Evacuee (Phan Fiction)

School

We spent the whole of Sunday just lazing around the house. Phil left for a little while to meet Pj but I said I would stay behind to practice my writing. Now, you may think my reading is bad but if you do then you haven't seen my writing. It looks like a freaking two year olds with no hands. We are currently sat at the table eating dinner. I don't eat anything.

"Dan, you need to eat." Phil says.

I don't reply for a minute. "Can we talk?" I ask.

"I thought that's what we were doing." Phil jokes.

"No, um, I just- I'm scared about school." I admit.

"I know starting a new school can be scary but I'm sure you'll fit in just fine." He tries to assure but it doesn't do much to comfort me.

"Yeah." I sigh, not believing him at all.

"Look, you'll be fine." He reaches his hand out over the table and holds mine. I smile at the small gesture. "Now eat up or no bedtime story."

"I'm not five." I mumble even though I have been begging him for a bedtime story all day.

"Well then eat up your dinner and prove it." He says and begins to pull his hand away from mine. In a moment of complete desperation and mild stupidity I turn my hand upwards and clasp onto his hand. He raises his eyebrow, staring down at our hands.

"I'm sorry." I apologise but I don't move. Instead, I take my other, free hand and pick up my fork. I put a potato on the fork and eat it quickly, might as well get this over with. I don't look back up as I clear my plate, taking twenty minutes longer than Phil but I clean my plate. I feel so disgusting but I look up, see Phil's proud, smiling face and it suddenly seems worth it. Almost. I clutch my stomach with my free hand and close my eyes tightly.

"Are you okay?" Phil asks, gently rubbing my knuckles with the pad of his thumb.

I shake my head. "I feel sick." I admit. "Just give me a minute and it will pass."

"Okay, is there anything I can do?" He asks, almost sounding like a plea.

"No, I just need to distract myself." I say and clamber onto my feet, taking our dishes and beginning to wash them up. When I'm done, we head back to my bedroom.

"Feeling better?" Phil asks, leaving his wheelchair by my bedroom door and walking over to sit beside me.

"A little bit." I say truthfully. "Can you read to me please?"

"Of course."

The next day I wake up and a wave of anxiety rushes over me. I hadn't slept very well after Phil had gone back to his bedroom and now I am extremely tired. Before school, Phil gives me a long hug and I eat all of my breakfast before we walk to school. The walk there isn't far but I can see the other children also making their way to school and it gives me the desire to throw up. I end up in a classroom filled with boys because there was a separate building for girls. I sit in a desk near the front because that's where the teacher put me and I try to pay attention through my tired state.

"Okay, class, I hope you all had a good Christmas." The teacher says. Oh it was just the best! I love sarcasm. "You should all be aware by now that we have a lot of new students who are evacuating from the big towns and cities. In this class, however, we only have Daniel." The woman goes on.

"Oh right, the loser that no one wanted." Someone sniggered but the teacher seemed to skip over it.

"So, Daniel, I am Miss Vickers and I trust you know how to behave in school." She says sternly.

I want to tell her that, actually, I'm not too sure because everything around here is so different but I keep it in. Miss Vickers starts the lesson off with Reading. Well, crap. She hands out books to each of us and when I see the title, I feel like crying. Shakespeare's Macbeth. It's not necessarily a long book (or play should I say) but he uses language that I don't understand. It confuses me to the extent that I want to give up reading. "Now, we'll be starting on Act I and you should be finished within the next half an hour. Nope nope nopedy nope. I can't do this. I can't do it. But I try.

When the half hour ends, Miss Vickers asks us questions about the play. "Daniel, can you sum up the feelings expressed in the letter that Macbeth writes to Lady Macbeth?" She asks me.

I gulp. "Um, I, no miss." I say, hanging my head in shame.

"And why not?" She demands.

"I didn't get that far, miss." I admit.

"How far exactly did you get?" She asks, eyebrows raised and a generous look on her thin face.

"Page six, miss." I say quietly.

"I'll be seeing you after class, Daniel." She says and I nod, that anxious feeling returning. What have I done wrong? It's not my fault.

Or perhaps, it is. And perhaps I deserve whatever is coming my way and everything after that.