A/N: Hahahahahahhhaahhahaaaaha

Look, it's me again. After like five months. Hahahahhahhahahaaa.

Okay, so, yeah, sweatdropsweatdrop, but I have two other chapters fully written out after this one so I'm sitting pretty good at the moment. This'll leave me with some breathing room (hehe) so I can work on other projects, which is goooood. Sorry to say the Grandpa scene had to be moved over, but good news is that this is the last chapter with, like, serious OC crap going on. After this, it's smooth sailing. Sorta. For you. Not for me. Never for me, hahahahahahahaaha.

Might wanna strap on your seat belts, kiddies. This is gonna be a bumpy ride.

~Beautiful People~

Conor Dachisen

acosta perez jose ramiro

AprilFiction - 13

metalheadrailfan

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Victoria

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Thank you all so, so much for the reviews. Seriously. I love reading you guys' thoughts and reactions to things. A lot of you guys made me laugh out loud with all your "Kill them, Phil!" comments. x'D You guys are hilarious. Thanks for the smiles. They mean a lot to me. I got quite a few longer reviews, too, that were fairly in depth. I want to give a thank you to you guys especially. You have made me pathetically happy. :')

Sniffsniff, okay, you just go on then, I shall keep you no longer... GO FORTH AND READ... PERSON.

I'LL BE FUNNY LATER, SHH.

Disclaimer: Dis mah shit dis will always be mah shit don't touch mah shit

Oh and the idea of who Pete's mom is was actually UtopianPeace's. She was originally someone else, but his idea was so epic that I couldn't pass it up. :) I think it's really given Pete an edge, so thank you!

Breathing Slowly

Part 4

"I've been on a self-inflicted mission

to destroy everything I'm given."

—Papa Roach

Peter Neilly was not an extraordinary individual.

In fact, he was downright bland.

This was an opinion ground so firmly into his psyche that it seemed an absolute irrefutable fact. His features were perfectly plain, his intellect flawlessly average, and his personality so strikingly non-confronting and mild-mannered that nobody could ever find themselves either wanting or entirely satisfied when in his company. Like a diet Yahoo soda; a book without a moral; a blanket just a little too thin to preserve any actual warmth. If he was extraordinary in anything, it was in being so completely groundbreakingly uninteresting that he may as well have not existed at all.

It was ironic, then, that his best friend was one of the weirdest kids in school, unwillingly known by all as the ridiculously short kid who didn't ever know when to shove it. Thanks to his stubborn, impetuous attitude and utter know-it-all surety that he was always in the right, both faculty and student body had declared him a hopeless case before he had even turned six-years-old. Pete wasn't really sure how their friendship came to be, but it probably had something to do with the fact nobody liked them. Phil was annoying, Pete was boring, and together they were… together. And that counted for something in Pete's book.

They actually meshed surprisingly well with each other. Pete was so used to being ignored that Phil's strong reactions to anything and everything were refreshing, and Phil was used to everyone hating his guts, so having someone around who not only tolerated him, but somewhat liked him, had to be nice. Pete could only imagine.

He was also the only person who could handle the full force of Phil's disdain. Insults had about the same effect as stating that apples were edible, and putdowns were a usual reaction to him so he didn't mind. Just the fact he let him hang around went above and beyond what most people did, so despite the improbability of it, it was something he had come to accept as a constant in his life. Like scattered leaves in fall, like clouds in the sky, like stars in space, Pete and Phil were best friends. And that was simply how it was.

So when the bell rang for lunch, naturally the first thing he did was—get shoved out of the way by Dolly Williams on his way out the door to look for Phil.

"Dolly!" he yelped just as he slammed into someone who'd just stood up from the bench. Georgia's bench. He came face to face with her, chest to chest, caught her leaning back with that interminable indifference on her face and blank silver eyes, and felt his face explode in blush. He coughed out an awkward laugh just as he was suddenly grabbed by the back of his collar and yanked inside the school.

Eyes wide, he stumbled backwards several stretched paces as he continued to be pulled in some unknown direction. "What—"

"Phil," Dolly wheezed, and Pete fell silent. Mostly because it was at that moment he finally tripped over his feet and landed on his back. Dolly dragged him from then on and he said nothing. They had common goals, after all, and she was better at locating him, so really he should be thanking her. And after a minute's worth of desperate pulls and turns, he did. "Thanks."

Her wheezing spiked a little and her steps became more determined. He clamped his mouth shut after that.

Dolly Williams was another default friend of Pete's. He'd known her just as long – if not longer – as he'd known Phil. It was all kind of inevitable, he guessed. Her dad, Brainy Williams, was an old friend of his mom's, Siobhan Neilly, as he was a literary genius and his mom an all-around genius, and Mr. Williams was also very good friends with Phil's mom, even though Phil's mom didn't like his mom too much. And by 'not like,' he meant 'passionately despised.' That much had been made clear at the Christmas party Mr. and Mrs. Williams threw one year where Mrs. Shortman drank a little too much and started spitting insults about his mom being a 'heartless mega bitch' and 'supreme ruler of all things shit.' Pete loved his mom, but even he couldn't muster the will to be completely offended at the time. His mom could be very… distant. That was the same year he, Dolly and Phil snuck off with all the corn tortillas and frisbee'd them into the neighbor's yard, because… well, they were six and the neighbor was mean. They ended up moving away that same month. Phil still insisted it was because of them, and Pete wasn't inclined to disagree. Mostly because disagreeing with Phil often (always) meant war.

Dolly was a shockingly green eyed bespectacled girl with dark Spanish skin and curly brown hair. Pete didn't know when exactly her obsession with Phil began, only that it was there, and it was bone-chillingly potent. She wasn't hesitant about it. She wasn't shy. She was bold and demanding and aggressive and single-minded. If Phil was in the area, she was behind him, beside him, plastered to his chest, breathing his hair. The only reason Phil didn't scream at her to leave him alone was because he was afraid of what she might do. Pete couldn't blame him. He wasn't even the object of her infatuation and he was scared, too. Probably why his butt hurt so much but he bit down any pained complaints in favor of letting her do what she wanted.

Finally, she let him go and he turned his head around just in time to see her launch herself at Phil. He'd been walking up the hall, his back to her, when he halted abruptly and stiffened, as if he knew. And then he was plowed over like a stalk of corn.

Pete stood up and walked over to where the mauling was taking place, making a point of not looking at it head-on. Once beside them, he asked, "Where have you been? You disappeared this morning. We thought you'd show up at recess."

Phil snapped his head around to look at him, just as Dolly kissed him on the cheek. His face twisted in revulsion but he did nothing to stop it. Straining from the effort not to dry heave, he grunted, "No kidding. I've been… busy…" He clenched his eyes shut and shuddered as Dolly smushed her lips against the side of his mouth. "Okay! I'm okay! That's good, Dolly, now please get off—" The plea was cut off as she lifted him up and gave him a squeezing, lung-collapsing, soul-crushing hug that made his eyes roll back into his head and his body go boneless.

Pete grimaced. It was a horrible thing to watch, like a deer getting it's head chewed off by a mountain lion. Without thinking he placed a hand on Dolly's shoulder and started, "Uh, Dolly—" when her eyes snapped on him, wide and unpredictable behind thick glasses and he suddenly found himself wondering if she'd still attend his funeral if she was the cause of it. Taking a long, fortifying step back, he started again, "Uh, now that we know, y'know, where he is, do you think you could let us talk?"

She paused and relaxed her hold on Phil so that he was sagging in her arms like a bag of sand. Pursing her lips, she thought it over, hard, before perking up and snapping her eyes back to Phil. "Lunch?"

He nodded weakly.

She grinned and smashed one last kiss into his hair before releasing him, whereupon he crumpled to the ground, and she skipped happily off to the cafeteria.

Pete frowned down at Phil's sprawling corpse, making no move to get up. He almost wished he had a stick so he could poke him. As it was, he gently nudged him with his foot. "You okay?"

"I will never be clean. So long as I live, I am ruined."

Pete sighed and grabbed him by the arm to pull him up. "You're okay."

"Says you." He ripped his arm away the second he was on his feet again and violently dusted off his shirt, wiped his cheek, mouth, and raked his fingers through his hair, all in the span of about five seconds. "Criminy, what was that about?"

Pete shrugged. "She must've been worried."

Phil snorted and shot him a pestered look. "Yeah, I got that."

"Okay?"

"It was a rhetorical question."

"Uh…"

"I said it to vent!"

"Oh."

Phil rolled his eyes and turned back around to start walking down the hall again. "Look, this really isn't a good time, Pete."

He easily caught up to him, as his legs were much longer. Or Phil's were just abnormally short. Okay, so a combination of both. "Why?"

Phil huffed when he realized he was following and stopped. Pete stopped, too. They stood there. Phil side-eyed him with a pinched expression, tense and wide-eyed. Pete just blinked at him. Finally, he explained in a rush, "I'm looking for my backpack and in less than five minutes there's going to be people galloping through the halls like wild elephants and on top of that now I have to go to lunch at some point or risk having my head on a spike so I really don't have time to talk to you, goodbye." He broke into a run and raced up the hall.

Pete, again, easily caught up to him and shot him a confused look. "What happened to your—"

Phil groaned, clearly unhappy that he was still there. "Mercy happened, you moron, now leave me al—"

"But Mercy was at recess and I didn't see—"

"You calling me a liar?" Phil stopped abruptly and his eyes flashed.

Pete skidded to a stop and looked back at him warily, over his shoulder. He could almost hear the Western showdown music. Whoops. "No, it's just…" He didn't know what he was going to say. He turned slightly to face him and frowned at the floor tile. "Um…"

Phil's nostrils flared and jerked his head away. "Whatever. I don't want to talk about it."

Pete was so shocked by this statement that he snapped his head back up and gawked at him. "You don't want to talk about it?"

Phil spoke quickly, once again looking at him out of the side of his eye, "No. I just said that."

Pete gaped at him like he was an alien.

Phil's face went bright red at this and he spun quickly around and began stalking off in the opposite direction. Pete followed him. Phil's steps slowed down when he heard the footsteps behind him, getting louder rather than softer, and turned his head gradually around to give him that pinched expression again. Pete knew that expression well. It was his 'Oh my gosh, you still exist?' look. It didn't bother him. Phil always came around when he realized Pete wasn't going anywhere. This was an integral part of their routine. Pete welcomed it, basking in the glow and familiarity of Phil's irritation. It meant that he cared, that he wasn't indifferent, that he actively wanted Pete to go away because he found him extremely annoying, and that was… nice.

He should probably seek help. Phil had said so on many occasions, but he had yet to follow the advice. He probably never would. But still, the knowledge that he should was there, whapping him in the face like a flag in a thunderstorm.

Finally, Phil came to a soft stop, continued to stare, and spoke after several seconds, "Pete…"

"Yeah?"

"I said goodbye. I don't want to talk. Leave."

Well, that was straightforward. Pete let out a slow breath, his stomach churning for reasons unknown. Nervousness, probably. Or indigestion. "I just need to get my money out of my locker…"

Which translated to 'Walk me there so I don't die, please and thanks.' They both knew it. It was a long walk to his locker, fraught with horrors ranging everywhere from bullies to taunters to teenage girls, and there was no way he was walking that without a buddy. As Phil was right there, he was his only viable option right then. As he typically was.

There were kids starting to roam the halls now. He saw as Phil realized this, saw the flash of rage that was quickly boiled down to a more manageable childish sulk, before he, as always, let out a longsuffering sigh and motioned for Pete to follow him.

Pete was at his side in less than a second. Phil was not startled, and they began walking at a measured pace.

As they walked, he noticed Phil looking over his shoulder a lot. This wasn't exactly strange. He could be very anxious… Paranoid, one might say. But not always. Most likely this was because of the whole Mercy-Backpack situation. She was the usual cause of his anxiety. But Pete didn't really want to talk about any of that, he was just surprised Phil didn't, so he held his peace. Phil could get very scary when anything Mercy related came up, and that was saying something, because Phil was not a scary sort. He might talk big, he might glare big, but he was small, with soft eyes and a soft voice and soft… everything else. It took a lot to get 'adorable fluffy puppy' to look frightening. Pete knew what he was capable of, though, and he had no desire to release the full brunt of that onto the world. Again.

Images of splattered paint, slippery floors, tied shoelaces, glued chairs, and shrieking horrified faces flashed through his mind. Along with the image of Phil grinning, something almost maniacal shining in his eyes that was the complete opposite of friendly. Sadistic. Spiteful. Free.

They were not pretty pictures.

Phil speaking snapped him from his thoughts. "Hey, uh…" Pete blinked in surprise and looked over at him, only to be further taken aback by the tentativeness and guilt he'd heard in his tone also present on his face. Oh no. Phil was actually thinking about what he was saying. This couldn't be good. "You… You know I'm not always going to be around." He glanced away, his hands clasping behind his back.

Pete blinked. What.

"I mean, this thing where you follow me around and… It can't go on forever. You need to learn to stick up for yourself."

Pete blinked twice. What, what.

Phil still wasn't looking at him, but the silence seemed to agitate him. His hand started doing this circling thing. Pete couldn't account for it. "You know, tell bullies what for, say you're not going to put up with it?"

Pete blinked three times. Wha—

"Oh, for cripe's sake," he whispered on a rushed exhale before suddenly—"Would you just say something? I don't care what it is, just speak!"

Pete flinched back from the outburst, actually stumbling slightly away as their steps slowed. Eyes wide and unsure behind his glasses, he tentatively opened his mouth.

"And don't say 'okay'!" He glared at him dangerously.

He shut his mouth.

Phil's head lolled back so he could roll his eyes at the ceiling, muttering, "stupid, idiot, stupid," a few times under his breath. He rubbed the back of his neck then and appeared to be trying to summon patience. Pete knew this was a hopeless endeavor, and that he had to act quickly before the frustration set in because it would set in and it would be loud, so he scrambled for the first response that came to mind. Honestly and with no little amount of confusion, he said, "You know I wouldn't stand a chance against any bullies…"

Phil snapped his head around to look at him like he'd grown a second head. "You don't have to 'stand a chance.' You just have to make it clear you won't go down without a fight. If you make it difficult enough for them, they'll start avoiding you. Like with me." He turned his head and made direct, intent eye contact with a couple of his fellow fourth graders, who looked startled and promptly skittered off.

"You get thrown into lockers and trash cans all the time," Pete countered, his voice rising slightly in his befuddlement.

"Yeah, but I don't let it faze me. That's the whole point. When was the last time any of them actually hit me?" Phil looked him pointedly, and Pete was forced to admit that he couldn't remember the last time. Phil waved a hand in gesture, expelling a hot breath out his nose as he nodded. "Exactly. They know if they try to fight me I'll make a huge fuss, so they just do lame things like that as a last resort to insert dominance. Getting thrown into a garbage can's pretty weak compared to some of the junk the rest of you losers put up with." He folded his hands behind his back again as they turned a corner. "It's all about control, Pete. It's always like that with people. They can only hurt you if you let them. So…" he looked at him blandly, eyebrows raised, "just make it clear you won't let them."

Pete had zoned out when it became clear Phil was going to lecture him, but the last bit caught his attention. He returned his look with a frown. "By getting the snot beaten out of me?"

Phil sighed harshly. "Stop that. You can't let things like that get to you. It's exactly what they want. The moment you let them intimidate you, they've won. They don't even have to hit you, they've gotten what they want. They can beat every last drop of blood out of you but so long as you don't let them bug you, you win. Get it?"

Pete blinked at him four times as they walked, staring at each other, until finally… "No."

Phil slapped a hand over one side of his face and groaned. "But I just explained it."

"I don't know how to make death not bug me, Phil. I like my blood." He frowned, confounded.

Phil looked suspiciously like he was going to keel over right then from the full-force of his stupidity slamming him in the face. But he didn't, and Pete was relieved. The nurse had developed a bit of a temper after their seventh or eighth visit due to "idiot poisoning," so Pete was kind of scared of what might happen on their thirtieth.

After a few seconds, his eyes came back into focus and he looked at him with his face stretched taut and eyes almost completely closed in their exasperation. "You won't die." He sounded tired.

"But you just said—"

"Look, just." He flailed a little before calming down. It was kind of funny, but Pete knew better than to smile. He looked to be thinking. Finally, he settled on, "My brothers are a good example."

If possible, Pete became even more confused. "Your brothers aren't bullies."

"No, but they do the whole 'intimidation, control freak' thing."

"But… didn't Zack stop some bully once?" He stretched his shirt in his hands nervously. "That's what all the legends say."

Phil groaned, sliding a hand down over half of his face as he slumped. "Oh, come on. You can't seriously tell me you believe that crud."

Pete's eyes widened, genuinely interested now. He leaned in eagerly. "Why? Did he say something?"

Phil frowned with distaste and, whether unconsciously or not, distanced himself a few inches as they continued to walk. "No. I've never asked or anything, I just know him. He's got all sorts of tall tales he tells people to make himself seem more impressive than he is. It's exactly what I'm talking about." He combed a hand through his hair since it was starting to feel a little bird-nesty, as his eyes narrowed. "He does this thing with blackmail—I don't want to explain it. It's just stuff he uses to keep people in line. He's like a bully that way. And Josh, well, you know how he is." Shooting a meaningful look at him, and with his hair as good as he felt it was gonna get, he let his hands drop and stuffed them in his pockets. "But it's all pomp. Anything it takes to stay large and in charge, they'll do it, but they're just two doofuses playing king of the hill. That's all it ever is, Pete."

Pete had lost interest after 'I've never asked' so by the end of his speech, he felt wary enough of his friend's fixation on this topic that he had to stop and ask, "Phil, what's this about?"

Phil stopped, too, and looked defensively at him. "I'm trying to help you, obviously. So you'll know how to deal with bullies when I'm not here."

Pete tilted his head at him with a small frown. "But I don't want to be you."

A short silence settled between them, as Phil's eyes flicked somewhere on his shirt.

Pete exhaled. He wasn't used to needing to talk this much. Normally Phil rambled away and he stared and nodded a lot. He didn't like this break in routine. Or any break in routine, if he was being honest with himself. Hesitantly, he said, "You don't… You don't hafta be around 24/7. I can manage okay on my own. Really, I just… I just keep a low profile. You know? It works fine. Don't worry about it." He shrugged. At that point he'd have sung Twinkle Twinkle Little Star in layman's Dutch while bouncing on one hand if it'd get him to stop looking and talking like that. Phil was a notorious worry-wart about things, but it was unusual for him to be that way about him. Weird as it was, he thought he preferred the disgusted glances and not-so-subtle eye rolls. They weren't so unsettling.

Everything in Phil's posture seemed to tighten and then loosen all at once. He let out a breath like he'd been holding it in for a while, as a smile stretched out over his face that didn't look right. "Well, fine, if you're sure. I guess that settles that then." He made a show of dusting off his hands. "It's official! We're not friends anymore, effective immediately."

Pete let out a sigh of relief. "Okay, that's—" He stopped. Phil blinked calmly at him. He narrowed his eyes. "Wait, what?"

"We're not friends anymore," he repeated, almost happily. No, definitely happily. Joyfully. Giddily. Parts of Pete's brain crackled and snapped like cheap breakfast cereal. "I felt kinda responsible 'cause you're so pathetic, but this makes things so much easier. Now I can move on guilt-free. Thanks."

Pete's mouth fell open. "Wh… Wha…" Phil raised an eyebrow and he snapped his mouth shut. There were a hundred questions buzzing through his head, but at that moment, all he could get to come out of his mouth was an incredulous, "What are you gonna do? Get a new best friend?"

Both Phil's eyebrows shot up. "A new best friend? No. That's implying I had an old one."

Pete's heart plummeted.

Phil didn't appear to notice. For a moment, he just looked vaguely confused, but then it cleared away back to that default half-lidded look and he explained, "Something my brother said hit me earlier is all. I was mad at first but then I thought about it. It's actually a pretty good idea. See, I've been bored a lot so I figured, having friends I actually liked being around would be a good place to start fixing that." He snorted. "He says so much dumb stuff, sometimes I forget he can be smart, too." He shook his head ruefully, his eyes bittersweet and focused on some far off place that wasn't with him.

Pete stared.

Phil snapped out of it easily and slipped his hands casually into his pockets. "Yep, well, that's a load of my back. I'll see you at lunch, Pete. You just… keep a low profile or whatever. Bye." With that, he turned around and power-walked down the hall with his head already moving rapidly to keep his surroundings in check, no doubt with Mercy on the brain and Pete already forgotten.

As Phil turned the corner and vanished from sight, Pete continued to stare at the spot he had previously occupied, trying to come up with a logical explanation for how more than five years of friendship could be dissolved in less than five minutes.

"Shortman!"

Phil jolted. "Brody!" He snapped a scolding look on him and whipped a hand down to flop some of the mayo that had gushed out of his sandwich off. "Man, you really need to stop sneaking up on me! You're shedding years of my life every time you do that. At this rate, I'm gonna die at twenty-five."

Brody grinned as he pulled up a chair beside his old friend and sat his lunch down. He was just giggling out a, "Sorry," when he noticed Phil's sandwich was already half gone and his eyes widened. "Pastrami again?"

Phil nodded, distracted with trying to one-handledy wipe his hand clean on his napkin.

Brody's face scrunched, though his toothy smile remained intact. "Uncle says meat is made of dead stuff. I don't know why anyone would eat dead stuff."

"Sure, sure…" Phil responded blandly, with every intention of just leaving it at that. But then something flashed in his eyes, and he felt suddenly compelled to go on. With a huffy air, he swiped the last remnants of the condiment from his hand with his tongue and said, "Yeah, well, Mom always packs it for me. The fridge is always full of it. When something is around long enough, you tend to get a taste for it." He flicked at a container of peas. "And some things, you just get more sick of."

Brody continued to grin. "That sounds weird. You should be a philosopher." He giggled suddenly. "Philosopher. Awesome!"

Phil glanced at him, but Brody wasn't looking at him anymore. Instead he was moving things around on his tray. The mystery lunchmeat was sat in the middle of the table, and the overcooked cheese potatoes mixed in with the brownie. Phil was used to Brody's ways, so he didn't cringe like he used to, but something about the action of brownie mutilation and mashed potato stirring was hypnotizing today.

Finally, he tore his eyes away from it and asked, "Hey, have you ever heard of anyone called Vincent?"

Brody looked at him, eyes wide and intent, but always with that slight glaze, like he was staring at something that wasn't really there. Brody had some sort of mental issue going on that Phil didn't understand (or want to), but he had first-hand experience with bad people. He was being trained by his uncle to fight crime, and had had to take 'Who's a Threat?' quizzes periodically throughout his life. Normally Phil would laugh at a story like that and call the teller a moron, then go home and be terrified for his life, but he actually knew his uncle. He was crazy and twitchy and liked to hang around the shipping dock to steal bananas from time to time. The guy was harmless, but still, crazy. And completely capable of taking on the role of superhero mentor to his equally whack-job nephew. No matter how ridiculous it looked on paper, Brody was a valuable resource right now.

Brody made a duck face as he absentmindedly mixed his cheesy brownie-potatoes and thought over his question. It didn't take long for him to stop thinking, though, – it never did – and for him to ask, "Why?"

Phil bit his tongue. "Uh… I don't know if I should say."

Brody gave an elaborate hmph and smashed a large portion of brownie on his fork. "Then I don't know if I should tell you!" He stuffed the food in his mouth and smacked loudly.

A speck of cheese flew and hit Phil in the cheek. He blinked hard and wiped it off, before releasing a pained groan. "Fine. But you can't tell anybody, Brody! Do you hear me?" He dropped his sandwich and pointed his plastic fork at him, his eyes cut as he swung it back and forth in threat. Brody's glazed eyes gained a little more focus and he zeroed in on the utensil with rounded eyes. Phil took this as a good sign and repeated, "You can't tell anyone, okay? Understood?"

Brody blinked, still staring at the now immobile fork in wonder. "Tell anyone what?"

"Perfect. Okay." He dropped the fork back into his lunchbox and ignored Brody's frown. After taking in a deep, measured breath… he exploded in whispers. "I was in a place I wasn't supposed to be for reasons I'm not going to explain and I thought I was alone but it turned out I wasn't. There was another boy there and he was threatening this girl in a really cheesy Italian accent and the girl called him Vin.' He caught me in there with him after he gave her a swirly and I—"

He stopped suddenly as he recalled his crazy attack, and shrunk slightly in mortification. He hadn't had much of a chance to really reflect on it until this moment, and the memory was clear in his mind. That kid had seen him like that. He never let anyone see him like that, if he could help it. The things he must have thought… Swallowing hard, he quickly recovered himself and quietly skipped over, "I mean, he just… he just left after saying he didn't go to this school." He suddenly got excited and rose out of his seat, practically breathless with enthusiasm. "He was faking Italian, Brody. Italian! With a really fancy suit and dress shoes. He was just walking around like that. Who does that?" He all but bounced in his seat.

Brody blinked over doe-like eyes, his mouth hanging slightly open. "I… I dunno."

Before Phil could be disappointed, a deep female voice came from behind him, "Little Vinny." He jumped in his seat and grabbed at his chest as if he was having a heart attack. The girl appeared beside him not a moment later, serious-faced but with a smile twitching at the side of her mouth.

Phil quickly took her in, from her baseball cap to her filthy t-shirt to her sparkling brown eyes and bouncy black pigtails. Just as quickly, he stiffened, and all joy in his face disappeared like a storm cloud drifting over the sun. "What?"

Vienna Donovan, daughter of Cookie and some no-name baseball player, swung herself around the corner of the table and settled in across from Brody and him. She belonged to the tomboy table across the way, but was sometimes forced to sit at their table due to overcrowding. It was always her forced out when her table got too full, which Phil suspected probably had something to do with her propensity to meddle and gossip. He wasn't the only one who found her insufferable. Not that she had any idea.

After setting her tray down, she replied with quick precision, "Little Vinny. The guys and I have been talking about him. We saw him earlier today, too." She brought a spoon of applesauce up to her mouth and flipped it over onto her tongue. Before swallowing, she smacked, "Who was the girl he threatened?"

"You just eavesdropped on all of that?"

"Hey, I was already behind you, and I was curious." She winked. Phil frowned. She snorted. "Oh, come on, Midge, I know stuff you don't. You talk, I talk. Deal?"

He knew arguing with Vienna would be pointless, so he was quicker to relent than was his wont. He knew the more easily he went along with her whims, the less difficult she'd be in fulfilling his own. She wasn't dangerous anyway, she had no problem keeping secrets; she was just vexing, and strange, and manipulative. She always had an ulterior motive, some secret agenda under her belt—but at this moment, her wants went hand-in-hand with his own, so with a sigh, he acquiesced, "Okay. But you have to keep quiet about it. No blimp advertisements or billboard rentals."

Vienna looked affronted at that, as if it even needed to be said, but Phil didn't care. You always had to be very clear with people like her, lest they try to slide their way around any verbal contracts later on if their agendas changed. His fingers twitched just at the thought.

After crossing his arms over his chest and raising his chin, he replied with some difficulty, "If you really have to know… it was a campfire lass."

Vienna nodded and looked thoughtful for a couple of seconds, before she asked, "How?"

Phil looked at her dully. "How what?"

"How do you know it was a campfire lass?"

Phil blinked very slowly. "Well… gee, I guess I don't." He pressed the tip of his finger into his cheek. "Do you know anyone else who walks around in a big floppy green hat and spits 'Aye' out every twelve seconds?"

Vienna burst into laughter, spitting potatoes halfway across the table. "Good point, good point! Gotcha, sorry."

He regarded her with a thin line for a mouth. Brody just grinned and heaped more brownie into his mouth.

"Nah, I'm… I'm not surprised," she managed out after getting her laughter under control. "I just wanted to be sure. You jump to conclusions a lot." Phil snorted in indignation but she didn't let him defend himself. Now was not the time for a fight, not with mystery afoot. "No, no… Not surprised. The campfire lasses are a corrupt bunch. It'd be just like them to get involved with a guy like that."

Phil's eyebrows shot up in intrigue as he leaned eagerly forward, his animus from a few seconds prior a thing of the past. "A guy like what? What does he do? Is he a mobster, gang member, candy dealer? And where does he get his shoes? I kind of want them—"

Vienna threw a spoon at him to shut him up. It hit him square in the face and he squeaked, flailing his hands in front of his head. Vienna just blew a raspberry at him and exclaimed, "Conclusion jumping!" He blew a furious raspberry right back and, after locating where the spoon landed, grabbed it and threw it back at her. She ducked it with ease and laughed heartily at his failure. "Ha! Nice try, pipsqueak! But rela—" A handful of peas suddenly hit her in her face and she screamed. "Stop! Stop, stop, stop! I was just gonna say—" A glob of brownie-potatoes landed in her open mouth and she coughed half of it out onto her plate in shock before calming down enough to force herself to swallow. With a surprised blink, she muttered, "Wow, that… was absolutely disgusting."

Brody lit up with delight. "Old family recipe."

Vienna noticed Phil was trying to figure out what to throw next and shoved her hands forward as far as she could in a 'calm down' motion. She tried to grab his hands to stop their scrambling but he snatched them back from her, shooting her a look of disgusted disbelief. She spoke desperately, "Please, I was just going to warn you to stay away from him. He's not as bad as you've imagined, and he works alone, but he's still bad."

Phil stopped searching and rolled his head back with a groan. "Criminy, I wasn't gonna do anything. I'm not stupid, he's terrifying—"

"Yes, he really is!" Phil looked surprised at her outburst, and she quickly checked their surroundings before meeting his eyes again. The seriousness in her look caught Phil's attention and he leaned over just in time to hear her whisper, "We heard he kills hamsters for fun."

Phil blinked at her once, almost aggressively, before throwing his head back and belting out a loud, scratchy laugh.

Vienna was the one who squealed in indignation this time as she waved her arms at him angrily. "I'm serious! It's horrible! Dude, that is so not okay!"

"Uh." Three pairs of eyes snapped over to see Pete standing awkwardly a few feet away from the table, looking a little frightened with his toes pointed towards each other beneath bent knees and scrunched shoulders. The sight of him only made Phil laugh harder, which caused Brody and Dolly – who appeared mystically between them – to join in. Phil started at her sudden presence but quickly resumed his laughter. If it sounded a little fake, nobody said anything.

Mostly because the only people who weren't laughing and in a position to notice were flaming mad. Vienna, for Phil making light of the gleeful dispatching of cute fluffy house pets, and Pete because he knew very well he was being used as a punch line for a joke no one was going to bother to let him in on.

Fingers flexing where they were curled around the sides of his tray, Pete hung his head and stared intensely at his mashed potatoes for a while, before coming to a decision. Rather than taking his usual seat next to Phil, he walked around the table and deposited his lunch violently next to Brody.

The clatter attracted the table's attention—Vienna looked shocked, Brody surprised, Dolly delighted, and Phil's expression seemed frozen between his previous amusement and something indiscernible; something almost like offense, more like startlement. Finally, he seemed to settle on indifference, and he was the first to break the odd silence by speaking. To Vienna. As if Pete hadn't just openly dissed him.

"Be serious."

Vienna's lips parted. Her eyes darted between Phil's intent eyes on her and Pete's narrowed ones focusing on his food. Slowly, she replied, "I was being serious…" Shaking herself as she recalled her anger, she turned her attention solely on Phil again and fiercely whispered, "There's all kinds of nasty rumors surrounding him like that. It's not funny! It's awful! They say his dad's a crime boss. Or," she glanced around and leaned in closer, lowering her voice, "he was anyway. He's not around anymore—no one knows why. But he's infamous. Some huge scary guy called Big Gino. Vinny's been trying to walk in his footsteps for years, but he's only recently started… you know."

Phil was enthralled. "Started what?"

Vienna hissed a little and made a small tornado with her hands. "I don't know! Showing up, popping up everywhere?" Glancing around again, she lowered her voice and finished with a sly look, "Threatening campfire lasses?"

Phil was all but jittering with nervous excitement at this point and had to clamp his hands down over his arms to keep them from fluttering around. He chewed his lip as he contemplated this information, his eyes darting around on the table. Dolly took this as the ideal moment to claim her rightful seat beside him, and scooted her chair in close so she could lean her head on his shoulder. He jumped as if she'd electrocuted him and shrugged her off on impulse. "Not now, Dolly, I'm thinking."

Dolly frowned and wheezed her disapproval. After realizing what he'd done, Phil's shoulders stiffened and his eyes went a little round, but otherwise nothing changed. Dolly wheezed on his shoulder a few more seconds before turning to stuff her brownie into her mouth and take a large gulp of her milk. Phil relaxed.

Pete, who had been observing all of this out of the corner of his eye, had to stop himself from groaning in frustration. Some punishment that turned out to be.

Meanwhile, Vienna was blinking owlishly at him. Several seconds passed where nobody said anything. Finally, the moment came that she couldn't restrain her tongue any longer and it whipped out, "You're not gonna do anything weird, are you?"

Phil snapped a strange look on her, which quickly shifted into one of powerful annoyance. "Do wha—Like what? I already told you he's terrifying. Why would I even want to do anything?"

Vienna looked unimpressed, leaned over the table on her arm like that, her eyes halfmast and hat pulled low. "Right."

Phil glared at her. "Yes, right."

She still didn't look convinced. "Uh-huh, I heard ya. No need to throw a hissy." Thumping her hat back up off her forehead, she changed her tone to normal and smiled as she said, "I happen to think it's kinda cool myself—Mysterious villain popping outta nowhere, roaming the halls of a school he doesn't go to, Campfire Lasses finally getting what's coming to 'em for trying to sell us stuff—"

All at once the tenseness in Phil's body drained away to jelly and he gustily exhaled, "Oh my gosh, it's so cool…" Vienna raised a sharp eyebrow at him and smirked triumphantly, and he realized with a start that he'd just been tricked. Scowling slightly, he admitted, "Fine, I get it. It's cool, but that doesn't mean I'm gonna approach him. Nobody needs to worry about me doing anything dumb. I worry about you, okay? That's how this works, not the other way around."

"Ah, right," she chirped conversationally, a thoughtful look passing over her face as she tapped her spoon against her chin. "I forgot you were a big baby."

Phil's firm expression shifted into one of alarmed defense. "I am not—"

"Oh yeah, sure, whatever you say, baby." She stuck her tongue out at him. He stuck his back, and she laughed at the picture he made. "Please, everyone knows you're a huge wuss. Just own it, man, there's no sense fighting it."

Phil stared at her with a tight, pinched expression, his face a lovely shade of red. Beside him, Dolly was busying herself with snapping as many pictures as possible so she could paint it later. Finally, all the color in his face boiled over and he snapped like a piranha, his words fast and harsh, "Look, just because I don't throw myself into the line of fire every chance I get doesn't mean I'm scared, it just means I'm not a suicidal moron. If you want to talk to a real baby, talk to Pete. I at least know how to handle a couple stupid bullies, so there. Torment him." He huffed and flung himself back into his chair with a strong pout.

Pete stiffened and did his level best to develop laser vision on the spot so he could zap his food into ashes.

Vienna's eyebrows were flying somewhere above their heads, her smile so wide it looked almost painful. "Really now? Is that so?" She turned her eyes on Pete, and his face inflamed. Vienna's grin tugged at one side. "You a secret sissy, Pete?"

Pete sunk down low in his seat and kept his eyes glued to his tray.

Vienna was just opening her mouth, no doubt to say something that would make Pete want to dissipate into a dead mist, when the sound of a chair screeching beside her made her freeze.

"Tritan!" Brody yelped, slinging himself halfway across the table and scattering food everywhere. Phil and Pete both flew back in shock.

Tristan Redmond, in all his disgustingly wealthy pretty boy glory, smiled lazily at Brody as he sat down with his tray. His copper hair lightly bounced and swayed as he bobbed his head in greeting. "Yo, Broski, what's kicking?" Brody giggled and ducked back into his seat with a blush. Too starstruck to respond, he pulled his paper hat down over his face and shook his head back and forth.

"Tristan!" Vienna snapped back in her seat and grinned at him. "Where'd you come from?"

Tristan's smile widened when he turned his pale golden eyes on her. "My table."

Vienna snorted out, "Yeah, I know that, honey. Why are you here?"

"Oh. Right! Yeah, two reasons. Number one is I saw you sitting over here." He leaned in closer to her, eyes glittering in curiosity. "Why didn't you come get me?"

Vienna shrugged. "You just looked like you were enjoying yourself and I didn't wanna bug ya."

Tristan's relaxed smile didn't waver. "You know you could never bug me, baby. I don't care how much fun I'm having, everything's always better with you."

Vienna's face softened. Tristan's shifted to match, and he leaned forward slightly, eyebrows raising in invitation. Vienna took it, and as their faces drifted closer and closer, fireworks burst, new stars were born, and entire solar systems exploded into existence.

Phil chose that moment to start coughing obnoxiously.

Abruptly Tristan snapped his head around and a grin tore at his face, and he leaned over the table so quickly that Vienna met open air and had to scramble back to save face. "Nerdy dude numero uno! Whassup. How's your day been?"

"Horrible and getting worse by the minute." He raised an eyebrow at Vienna's scowling face, then turned his attention back to Tristan with a frown. "Is it really necessary for you to be here? Won't all your sparkly little drama friends miss you?"

Tristan laughed like he'd just been gifted something truly grand. "Nuh, they get it. Wherever Vienna is, I wanna be. Besides, you guys are cool." He shrugged, before his eyes traveled off in thought and his voice lowered. "And I had one other reason, too… What was it?" He looked up and massaged his chin. After a couple seconds, he shrugged and reached over to take a swallow of his milk. "Whatever, I'm sure it'll come to me in a minute."

Phil rolled his eyes.

"Hey, what's wrong with nerdy dude numero two-o?" Tristan pointed to where Pete was staring holes into his mashed potatoes.

"He's a baby," both Vienna and Phil supplied simultaneously. They snapped their eyes on each other a split-second later in surprise, before their eyebrows shot down, eyes silently screeching at the other for having the same thought.

Tristan blinked and squinted at Pete, searching for signs of infancy. "Whoa, really? He doesn't look like a baby."

"That's 'cause his diaper's under his pants," Brody burst out, and Dolly, Vienna and Phil all broke down in snickers.

Pete finally snapped. Chocolate milk splattered across the table as he slammed the carton down and glared at Phil. "Yeah, well maybe I am a baby, but at least I'm loyal!"

Everyone blinked at him, exchanging confused looks. Phil frowned. "Huh?"

"What?" Pete glanced around at them all. "He didn't tell you? Phil's leaving. We're not good enough for him anymore. He's going to go off and get new friends."

A murmur of "what" and "no way" broke out across the table. Phil was still frowning at him.

Vienna looked curiously at Phil and leaned forward, arms spreading out across the table with large eyes. "Oh, man is that true? You're ditching the nerds? For good? But…" a funny, wobbly smile spread across her face, "you are a nerd! This is your designated table. You belong here. You can't just leave."

Phil's frown deepened and centered on her. In a burst of resentment, he yelled, "Uh, yes, I can." Brody and Dolly gasped, but Phil was too agitated to notice. "I've never belonged here. I've just never had anywhere else to be." When Vienna's funny smile didn't disappear, he rolled his eyes and leaned over the table, supported on his elbows, to meet her halfway. Looking at her defiantly, he challenged, "You look me in the eye and tell me I belong here."

Vienna's smile only seemed to gain intensity. She met his eyes dead on. "You belong here."

Phil scoffed and drew back.

"No, seriously! We've got a good dynamic going here. See, it's like, Tristan and I are the negligent parents who disappear all the time on extended fabulous vacations," she smiled as she gestured to her and her boyfriend, "Brody's the weird kid brother, Pete's the baby," Pete gawked at her, but she didn't stop, "and you're—" she held her arms out to gesture at him, grinning, "you're, like, the grumpy grandpa or uncle or whatever, who, like, worries excessively and yells a lot."

Dolly's wheezing intensified.

Vienna smirked. "And Dolly's your wife."

Dolly grinned and not-so-subtly fist-pumped under the table.

Meanwhile, Phil's frown was trying to break his face in half. "Look, I don't have to stay here if I don't want to. And the fact is, I don't. I don't care what you say, you don't know me. Just because you've always been stuck in the same place doesn't mean you're meant to stay there. I've never felt like I belonged anywhere outside of my home, and frankly, I'm sick of it." He sent a nasty, sarcastic glare in Pete's direction as he continued, "And just for the record, I wasn't going to tell them, because I didn't think Brody would get it, we all know Dolly's not going anywhere," she preened, but he ignored her, "and these two," he looked on at the couple with disgust, "I've never been friends with either of you, so what do you care? Pete's the only one I really had to explain anything to, because I knew if I didn't, he was going to keep following me around." Pete looked down.

Tristan tilted his head curiously at him. "I always thought of us as friends."

"Oh yeah?" He snorted. "Well, we're not. Surprise!"

Tristan just shrugged and held a hand up. "'Kay, fine, feel that way, dude. You might not consider yourself my friend, but I'll always be yours." He picked his chocolate milk up and toasted it at him. "If you're looking for a new place to chill, you're always welcome at the drama club."

Phil was just about to go off on why that was the worst idea he'd ever heard when Brody tugged at his sleeve. He glanced over, and regretted it immediately when he came eye-to-eye with big, teary brown eyes, fully focused and trained desperately on him. His voice wobbled pitifully, "You can't go, we're your friends. With you gone, it'd be like peanut without butter, nacho without cheese, brownie without mashed potatoes. You can't have one without the other."

Phil's face broke. "Brody, do you even like me?"

There was a pause.

Brody pulled back and averted his eyes. "What kind of question is that?"

Phil tensed. "I… Look, Brody, it's not… It's not you, it's life. It's human nature to grow and want to seek out bigger and better things. I've just changed. It's like… getting a new pair of shoes when the old ones get worn out. That's all it is." He tried to look reassuring.

Brody stood up swiftly with tray in hand, and shook his head. Without a word, he turned around and walked over to the trashcans. Phil gaped after him. Nobody said a word after that, the air too thick to fathom even making an attempt.

Slowly, Phil's head and eyes turned on a new target, and he bit, "Thanks, Pete. Just what I needed. More people angry with me for no good reason." Snapping up his lunchbox, he began systematically throwing his half-eaten food into it. Pete's head jerked back like he'd been slapped.

"Whoa, whoa now." Tristan stood up at the same moment Phil did, motioning for him to sit back down. "Calm down, bro, there's no need to be all delicate about it."

Phil's hands, which were making a frenzied attempt at latching his lunchbox closed, suddenly froze. A long moment passed that felt tense to everyone but Tristan, before Phil made his slow reply, "We are not bros, and I am not delicate. Whether you approve or not, I'm leaving, so I advise you shut up."

Any normal kid would have gotten angry (like how Vienna was currently glaring daggers through him) or at least upset at the harsh tone of his voice, but because Tristan was an oblivious idiot incapable of understanding that Phil didn't want anything to do with him, he remained unfazed. "Weak sauce, bro. Only delicate people get mad. You're just proving my point." Phil's hands clenched, and Tristan gestured almost lethargically to his fists. "See? That's what I'm talking about."

"Tristan…" Vienna tried to tug him back down.

He stopped her with a hand and rushed whisper, "Shh, shh, it's okay, baby, I got this. I speak geek."

Turning his attention back on Phil, he spoke calmly, "Dude, life has nothing to do with math. Two negatives don't make a positive. You know Anakin would never act like this. This is no way to live long and prosper."

Vienna slapped her forehead.

Meanwhile, Phil finished clasping his lunchbox and kicked his chair back so he could move away. "Oh, yeah, great advice. I'll be sure to take that into account…" he nodded to him as he walked past, oozing sarcasm, "when I'm looking for a new place to sit. See ya, wouldn't wanna be ya." He gave a careless salute and started to leave.

Tristan grabbed his arm before he could get far. "Dude—"

Phil yanked his arm away like he'd been burnt. "Don't touch me," he sniped. Snapping back around, he power-walked stiffly into the crowd, dodging flying arms and swerving bodies left and right with nary a thought; every fiber of his being centered solely on getting as far away from the table as possible.

He managed to make it halfway across the cafeteria before Tristan caught up with him. He was at least smart enough not to touch him this time, instead yelling over some nearby laughter as he struggled not to trip over his lagging feet, "Okay, man, I can see you're serious about this—" an arm whacked him in the side of the head, the kid behind him gasping and running away before Tristan could make out his or her face, but he snatched his wits back as fast as he could and continued, "this excursion. That's cool. We all have these little journeys we need to take sometimes. I totally get it." Phil rolled his eyes and kept walking. Tristan followed. "But can you at least let me help you?" he almost pleaded, pulling his jacket tighter. "I mean, it could be hard—"

Phil stopped, and the next thing Tristan knew, there was fifty pounds of seething eight-year-old in his face. "Why? Because nobody likes me? Because I'm annoying and never shut up? Because I'm a loser and my only possible choice of friends has always been and always will be other losers?" His chest heaved with the conclusion of his speech.

Tristan blinked at him, gold eyes wide. "No. I was going to say there's a lot of people in this school and it could be hard to narrow it down."

Phil stared at him for one wide-eyed second before he looked down and backed away. After a few fidgeting moments and an awkward clear of his throat, he asked quietly, "And you want to help me choose?"

Tristan's tired, easy smile came back strong. "Yeah, bro, why not? I know most everyone in this school. I betcha with my help you could find some new friends in no time." Leaning forward slightly, he whispered, Phil having to strain to hear him over the clatter, "Between you and me, I agree you didn't really belong with those other guys."

Phil's voice dipped low in racing skepticism, "You do—"

Tristan gave a single nod, up and down, before pinching at the edge of his collar and tugging him away from the crowd. Phil was too caught off guard by the action to protest right off hand, especially since he was being pulled rather quickly and his feet were stumbling over each other in their struggle not to topple him over. Soon enough, they were at the wall, though, and Tristan let go. Phil instantly went to work straightening out his collar and glaring at him.

Tristan, as usual, noticed nothing. "Okay, so before we start, I really have to ask…" he swiveled his torso over and grinned, "sure you don't wanna sit at my table? I think you'd fit right in."

Phil's hand, which had been smoothing down the lines of his plaid shirt for lack of anything else to do, instantly froze. Again. Turning his head to him, he cut his eyes at the taller boy and asked, "And just what do you mean by that?"

"That I think you'd fit in?" He rolled one shoulder in a shrug. "I don't know. You can be pretty flamboyant. Always thought it'd make for a good stage presence."

All that was left of Phil's eyes was a small sliver of white and green. "Tristan… the entire English language doesn't contain enough words to express just how much I hate you right now."

Tristan whistled lowly. "Wow, okay. Point taken." He straightened and looked out over the cafeteria, as Phil muttered, "That's a first," under his breath. "So where do you wanna start?"

Phil glanced around a little boredly. "I don't know. Are there any nerds in this school who are actually smart?"

"The other nerds aren't smart?" Tristan raised an eyebrow at him in surprise.

Phil spoke absentmindedly, eyes still perusing the cafeteria's inhabitants, "Pete is of average intelligence, Brody is well below average, and Dolly—I have no idea. Knowing her, she's probably a secret super genius, but since she never talks, that doesn't count for much." And was actually terribly inconvenient.

"You've never talked to your own girlfriend before?" The eyebrow went higher.

Phil shrugged. It wasn't something he thought Tristan would understand, so he didn't bother to explain that they weren't really in a relationship, except in Dolly's imagination. The fact that Dolly could be anywhere nearby, listening intently to their every word, had nothing to do with it. Really.

He clasped his hands.

"Okay, well…" Tristan thought that over, eyes back to their skimming. "Hm. I don't know."

"That's unsurprising." Phil sighed, leaning back against the wall hopelessly.

"No, we'll figure this out, don't worry." Tristan waved a hand back at him without looking, nearly whacking Phil in the nose. Phil snapped his head back with a fast blink and startled frown. "What about little Mercy Laporte and the other girls?"

Everything in Phil seized up and his response came naturally, from somewhere deep in his soul, "No." Once that was out, logic crashed down on him and he had to snap a skeptical glare on Tristan. "Why would you even suggest that? First you suggest the dancy, prancy, musical morons and now a bunch of girly girls? Just what are you trying to say?"

Tristan looked at him curiously. "I just see you guys together a lot, that's all. Which is sorta weird, since they're really popular, and you're—"

Phil interrupted him, "Yeah, yeah, I get it—"

Tristan went on, looking over at the girl's table with interest, "Thinking about it, they'd actually be really good as new pals for you, 'cause then you'd be exposed to a lot of other kids. I mean, yeah, they're girls, but as a starting point, why not. You dig?"

Phil had never wanted to smash his skull through a brick wall more than at that moment. Rather than follow through with the urge currently screaming through his every molecule, he muttered, exhausted with the effort not to seriously injure himself, "I'm not interested in popularity, Tristan. I just want some people I can relate to. People who are like me. You know?"

Tristan stiffened suddenly, and Phil stiffened with him. It was clear he'd gotten an idea, and one that he wasn't too keen on. Phil eyed him suspiciously. "What?"

Tristan's eyes slid over to him, his expression giving away nothing. "What about… them?" He pointed.

Phil thought pointing was kind of stupid, considering how full the cafeteria was. No matter where you pointed, there were at least three tables in that general direction, so there was no way he'd be able to tell who he was referring to just from—His eyes locked on a table full of boys obnoxiously laughing and making stupid faces at a couple girls walking past. Or more specifically, one boy currently pushing another's face into their mashed potatoes. Phil's jaw dropped.

"Bald Kid?"

Tristan was frowning a little at him, with the slightest of creases between his eyebrows, but for the most part, his face was cautiously blank.

Phil dragged his eyes away from the table only long enough to fix Tristan with a wide stare. "But he's a—They're bullies."

Tristan's eyes sauntered away, and he stuck a finger deep into his hair to clear an itch at the side of his head. "You… act a lot alike."

Phil's eyes were snapping between Bald Kid and him, until finally settling on Tristan. His face was blank. "Uh, Tristan, I don't know if you've noticed, but he hates my guts." Tristan didn't speak, and was still looking away—looking away in a manner that implied he believed he was right and felt awkward about it, so Phil felt the need to raise his voice to get through to him, "He made fun of me in class, called me a big-mouthed brat, threatened my life, and threw me in a locker! And that was just today!"

Tristan still wasn't looking at him.

Phil huffed, thinking this all manner of ridiculous, and ran his eyes around the cafeteria with renewed fervor. "No, I'm not befriending a bunch of bullies. There's got to be someone else. We've still got half an hour until lunch is over. That's plenty of time. See, there are those freaks with the spoons on their noses; those boys obsessed with bugs and lizards—I could work with that. And look, there's even—Dad."

Tristan snapped his eyes on him. "What?"

"Dad," Phil repeated, still in a monotone, eyes zeroed in on the large, football-headed figure across the room. "My dad. My dad is here… My dad is never here." His breath spiked and he grabbed at his hair. "Why is my dad here?"

Tristan gave a loud, "Oh!" and slapped himself on the side of the head with a laugh. "That's the other thing I was trying to remember! Right. Haha. Okay, yeah—your old man walked in. Everyone's been talking about it. Pretty cool, huh?" He smiled.

Metal squealed when Phil turned his head to look at him. His face was tight, muscles wound, teeth gnashing. "You… He… But…"

Tristan was still smiling.

In an instant, his collar was in Phil's fists and he was being yanked down onto his knees. Phil whispered in a garbled rush, "You've known my dad was in here this whole time?" He shook him. "You volcanic zit on the surface of the universe! He's been eating lunch in his room for over a decade and out of nowhere decides to waltz in here, and that just slips your mind?" He grabbed his head and shook it, pressing his ear up against the side of his head with one eye squinted shut. "Is there anything in this or is it just for show? I've always wondered, and darn if I didn't just get my answer."

Tristan gaped into space. "Bro, what—"

Phil threw him down in disgust and wiped his hands off on his shirt. "No… No, death is too good for you. I should've known better." He waved a finger between them, gesturing to his chest and Tristan's. "We no longer associate. Don't forget that, too, or there's gonna be problems." Leaning down with green eyes bright and teeth bared, he hissed, "Remember."

With that, he turned on his heel and stalked towards the table his dad was currently occupying. Tristan sat on the floor in shock, rubbing his head.

Exactly ten seconds later, Phil's hands slammed down on his dad's table. Everyone jumped, except for the one he wanted to have words with.

Arnold, who had been in the middle of a conversation with the little goth girl to his right, turned his eyes calmly upon him. Then his face lit up. "Phil, hey. What were you doing with Tristan?" His eyes flicked between his son's frowning face and Tristan's bewildered one across the room. It made Phil want to grab the table up and whack him in the chin.

Since that was not within his ability, he instead yelled and waved an arm in Tristan's direction, trying to block his dad's view, "Why are you in here? What's going on? Who's dead?" His face was steadily turning white with dread.

The goth girl to Arnold's right looked at him with a small smile. "Someone died?"

"No," Arnold said firmly, making sure to look Phil in the eye as he did, "no one is dead, and nothing is going on. I just… felt like having some company today." He smiled reassuringly, eyes glowing with warmth. "Everything is fine."

The goth girl deflated and turned her attention back to her food. "Bummer."

Phil didn't buy it. His arm dropped and eyes squinted, pointedly ignoring all others at the table. "What happened to all that stuff about lunchtime being a break away from books and teachers?"

"Well, these lovely young ladies don't seem to mind my company," Arnold charmed, casting a wide smile around the table. All the girls blushed but one.

"Uh," the one spoke up, "I'm a boy."

Before Arnold could reply with something that would no doubt make everything better, Phil raised his voice, "Dad, don't lie to me."

That sobered Arnold. His smile dropped at the serious tone, and unknowingly, he matched his look. "I'm sorry. You're right. I did come in for a different reason." He smiled again, but it was slight. His fingers came together in a resting steeple on the table. "And that reason was you. After this morning, I thought it would be prudent to… keep an eye on things." He shrugged, trying to keep the subject light as they were in company.

Phil stared at him, and apparently didn't get the memo, because he then stated rather dramatically, "You don't trust me."

Arnold's firm look was back. "No. I did not say that. I just wanted to—"

"You don't think I can handle myself," Phil interrupted him, his expression strange. Arnold gave a disapproving look at being talked over, but Phil was gone. His eyes steadily narrowed. "You think I'm gonna pull something if you don't monitor me. You think I'm going to get into another fight, even after I told you I wouldn't."

Arnold stared this time, and said nothing to refute his accusations. His look was blank, unreadable. Everyone was silent. Finally, he gently asked, "What else am I supposed to think, Phil?"

The question was like a blow to his stomach, but Arnold wasn't finished. "This has been going on for too long. You've told me before that you'll stop, but you never do. I can see how this upsets you, and I want to help. I'm just here to keep watch. That's all."

Phil barely heard him. "You—You big—"

The goth girl beside him put a hand on his shoulder. "I wouldn't talk back again—"

Phil pulled himself violently out of her grip on instinct, unknowingly throwing himself against the goth on his other side. The girl's hands went around his arms in surprise, and she looked down at him in interest. "He's pretty feisty for a little guy."

The goth beside her inhaled deeply. "He has the air of darkness about him. It smells like…" she breathed heavily, "mint tea and choco puffs."

"Yeah, like," the goth currently holding his stiff form went on, "he kinda looks like a five-year-old, but maybe I'm into that?"

Phil pulled himself away from her in abject horror, and stared dumbfounded a moment before snapping a crazed look on his dad. "This is all your fault!"

Arnold met his eyes sympathetically, though his shoulders remained strictly rigid, his body language authoritative. "Phil, don't—"

"No!" Phil began walking backwards, slowly, keeping his eyes locked wide and angry on Arnold. "I can handle myself, you can't control me! I don't need this! I have my own mind! I know…" he glared, a fair way away from the table now, "I know what I'm doing."

Not waiting for a response, he turned around and lost himself in the crowd, heading purposefully in the direction of Bald Kid's table.

His dad didn't think he was capable of dealing with a few girls in a mature and nonviolent manner, all his teachers thought he was a criminal in the making, Josh thought so long as his mouth was open he was looking for trouble, Vienna thought he could only ever belong to a group of losers and wannabes, and Pete thought he was a huge jerk for wanting to be around people he liked. All of them believed that he was a weak-kneed little twerp who knew nothing but how to get himself tossed into lockers, do math homework and cause issues.

And Mercy and her minions all thought much, much worse, and had been doing so for as long as he could remember, along with about 98% of the school.

Well, fine. If that's what they thought, maybe he did belong with a bunch of bullies. Maybe this had always been the inevitable conclusion. After all, biting his tongue around Mercy always had been next to impossible, and he was already at his wit's end with Mrs. Freitag. Why was he even fighting it?

As he neared the table, their loud conversation drifted to his ears over the cafeteria chatter, "You're kidding!"

"Wish I was. Can you believe that pest, calling me Dumbo?"

Phil stopped mid-step, foot in the air, only a couple steps away from them.

"Psha, yeah, like he can talk with that hair. He walks around every day with a beacon on his head that his mom cheated on Mr. Shortman and still thinks he can look down on everyone else? What a brat."

Phil spun neatly on his heel and began walking away.

Oh well, he tried.

"Oh, look! Speak of the devil!" He heard a chair screeching against the floor, but it only increased his pace. The large hand clapping down on his shoulder stopped him, though, albeit with a wince.

Bald Kid grinned down at him wolfishly. "We were just talking about you."

"That's nice." Phil attempted to pull away, but Bald Kid held tight.

His friend pulled up on his other side, his smile even less friendly. "Yeah, about how cool it was of Mr. Shortman to pop in today."

"Well," Phil muttered, receding in on himself, "it's not that cool."

"Considering you're here? It is so." His smile was sharp. "It's gotta be hard for him to look at you."

"Yeah, with how crazy he is about his wife," Bald Kid added in, his smile widening as he leaned over. Phil leaned forward to avoid his look, painfully aware of the fingers digging into his shoulder. "And yet he still treats you like his own. What a guy."

Phil's teeth clenched very obviously, but the two's grins didn't dim.

"Hey, I've got an idea," the friend's gray eyes sparkled silver, "why don't you come sit with us for a while?"

Phil looked incredulously at him. "Why would I do that?"

Bald Kid seemed to be thinking the same thing, but his look was more intrigued as it settled on his friend.

His audience laying in wait, the black-haired boy shrugged and swayed innocently on his feet. "Well, I just figured it's gotta be hard being the bad egg, with your family being who they are and all. I really feel for ya, I do. We know what it's like to be misfits. Don't we… Bald Kid?" He licked his lips and looked BK in the eye. His right eye twitched oddly.

Bald Kid's eyes darkened, but still, he smiled. "Yeah, you know? We do. Maybe you and I just got off on the wrong foot, shri—I mean, Phil." His face softened.

Phil looked between the two. This couldn't be possible. His eyes narrowed. "I don't think—"

"There's a good boy." Bald Kid jerked him around and began walking him back to the table. Phil stumbled over himself a couple times, but soon got with the program and kept pace with him. It wasn't like he could do anything else at the moment.

Unconsciously, his eyes flicked towards his old table and caught Tristan's eye where he sat watching him beside Vienna. The others were trading looks with each other and exchanging words, but Tristan grinned at their eye contact and gave a big thumbs up.

Phil wanted to throw him off a bridge.

As it was, he was forced down into a chair between Bald Kid and his companion, at a table full of kids who could snap him in half if they wanted to. Phil wasn't usually afraid of people, but even he wasn't immune to being thrust into a tank of sharks. He gulped.

BK leaned forward eagerly as soon as they were settled. "So what's it like having the illustrious Zack Shortman for a brother?"

"Or Joshua Miles Shortman?" Silver Eyes leaned forward as well, eyes wild.

Phil sunk down in his seat, wriggling his captive shoulder. It didn't budge. His eyes nearly rolled into his head as he groaned, "They're… stupid."

Silver Eyes scoffed. "And you're so flipping smart."

"My big brother plays video games with Zack sometimes," BK boasted, his eyes flashing smugly. "He gave me glow-in-the-dark star stickers once."

"Yeah? Well, my little sister's in the same kindergarten class as their little sister and they can't stand each other," Silver Eyes threw back with a fire that quickly went out when he realized how weak his return attack was.

"Star stickers," BK sing-songed. Silver glared.

Wow, Phil hated them. "Can you let me go now?"

BK and Silver shared a look, then Silver's trailed off somewhere.

"Mm-no," Silver finally decided. "Not yet."

Phil looked at him strangely, but BK quickly distracted him by practically shoving his grin into his face. "You haven't told us what it's like to have two of the most popular kids in elementary and middle school as brothers?"

Phil's voice was like sandpaper when he replied, "I just told you they're stupid, isn't that self-explanatory?"

"Oh, come on!" Silver whined. "What kind of stuff do they do? What kind of stuff does Zack let you get away with when he babysits? Or what does Josh do in his off time?" Silver choked and suddenly grabbed him by the shoulders, his eyes feverishly bright. "What does Josh do in his off time?"

Phil reeled back as far as he could in revulsion. "Tries to come up with new and inventive ways to kill himself, that's what! Stares at himself in the mirror, hogs the bathroom, bugs me as much as possible—I don't know what you were expecting. And Zack hasn't been allowed to babysit in years, so I really don't know! Now get off."

Silver backed off while BK hummed in amusement. "Ahhh, that's right. Didn't he throw that party—"

Phil's pupils suddenly dilated and he swiftly interrupted, "We don't speak of that night."

He was just as swiftly ignored. "Ooooh, yeah, your bro went to that, didn't he?" Silver's tongue curled around his smiling upper lip. "I heard that was like the greatest party in history. They flipped all the furniture upside down, ordered every type of pizza, and tossed some kid on the roof—"

Phil surged forward and pulled himself out of BK's weakened grip with nothing but adrenaline. Springing to his feet, he shouted at them, "We don't speak of that night!"

Bald Kid stood up as well, hands poised to grab, but Silver waved him down with two fingers waving over his throat. BK got the message, and only pretended that he was going to grab him, which predictably caused Phil to stumble back from the table in a frenzied panic. Like a line of dominos, the scene played out to perfection before them.

A sharp gasp sounded behind Phil, and he turned just in time to see Georgia 'trip' and splatter a whole pot of mashed potatoes on him. The sound of the pot clanging obnoxiously on the ground where Georgia went down on her knees alerted the whole cafeteria something was going on, and the noisy chatter of a bustling and happy lunchroom immediately ceased. All eyes turned to the sound.

Phil stood deathly erect with arms held out at his sides, dripping with cheese and watery potatoes.

There was a hush. Then, Silver giggled.

The sound fell over the silence like a wave and brought everyone else laughing with it, painfully, fingers pointing and fists banging and feet stomping as the room exploded in activity.

Phil gaped down at Georgia, his chest rising and falling quicker and quicker with each stomp and chuckle and clap. She just blinked calmly up at him, face utterly devoid of emotion.

Mercy spoke up then from the wall separating the eating area from the pickup area, Phil's eyes zipping to her almost too fast to see, "Oops."

Phil's world went hazy, heart stuttered and breath spiked. "Oh no." He quickly turned and began racing for the door. "Oh no oh no oh no oh no—"

The doors were just swooshing shut behind him when Arnold yelled, "Phil!" He was out of his seat in a flash and out his door quicker than any of the goths could process. The display caused the laughter to dull a bit in some places, but otherwise stayed strong for a good bit afterwards.

It also had the effect of Mercy shooting a scathing look on Bald Kid as she helped Georgia from the floor. "Mr. Shortman was in here this whole time? Why didn't you warn us?"

BK raised an eyebrow at her, still shaking a little from his laughing fit. He coughed out with one final, weak chuckle, "Like I could have. You know I'm not allowed in the back. Georgia's mom gets mad when she catches me."

Mercy marched up to him daintily, Georgia on her heels like a too-tall shadow. Once before him, she flicked a cold finger under his chin and lifted her own into the air. "Then don't get caught, Bardolph."

Bard frowned at her use of his full name, rubbing his chin. "We thought Mr. Shortman would appreciate it. You know he's just chasing after him out of obligation. He's too nice a guy for his own good, but I know he enjoyed it. He must've."

"Yeah, how could he not?" Silver added helpfully, earning nods from the rest of the table.

Mercy huffed and waved them off with a tiny, polished hand. "Whatever. Just be glad we made it look like an accident, or else we'd all be in trouble." She gazed at them coldly, dropping the atmosphere by a few degrees with just the turn of her mouth. "You had better warn us next time. Agreed?"

Bard and Silver passively nodded, and Mercy was satisfied.

"That was a really good prank, Merc—" Bard began, but was curtly cut off.

"Of course it was." She threw a stiff piece of hair over her shoulder. "But Midge has always been easy to upset. A good prank, but not our best."

"Yeah," Georgia agreed.

Mercy nodded back to her. "We need to up our game. Of course, the best time to get him is when he's pretending he's 'better than us and doesn't want to stoop to our level,' " she used air-quotes and rolled her eyes painfully, "but who knows how long he'll last this time? We need to work quickly." She gave a single flipping wave to them as she turned. "No time to chat, Bard and friend, we have much to do."

Bard waved stupidly after her. Silver remained stoic.

After the girls had sashayed and clip-clopped back to the kitchen and out of sight, Silver turned to Bard with a scowl. "Boy howdy, what an ice queen! How she has any friends I'll never know. Freaking jerk." He humphed. "Bard and friend. Right."

Bard just sighed and rested his cheek on his hand.

"Phil," Arnold called, working to keep his footsteps as quiet as possible purely out of habit as he sped down the hall. "Phil, come back! Where are you? Please come out!"

Stopping at the end of the hall, he looked around. He'd checked the bathroom, the playground, the closet, even the trashcans and a few lockers, but he was nowhere to be found. He scratched his head and murmured, "Where could he have gone?"

This wasn't the first time Phil had run off and gotten himself lost. He had always been sneaky, and small, to boot. If he didn't want to be found, he seldom was. But Arnold couldn't just give up. If there was one thing he'd learned in his life, it was that leaving a Pataki alone with their thoughts was one of the worst things you could possibly do. Phil was a Shortman through and through, but the Pataki in him was just as strong, if not stronger. And that was a frightening thought, especially since both of their bloodlines had a good bit of instability in them. He let out a slow breath at the thought, working to move past his worry and focus on the task at hand.

"If I was humiliated and wanted to be alone… someplace safe where no one would think to look for me…" he muttered, wandering down a row of classroom doors, "where would I go?"

He stopped suddenly and sighed. "The most obvious place possible, of course."

The door creaked faintly as he pushed it open, hand steady and sure on the handle. A desk sat conspicuously at the other end of the room by the eraser board, all the desks lined in neat rows and jackets hung on the hooks by the door. Arnold shut the door with care, before walking calmly over to his desk, the nameplate shining "Mr. Arnold Shortman" in the afternoon sun. Pushing the chair back, he leaned over and came eye to eye with Phil, staring with glowing green eyes and open mouth.

He was also still soaked. Arnold frowned at him. "Phil…"

He flinched at his gentle tone and tore his eyes away.

Arnold's concern came rushing back with a vengeance. This was more serious than he thought. Of course he'd known the girls pulled pranks on him, too, but to actually see it happen, and how strongly Phil had reacted, was something else. Pushing the chair farther back, he kneeled down on the floor and watched him for a little bit. After some time where he avoided his eyes, Arnold uttered, "Will you look at me?"

Phil didn't, but he did mumble, "I can handle myself."

Abruptly, Arnold moved back and opened a drawer. The movement was so sudden that Phil snapped his eyes on him, staring out of the corner of his eye as Arnold pulled out a roll of paper towels. Once the drawer was shut, he tore off a couple and moved to wipe Phil's cheek, mouth opening to speak—

Phil's hand flying up stilled his hand, and effectively, his mouth. His eyes were hard as he tore the paper towel from his hand and wiped the remnants of potato and the memory of his dad's touch from his cheek with the back of that same hand. "I can handle," he whispered fiercely, "myself."

Arnold stared at him, something hot flashing in his eyes. "You can't do things like this alone, Phil, not at your age. I'm your dad and I care about you. Let me help." He extended his hand for the paper towel. When Phil just pushed himself deeper under the desk, Arnold's look softened, the flashing dimming to a soft ember. He lowered his hand. "I understand how you feel—"

"How can you?" Phil's harsh tone smashed into his as he scowled at the floor. "You don't know what it's like being tortured day in and day out, without relief. And everyone thinks they're so great, and I only retaliate every once in a while and yet somehow I always end up the bad guy? I'm the only one who ever gets yelled at? It's not fair." He roughly ran the paper towel down his arm and glared at the potato that wiped off onto the towel.

"No, it's not," Arnold gently intoned.

Phil looked at him, startled. Arnold smiled with a bit of sadness, a bit of amusement, and complete understanding as he held out his hand again. "Come on, let's get you cleaned up, and we'll talk about this, okay?"

Phil eyed that hand, flicked his eyes between it and his own, vulnerable. He took it.

Arnold pulled him out from his makeshift cave and put a hand on his shoulder to steady him. Once he was out, he gave his face a more thorough wipe-down, before moving on to his clothes. Upon inspection of the soiled garments, he sighed, hands gripping the edges of his green and plaid shirts. "Well, we're going to need to get you out of these. The pants should be passable… I keep a spare change of clothes in one of these drawers, since the last time Zack… Well. The shirt'll be too big, but it'll have to do. You get undressed and I'll find them." He moved to do just that, but Phil stayed him with a hand on his arm.

"That's okay, I…" his grip tightened a moment, before releasing, "I have some spare clothes, too."

Arnold raised his eyebrows. "You do?"

"Yeah, I, uh… learned." He looked away.

For reasons that would have been unknown to Phil — so it was a good thing he wasn't looking – that made Arnold smirk. Clearing the look from his face quickly enough, he turned back to him and sat the paper towels down on his desk. "Well, okay. Where are they?"

"In my locker."

Arnold frowned as it sunk in what that would mean, not particularly liking the idea of leaving Phil there to go get them, and not too sure how willing Phil would be to leave the classroom at that moment. Phil seemed to realize the same thing, because his eyes widened a split-second before he sighed and held out his hand. "Just give me the stupid shirt."

Once Arnold found it, he did. It was way too big, cutting past his knees and the arms puffy and needing to be bunched up around his elbows, but otherwise he looked decent. Adorable, actually, but Arnold wasn't about to say that. Instead he smiled and ran his hand through his hair a few times to tame it, and hunched over to needlessly dust off his shoulders. "There we go. Clean and dry, like it never happened. Yeah?" He smiled at him.

Phil met his eyes cautiously. "This isn't the part where you lecture me now, is it?"

Arnold abruptly stood back up just so he could fall back into his chair with a sigh. He gestured to the other chair by his desk. "Just sit, Phil."

Phil didn't have to look to know to what he was pointing. "Aw, the 'bad boy' chair? But I don't have my leather jacket handy—"

Arnold's eyes flashed again. "Phil."

Phil sighed, looking weary and much too young for Arnold's peace of mind, before obediently walking around and sitting himself in the chair. He folded his hands in his lap and stared straight ahead.

Arnold leaned forward, making sure he looked relaxed so Phil would know he wasn't in any real trouble here. He still wasn't looking at him, though, so he felt the need to say, "I'm not angry with you. I'm just… confused." He rubbed the back of his neck. "Let's start from the beginning, okay?" Phil offered no protest, so after a moment, he asked, "Why did you run off like that?"

He exhaled slowly. If it was a little shaky, Arnold didn't say anything. "I just… wanted to prove you wrong, by… proving you right, I guess." He looked down at his hands and mumbled, "I don't know why I did it, I wasn't thinking."

Arnold's eyes narrowed in confusion and he sat back in his chair. He replayed the instance in his head to try and understand, "You went and sat with Bard and—"

"Bullies," Phil corrected sharply. "I went and sat with bullies, 'cause that's what you think I am. That's all anyone thinks I am."

Arnold was speechless. They both sat there quietly for a while, as Arnold tried to wrap his head around his words and Phil sulked. He tried to imagine Phil stomping around glaring at everyone and hissing every foul word in the book, but it didn't fit with the image he knew of him, of hiding under the blankets during thunderstorms and shaking when he thought he saw an owl and scolding his brothers for not taking their shoes off when they came inside. Finally, he had to just shake his head incredulously and deadpan, "Phil, I don't think you're a bully. I've never thought that about you. Mischievous, quick to anger, maybe a little…" or a lot, "misguided, but never a bully."

Phil muttered, "You don't trust me. You don't think I can make my own decisions and believe my opinions aren't worth anything. You want to control me."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Arnold snapped a hand out without thinking and placed it on his shoulder, keeping it there softly so he could shrug it off if he wanted, "where is all this coming from?"

Phil just frowned at his hands, his face pinkening. His shoulder felt hot under his hand.

Arnold watched him with a pained, worried expression, mouth turned down, eyebrows furrowed. Quietly, he slowly said, testing the waters, "This is about the girls…" Phil's flinch and pulling back confirmed it for him, and he wordlessly removed his hand and placed it on his knee. To open the conversation, he asked, "Did you ever ask what you did wrong?"

"I tried."

"You… tried?"

Phil's frown turned into a glare. "Let's just say I didn't get any answers and leave it at that, okay?"

Arnold pursed his lips, debating whether or not to pursue the topic or move on. He had been thinking about this all day since their talk this morning, culminating in his decision to go down to the cafeteria that had the exact opposite effect of the one intended. So far, telling him not to stoop to their level didn't work; instructing him on the proper way to treat girls and people in general didn't work; telling him he was just provoking them didn't work; and Helga's idea of telling him girls had cooties and he had to stay far away backfired horrendously. It was time for a new strategy.

So with a deep breath, he said, "I'm not trying to undermine your opinion or thoughts when I tell you to ignore them. I know that the things they do and say are annoying and hurtful, and that makes you want to lash back. It's instinctive, and you feel like because I'm always lecturing you about this, that you're the only one getting in trouble and that's not fair. I understand that all perfectly. But, Phil…" he leaned forward to try and meet his eyes, supporting himself by his elbows on his knees, "can't you see that's exactly what they want? To get under your skin? By allowing them to upset you like this, they've gotten exactly what they were shooting for. Your attention. Your reaction." He paused a moment, allowing that all to sink in, before concluding, "I'm not trying to control you, Phil. They are."

Phil was still as a statue. Blinking, and with a strange look, he finally met his eyes. He didn't speak, but everything in his face seemed to imply he was deeply confused. Even still, he could see it crystal clear in his eyes, in the quirk of his mouth, in the eyebrows currently on the ceiling—his point had hit home. Finally.

Arnold smiled a little ruefully, reading his thoughts. "Once upon a time, I was your age, you know. I had a girl picking on me growing up, too."

Phil's already high-flying eyebrows shot for the stars. "You what?"

He sounded almost offended. Biting back a grin, Arnold had to wonder why he didn't ever bring this up before, and then remembered Helga's "no shrine, poetry or stalking talk" rule. Technically, he wasn't revealing any of that, though, so he continued, "Yeah. She was always calling me names and pushing me around. Spitballs, paint, punching gloves in my locker, pudding in my chair, pouring glue and feathers on my butt and calling me a bird. You name it, she did it."

Phil stared at him. "Why haven't you ever told me this before?"

Because Helga would kill me. "It never seemed important until now. Now, I think you have a right to know."

"And…" Phil hesitated, before stating, "that's why you think they like me. That girl ended up having a crush on you."

Actually she passionately worshiped and revered me. "Yes. That's why I have trouble getting mad at them. But I've been where you are before, and I know…" He sighed. "You're not the only one who's reached the end of their rope and gone after revenge before."

Phil looked gobsmacked, again. "You…"

Arnold nodded.

"You got revenge?"

Arnold nodded again.

Phil blinked several times, quickly. "But… you're my dad."

Arnold had to smile at him for that, affectionately. "Yes, I am. But I was also a kid once. I had my limits, my… weaknesses. I've done plenty of things I'm not proud of. I once almost assisted in a burglary because I wanted to be cool," Phil's eyes bugged, "I played hookey," Phil's jaw dropped, "I once learned karate and terrorized a bunch of people with it," Phil's eyebrows were on mars now, "I once was one of the main characters in a play and skipped out on it, on purpose, because I didn't like the director," Phil nearly fell out of his chair, "and once, I spilled paint on a girl who picked on me all the time because she spilled it on me, pulled a mean prank on her that temporarily blinded her, and even manipulated her into a false sense of security before throwing her into a pool and declaring her the king of fools in front of the entire elementary student body." He shrugged, unfazed and unsurprised by Phil's dull shock. "I'm not perfect, Phil. I never have been. I did all those things, and I always felt awful about them afterwards. They're my regrets, but I learned from them. What you're going through now is hard, I know, but it's also completely normal. These feelings are all just a part of growing up. So long as you follow your heart and do what you know is right, things will turn out right in the long run. You'll see."

The next thing he knew, Phil was slamming into him, his arms wrapped like a vice around his middle and head buried in his chest. Arnold was so caught off guard that for a moment, he could do nothing but sit there, but then he wrapped his arms around him back and ran a hand through his hair. "Hey, it's okay… Phil?"

His voice was muffled as he said, "Never tell anyone I did this," before burrowing himself in deeper.

Arnold smirked, softly. "Wouldn't dream of it."

Minutes passed that Arnold didn't care to keep track of, where he continued to sit and rub circles into his son's back, until the trembling stopped and Phil's arms began to relax. Just as quickly as he'd smashed into him, he snapped back and dusted himself off with a few convenient coughs. "Yeah, well, that's enough of that."

Arnold rolled his eyes.

He was at least glad he was back to normal. All traces of fragility were nowhere to be seen, like they'd never been there to begin with. He smiled as Phil completed his task and folded his arms over his chest, eyes high and head tilted back as he sighed, "I really don't think they like me like that, though." Arnold raised an eyebrow, and Phil didn't need to see him to know he did. "I don't. I've never understood this idea that hate must equal like. It doesn't make any sense."

"Then why are you their sole target?"

Phil stared at the ceiling. Then he shrugged. "Girls are crazy. Who knows? Maybe I scuffed their shoes in kindergarten."

Arnold snorted and couldn't help getting a little dry, "All right. So everyone hates everyone, no love lost between you?"

Phil's eyes zipped to his in surprise. "Hate… You can hate girls?" A beat. "But isn't that illegal?"

Arnold stared at him. Well shit. "Uh… no, it's not illegal." He quickly added, "But that doesn't mean you should do it."

Phil thought that over, before nodding in satisfaction. "Okay. Then I guess I hate them."

Arnold suddenly looked very his age, and sighed out in exasperation, "Phil—"

Phil held up a hand to stop him. "Dad. Mercy is heartless, Georgia is soulless, and Adalynn is brainless. They've given me nothing but reasons to hate them, even outside of the torture. The 'Oh, they pull pranks on each other, they must be secretly smitten' jokes are funny and all, but only because they're nuts. It's like saying there's macaroni on the ceiling."

Arnold blinked and looked up. "There is macaroni on the ceiling."

Phil's head snapped up. "Huh?"

"Art project gone wrong."

"Oh." He looked perturbed a minute, but then sat back down in his chair and folded his arms tighter, chin held stubbornly high. "Well, whatever. My statement stands. I hate them. Can't help it. It's out of my hands."

Arnold moved his head to rest his chin in his hand, forefinger erect along his cheek as he stared at Phil. Phil stared petulantly back, daring him to admonish him for a perfectly reasonable emotion.

The bell ringing snapped them out of their impromptu competition, and Phil jumped up from his seat like he'd been shot.

He looked so terrified, Arnold had to chuckle and place a hand on his shoulder. "Hey, calm down. Only a few hours left until school's out and you get a nice extended weekend to catch fish and stare at the stars. Everything will be fine."

"A few hours," Phil muttered under his breath. Or maybe grumbled. It was a little hard to tell.

Arnold stood, keeping a hand on his shoulder as he did. "We'll talk more about this next chance we get. For now, students are gonna start pouring in in a minute and you—"

"Need to get to class, I know," Phil groaned. Another few hours of sitting bored in class while Mrs. Freitag droned on about all manner of things he already knew and Mercy breathed down his neck.

Arnold smirked and squeezed his shoulder. "You'll live."

Phil huffed. "Says you."

With a final chuckle and some speedy assistance in tucking in his shirt, he sent him on his way. As soon as the door clicked shut, his smile dropped and he ran a hand through his hair. "Have mercy."

Phil stared inside his locker.

He'd walked here without thinking, absentmindedly deciding he would change clothes, but he knew there wasn't enough time. A part of him sneered that Mrs. Freitag wouldn't be surprised if he arrived late, but the rest of him, the parts that had been listening rapt to everything his dad had to say, didn't want to prove her right about him. Didn't want to prove anyone right about him.

The decision had been absentminded, though. Done at the back of his head, while the forefront of his consciousness focused on the fact his dad just had to lecture him about something he already knew. That he'd always known. It was common sense.

They wanted him to get riled up. They wanted him to be upset. By getting mad and going after them, he was giving them exactly what they wanted. Control. It was no different than with the bullies.

And yet it had never crossed his mind before. All this time just wishing they'd stop, he had never thought about it. Bullies did similar things to him all the time; always had been, always would. Insults, sneers, throwing him in lockers, pushing his head in the fountain and shoving him aside. That had been going on for just as long as Mercy, Georgia and Adalynn. Why did it bug him so much more when they did it? If he knew that getting upset was what they wanted, why did he do it anyway? He'd always told himself he couldn't help it, but he could with other bullies—why not with them? Why did he insist on going after them instead and making things worse?

Maybe because making things difficult or cracking bad jokes didn't make them pull back and avoid him. It just gave them strength. Like pelting snowballs at Jack Frost or something. He didn't know. He didn't want to think about it. It was too confusing, and today had been tiring enough without trying to psycho-analyze himself, for Pete's sake. Yet still, it played on his mind.

Slamming the locker door shut with a sigh, he then screamed and jumped away when Dolly turned out to be right there, neon eyes blaring into him behind thick glasses and heavy wheezing pants. She looked rather wild standing there, hair in disarray and shoulders shaking.

Before he could regain himself and go into his usual 'You could'a killed me!' speech, she shoved something heavy into his arms and dashed up the hall, out of sight. He stared dumbly after her a moment before realizing the thing in his arms was his backpack.

Rapid footfalls pounded behind him then and he turned just in time for Mercy to come skidding around the corner, face bright red with both anger and exertion and not a hair out of place. As soon as her eyes set on him, her chilly gaze went positively glacial. "You."

As she stormed up the hall to him, he nodded in agreement. "Me."

Once before him, she clenched her fists at her sides and glared contemptuously. "Hand it over."

Phil blinked dully at her. "Hand what over?"

"The backpack, Midge. The backpack. The one your stupid little girlfriend stole."

Phil stared at her. Then looked around. Then looked back at her. "I see your giant and beanstalk are nowhere in sight." His eyes narrowed insignificantly. "Without your minions, you're nothing but a short little blonde girl, you know."

She stared at him, glare vanished. Finally, she made a soft sound of disgust and made to leave. "You know what? Forget it. We'll get you later."

"Hey, wait," his voice betrayed him. He cringed, but then wiped his face as blank as he could make it when she looked back at him. No turning back now. He swallowed. "Can I ask you a question?"

She watched him through scrunched, disbelieving eyes. "A question?"

Phil took her grossed out return as a yes and hastily spat, "Why do you hate me?"

She blinked quickly, twice, and searched his eyes silently for a time. He stiffened at her twitching pupils, dark and wintry, like mud tracked through the snow, as they moved over his face and then over his shirt, as if she was only just noticing he wasn't wearing his usual attire. Her expression was inscrutable, eyes piercing. Finally she met his eyes again and breezed, "For someone who likes to think he's so much smarter than everyone else, you're a huge moron."

He blinked, shocked, as she click-clacked self-righteously away, before his eyes caught fire and blazed into her back. Dropping his backpack to the floor, he delivered a few sharp, furious kicks to it before realizing his breath was starting to pick up. With a growl, he patted his shirt and pants, remembered he'd changed clothes, then yanked his locker door open again so he could make a mess of it in his desperation.

Finally, he found the bag of clothes he kept and dumped them all out onto the floor.

Once he felt normal again, he angrily stuffed all his stuff back into his locker and pushed it shut with his entire body. Leaning against it like that, he groaned and glared hatefully at nothing.

Then stiffened when he realized what he'd just done.

A/N: LOOK AT ALL DAT ANGST, MMMHMMM. TASTE THE FORESHADOWING. FEEL THAT PREADOLESCENCE. omfg not like that, ewww.

You sickos.

Omg, but do you see why the initials to Phil's chapter are BS? Because that is all this is. BS. Just BS.

I'm making bad jokes to mask the fact I'm unhappy with this chapter. :D This was all necessary to get to where I wanna go, though, and I really needed to practice character creation. So don't worry, things get a looot better after this, and definitely start making more sense. Okay, that was a sorta lie, there's even MORE angst after this, but then things do get happyfuntimes real quick and it's all sunshine and rainbows AND THEN MORE ANGGSSSTT but it's brief and then it's happysunshineunicornpoop AND THEN INTENSE RAGING HATE AND ANGUISH and Phil's chapter pretty much ends like that. I think we all figured that, right? That was a given?

Actually it does have a happy ending, but it's kinda bittersweet and awful at the same time... I CAN'T WAIT TO WRITE IT :'D

In the meantime, next chap has the Grandpa scene AND AUNTIE OLGAAAA~

Holy lemons, guise, Olga is like one of the best characters ever. I had so much fun writing her out. Her scenes are so awesome, eee. ;w;

So yeah, that's all written. I'll post it when I feel like it. When that'll be, I can't say. But you guys have a profound influence on me... if ya catch mah drift. *clicks tongue*

Now for questions :)

Q - Does Adalynn have a crush on Phil? Will Phil notice Adalynn differently? Do Mercy or Georgia have a crush on Phil as well?

A - First one, not telling! Second, yes, he will. Third, again, not telling~

Q - Will Ham plan backfire and Phil have 3 girls crushing on him?

A - Ham's plan will backfire, in a sense. But maybe not in the way you're thinking. ;)

Q - She and the girls basically freaking jump Phil IN THE MIDDLE OF A SCHOOL HALLWAY and yet they think it's okay? I mean, he was walking away! WHAT THE HELL, SUPR, WHY YOU DOIN THIS TO MY FEELS, I THOUGHT WE WERE FRIENDS.

A - HAHHHAHHAHAHAHAAHAAHHHH

Q - WHENTHEHELLDOWEMEETSARA. LIKE, ONCE AND FOR ALL OFFICIALLY?

A - In the chapter after the next... I think. Probably. Most likely.

I'm a mean person and I apologize. x'D SOON, THOUGH. SOON. We are nearing that point. At the very least, the spot she fits into in the plot comes up next chapter. It's pretty obvious what my intentions are after that, haha.

Q - which of the Shortman siblings is the oldest?

A - mgknalga people keep getting confused about this and I am so sorry. I'm switching between years in this story a lot so I know it can get a little wut-ish, but I'm gonna try to explain it once and for all here as simply as possible.

Okay, in normal time, Zack is 16, Ham is 14, Phil is 11 (I think he might've aged up, tho?), and Amanda is 7.

This means, no matter how far back I go in the timeline, Zack is always around two years older than Ham, Ham is always 2-3 years older than Phil, and Phil is always 4-5 years older than Amanda. No matter what. I guess.

I suck at this timeline and age stuff. I really do. I apologize for any weirdness. I just like coming up with stories, and since this IS a fanfic, I haven't really bothered much with trying to keep it all that accurate. x'D

And that's it. I hope you enjoyed, and tune in at some unfixed point in the future for the next exciting addition of LIFE. WITH. THE FREAKMANSSSSS i mean Shortmans.

REVIEW!