Touch ☞☜ Phan

Chapter Two | Present Time

My first day of tenth grade is today.  I've been testing out my power for the past month, "unintentionally" brushing my hand against people as I'm holding the door open for them at the grocery store and making up handshakes with the kids I've begun to babysit this summer.  I've learned that I just have to touch people's bare skin, not specifically the bare skin of people's hands, in order for my power to work.

I enter the bus and scoot into a seat in the back.  My hands are shaking.  Do I even want to know how my teachers and peers perceive me?

I nervously run my hands through my curls, imagining all of the horrid feelings that the people in the school must associate with me. I simply have to touch them and then myself in order to know what those feelings are.

Once the bus stops at the school, I wait for the other kids to form a stampede and exit the bus before I get off.

I thank the bus driver before I'm greeted by the building I am all too familiar with. I sigh and begin to make my way over to the entrance of the high school.

The hallway is flooded with students hugging their friends and loudly chatting with them about their summers. I make my way over to my locker and then to my first class as rapidly as possible.

I swear that I love people.

My first hour is art. As per usual, I take my seat in the back of the class. Yeah, I'm that kid.

In a few minutes, a new boy enters the classroom. His black hair has a flawless shine, and his pale skin has a perfect glow. As he gets close to me, I notice that his eyes are blue, green, and yellow. How is this dude real?

The gorgeous boy takes his seat at the desk beside mine. He must also be antisocial.

The bell rings, and a man with an afro enters the room. He closes the door and stands in the center at the front of the room.  "Hey, y'all," he says, grinning. "I'm Doug. However, the principal recommends that y'all call me Mr. Doug. How are you?"

Nobody responds to Mr. Doug's question. After thirty seconds of silence, he exclaims, "Great!" and grabs a stack of paper. "You will be creating an abstract work of art and listening to the person beside you. This class will be more fun if we're all friends. If you'd like to move seats, we can talk," he says, handing the student at the first desk a sheet of paper.

Once Mr. Doug arrives at my desk, I slightly touch his wrist as he hands me my piece of paper. As I roll up my sleeves, the words "student" and "potential" appear in the air. I like Mr. Doug.

"So," I say, intending to start a conversation with the boy beside me.

"Yes?"

"Where did you go to school before?"

"Minton," the new boy replies. "I moved to this side of the town over the summer."

I nod. "Do you have an opinion of North yet?"

The new boy shrugs. "There are more students."

"South has even more," I say, aware of how mundane that statement is. I decide to change the direction of the conversation. "Why did you sit in the back of the class?"

"Why did you sit in the back of the class?," the new boy asks.

"I'm antisocial," I respond.

"Why? You don't seem scared to talk to me.  If you're not antisocial due to the fear of starting conversations with people, then why are you antisocial?"

"I don't initiate conversations with most people."

"Then why'd you start talking to me?"

"Well, I had an excuse to initiate a conversation with you."

"You wouldn't have spoken to me if Mr. Doug hadn't wanted you to talk to the person beside you?"

"Well, I would've wanted to," I admit.

"Why?"

"I get a good vibe from you. What's your name, by the way?"

"Phil," the new boy replies.

"I'm Dan."

Mr. Doug brings Phil and me some colored pencils. We both select a few from the container and begin to draw random shapes on our papers.

"You must be lonely if I'm the only person you've talked to all period," Phil points out.  "Since I'm new, I also don't have friends at this school. When's your lunch hour?"

"Next period," I reply.

"Same. Sit with me?"

"Sure." A burst of exhilaration fills my stomach.

"What colors are you using?," Phil asks, not looking up from his drawing.

"Blues, blacks, and grays."

"You're going for a sad vibe?"

"Oh, um, that wasn't my intention, but..."  I trail off.

"I'm using greens and blues," Phil says.

"Are you a nature lover or something?," I ask.

"Well, I love plants.  I'm not that good at keeping them alive, however. I love animals too."

"Are you also bad at keeping animals alive?," I tease.

Phil laughs.  "No."

"Do you have any pets?"

"Well, I've had pets, but I don't have any at the moment."

"Oh?"

Phil playfully shoves me.  "It's not what you think!  They died of old age," he squeaks.

"Just like the plants?"

"Shut up," Phil says, laughing. 

The bell rings, dismissing us from class.  Phil and I gather our stuff and head over to the cafeteria.  We sit in the corner alone.

"You really don't have friends?," Phil asks.  "I was just joking earlier."

I bite my lip.  "Uh, well, yeah, I don't," I admit.

"But you're nice!  Don't the people at this school realize that?"

I shrug, taking a sip of my juice.  I would have gotten chocolate milk, but Phil informed me in the lunch line that he's lactose intolerant.  I'm giving up milk at school for him.

Do my peers realize that I'm nice?  I don't know.  I mean, I'm now easily able to access that information.  Should I?

"I'd assume that you're popular if it weren't for your clothes," Phil says, gesturing to my entirely black outfit.

"Why would you assume that?  You noticed that I didn't have anybody else to talk to during first hour."

Phil shrugs.  "You have the face and the hair."

Is that a compliment?  I have no idea.  "You can be popular, Phil.  I don't know why you've chosen to hang out with me of all people."

"Well, I don't have many other options, do I?  I'm joking, Dan.  I also get a good vibe from you."

"What's your number?," I ask, pulling out my phone.

"I thought you'd never ask," Phil says jokingly.  He laughs at his own comment and tells me his number. 

I tell Phil my number, and he immediately texts me.

Phil: Yo.

I create a contact for Phil, and he does the same for me. 

"Hey, but seriously, we should get together outside of school sometime," Phil suggests, looking at me nervously.

I don't know what there is to be nervous about.  "Sure," I say.  "You can ride the bus home with me after school today.  It's the one day of this school week that I won't be babysitting."

"Okay, I will," Phil says, his colorful eyes shimmering, letting me know that this is the beginning of something beautiful and wonderful.