A/N: Freaking migraine city. MIGRAINE CITY... DO YOU HEAR ME, GUISE? DO YOU FEEL THAT? CAN YOU SENSE MY ETERNAL ANGUISH AND ENDLESS FRUSTRATION? MY HEAD HAS BEEN POUNDING FOR A WEEK NOW AND IT WON'T STOP. IT. WON'T. STOP.

I'M NOT EVEN GONNA SAY ANYTHING MORE THAN THAT, OKAY. JUST READ IT AND ENJOY, GOSH DARN IT.

Oh, and of course:

~Lovely Human Beings~

Conor Dachisen

metalheadrailfan

Panfla

acosta perez jose ramiro

Jamesbondfan2016

Anonymous Latina

Myriamj

TheMish

Lionheart

Isabella Pataki

ShiningEmerald0

unusual individual

Dudtheman

amielouisegarland17

Thank you soooo much, guys *Heart* Wouldn't still be here if it weren't for you.

Disclaimer: I pretty much just... own... everything. Except the things I don't. Those are Craig's. Obviously. OH, and Kori Johanssen belongs to the incredible xxP00h67chu! :D I had so much fun with her here, holy crap. xD I hope she's all right.

ALSO special thanks to btweenthesilentlines on Tumblr for giving me some insulting nicknames for Phil! XD It's the most creative one in here. The rest are just general stupid things like "Dork" and variations on "Shortman." 'Cause I suck like that. :P Thank you!

Note: Proooooooolly gonna be editing this later. :P I'm just so sick of looking at it... Ugh.

Breathing Slowly

Part 3

"These days are strange, it's true.

There's nothing that I would change, no mistakes that I'd undo."

—Sum 41

Still two years in the past

"Mr. Shortman?"

Phil lifted his head slightly from the nest he'd made in his arms. His eyes narrowed slightly. "What?"

A few kids burst into snickers. Mrs. Freitag looked less than amused, and cast a warning look to the rest of the class. Eyes narrowing back on her intended target, her voice came with a hint of a threat, "The answer, to what we've been talking about for the last twenty minutes…?"

Phil blinked and shifted his eyes to the board for some clue of what she was blathering on about. There was a long series of numbers there and he let out an impatient sigh, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. After a short moment of calculations, he lightly stated, "Six," and dared her with lifted eyebrows to tell him he was wrong.

Mrs. Freitag stared at him for a long moment. Whether it was for dramatic effect, to take a moment to gather her thoughts, or just some poor attempt at intimidating him, he would never know. Or care, for that matter. Mrs. Freitag was not a particularly robust woman, nor was she what someone might label as petite. She was somewhere in the middle, and almost looked like a child herself—short, wide-headed, and platinum-haired, with a few pounds worth of baby fat still to lose. She could be holding a knife to his throat and he wouldn't feel the least bit threatened, so if she thought she could get his knees knocking by trying to stare a hole through him, she'd have to guess again.

At long last, she turned back to the board with the words, "Yes, good," and wiped the board clean. She didn't sound very enthusiastic.

Phil exhaled through his nose and laid his head back down, focusing his eyes back on the wall. "Of course it was," he muttered. He didn't know what she'd expected. He'd been in her class for weeks, and he knew she had to have looked into his file by now. She'd seen all his extra credit summer work, she'd seen the advanced classwork he'd done the last couple of years, she'd seen how close behind his genius aunt's record he was. Heck, she'd been paid to keep quiet about the whole stupid thing almost the second he was transferred—she knew very well that he wasn't stupid enough to fall for her tricks, so why she kept goading him on was beyond him. He huffed, free hand fiddling with the corner of his textbook. This… All of this was starting to get really old.

He didn't even need to be here. He understood that being miserable in a room full of imbeciles was vital to his future, but all he did when he was here was sit bored while he listened to a jerky teacher recount all the useless information he'd already had literally pounded into his head over the summer. Because God forbid he ever be in want of knowing every microscopic detail about kidneys, how volcanoes worked, or what year Columbus scratched his butt. These were important things to know, especially for someone in his field. He rolled his eyes.

A formality; little markings and checkmarks that needed to be on his paperwork so he could get into some ritzy, English, business college when he turned eighteen—or sixteen, if his grandpa could help it. That was all this was. Never mind the fact that he hated being here. Never mind that he could actually feel himself losing brain cells when he overheard other kids' conversations. Never mind that he could be at home doing things that actually mattered instead. No, none of that meant anything to Big Bob, who, by the way, hadn't been exceptional at anything when he was his age, actually chose not to attend college and still did a fantastic job in both beginning and expanding his business, so why he was pushing this so hard was beyond him.

He released another long sigh and absently tapped his fingers against the desk, willing the bell to ring. "Come on already," he whispered.

Mrs. Freitag turned and pointedly addressed him, as if she'd just been laying in wait for him to do something she didn't like. "Mr. Shortman, is there something you'd like to share with the class?"

He didn't waste a glance on her. "If I did, I would have," he grumbled.

Her voice lowered to the point it almost sounded masculine, "What was that?"

There was a silence, where everyone stared at him, all movement either paused or slowed from the building tension.

Finally, he raised his voice just enough for everyone to hear, "If I did, I would have."

Her eyes narrowed slightly, dangerously. She rephrased, "Do you have a problem then? Anything you're having trouble with—"

He jolted up suddenly and scowled at her. "Other than the fact you keep calling me out? Don't you have an entire class to put to sleep? Can't you do your job for five stinking minutes without trying to humiliate me in front of everyone?"

"Ooooh," a few girls behind him chorused. He snapped around to look at them, startled.

"Young man," the teacher's voice jerked him back into the present moment, and the sight of her reddened face scrunched and eyes narrowed sent his stomach turning. "You are aware why you are in my classroom, correct?"

"Uh, because I—"

"Interrupting class, talking back, never respecting authority; time and time again, willfully ignoring—"

"Look, if this is about the time I corrected Mr. Walter's spelling and he flipped out, I have a good excuse. He was wrong!"

Mrs. Freitag stamped her foot, startling him into silence. "I will not allow this! You are in my class now, and you will behave, so help me—" She took a deep breath before continuing. "Since you're still new to our classroom, I'll let you off with a warning, but know that once you get into the fifth grade they won't let you off so easily. So you had better start learning..." She squinted her eyes at him.

Phil stared at her for a long moment, before rolling his eyes to the side. "Uh-huh…" That was exactly what all of his other teachers had said in the past. We'll let you off now, but next year—and the next—and the next, they won't allow this… His eyelids lowered. But they always did. His grades were far too high for them to ever even consider expelling him. Not to mention his dad worked just a few doors down and everyone naturally adored him. No one wanted to give the kind, miracle-working Mr. Arnold Shortman any trouble, so they dealt with his misfit son quietly, usually by throwing him at a different teacher and high-tailing it the other direction. He was particularly bitter of his most recent classroom switch, because it meant he had to deal with Mrs. Interrupts-the-class-all-on-her-own-then-blames-th e-kid Freitag, and the always menacing—

A pencil suddenly jabbed into the back of his neck as a voice whispered fiercely, "Don't even think about talking back again, you moron, I'm not missing recess again on your behalf." Her breath hit him harshly on the back of his neck, frigid. He shivered.

"Don't tell me what to do," he hissed over his shoulder, glaring in her general direction.

"Stop needing to be told," she hissed back, jabbing him again, harder than before.

He grimaced and clenched his fists on top of his desk, glaring at them. "Don't kill her, don't kill her, don't kill her…" he chanted through clenched teeth.

Mercy scoffed.

"That's enough," Mrs. Freitag trilled, leveling her glare on Phil. "No more interruptions!"

"Yeah, Phil, can't you go five measly seconds without flipping your lid? Geez," a bald kid two rows over snorted. Everyone snickered.

Phil snapped a look on him. "Didn't you hear the lady, Voldermort? No more interruptions." He wagged his finger at him, his forefinger on his other hand coming up to rest on lips. Bald Kid's jaw dropped.

"That is enough," Mrs. Freitag yelled, emphasizing each word as it's own sentence as she looked sharply between the two boys. "Do you want to get sent into the Principal's office?"

Both boys clammed up. "No, ma'am," they both mumbled, one more quietly than the other. Mrs. Freitag continued to glare at them regardless of their acquiescence, because that was just what she did, before slowly beginning to turn back to the board.

Phil mumbled a sharp, "Didn't have to yell," under his breath. Her unnaturally hawkish ears somehow managed to pick it up.

She instantly snapped back around. "I did not yell," Mrs. Freitag yelled, slapping a stern, almost wild look on him as her arms stiffened at her sides. "I merely raised my voice!"

Phil's bottom lip protruded as he stared down at his textbook. When he didn't respond with a snarky comeback this time and continued to pout, Mrs. Freitag jotted this down as a victory and turned back to the board to write down more preposterously long trick equations that would be near impossible to solve by way of celebration. Phil slowly dragged his eyes up from his textbook to make sure she was occupied, before breathing vengefully to her back, "Yeller."

At long last, the bell rang for recess and everyone mentally cheered and burst into tears of joy. Outwardly, they calmly gathered their things and walked – sprinted, skipped, back flipped – out of the classroom. Phil breathed a sigh of relief and jumped out of his desk, grabbed his backpack, and began out of the room.

"Oh, Mr. Shortman," Mrs. Freitag called him back, and he halted with a mental groan. "Your grandfather asked me to sign you up for the advanced work so that means I'm going to have to give you extra math and history homework before you go."

Phil spun around and stared at her in surprise. "What? But I'm not—"

A pile of books was suddenly thrust into his arms. Mrs. Freitag smiled down at him, her hands going to her hips. "That's a conversation to be having with him, not me. Just be sure to complete the first ten pages of that by tomorrow, okay?" He opened his mouth to respond, but she'd already turned and walked back over to her desk. "Excellent. Happy to hear it."

He growled quietly in the pit of his throat, his arms shaking a little under the weight of the irritatingly large stack of books. Pivoting around, he stomped over to his desk and threw the books down, before storming – in the most silent, dignified manner, of course – towards the door; grumbling, "I'm gonna murder him," under his breath all the while.

Preoccupied as he was with being on a rampage, he made the mistake of walking straight through the door without checking to see if the coast was clear first, and as a result only had a half-second for his brain to process that he was falling. Fast.

He threw his arms out to catch himself, but still ended up bashing the side of his head against the floor. A sharp pain shot up along his skull like a jolt of electricity and he cried out.

He stayed there a moment as he waited for the pain to pass before shifting, trying to right himself even as he felt like he was trapped under a rock, which he kind of was. His backpack was heavy, and it was a little difficult to move at first, but he managed it. Once upright and rubbing at the sore spot on his head, he was finally of a mind to process the sound of laughter coming from behind him. His eyes narrowed.

Girls.

"That's for not listening to me," Mercy laughed, high-fiving Georgia.

"Yeah," she added in her usual bland voice, though she was smiling faintly, eyes gleaming.

Adalynn shuffled her feet with an unsteady laugh. She seemed to be trying to convey something almost apologetic to him with her eyes, but he didn't care to notice.

Pulling his backpack tighter, he huffed and stumbled up from the floor. "Yeah, great. You tripped me. Good one." He faked a laugh, pushing some hair out of his face. "Too funny. I'm dying over here."

Mercy scoffed and turned to walk away, her entourage following dutifully behind her. "Oh, get a life, Dorkman."

"Forever original," he exhaled, glaring at her unswaying, rock-hard, hairspray-stiffened hair as it stood frozen against her back. What he wouldn't give to have a carton of eggs right now.

He clenched his teeth against the urge and forced his head to turn in the other direction. Bad thought. He didn't need anymore of those. He had big plans today. Big, big plans. Today would be a good day—a good, quiet, painless day, and nothing, not Mrs. Freibag, not Mercy, not even himself, was going to change that.

Taking in a deep breath, he put his best foot forward to walk away and move on, when something crashed into him from behind. He fell – of course – and landed flat on his stomach, knocking the air from his lungs and bashing his chin. "Oh, criminy, not again!" He ran a hand roughly down the length of his face, struggling to gain back his breath. "Okay, you know what? Screw it—whoever you are, you're toast!"

He pushed himself up and started to turn around with the full intention to glare and chase after whoever knocked him down, when mid-spin he was suddenly seized by his collar and his feet left the floor. He gasped and grabbed at the hands currently holding him up, blinking furiously as he came face-to-face with Bald Kid's scowling face.

"Oh, I am, am I?" He sneered.

Phil blinked a few more times, still struggling to process that this had actually happened. "You—Okay. Yeah. Hi." He smiled. "You came out of nowhere. Did your ears fail you, Dumbo?"

The hand around his collar tightened and shook. Phil felt them moving, but was a little too preoccupied with being nose-to-nose with someone clearly angry with him to really look. "You are," his captor smiled back, though (a bit) less sincerely, "a big-mouthed brat. Do you know that, or are you really just that dense?"

"Actually my mouth is relatively small," he corrected, unfazed. "It's proportionate with the rest of my body. I know you're not very good with math, though, so I'll let your little miscalculation slide."

Exactly twenty seconds later, he found himself with his backpack thrown aside, his shirt pulled up over his head, and a locker door slamming after him. Before he could process that his vision was obscured by a piece of fabric and he was in a small, dark place and not actually blind, a very loud, metallic bang sounded from directly in front of him and made him jump. "You're gonna learn one day to shut up," Bald Kid's voice sounded muffled and distant in his ears. "Mark my words, Shortman! If someone else doesn't teach you, then I will." The bang came again, rattling him, followed by laughter and stomping footsteps.

He cried out in frustration and rammed himself up against the sides of the locker in his attempts to free himself from his shirt. As soon as he was able to – miraculously (and in a feat much reminiscent of Jesus himself, in his opinion) – he gasped for air and slammed his feet against the door. It didn't budge, and he threw his head back against the wall with a groan. "You've got to be kidding me." He shifted his butt off of something annoyingly poky and covered his mouth with his palm, staring bleakly into the shadows.

He stayed in that position for a while, practically laying on his back, feet against the door, head at an awkward angle wedged in the corner, before letting out a long sigh through his nose.

"A bit of a setback," he muttered against his hand, flicking a speck of fuzz from his pants. Shaking his head a little, he fished his beeper out of his shirt pocket and started punching in a message to the big lummox of the family.

Or, one of them anyway.

Hours later, the clanking of metal on metal jolted him out of a light slumber, and bright yellow fluorescence slamming him in the face nearly blinded him for a second. He blinked several times, disoriented.

"Hey." He looked up to see Josh hunched over, golden hair aflame in the background light as he stared into the locker at him. "Sorry, I would've come earlier, but I couldn't get Kori to leave. Finally I managed to get her caught in a conversation with the mathletes and I was able to slip away. How long you been in here?" He offered a hand.

Phil grunted and slapped his hand away. "Ever since I sent you that text." He let his feet out of the locker and wincingly massaged his knee. "How long ago was that? After a while, you start to lose track of time in there." He went to work on the other knee, hissing. "Next time I'll have to scratch the hours off on the wall, like they do in prison." He gave Josh a sidelong look of accusation.

Josh grimaced. "I'm sorry. I have classes all the way across the school, though, Phil, I can't just drop everything to get you out of here every day. I have responsibilities."

"Family is your biggest responsibility," Phil grumbled, his eyes focused on his task.

He sighed. "Again, I'm sorry. I got here as fast as I could." He leaned back and ran his eyes over the fourth grade classroom door, something that looked vaguely of concern passing over his face. "You missed class. Everyone's already out to recess now, and my class is in lunch. That's the only reason I was able to come." He glanced down at his pager, then back at him. Phil nodded to all this, filing it away, and Josh raised an eyebrow. "I still don't understand why you don't just text Dad. He's right around the corner, and he can leave class for emergencies. You know Mrs. Freitag's gonna be mad—"

"It's not anything she didn't expect," Phil snorted, before standing up and twisting his shoulders back and straightening out his clothes. "You know everyone considers me a delinquent around here." He grabbed his bag back up where it had fallen off and drummed his fingers against it one-by-one, avoiding eye contact.

Josh eyed him suspiciously. "You didn't mouth off to her again, did you—"

Phil snapped his head up to glare at him suddenly, yelling, "She wanted me to, she egged me on!"

"Dad's not going to be happy," Josh raised his voice slightly right back, lifting his eyebrows.

"Well, it's a good thing he's never gonna find out then." Phil slammed the locker shut once and for all and began marching down the hall, slipping his backpack on as he did. Josh easily matched his pace. "I don't want to be on the receiving end of one of his lectures again. I already know missing class is wrong and I should just keep my trap shut, yada yada yada. It doesn't change anything, though. We're just reviewing crap from last year, and Grandpa had me review all that over the summer already, so missing a couple classes isn't going to affect my grades."

"But if you miss too much of it, she'll report you to the principal," Josh warned.

Phil pursed his lips, keeping his eyes ahead. He didn't have a response to that.

Josh danced ahead of him and slid in his way, blocking his escape route. Phil growled and tried to step around him, but Josh was too quick. He narrowed his eyes slightly after his third attempt to run away, and spread his arms out in a sharp, 'move and regret it' motion. "Phil, you know Mrs. Freitag's gonna want to talk to Dad—"

"No, she won't," Phil whined slightly, impatient, still trying to figure out a way around him. "No one ever talks to Dad. They don't want to bother him over the likes of me—"

"You've told me before Mrs. Freitag seems to rejoice in getting kids in trouble. This is the third time you've missed class because of those girls this month, she's going to talk to somebody—"

"She'll probably just give me detention," Phil sighed and finally stopped trying to run, throwing his head back in exasperation. In times like this, he really wished he could tell Josh the whole truth, but as it were, he stared vacantly at the ceiling.

Josh narrowed his eyes further. "Which will get Dad's attention, too, you know. You can't hide this from him forever. You never should have tried."

Phil paused at that, his face blank, before he threw his head back down and let out a long groan. "I never do anything wrong, it's not fair. Why am I always the one to get in trouble?"

Josh frowned at that, his face softening. "Zack gets in trouble plenty—"

He groaned again. "Oh, no, he doesn't, he gets away with everything and you know it."

Josh fell silent for a few moments, before he forced out a cough and said a little darkly, "Not for long." Phil tilted his head up a little to look at him through half-lidded, dryly perceptive eyes, and Josh cleared his face to a swift look of neutrality. "Anyway, I wouldn't say you do nothing wrong. You are kind of rude to those girls." His eyelids dropped, well aware that "rude" didn't even begin to cover it but not wanting to get Phil anymore riled up.

Even still, Phil's face darkened and he went back to trying to step around him. This time, Josh let him, but he continued to follow at his side. Phil cast him a weak glare. "They started it. They always start it."

"I know."

"I do nothing wrong, ever. I've always tried to respect what Dad has to say about things, but I can't do that here." He slowed his walk down to a snail's speed, glaring down at his shoes as they dragged across the floor, and Josh sympathetically matched his pace. "I can't just let myself get walked all over, and that's exactly what he wants me to do. It's not fair. It goes against everything I know." He stopped altogether suddenly and ran his hands over his face, knowing very well he sounded like a broken record. Suddenly, he looked up at him, his face somewhat determined, somewhat desperate, and asked, "What would you do in my situation? You never seem to have problems with girls."

Josh stopped and stared down at him as he asked this, and then his face went a little red, thinking about why precisely it was he didn't have problems with girls. Or at least not ones like Phil had, anyway. They were more like… "Uh…" His face reddened. "I just… would probably…"

Phil stared up at him, eyes wide and green and innocent. Or… sorta innocent anyway. As innocent as Phil was capable of being.

Josh sniffed, then coughed. Well, honesty was always the best policy, so… He awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck. "Well, when I was your age, I had a couple girls who'd always throw pudding at me at lunch, so I complained to Dad. He told me that when girls show special attention to a boy, it usually means that they like him, so I… started to see them in a new light, and I…" He smiled a little, stupidly.

Phil continued to stare at him, his eyes slowly narrowing.

Josh tried to laugh it off, but Phil had already caught on. "You're a pig." He shook his head and continued walking, more determined than before. Josh had to actually work to catch up this time.

"Oh, come on, Phil, you're almost nine! You know they're into you. It couldn't hurt to loosen up a little," Josh tried to persuade him. "Have a little fun, try something new. Maybe you'll end up learning something. Besides, you're too young to be so—so—"

"That," Phil cut him off, his tone razor sharp. "That view on things is exactly why you're going to end up dead someday. Or at the very least slapped. Really hard, until your fat, flabby face is nothing but one big scar."

Josh shook his head, his temper rising a little, though he tried to keep a lid on it. "I beg to differ. At least I don't dump honey on girls' heads, and then think to myself, 'Oh, gee, I wonder why I keep getting tripped and thrown in lockers'—"

"They started it," Phil cried out in hopeless repetition, stopping only to stomp his foot. "I didn't even start retaliating until the end of second grade, when they glued my butt to the chair during that assembly and I had to run through the school in my boxers and steal Pete's pants just to avoid total humiliation. They went too far with that one." He pivoted around on his foot and pointed a finger up at him, making Josh look down at him in surprise, and a hint of exhaustion. "I never did anything to warrant all this! They're monsters! And idiots, to boot!" His face contorted some ways in thought, before a hint of enlightenment shone in his eyes and he stated, "That's how I have my fun, Josh. I get back at them. It's… refreshing."

"And also gets you in trouble," Josh replied, a bit dry.

Phil groaned and turned back around, his arms spread out at his sides. "Can you blame me? Nothing ever happens around here, and they're annoying, and easy to get back at. I kept thinking, that if something didn't give, I'd end up offing myself for all the boredom. Everybody needs a hobby, don't they?" He sniffed. "I'm just glad we're gonna be staying in the boarding house for a while. I've been sick of the rut."

"I was thinking things had been kind of hectic the last few years," Josh muttered, trailing after as he started walking again.

"Maybe for you, meat-head, but not for me." He turned the corner almost aggressively, practically stomping up the hall now. "While you've been off gallivanting around the country, making a mockery of Shortmans and Patakis everywhere, I've been stuck inside learning." He groaned, yet again. Josh eyed the back of his head with a small smirk.

"You could have come along," Josh sang quietly.

Phil sang back sarcastically, "Not on your life."

Josh flicked his eyes to the ceiling. "Well, fine. A month in the boarding house and your birthday coming up will definitely relieve any present boredom, so it doesn't matter anyway. Problem solved." Josh smiled widely and skipped ahead to look at his face, trying to cheer him up, only to get a very skeptical scowl in return for his efforts. Josh's smile didn't dim, however, as he was used to this response from him. It was the same face he got every time he asked him if he wanted to go rock climbing, or parasailing, or haunted house exploring, or when he told him he was taking too long in the bathroom. Yes, he and that face were very well acquainted. Perhaps too acquainted… No, definitely too acquainted. He looked away, eyebrows creasing slightly in thought.

At present, Phil had been silent for some time as they walked, choosing not to respond to his – apparently, unsurprisingly, failed – attempt to make him feel better. They reached the cafeteria at long last, and Phil went straight to the vending machine outside the entrance, rooting through his pocket for his wallet as he shambled along. Josh leaned against the wall beside the machine, arms crossed, and stared at him.

Phil took out a dollar, stuck it in the machine, punched in the code, let his heavy backpack slide off his shoulders to the floor, and waited. And waited. And waited. And waited…

Finally, he growled and kicked the machine as hard as he could. It rustled for a few seconds before the sparks came, shooting out of the controls in colorful brilliance. He stumbled back and shielded himself while the fireworks went off, trembling like a leaf. Josh flinched slightly, but otherwise just watched on in bemusement. When the light show was over, Phil tentatively lifted his head back up, eyes a little wide before they fell back down, and he laid his head against the glass with a sigh. "When will I learn?"

Josh smirked, lightly. "I still say you should loosen up."

Phil glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. "And I still say you should get a haircut."

He brought a self-conscious hand up to touch at his drooping cornflower cowlicks, then abruptly dropped it and glared at him. "I'm serious."

"So am I. You look like you belong in a boy band."

"Stop, Phil, please. Be serious." His glare hardened, before he faltered. "I mean, don't be serious. Or sarcastic—whatever—Just—" He huffed. "Stop avoiding the subject!"

"What subject?" Phil asked in an exaggeratedly innocent, eight-year-old tone.

Josh fought hard to keep his face severe, but in the end a smile won out and he had to choke back a small chuckle as he stepped away from the wall. Phil recognized what he was going to do before he did it, and tried to take a long step back to avoid his advance, but Josh grabbed him around the shoulders before he could and bestowed him with the roughest and most hair-destroying noogie in his arsenal. "The subject of you being no fun!"

Phil screeched and tried to push him away, but Josh was too strong, and he was too small, and in the end he had little choice but to just groan and slump over his arms. As nothing more than an unamused, hurricane-haired paperweight, Josh gave up the joke and released him. Rather than snap back to life like he'd expected, though, Phil just face-planted into the floor, and stayed there.

Josh's eyes widened. "Phil?" No response. He stepped over couple limp limbs to try to get a glimpse of his face. He still didn't budge, and Josh grew tense. "Phil…" he warned, his voice low. "Don't screw with me. Either talk or prepare to be dragged to the nurse's office."

Phil turned his head slightly to look at him out of one squinted, green eye, and muttered, "I'm dead. Your atomic noogie has killed me. Never again shall you defile the sanctity of a good five minutes worth of combing. Now just let me rest in peace and scat, will you?"

Josh straightened out his posture with an eye roll. "Seriously, Phil? I was just playing around—"

"I was stuck in a locker for at least two hours," Phil interrupted him, glancing back down at the floor. "I have three girls out to get me that I can't do anything about, I just wasted a dollar on a machine I knew probably wasn't even going to work, you won't leave me alone about the choices I've made in my life, and now I have Mom having a heart attack over my hair to look forward to when we get back to the boarding house." He turned over on his side and curled up into a ball. "Life just isn't worth it anymore." He waved him off with a rubbery arm. "Leave me! You have done me no good, this day!" He let his arm flop down over his head, and then made a faint squeak when it hurt.

Josh blinked, his face blank, and shifted his eyes to stare out across the hallway a moment, as if to silently ask the universe why it was putting him through this, before leaning down to look at him with his head turned sideways. "Look, Phil, I didn't mean to offend you. All I was trying to say was that it might be…" he roll his eyes to the side, making sure to be careful with his wording, before he sighed and pushed the hair out of his eyes. "I don't know, I just think it might be good for you. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy, you know?"

"Who the heck is Jack?" Phil lifted his arm and turned his head just to raise an eyebrow at him.

"Missing the point!" He reached down and pulled Phil up off of the floor. Phil locked his legs so he didn't fall down again, but he did so with a huff and a cross of his arms. Josh continued, starting to sound a little tired now, as prolonged conversations with Phil tended to do to him, "You're so uptight. I just, I don't know…" He absently rubbed the back of his neck. Shaking his head, he asked, "Have you ever even had a crush?"

"Ha," a voice exclaimed before Phil could even answer, and both boys jumped. "Phil and girls? Wouldn't that require having a heart?"

"Kori," Josh greeted, a grin lighting up his face and a hint of relief sparking in his eyes.

The short, eleven-year-old girl grinned back, with hair of shining ebony and glinting hints of auburn. Her skin was a light brown, her eyes hidden behind dark red glasses, with a long sweater, short black skirt, and worn out dirty white sneakers to complete the ensemble. "Ham!" She skittered over to stand beside the taller boy, and clasped her hands behind her back with a knowing smirk, rocking on her heels. "Thought you could ditch me, huh? Nice try." She stuck her tongue out at him, and Josh looked innocently away from her.

"Oh, great, the asian," Phil deadpanned, wasting no time in pointing a finger at the vending machine. "Fix it."

Kori resisted the urge to roll her eyes and walked up to inspect the machine, putting a mocking hand to her chin as she did so. After a couple moments of hemming and hawing as she stepped around it, 'inspecting it thoroughly,' she nodded her head and said, "Mmm, yes, I think I see the problem here…" She took a step back and kicked it.

It instantly flared back to life, and a bag of sun chips was heard clunking to the bottom. Kori smiled and stepped out of the way, gesturing to it with both arms. "There you go." She giggled at Phil's dropped jaw. "Oh, what would you boys do without me?"

"How did you do that?" Phil yelled, snapping wide eyes to and from the machine. "I did the same thing and it exploded!"

Kori's smile widened, not looking the least bit surprised. "I guess it just doesn't like you. Might have something to do with that attitude problem."

Phil did a double take of her before glaring, hard, as he walked slowly up to the vending machine to retrieve his snack. "Oh, ha, ha. Stick to kicking vending machines, woman, it's the only thing you're good at."

Kori's eyes widened then quickly narrowed, and she gave him the bitch look to end all bitch looks as he tore his chips open and slowly placed one in his mouth, looking her unwaveringly in the eye as he did so. Once it was in, he paused a long moment, staring, before snapping his jaw up, a resounding crunch crashing against her eardrums. Phil smirked at her as he chewed. She snapped her eyes over to Josh then and asked quietly, too quietly, "Why isn't Phil at recess with the rest of his class?"

Josh looked conflicted on how to properly respond to that. Luckily, Phil answered for him, "I'm avoiding stupid people." He paused. "So basically, all uteruses, everywhere." He put another chip in his mouth and chewed in the most loud, obnoxious way possible.

She took a deep breath in through her nose, fully aware he was just trying to annoy her but still feeling the sting. She let the breath out through her mouth, and softly replied, while giving Josh a 'I still can't believe you're related to this' look out of the corner of her eye, "Why? Did something happen?" Josh met her look with an apologetic smile.

Phil shrugged, glaring into his bag of chips as he rustled it in his hand. "Just Dad guilt-tripping me again. And as I was sitting alone in that—" he stopped short, "In that… in…" He grunted and stared even harder into his bag, as if trying to find the secrets of the universe in it. "Well, it doesn't matter. Point is I realized I can't be around those girls without wanting to maim them, so… In the interest of being a gentleman, I'm keeping my distance."

Kori stared at him a moment, before leaning over to whisper in Josh's direction, "If that's his version of being a gentleman, why can't he be one to me?"

Josh smirked at her and subtly rolled his eyes. He looked back to Phil then, his smirk turning to a simple smile. "I was just telling him he needed to loosen up a little."

Kori looked at him as if he'd lost his mind. "As in what? Weekend aerobics?"

"I think he was suggesting I get a girlfriend or something." Phil rolled his eyes. "Because eight is the time to do that, obviously."

"Hey, I was just pointing out that you've never actually had a good time with a girl before," Josh defended, eyes slightly narrowed. "Heck, with anyone before. All you ever do is hang around the house. It's not healthy. And I had my first crush when I was five, so you haven't got any excuse."

"Other than having a higher capacity for thought than you?" He caught Josh's glare and scowled slightly, bowing his head. "Look, I'll get to it when I get to it," he grouched, turning it into a whine at the end. "I've got more important things to be worrying about right now."

"Yes, plus there's that whole heart issue," Kori added in her two cents. Josh snorted and pushed her in the shoulder.

"I was just saying you should have fun." Phil rolled his eyes, tallying this up as the third time Josh had used the word 'fun' in the last five minutes. Josh glared at him, catching the eye roll. "You're almost nine and still complaining about being bored. That's an easy problem to solve! Live a little. Do something bold for once, instead of nerding around at home while everyone else is out—"

"Having fun?" Phil took a wild guess, dryly.

"Enjoying themselves," Josh finished, shaking his head. Noting that Phil looked less than enthused by the idea, he sighed, "You could at least try to make some friends or something."

"I have friends!" Phil glowered at him for the insult, before his face dropped a little. "I just don't like any of them."

Josh sighed. "Then make some that you do like. Look, we've gotta go to lunch." He started walking sideways in the direction of the cafeteria entrance, his eyes still focused on Phil as Kori eagerly ran ahead of him. "Next year I'm going to a new school for middle school, Phil. I can't take care of you forever. At the very least just try to get along with everyone, okay? For your own sake?"

Phil opened his mouth to respond, but Kori excitedly yanking on Josh's arm interrupted him, "Come on, Hammy, they're serving cheese-covered mashed potatoes today!"

Josh's face lit up. "Score!" He fist pumped and the two of them raced away into the cafeteria, leaving Phil forgotten in the hallway.

Once out of earshot of Phil and with a spot in line secured, Kori looked over at Josh and asked, "You seriously think Phil should get a girlfriend?"

Josh smirked at the slightly scandalized look on her face and shrugged. "It just came up 'cause he was complaining about his fan club again."

"Yeah, I figured that, but… dating?" She snorted. "Really, Ham? Last I checked that never goes over well for Shortmans. I can't recall any instance where you or Zack having a crush did anything but cause migraines, tears, and all the ice cream in the Johanssen household to mysteriously disappear. There wasn't anything fun about it."

"Yeah, well," he reached over and plucked a French fry off of one of the other kid's plates while he was occupied, avoiding Kori's eye, "Phil's always emphasizing how much better he is than me, and, you know, it gets tiresome seeing someone so short always trying to look down their nose at you. Especially when they're hiding under a bed hugging a potted plant." He shrugged again, wiggling the French fry between his fingers. After taking a breath, he airily concluded, "It'd be nice to see him pushed down a few pegs. And what better way than to have him crying over being dumped three times?" When Kori's jaw predictably fell open, he sniggered and flicked the French fry in. "Just kidding! Criminy, Kori, I think you're losing your touch."

Kori closed her mouth over the fry and chewed aggressively, bumping arms with Josh as she did so. "Man, for a second I thought you'd crossed over to the dark side." She swallowed and giggled. "I'm kinda disappointed, actually."

Josh rolled his eyes and bumped her back. "I apologize, then." The two shared a grin, before the mirth in Josh's eyes faded away and he cleared his throat. "But seriously, I know you don't agree, but liking people is tons of fun. Ice cream shortage or not, I wouldn't change anything and I don't think Phil would, either. Besides, I'm running out of ideas here; he won't leave the house for anything really fun and he gets mad if I try to bring the fun to him, so girls are all that's left." Kori opened her mouth to respond but was interrupted when he snorted and turned his eyes ahead again, crossing his arms. "Really, who does that? Cooped up all day at home, studying, the only excitement in your life being harassed by girls at school…" He mumbled, "I really would die of boredom."

Kori smirked at his back, tilting her head slightly as she moved up with him. She stood a couple inches behind him, waiting to see if he was going to continue, before letting her hands flutter over her skirt to smooth out the creases. "You know what I think?"

"Oh, I'm afraid to even wonder." He turned to raise his eyebrows at her.

Kori ignored him. "I think you just want him distracted so you can get away with doing more stupid things."

He stared at her for a moment before his eyes narrowed and he huffed, a scowl seizing his face. "I can't just want my little brother happy? I have to have some ulterior motive? For crying out loud, Kori, I'm not Zack. Give me a little respect."

"Oh!" She looked startled. "I know you have a heart of gold." Looking down, she shuffled her feet a little before looking up at him through the edge of her glasses. When his face softened like she knew it would, she skipped ahead of the line suddenly and grabbed a tray, turning only to grin at him with her tongue between her teeth. "I just like teasing you and knowing you can't do a thing about it."

Josh stared at her, his eyebrows knit. Something was burning around his neck but he ignored it, instead choosing to move up the line with her and grab a tray of his own. After they had their food and were making their way to their table, he mumbled, "Mongolian chop, power bomb, pin."

Kori laughed. "You wish."

As this conversation was taking place, Phil was wandering aimlessly in the opposite direction, wringing his bag of chips like a dishtowel and kicking a bottle cap. The hallway was almost deathly silent, causing the bottle cap's every hop and skip to echo painfully in his ears. The bag of chips was crinkling obnoxiously and the chips could be heard snapping under the force of his hands, but he didn't stop. He needed something to occupy himself for the next hour, otherwise he'd run the risk of passing out from boredom before the next bell. Lucky for him the last thing he was feeling right now was bored.

"Thinks he knows everything," he grumbled, kicking the bottle cap again. "Thinks he knows better. Thinks he can judge my choices in my life." He pitched his voice high and squeaky, " 'Oh, you don't have any friends. You're just a pitiful nerd that nobody likes and I'm a big idiot that everyone loves because they're idiots, too. I fit right in and you don't, ha ha ha." He blew a raspberry. " 'Nyehhh, look how fat my head is, I can't fit through doors.' " Growling, he gave the cap a particularly hard kick and watched as it bounced clear across the hall and put a dent in a locker.

No steam was released. In fact, he only felt more frustrated. His hands fisting over the chips in his hands, he clenched his eyes shut, gritted his teeth and whispered, "There's nothing wrong with me."

The hallway said nothing. Looking up, he glanced around at the empty hall and kept moving forward. He didn't have anything better to do anyway. Fists clenching again, this time at his sides with crumbs bursting out of one side of the bag, he spat under his breath, "I don't need protection. I can take care of myself just fine."

Upon reaching the row of lockers at the end of the hall, he looked down at the bottle cap laying facedown on the floor and quirked his mouth to one side. There, in small, digital print, it read, You are a loser.

Phil stared at it for a long moment, unblinking, before leaning forward to lay his head against the lockers. "Great, now even bottle caps are judging me."

He sagged there for he-didn't-know-how-long, focusing on keeping his breathing calm and purging all thought from his mind. Eventually he grew restless and kicked the bottle cap once more in frustration.

His eyes popped open then as he realized he still had his backpack with him. Guiltily, he felt anticipation well up inside him and with a sudden spike of breath, slowly began to shift his bag down his arms so he could retrieve the item he had in mind. Bob would kill him if he ever found out, but then, what he didn't know couldn't hurt him. He grinned.

"Well, well, well." Phil sprang away from the locker at the voice, heart jolting in shock. The voice went on, undeterred by his reaction, "If it isn't Rumphilstiltskin. Just the little troll we were looking for." Phil planted his feet firmly beside each other and closed his eyes, his teeth gnashing together to keep from lashing out.

"Yeah," the typical bland voice followed her statement.

"Hehe… hi."

Taking in a measured breath, he gathered his patience, turned, and shoved his half-empty bag of chips into Mercy's hands. When she looked down at it then back up at him with a look of cool disbelief, he read the question in her eyes with a roll of his own. "They're not poisoned, relax. Consider them a peace offering."

When Mercy didn't respond right away, Adalynn leaned around her a little, looking cautiously hopeful. "A peace offering?"

Phil nodded his head, keeping his expression bland. "Or, you know, payment to leave me alone forever. Whatever works." He shrugged, and Mercy narrowed her eyes. "I don't know how you managed to slither up on me but I don't want to fight today, so…" He flitted a hand at her in a 'off with you' motion.

Mercy just rolled her eyes and stuffed the bag into Adalynn's startled hands. "Okay. Do you want to reschedule for tomorrow at four then?"

"Uh…" He blinked a couple times, before pursing his lips tight. He was usually very decisive with his words, always with an aggressive surety and passion for what he was saying, so he knew right then and there that his "Uh" had given away that he was holding back what he really wanted to respond with. He could see from the look in her eyes that she'd noticed, too, and coughed out a quick, "I'm gonna say no?"

Mercy's face tightened and she took a step forward to glare not two inches from his perturbed face. "Really? Well, I guess we'll just have to do this now then." She gave him a hard shove. His eyes widened and he stumbled back, his backpack acting as a weight that kept him having to stumble back to keep from falling. In the end, gravity won out and he slammed his butt down onto the ground. The girls all laughed.

Scowling now, he stood up from the floor and began a stiff jog away from them. He heard a shuffle behind him. "Over already, loser? No retaliation? You've finally given up?" He clenched his fists, but didn't respond. After a very short pause, he heard, "Fine. I see how it is. Let's get'm, girls."

He immediately tried to break into a run, but it was too late—Mercy and Georgia were already upon him. Each grabbed hold of his arms and pulled, causing him to stumble and fall straight onto his back, his bag thankfully taking most of the blow this time. He felt himself being dragged across the floor and growled, yanking his arms back with all the strength he could muster from the sheer force of his resentment. It proved only enough to free himself of Mercy's (as always) weak hold, but with the absence of Mercy also came the immediate withdraw of Georgia's efforts. Once she let go of his arm, he found himself in a new predicament, though. He was on his back, stuck laying on his very full, very heavy backpack, and couldn't exactly jump back up as he was accustomed to doing.

Groaning after his second failed attempt, he let his head drop back and closed his eyes. Now he knew what it felt like to be a turtle.

Sensing their imminent return, he quickly rolled onto his side and shuffled up from the floor, stumbling away from them with his arms barred in front for protection. He issued them each a look of warning, taking weary note of the miffed look on their faces. "Look, enough is enough. I'm not in any mood today. Especially if you've gotten dumb enough to think you can actually manhandle me. You're girls." As Mercy's nostrils predictably flared, he took a small step back and asked, changing topic, "What were you even trying to do?"

Mercy scowled at this and stepped forward, as he took another responding step back.

"We weren't really going to do anything. We just wanted to ruffle you up a bit. It's been a slow day." She shrugged daintily. Or, tried to anyway. She smiled a bit too innocently then, eyelids fluttering and thick, black eyelashes sticking together. Phil's eyebrows knitted.

Georgia gave a vague nod of her head to back-up Mercy's words, her tiny star earrings swinging slightly, and said, "Yeah." Adalynn just kind of shrugged. Mercy crossed her arms over her chest and went on with her eyes narrowed, "Considering your size, we didn't think it'd be that hard. Mostly that backpack's fault. It's heavy."

He looked at her blankly. "That's 'cause I actually read stuff around here." He ran his eyes over her shoulders and arms with a pointed gaze, conveying that he didn't see any backpacks on her.

She scowled at this and took another step forward. He took another step back. "Oh, of course," she said lightly, "I almost forgot. Your mom's a writer, isn't she? The great Cecile Pataki." She sneered, her face dropping into a sardonic thin-lipped expression. Her face was getting a little red. "Right. Why wouldn't you read? You must read all the time." She took another step forward, her fists clenching slightly, but this time he didn't move. Just raised an eyebrow and stared at her strangely.

He couldn't say what he wanted to say, so instead he settled on an awkward, "Yeah?"

"Yeah." Georgia nodded. Her eyebrows were slightly furrowed now, too. As if this was somehow offensive.

Phil sighed impatiently and turned to leave. "I don't have time for this." Not two steps away, he stopped suddenly and twisted around with his arms held out, scowling. "No more games. I'm serious."

They looked at him innocently.

He cut his eyes at them suspiciously, before turning back around and continuing down the hall, his steps measured and cautious.

He only had three seconds of peace before there was a shuffling from behind him and he broke into a run. Swerving around a corner, he realized they were gaining and let his backpack drop off of his shoulders to the floor, not once slowing. Once it was off, he could run faster, and he was delighted to hear Mercy cry out as she tripped over it. His legs were short, though, and before long Georgia inevitably managed to catch up with him and pull him back. He screeched and flailed his arms at her, but she just grabbed him around the torso, under his arms, and proceeded to heft him up. Adalynn grabbed him by the legs then and the next thing he knew he was being thrown into a—a room. He hastily stood, erect, blinking in confusion.

The door was swung quietly shut the next second, and he started. His eyes flew around in a panic and it took him all of two seconds to realize where he was.

The girls' bathroom. He sniffed. Yep. Air freshener. The floors and stalls were spotless and dry. The ceiling didn't have a bunch of fossilized wads of toilet paper stuck to it. Not to mention there weren't any urinals. His eyes narrowed into slits. Oh, they were dead.

Clenching his teeth, he flew back and grabbed the handle with every intention of throwing it open and screaming at them. But then he stopped, and he thought, and finally, he drooped. His hand slipped from the door.

Turning back around, he stared into the girls' bathroom with a long frown. He couldn't go back out there. They might go after him again, or laugh at him, or—or something. They would definitely do something, and he didn't want to deal with it. He couldn't deal with it. How would he explain that to his dad? "I know it's only been four hours since I promised I'd be good, but they threw me into the ladies room—I had to murder them!" He pinched his nose.

But then, they could always come in here, and being trapped in the girls' bathroom with a pack of girls who had it out for him would be much, much worse. He turned his head slightly to look at the door, troubled. He couldn't go out there, though. He knew they'd be waiting, waiting to do that something… something bad, that would make him angry, and make him want to do something bad.

He couldn't hide, he had nowhere to run that they wouldn't eventually find him, he couldn't fight them without his dad being disappointed in him, and he couldn't be around them without wanting to get back at them—what was he supposed to do?

He threw his head into his hands.

There was a ruffling from the inside one of the stalls then and his head popped up in alarm. He wasn't alone.

Voices came, one meek and shaky, the other with a small hint of deepness in it that could only be male, and… accents. They had accents. Scottish and Italian. Phil quickly threw himself up against the wall by the light switch, out of sight in case they came out of the stall. He felt his breathing spike and quickly grabbed himself by the throat to stop it in its tracks. He clenched his eyes shut. Not now…

"Ey, is anyone out there?"

Phil said nothing. He heard a scuffle, but otherwise the bathroom was silent for at least half a minute. Then the girl burst out.

"I-I promise, Vin,' I'll 'ave yer money by this time next week. I swear, ehe—"

There was another scuffle, a splash, and a squeak. Phil's eyes popped open. "What do ya take me for? An idiot? I know yeh don't 'ave the money, or the goods. You haven't even tried—"

"Next week! I'll have it, I'll have it all! I won't tell nobody! I swear it!" the female all but screamed.

There was a pause. "Fine. Next week. Gerald Field. Six o'clock. Be there, or I'll be coming back for another one of our lil' visits—our last lil' visit." There was a loud splash and a bang, and then the stall door could be heard squeaking open. Phil was practically choking himself by now to keep his panicked breathing at bay, and focused all his mental power on ignoring the fact his lungs were screaming out for air, or that his heart was racing; hands sweating; his head getting foggy. Just as he heard the faucet squeak on, and the resultant shoosh, his hands shot down against his will and he gulped in a large gust of air. The water immediately switched off.

As Phil choked on oxygen, footsteps echoed in his ears like gunshots, getting louder, closer towards his hiding place. They were not rushed or stomping or slow. Just normal and calm; perfectly composed.

Phil coughed and quickly slammed his hand against his mouth as the first foot came into view, and then when his breaths came rapidly out his nose, he slammed his other hand down over his nose, back flat against the wall.

One more step, and there he was. A… A…

A really, really short kid. Like, shorter-than-him short – short to the point he actually had to tilt his head a little down to look him in the eye – and wearing a pinstripe pantsuit with shiny crocodile shoes. Phil tilted his head at the figure, utterly confounded. He'd expected a big, beefy bully, not a queerly dressed insect.

"Ey," his Italian accent persisted, as he slicked his hair back with a hand and raised an eyebrow. "What the heck, kid? You got a little anxiety problem or what?"

Phil was too busy trying to control his hyperventilating to respond. His breaths came in sharp spurts through his hands, and his eyes were wide.

The boy stared at him oddly for a long time, apparently unconcerned by his panic attack, until whatever fascination he had was spent and he pulled out a small folded up paper bag from his jacket. He offered it to him, and Phil snatched it out of his hand without an ounce of hesitation.

After several deep breaths into the bag, he managed to slow his breathing down to a slight cough and looked back to the kid. Weakly, he stated, "You don't go to this school."

The boy blinked, before flicking something at his face. It bounced harmlessly off of his nose, but Phil still jolted back, having not expected it.

"You're right." With that, the insect breezed out of the bathroom leaving Phil alone with the girl. He stared after him a moment, dumbstruck, before turning his eyes down to see a small rolled up tootsie roll wrapper lying on the floor. He heard a groan then and turned his head around to see the girl – a campfire lass, he realized, noticing the hat drooping over her face – lying in a dazed, soaking wet heap. She didn't appear to have registered anything that had just taken place.

Indeed, rather than ask why there was yet another boy in the girls' bathroom, she sputtered stupidly through a mouthful of brown hair, "What did I do to deserve this?"

Phil blinked, and looked back at the door, then back to her. He cocked an eyebrow. Oh, yeah. That's what he was supposed to do.

The next second, he was bursting through the door with a frantic yell, "Why do you hate me?" His chest heaved, eyes darting around in search of the girls.

The hall was empty.

He frowned, and walked to the center of the hall, still scanning for any hints of movement. He found none. The hall was utterly deserted.

Where could they have gone? They wouldn't have just left. They'd at least want to laugh at him before running off. Otherwise, what was the point in humiliating him?

Then a voice coming from directly behind him answered all his questions. "I don't hate you."

Phil jumped, and spun around in shock. "Mr. Deon!" He blinked a couple times, quickly, before forcing himself to relax. "Um. Hi, sir." He looked down.

Principal Deon nodded to him, unsmiling as he stood with his back to the wall. "Young man. Were you just in the girls' bathroom?"

"Uh…" He flushed slightly, before fixing a small, hopefully convincing smile on his face. He tried not to fidget as he answered, "My mistake, Mr. Deon."

"Hmm." The principal's eyelids lowered further. "Your last name, young man?"

"Shortman, sir," he answered quietly.

"As in…" his head tilted down, a tone he didn't quite recognize entering his voice, "Arnold Shortman?"

Phil paused at that, and then looked up at him strangely. "He's my dad."

For a split second, he could've sworn he saw his eyes flash. Yet his voice was as calm and professional as ever when he said, "Oh. I see. You're the younger one." He took a step forward and leaned down towards him, eyes narrowed so subtly it was almost imperceptible. "And tell me, how do you feel today?"

Phil's back instinctively straightened out, as he mechanically responded, "Fine, sir."

"Mmm…" He straightened, his expression and blank tone unchanged. "That's good." He patted him on the shoulder as he passed by, and continued down the hall to his office at a leisurely stride, as if nothing out of the ordinary had just taken place.

Phil stayed in the same erect position until the footsteps had faded away, and then turned his head around, his face twisted in skeptical confusion. "What… the…" he breathed to the empty hall.

Okay… so maybe today wouldn't be so nice and quiet, after all.

Not even a full hall away, hidden in the janitor's closet, were Mercy, Georgia and Adalynn.

Breathing a tad heavily from running, Mercy mumbled, "That was close."

Georgia nodded, also breathing heavy. "Yeah."

Adalynn gulped, and ran her free hand down over her skirt. "Mr. Deon scares me. He never smiles."

Mercy quickly shushed her and kept her back flat against the door, blocking any entrance to the janitor's closet and, consequently, her friends. They all kept as quiet as possible, listening for him to leave. But he hadn't left. They couldn't hear his footsteps at all. It was like he'd just… stopped. They held their breaths.

They heard Phil's voice suddenly then, in a shout, somewhat muffled by the barrier, "Why do you hate me?"

Adalynn tensed.

It was quiet a moment, before Deon's voice came, "I don't hate you."

Mercy's eyes widened, and then a grin slowly curled her lips. She whispered near-soundlessly, "Oh my gosh, Phil—what if he expels Phil, oh my gosh—"

Georgia let out an intrigued breath that sounded a bit like, "Ooooh," and Adalynn remained silent.

The rest of the conversation carried out, some a little difficult to hear, but they caught the gist of it. When Phil gave his answer, Deon's footsteps were heard again, and got louder, louder, too loud… and then quieter, before they faded entirely away.

They all breathed a sigh of relief.

Mercy stepped away from the door, smiling lightly, before leaning her ear against the door. "Now the dork," she whispered. He weighed next to nothing, so his footsteps would be harder to hear. Hopefully he was weirded out enough that he'd stomp a little out of some weak act of defiance, like the pathetic little gnat that he was. Normally she'd say they just go out there and laugh at him, but that was too close a call, and she wasn't willing to put her friends in danger again over the likes of him.

He did stomp. Of course he did. He stomped all the way down the hall, before he was gone, and that was it. Mercy nodded, and turned back to her friends with open arms and a smile. "We did it, we're safe. Mission accomplished in record time."

Georgia did one of her raspy laughs and came forward to hug Mercy.

Adalynn didn't move, and kept her eyes cast to the floor, fingernails digging themselves into Phil's backpack. The two girls either didn't notice her mood, or chose to ignore it.

She knew the latter was the most probable, but still, she said not a word.

A/N: I fought tooth-and-nail against having Phil be majorly intelligent (I don't even know why anymore; I guess just because it feels like such a Sue-ish quality), but then I thought about it and realized it's the only thing that really makes sense for him. And I actually wrote in an unposted story a long time ago that stated something like, "Josh has to study like crazy to get good grades, Amanda is just an attentive little goodie-goodie so of course she makes all As, Zack cheats at everything but English, and Phil doesn't even have to try."

I know this is a lot to take in, and I'm just gonna stop and apologize right now for all the OCs. I was annoyed by that, too, if it makes anyone feel better, LOL. It's just that I couldn't... I mean... there HAD to be other kids! xD THIS IS A SCHOOL. Besides, at some point in this story I'm gonna be writing about Phil in middle school, and he's gonna meet up again with most of his old elementary school homies, so I needed something to work with. :P Next chap introduces some more friendly OCs (who are the kids of some of the old HA! cast), Phil yelling at Arnold amidst a bunch of freaky goth chicks, LITTLE PHIL TALKING TO GRANDPA PHIL AKFLNFAKNKL (I WROTE THAT SO MANY MONTHS AGO BUT I STILL LOVE IT, IT'S SO CUTE AND GRANDPA'S THE BEST CHARACTER EVER, OKAY? GUH), and... other junk. Haha XD

Okay, I got some questions last chap so Imma answer those now :3

Q - Philly hates girls for his classmates (the three girls)?

A - Hate's a strong word... Let's just say he very strongly resents their existence. XD For now. I get more in depth on this next chapter.

Q - Is the Zach's patch hidding black eye for August? (that was sad)

Yes.

Q - What Zach knews about Philly?

A - That's what all the flashbacks here are going to be explaining. :3

Q - Could be Josh loves to Pam? Or Does he loves Kori? And the relationship between Pam and Zach could change in something more? (i see difficult)

A - Josh doesn't even know Pam. To him, she's just another one of his older brother's weird girl friend things, and someone who's obviously attracted to him (which he's used to so it's not a big deal). Whether or not that'll change, I can't say.

Kori and Ham have been best friends practically since birth, so... I don't think they even realize they're of the opposite gender. XD As a friend, yes, he adores her, but anything beyond that is murky water.

And finally, regarding the Zack/Pam situation... It is extremely difficult. I'm glad you guys see that. Chemistry or no, I'm not just gonna throw those two together. It's too weird, considering... everything. I'm not saying it's impossible, but... Yeah. Difficult. We'll see.

Q - Why Sophie is with Zach? Any reasons? I think she 's like Olga, a lot... or Lila. Yes! she's like Lila 2.0.

A - Omg, I fell out of my chair. XD LILA 2.0. Hahaha... Okay, ah... Well, she's with him because she loves him. That's all I'm gonna say there. And Lila, well... she is very Lila-ish in principle, but she's not manipulative. That's all I'm gonna say there, too. XD

Q - Who's Pam's brother? (please, don't be August, please!)

A - You'll see ;D

Q - Did Arnold so afraid about Helga, on all her pregnancies?

A - Omfg, yes. XD Every. One. And I WILL be writing about it! I've actually already got Ham's birth story partially written, and in it, Arnold... *Dies* He has SOOOO MANY ISSUES, holy crap

Q - Can improve the relationship between the brothers Shortman?

A - No. They're gonna fight and hate each other forever.

LOL, no, no, I kid. Their relationships will improve, don't worry. I know I've written almost nothing but them being angry and trying to get revenge on each other so far, but keep in mind that they are boys. What you're seeing here is testosterone flying (hehehe... that sounds dirty). Phil stole Zack's poem 'cause he was sick of always being, ah... on the bottom bunk, let's say. XD Zack did overreact to it, and he does do something horrible... but he doesn't realize how horrible it is until it's too late, just like how Phil doesn't realize that making fun of Zack for his poetry is the equivalent of shoving a sword through him. By the end of "Breathing Slowly," you'll see them come to an understanding. But no matter what they say or do, no matter how bad things get between any of them... they would still jump in front of a train for each other.

'Cause that's love, bitch. *High-fives some random stranger in the face*

Q - Why is it that in my head Phillip Robert sounds like Invader Zim?

A - ...I noticed that, too... x'D

All right, that's about it. Please remember to...

REVIEW!