arms // {phan}

chapter twelve - phil

Chapter Twelve - Phil:

As Howell slept on my bed, duvet tucked under his chin, I began writing him a story. It was about a small boy with unnoticed beauty, and a big jerk with blue eyes, matching blue hair and a punk deminer. It was about them and how they accidently found themselves tangled in feelings, and how they met strangers who helped tangle them even closer together.

Then I crumpled it up and shoved it into a drawer because it sounded completely pretentious and irritating.

The next morning, I awoke still seated at my desk, legs cramped and neck sore as I lifted my head up and slipped my arms underneath it. I gazed at Howell from where I sat, enjoying the soft, fluffy, morning version of him.

Slowly I got up and headed down to the kitchen to make a bowl of cereal, thinking about the night before as I poured the milk. Chew, think. Chew, think. Pause. Spoon, chew, think.

After I was finished, I dumped my bowl into the sink and headed up the stairs to wake Howell.

We went drove to school like nothing unusual had happened. Like we hadn't confessed our greats most treasured thoughts and desires, like we hadn't just poured our hearts out into the others hands, like we hadn't filled a bathtub full of tears.

I could tell, as I parked, that Howell need something- either clarified or answered. But I pretended like I hadn't noticed as we continued discussing the differences between films and novels.

But you can't know everything the character's thinking, Howell complained, as he got out of the car and shut the door.

"Sure you can," I said, repeating his action and locking the car. "That's why they have narrators."

Howell rolled his eyes, like I was the biggest idiot alive. Obviously, but what about everything the character thinks about their surroundings. Like let's say they see a really beautiful person, and describe their eyes in the most beautiful way. You can't translate that into an image no matter how hard you try.

"Okay, fine, I'll give you that. But what about the flip side?" I said, slinging my arm around Howell's shoulder as he cross in front of the car to me. I could see his small smile on his pretty lips, holding his books to his chest, pressing his side into mine as we clumsily continued on. I felt like we were Hermione and Ron, and at any moment he was going to scold me, telling me it was pronounced "LeviOsa, not Leviosa".

"What if you have the most beautiful person and you can't describe them in words? What if they're so stunning that it's a 'you had to be there' type of deal? Huh?"

Howell rolled his eyes again, and shook his head. Fine, I say we're at a tie.

I laughed. "I can never win with you, can I?"

He smiled.

We kept walking, weaving between cars, almost out of the parking lot. As we passed one, my eyes glanced over the windshield, only for me to do a doubletake. There in the front and passenger seats, sat Logan and Eli. Making out.

I looked away quickly, smiling dumbly. Well, that sure explains a lot.

Howell looked up at me and asked what I was smiling about. I said "nothing" and smiled even more.

* * *

During math class, Howell was fidgety.

Like, really fidgety.

He was tapping his feet, drumming his fingers on the table, pencil making markings across the page of his sketchbook, shaping nothing in mind. He wouldn't maintain eye contact with me for long, looking back at me before looking down, brow furrowed, and then looking to the front of the room where Ms. Lewis sat, waiting for our tests to be handed in. Logan and Eli were conveniently not there, but I had a feeling I knew what they were up to.