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#10: Thoughts and Talks

Dan

No matter how much time I actually do wait in reality, I still can't leave the classroom quick enough.

I can, however, procrastinate whatever's left of my annoyingly dull lesson, mostly watching Phil work on his probably-not-exactly-school-project as subtly as humanely possible for me, before rushing out as soon as we're dismissed. Honestly, it's that quick, no joke. I'm out of the classroom before most people have logged off. Slipping my hands in my pockets as I make my way down the corridor, I briefly wonder if I should let my friends know I won't be able to see them this break.

I almost go to turn around and tell them, slowing down and everything, but change my mind in the last part of that moment. I'm practically certain they won't mind. I always feel like they're more content spending time with each other than they are with me anyways.

Making my mind up for sure this time, I speed up – or rather, attempt to.

I groan as the slowest pair of people end up in front of me, impatiently tapping my feet as I walk behind their irksome gossiping. Once I'm past the chaotic stairway and out the doors that seem like they need immediate maintenance, I start off by speed walking my way to the swings but subconsciously slowing myself down as I get closer.

Despite me trying to make myself speed up, I can't seem to make my feet move any faster, my strides smaller than they could be. I can't help but feel jittery even though I know my match is amazing.

Literally.

Ambulating at a speed slower than a snail lifting weights through a sea of syrup, I reach the swings to see Phil already waiting more patiently than I ever could have. He seems genuinely relieved to see me, tension easing away from his previously stiff posture as I sit down on the swing beside him and nervously smile.

He beams, "Phil."

His voice is the epitome of sunshine, bright and hopeful. I decide not to tell him I already know his name, and other random facts and information that he's revealed to us. I still can't get over his smile.

He's like a soul made of sunshine.

He instantaneously looks stunned, his oceanic eyes widening impossibly. I frown, wondering if he heard my thoughts. I shake my head, dismissing the ludicrous thought as improbable and unrealistic. My sisters haven't mentioned it to me, and they've had plenty of experience. Anyway, humans aren't telepathic creatures by nature; we need to talk to communicate. If we don't talk, we seem alienated and problematic.

Especially in my school. You have to be boisterous, if not at least loud, to be noticed, otherwise you fade into the sidelines and get deemed as insignificant or a hopeless case. Or you get ignored and have to silently tolerate the loud people who want to create as much fuss as they can via noise pollution.

I shake my head, trying not to get lost in my thoughts, especially whilst staring at Phil. Coughing, i blink myself back into the present and focus back on to Phil. I beam once more, "Dan."

It's like he has a heart of caramel.

Now it's my turn to be stunned. My eyes widen as I unceremoniously gape at him with a mixture of shock, bewilderment and wonder, "Huh?"

"Sorry?" Phil asks, looking slightly confused.

I mentally chide myself again, wondering if I've just screwed my first encounter with Phil. My larynx seems to betray me, creating a barrier for the torrent of words that want to leave my mouth. Taking a moment to prepare myself, I resolve to take a risk, shutting my eyes for the briefest of moments before locking them with Phil's oceanic orbs once more.

Caramel?

To my relief, this appears to work. As if being impossible once wasn't awesome enough, his eyes widen even more impressively, being further enlarged by the lens of his glasses, and his eyebrows shoot up with his entire face seeming extremely childish.

Sunshine?

"Your voice. It's what I'd image the vessel of sunshine would be like." I explain nervously, finally figuring out how to speak again and use actual audible words to communicate.

"I thought yours was an audible embodiment of caramel." Phil replies with a laugh, his eyes softening.

Any and all of my previous nerves vanish, replaced by amusement and an emphatically unbreakable connection with my match. I already feel as if something inside me has been completed, exultant nerves running through me as I watch Phil watch me, both of us part of a complex staring competition where we can't tell how to win, or stop.

Eventually, sharp jolts of cold make my eyes water and I have to blink, stretching my legs out in front of me and rocking slightly. I notice him mirror my movement, as if trying not to be left behind. I smile inwardly, thankful it's not just me who does do that a lot.

"So how old are you?" I ask, trying not to show I already know. I immediately cringe inside, knowing that's not how you start a conversation with anyone, let alone your match, but I can't help it: it's AmazingPhil. The AmazingPhil! That, and the fact I have minimal social skill when talking to anyone new. I should have asked what year he was in, not how old he is. How stupid of me!

He smiles anyway, bubbly in an instant, "Turning seventeen on January the thirtieth, you?"

"I turn fifteen on June eleventh." I reply, slightly flustered, high-fiving him when he raises his hand. I feel a rush of sparks travel through our hands and I could swear I see black wisps for a moment, even if it is just my imagination or whatever. More importantly, he now knows there's two years between us.

Is that too much? Will he get bored of me? Will he think of me as childish? We he treat me like I'm naïve and oblivious? Will he get fed up of my infantile jokes? Will he think my tastes are childish?

"Cool." He grins, swinging a little more.

"Is it fun? Uh, the website stuff?"

"Yeah, loads of fun." He winks, "I may or may not have taken advantage of the school's system."

"Damn, you're a rebel." I laugh, my smile uncontrollable. Phil joins me in hysteria, apparently finding this thought comically opposite of the truth.

He shakes his head at me, "Peaceful rebel?"

"Wha-no, Phil! That defeats the point…"

"Who needs a point? Points are sharp and you could hurt someone. Have a koosh instead."

"A what?"

"A koosh." He repeats, purportedly confident that I'm going to know what that is.

"What the hell is a koosh?" I inquire, totally baffled. He sighs, albeit in a jocular way, and quickly googles a picture, showing me.

"Ohhh…" I shake my head as I see the picture of what's basically a pompom, only composed of elastic rubber strings that stretch instead of wool and string, "I never knew what they were called."

"There was such a strong phase when I was younger. I think I still have one somewhere…" he trials off, his eyes flickering as he contemplates whether or not he's kept an early childhood trinket.

How can anyone not find that adorable?

He clears his throat as he falls out of his thoughts and back into the moment, his Adam's apple rising and falling, before smiling at me again with his gaze directly connected to mine.

"Would you like to listen to some music?" he asks shyly, hiding behind his fringe and instantly dispelling my tension. I nod enthusiastically, and he thoughtlessly pushes his hair away again, leaving it to settle just above his right eye, the opposite of my fringe – if you can even call mine that. He smiles at me for an eternal moment before pulling out small, black earphones and handing me the left ear.

I slip it in and decide to pretend I like his music, no matter how strange it might be, because I don't want to seem problematic and conceited. In the end, I only chuckle softly as one of my favourite songs plays back at me. Looks like I won't have to do much pretending...

I love this song.

Me too.

Phil adjusts the earphone and glances at me.

Is this normal?

This song? Probably not…

I simply direct the thought to him rather than say it because I don't want to overlap with the music.

I mean the mind…speak…deal. Is this the same with every match? My brothers have never mentioned it to me…

Nor have my sisters. I suppose it's just us for now. Do you find it unnerving?

No. I love it. Thank you, Dan.

Yeah, thank you too Phil.

We both share a look as the song ends, laughing together. To me, even the harmony of our laughs is perfect, our two considerably contrasting tones slotting together perfectly.

"So, Dan, you have sisters?" Phil asks, lowering the volume of the next song so we can talk aloud.

There's something about hearing his voice that makes my day seem brighter, something about it that makes the clouds seem lighter, something about it that makes me want to smile despite anything and everything happening in the world around me.

I nod, "Yeah, I have four."

He winces in sympathy, "Ouch. I've got five brothers but I can't imagine what multiple sisters would be like..."

"Wait, five brothers?" I ask, faux incredulously, as the chorus of the new song starts playing. Both of us share a grin as we softly sing along, swinging in time to the beat.

Yes. But one of them is barely existent.

My oldest sister is only just friendly, I get what you mean…

He smiles at me hopefully, both of us sharing our sibling rivalry stories until we exhaust the ideas at the top of our heads. We swing somewhat aimlessly for the remaining minutes of our break and agree to meet here again at lunch time, having to go our separate ways for our next lessons. He has psychology and I have history, so we split off at the main crossing, promising to see each other soon.

I watch as he skilfully weaves his way through the crowd, his chocolate-like hair constantly visible because of his height. I can feel a small, recently unveiled void make itself known inside of me and while it's not exactly a literal hole, it might as well be. I know this is natural and simply happening because I've met my match and all matches are stronger together; my sisters have warned me. Anyway, the class won't be hard so it shouldn't affect me or the performance every teacher won't stop nattering to us about.

Phil turns around as he gets to the entrance, looking for someone. Looking for me, as I learn when he waves at me rather childishly. I grin and half raise my hand, nodding at him in acknowledgment before ducking my head, my face colouring a pale red, but too dark to be classed as pink, from what I see in my reflection.

Good luck, psycho.

Thanks, textbook.

I laugh aloud by accident, both of us turning away in unison, the only difference being that I get thrown a shady look from an older student who I don't care enough about to know. I make my way to my own class, speeding up so I'm not too late. My history class is all about the rising war tensions and I have that in the bag, having featured it on one of my websites last year, something that seems awfully nerdy even to me. Younger me was even stupider than current me, which is saying something.

I wait outside the classroom as the shrill bell rings, Phil's voice ringing even more prominently in my ears – the only ringing that I'll ever consider as good. Someone bumps into me, apologies, gives me a look for my obliviousness, and then rolls their eyes at me, all without me reacting in any way.

Choosing to ignore the empty seats in the middle of the classroom, I try to find a seat where I can think in peace, rather than have to talk to people who barely know what my name is or who exactly I am. I smile to myself as I sit at the back, leaning but not slouching against the wall so nobody is forced to pay attention towards me.

I debate on whether or not to tell Phil about knowing him already. Should I tell him or would that be stalkerish? Would he like knowing that I'm totally Phil trash or would he find it awkward? I sigh, deciding to leave it for now and simply being content with having found my match.

My amazing match!

Could I get any luckier?

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