold in a laugh.
"Alright then," he chuckles, "Upstairs?" He motions toward the stairs and with a warm blush, and I follow him up.
His room is littered with band posters, Muse and a few others that I don't stop to look at properly as I'm instantly drawn to a reasonably sized, brown corkboard hung upon his wall.
"Are these your parents?" I ask, looking at the collage of pinned photos,
"Yeah," he says, "They still live further up north."
"Who do you live with then?" I wonder aloud, straightening one of the photos,
"Just me," he says solemnly, "I love my family, I really do, but we don't have the best relationship at the moment,"
"I'm sorry…"
"No, don't worry about it," Phil smiles again, "I, um, I do have friends, you know?" He points out.
I turn to face him and let out a short embarrassed laugh at myself for having asked him that before,
"Is that so?" I challenge him playfully.
"I have one that lives a couple of hours away," he tells me, "Her name's Sandra, but I call her Sandy sometimes," he chuckles.
"Have you made any at school yet?" I ask,
"Yeah," he smiles, "Other than you, if you'd want to consider yourself my friend, I met someone pretty cool in my visual arts class."
"I don't… I don't mind being considered your friend," I smile and I can feel myself starting to blush. Blushing is the last thing I need right now…
"That's really cute," Phil chuckles, obviously my attempts to hide my blush have been unsuccessful.
"Shut up," I give in and smile at him in embarrassment once again, "Who's your other new friend?"
"His name is PJ?" Phil queries, obviously wondering if I know him, which, of course, I do.
"Ah, yes. PJ," I say, shaking my head a little in surprise,
"Please tell me he's not another target your extremely sociable friend. Chris was his name, right?"
"Quite the opposite," I inform him, "They're friends, but he totally would be a target of his if things hadn't worked out the way they have."
"What do you mean?" he asks, seating himself on his bed,
"PJ and I have been best friends since we were kids," I smile, sitting next to him, "We've been friends with Chris since we started high school."
"That… is weird. You, Chris and PJ? You're all so different…?"
"Yeah," I laugh, "We really are. Wanna know what makes it even weirder?"
"What?" he asks, eyes wide as though he's a little confused of how it could possibly get stranger,
"PJ and I live together, we have since a little before I turned twelve and when he was almost thirteen. Our parents got married," I laugh again.
"You're literally living every kid's dream," Phil chuckles, "Where does Chris fit in?"
"Chris and I became friends in seventh form, we had a fair bit in common and then I introduced him to Peej. I guess Chris is the bully, PJ's the one that tries to get him to stop it because he knows he would probably be his victim too if things were different, and I'm the… I don't know what I am, but I fit somewhere in the middle."
"You're something," Phil pokes out his tongue,
"I'm something," I repeat with a nod.
"So, If I'm friends with PJ, and I'm friends with you, does that mean you can write me like, a little teacher's pass so that Chris will step off?" he laughs,
"I can see what I can do," I wink with a grin,
"Is he actually homophobic, or is he, like… I don't know?"
"I hope he's not homophobic," I breathe before realising that I've said it out loud,
"I take it you're still trying to figure things out?" Phil asks, apparently noticing my latest shift in tone and mood. I sigh. I've been questing my sexuality for, well, I don't know how long. I don't even know what's what anymore, but what I do know is that I want to know. I want to know that I'm straight. I have to be straight, but unfortunately I'm quite scared that I might not be
"I've never spoken about it to anyone before," I confess, "I don't… I don't know what…"
"That's alright, Dan. That's a completely normal thing, not just for people that aren't straight, but for people that are, too. The fact that you're unsure doesn't necessarily mean anything, so take your time and do whatever you want or need to do until you know what you want," his voice is smooth and reassuring. His words are ones I've never considered before and now I feel a little calmer about the whole situation, "Questioning things is normal, and in my experience, freeing," he's smiling as he finishes his sentence and I can't stop staring at his mouth.
"Can I kiss you?" I'm suddenly asking, and I'm immediately wishing that I hadn't and that aliens would bust through Phil's roof and abduct me. Oh god. Please say something, Phil… Silence. More silence. Where the fuck are those god damn aliens?!
"I don't know how much that would help you figure things out, and I don't want to take advantage of the fact that you're vulnerable or something…" he says after a moment, and instead of just accepting his answer, I'm correcting him! Why am I still talking? Why are the words still flowing from my mouth?! Why don't I just shut up?!
"It's not to help me figure things out," I blurt out, and not it's too late for me to stop myself, but of course, I can't, "I just… I'm really attracted to you… I don't know. I'm sorry, this is awful. Just because you're gay doesn't mean you want anything to do with me like that…"
There you go, Daniel, scare him off, that'll be great. Exactly the outcome that you want.
"Thanks…" Phil says meekly as he runs his hand through his ebony hair, he's obviously just as nervous as I am. I just keep messing things up with him. I swear I'm not normally this stupid. Oh god. He thinks I'm normally this fucking stupid! What do I do? Do I say something? I should say something. I open my mouth to tell him I'm not a complete moron before thinking better of it and closing it again. "Don't look so scared and depressed," Phil's voice interrupts the ever-present dialogue in my head, "I'll let you push me into a cupboard if it makes you feel better?" He grins at me with a breathy laugh and looks even more amused now that he can see the combination of embarrassment and ashamedness in my facial expression.
I'm not proud of being a bit of a bully. I've cleaned up my act, slowly, I'm nowhere near as bad as I used to be but that doesn't change the fact that I've hurt people. Last year I locked three people in classroom cupboards. Not spacey broom closets with space for them to move, but the thin cupboards in the classrooms where shelves of books were kept until 'someone' (me) 'accidentally' broke them all. Now they're the perfect size and shape with the right amount of space to easily push somebody into them and lock them in for a while. It's not comfortable. I should know. The three of them teamed up and gave me a taste of my own medicine, leaving me to stand in there uncomfortably until PJ happened to be looking for supplies in the art room I was in and found me. He thought it was a lot funnier than I did.
"Who told you about that?" I'm asking him as I begin fiddling with my fingers in my lap,
"Most of the people in my art class are victims of yours," he says, placing a slightly larger hand over my own, stopping my twiddling.
"I'm working on being less of an asshole…" I mumble, into the collar of the front of my school shirt,
"Oh, come on, princess," Phil teases, placing a couple of fingers under my chin and lifting my face to look at him, "They don't hate you, if that makes you feel better. They don't understand why you join in with the others, but apparently you're nowhere near as bad. They don't even call you a bully, they just call you a bit of a jerk."
Boy, Phil really knows how to instil confidence in a person. Not.
"Gee, thanks, Phil…"
"I'm not sure why I thought that would be helpful…" he says, obviously feeling bad, and I have to admit that this is kind of funny. I let out a quiet laugh and feel the pressure of his fingers beneath my chin. The tips of his fingers are cool, not cold, but cool, and without any warning, I feel them dragging from under my chin and around my jaw as his hand moves to cup my face, his thumb gently stroking my cheek. There's something so comforting about this. I can feel the butterflies fluttering around inside my stomach and it feels like they're multiplying. I let out a shuddered breath and it seems that some of the butterflies have escaped. Thank god.
"Butterflies…" I whisper to him as his gentle, barely smiling, face slowly closes in on mine. His lips are getting closer to mine. He's almost here. He's less than three inches from my lips. Be cool, Dan. Be normal. Close your fucking eyes, will you?! Just breathe. Breathe. Good, there you go, your lungs are working and you'll live another day so long as you just continue to brea-
His lips are on mine! I almost managed to get distracted by my own goddamn breathing! He brushes the most gentle, sweet kiss on my lips. It's a quiet, pure peck, perhaps extended by a few seconds just to savour the incredible feeling. God, I hope he feels this incredible feeling too. Every hair on my arms and torso is standing on end, goose bumps erupting all over my skin before he pulls away, his hand still securely and comfortingly against my face.
"Sorry…" I hear Phil say in what's quite possibly the softest voice I've heard in my entire life, he's pulling away from me now and while his head isn't hanging, his eyes have diverted from my general eye level to the faded white-grey carpeting on the floor. Why is he sorry? Does he regret kissing me? I sure as hell don't regret letting him.
"Why are you sorry?" I ask, my voice sounding surprisingly normal, maybe this is the start of my brain and mouth working in cooperation to prevent me sounding like a confused and babbling child!
"I shouldn't of," he's looking up at me now, "I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable, or made you feel… anything else bad like that. I don't- I don't normally kiss people I've just met, it's something I try to avoid usually, I'm not- I'm not… I'm not some slut or something, I'm sorry…"
Okay, okay, it's just him. It's not me. He doesn't regret it because of me, it's nothing personal. I'm just going to tell him it was more than okay, that I liked it, that I don't think he's a… did he say 'slut'? Jesus.
"Phil, you're not a slut for kissing someone," I tell him, "Even if you don't know them well. Hell, you're not even a slut if you fuck four different strangers in the space of twelve hours, or if you spent the next twelve hours after that fucking every person you encounter."
"I guess," Phil nods.
"You didn't make me uncomfortable either," I tell him. Maybe smiling like this will reassure him or something, "It was okay. No. It was good. It was great, Phil, no problems whatsoever."
"Okay," Phil nods again, "Thanks…" he chuckles a little and I smile. We spend the rest of the afternoon eating and talking about weird things, like how his mum used to try to do craft projects all the time even though she's the least crafty or artistic person he knows. Apparently she tried to create a tiled mural once and when it came time for the unveiling to the family, she had just glued some bathroom tiles to what was once a round, wooden table. The tiles were square. He acts like he's alright with his family situation, but I know that he's not. He misses his parents and his brother. Having the people you love kick you out simply because of your sexuality would be devastating.
There's a vibration in my front pocket followed by a buzzing sound,
"I'm sorry," I say to Phil, pulling my phone from my pocket and swiping left to accept the call. Apparently I forgot to look at the screen because now that I'm holding the phone against my ear, I have no fucking idea who I'm supposed to be greeting… "Hello?"
"Hey," PJ's voice is greeting me through the phone, "It's almost six, and I thought you were going home straight after school? I got home at like, five, dad and your mum said that they hadn't seen you?"
"Fuck, I'm so sorry. I didn't even notice the time, I swear I thought it was like, three-thirty or something…" I'm apologising,
"Where are you?" PJ asks, this time his voice is concerned again like it was at school.
I don't get why everyone is suddenly so concerned. Yesterday was totally normal and no one was asking me anything like this, but today, for some reason, everyone's all up in my face about my moods. I'm fucking fine. I am fucking dandy!
"I'm with a friend," I reply, and my voice sounds very hostile. That's not good. He's going to think something's-
"What's wrong? What friend? Where are you? Why didn't you tell me where you were going? Chris went to the library for free study and said that you weren't in there after lunch. Where are you?" His questions come at me one after the other, leaving no time for me to answer any of them in between.
Apparently my face is portraying how overwhelming this bombardment is, as Phil is tapping my knee and looking at me with wide open eyes and an expression that reads something like, "Who's on the phone? Is everything okay?" I nod to him and go to answer all of PJ's questions, starting by addressing him by his name so that Phil knows who I'm talking to.
"PJ, nothing's wrong, I'm sorry. I just made a really sudden decision, I didn't know I was going to leave or anything. I'm completely alright."
"Please, Dan, tell me exactly where you are?" he makes it sound almost as like a question, but I know I do have to answer. If I don't answer this, he'll freak.
"I'm on my way home now, okay? I'll be home in five minutes," I quickly hang up the phone and drop it into my lap.
"Your boyfriend's worried about you, huh?" Phil bares his playful smirk. He's like this, sometimes he's a confident little fuck and other times he's completely sweet and a little quirky.
"PJ's freaking out a little, I have to go," I say standing up, and Phil does too. He ruffles his hair slightly and places a hand on my shoulder,
"Dan?" he asks, and I turn around to look at him properly, "I forgot to tell you yesterday…" I can feel my heart beating in my chest and I don't know why, but I feel like I'm going to cry. I'm not going to though, I'm not going to cry. Blink it back, Dan. Blink it back. Good, just like that, don't let him see. Phil looks at me for a moment and takes his hand from my shoulder before finishing his sentence,
"It was absolutely lovely to meet you."