Outcast ✧ Phan

Three

cling·y
adjective
(of a person or garment) liable to cling; clinging.
"at about 18 months my son became very clingy"

I opened the front door, walking down the hall and closing it behind me only when I got to the bottom of the stairs, glancing over and sending it shut. My dad was, thankfully, at work, so no yelling today.

Up the stairs and into my room, I threw my bookbag aside, it hitting the wall and sliding down with a flop sound, then fell onto my bed, rolling over so I was on my stomach. I faced my wall, glaring at my muse poster, as if that would make things better.

Today was worse than usual, since Phil was now suddenly in the picture of my life. Not only could he notice me whenever he wanted, he also was clingy. He tried to follow me around all day, and, not wanting to be mean, I let him. He didn't share any of my other classes, but he always managed to find me in the hallway. By the time lunch rolled around, I'd only just managed to shake him. A good thing, too. I honestly don't know what I'd do if he found my my place in the library; that time was mine and mine exclusively, no other students, and certainly no Phils.

I really needed to avoid Phil. Or at least step my game up enough so that he won't trail behind me like a lost puppy anymore. He's sure to find other friends soon, and will forget about me. He just needs a little nudge in that direction, so maybe if I show him how unwilling to friendship I am he will back off.

I used to have a friend. A good one, too. She was the best one I'd ever had, and we probably would still be friends today had she not...

Brrring! Brrring! Brrring!

I stopped my thought track, cut off by the ring of the phone in the living room. Who on earth was calling here? Dad was at work, and its not like I had anybody willing to call. I sighed, pulling myself from bed, and trudging into the other room.

"Hello?" I said, leaning against the wall and picking up, twirling my finger around the curly cord.

"This is the city school district. May I speak with Frank Howell?" A woman's voice piped up on the other line, so loudly that I almost had to pull the phone off from my ear some.

"Speaking." I lied, not wanting to say my dad wasn't here because they may end up calling back, and I'm sure my dad would find a way to punish me for whatever this lady had to say.

"Mr Howell, it is of my attention that your son's, Daniel, algebra grade has been dropping quire recently. I would like to inform you that he has been, as suggested by the school's advisor, enrolled in our new Study Program. Is that alright?"

I didn't know how to react, and I didn't want to say something that could get my actual dad into this later, so I just nodded. Then I realized they couldn't see me, so I said "Of course."

"Great! Daniel should be given a paper at school that explains the details and information. I just wanted to call to ensure you are aware of this change, have a lovely day, Mr Howell." The voice chirped, cutting the line off a second later.

I clicked the phone back into its place and groaned, shoving my hands into my face. I didn't want to be in any study program, especially not an algebra one, but what choice do I have? Next report cards were handed out in a few months, and if my grade isn't up by then and my dad gets the paper before I do, I'm going to be in for it.

Granted, its still a good thing he wasn't home at the moment. If he was, then I'm sure he'd be quite less than pleased. All I can do is pray to whatever gods that are out there that they don't call back when he really is home.