silence ; phan

nine

I quickly pull a pastel blue sweater over my head, doing up the zipper of my jeans and grabbing an odd pair of socks. I slept through my alarm, and I need to fucking hurry. I check my hair in the mirror, and it's a complete mess, strands of black flying everywhere. I put my glasses on, running downstairs to pull on some shoes. Grabbing my backpack, I'm out of the door, jogging down the street.

I check the time on my phone. Lessons start in 10 minutes, and it's a 5-minute walk. I calm down slightly, remembering that I didn't straighten my hair, so I have a little more time than I thought. I slow down, happy that I don't have to jog, as I'm not exactly the most athletic person. 

Once the petrifying idea of being late is out of my mind, I think about something else. The boy with curly hair and dimples and a smooth voice that I could listen to all day. I grin to myself, because Dan, the cool looking guy who dresses in full black, likes me. 

I listen to the sound of my brightly coloured converse scraping against the concrete beneath me, echoing around the almost empty street. There's a gush of wind, and I pull the sleeves of my sweater up over my hands, seeing the school gates in the distance. 

Reaching the front of the school, I spot a head of hair that unmistakably belongs to Dan.

"Dan!" I shout, but he doesn't turn around. He must have headphones in or something, as most people listen to music when they walk to school. Nevermind.

I walk through the gates, reaching the room my first lesson is in just on time, everyone else walking into the classroom as I turn a corner to get there. I spot one of the boys who sat at the table in the lesson, and he smiles at me, so I step over to him.

"Hey, Phil. I'm Connor, one of Pj's friends." He says in a heavy American accent.

"Hi,"

"Wanna sit here?" He asks, motioning his arms to a double desk, and I nod my head. 

"How come you live in England if you're American?" I ask, sitting down on the sleazy, plastic school seats.

"I moved here when I was younger."

"Cool."

"Is it just me, or is Geography the worst thing ever?" He asks, pulling out his stuff from his bag, and I do the same, grabbing a pen from my pencil case and scrawling down the date.

"Unquestionably. It's appalling."

"I'm glad someone else is on the same page." He says, looking up slightly as the teacher walks into the room, arms filled with a pile textbooks.

We get to work, the teacher handing out the textbooks and giving us a page number to work on. It's not even proper geography, just shit about rivers and stuff.

"So," He starts to whisper. "You like Dan?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Dunno, he's the last person I'd expect you to like."

"Why?"

"Have you seen him?" He whispers, a little chuckle, and I laugh too.

I guess it is strange.