A Beginner's Guide To Falling In Love

Chapter 2

Warnings: N/A

I woke up to the sound of my cell phone alarm ringing out happily. I groaned and clicked the off button. I was not in the mood to get ready to go to the hellhole known as school.

I quickly got dressed and attacked my curly mess of hair with a flat iron as best as I could. After my mom fussed with my school uniform and insisted I eat something before slipping out the door, I found myself sitting on the bus alone.

It wasn't unusual for me to be sitting alone on the bus, and I didn't mind it. I turned on my iPod and listened to Fall Out Boy as I scrolled through Phil's Twitter.

My scrolling and smiling was interrupted by an angry tug on the cord of my headphones. I glanced up at the douchey, yet somehow still attractive, face belonging to Miles Sorenson.

Miles was one of your stereotypical jocks. He played football, somehow managed to pass his classes, and even though he was incredibly evil and awful to everyone, his group of friends was larger than I could ever imagine. He was one of those annoying white boys who acted extremely gay with his friends but was one of the most homophobic assholes you'd ever meet. He swore he fucked a new girl every weekend, but I seemed to be the only person who got this vibe that he was as straight as a rainbow.

"Hey faggot! I'm talkin to you!" he spit at me.

I took a deep breath before replying. I had so many things I wished I could yell into his painfully handsome face but I knew better. Although the kids at school poked at me and constantly tried to make a great deal about the fact that I was a closeted homosexual, none of them knew for sure that I was gay. I wasn't ready to announce that Miles was right. I desperately wanted to, because maybe he'd fuck off if he knew that he could possibly "catch the faggot."

After biting my tongue and taking a deep breath, I was able to reply.

"What do you want Miles?"

"Not a fucking blow job from you if that's what you're thinking, which, you probably are. Cause you're a faggot. Isn't that right little fagboy?" He chuckled while his "bros" echoed him.

"Haha yeah what a faggot." Cameron added on. Cameron had bright blue eyes and was more intelligent than any of the other football players. He struggled with grades though, and didn't care much. He was more concerned with his cute girlfriend of the week, or month, or day, I could never remember what any of his girlfriends looked like, and it didn't matter much to me anyways. All of them looked the same to me.

I clucked my tongue, trying to carefully piece together my next sentence without having it backfire on me.

"What the fuck do you want Miles?" I repeated, unsure of a comeback that wouldn't end in me getting beat senseless after school.

Miles smiled at me, his green eyes sparkling. He was so fucking gay.

"I was just coming over to talk with my best buddy, Tinkerbell." He grinned, seeming pleased with his nickname for me. It was better than Fagboy, at least.

Before I knew it, my smart ass tongue slipped my next sentence that I knew would bring me a nice punch in the face later on.

"Cameron is right next to you, why don't you two go fuck off somewhere else?"

"Fucking really faggot?" Cameron's face began to turn bright red with anger and I had to hold back a smile just like the rest of their little bros.

"Listen here fagface, I tried to be nice. I just wanted to have a nice conversation with you but-"

"I'd rather be forced to listen to Justin Bieber and Iggy Azalea try and make a collaborative rap song than listen to you speak for another second thanks." I said, cutting him off and placing my ear phones into my ears and making a show of ignoring him.

Unfortunately for me, the bus stopped right where I needed to be.

Unfortunately for me, I needed to get off the bus with Miles.

Which meant, unfortunately for me, that the second my foot hit the ground from the bus, I was dragged to the men's restroom where I would pay for being a sassy asshole.

--

The next few classes went by surprisingly quickly, and as the bell rang, I jumped to get out the door and hide from Miles and his worthless minions.

I sat in the back of the library, scrolling through my phone behind some book I grabbed off the shelf. The librarian knew that I wasn't actually doing schoolwork, and when I walked in today with a cut up and bruised face, she didn't ask me what homework I should be doing. She gave me a look that reminded me too much of my mother, and returned to furiously typing emails.

I clicked my Twitter app after mindlessly scrolling through tumblr and finding nothing of interest, and saw that I had a massive amount of new followers and mentions. I scrolled through hundreds of tweets with Phil and I tagged in them, before my finger shakily tapped the tweet that everyone was replying to.

AmazingPhil: @danisnotonfire thanks! *gives virtual cookie*

I couldn't comprehend what was happening. My favorite person in the entire world just noticed me. I was trembling. I clicked on his profile to make absolutely sure it was legit.

Sure enough the blue verified symbol sat next to a gray box that said "Follows You".

I blinked at my phone's screen in disbelief. Surely Twitter glitched?

But when I went to send Phil a DM, I found that it was no glitch, and that Phil had already beat me to sending a direct message. I quickly opened the conversation and read the message that he had sent.

"Hello Dan! I've noticed your replies for a while now, and finally decided to say hi. So, hi!"

I swear my heart stopped beating.

This couldn't be real. Could it?

I wanted to reply but the bell broke my train of thought and I decided I would double check to see that it was real when I got home.

--

The bus ride home was uneventful. It was football season which meant that the douche squad had practice. It made it a lot easier to focus on what I would say to Phil once I got home.

I darted up the stairs and stripped off my awful school uniform before throwing on a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants.

My computer seemed to take too long to turn on and load Twitter, but after what seemed like an hour, I was typing, erasing, and retyping a reply to Phil.

In the end, I ended up saying hello and that his videos made my days better, trying hard not to sound like a creepy fangirl. I sent another message giving him my Skype name and letting him know that he could message me whenever if he wanted to talk.

I hoped that I didn't sound like a 12 year old girl and happily ate every bite of my dinner, without causing any arguments at the table. My parents seemed suspicious of my sudden change in mood, but neither dared question it in fear of ruining the first decent family meal we'd had in quite some time.

Before going to bed that night, I checked Skype to find that Phil had added me and sent me a message promising to talk to me tomorrow. I grinned and fell asleep, dreaming about what it might feel like to talk to him face to face.