Chapter One- Dan:

You really haven't experienced proper fear until your math teacher is holding your life in their sweaty, wrinkly, old hands.. My life- or as so called- took the form of a heavily worn sketchbook- the one I had been drawing in only moments ago, when I was supposed to factoring the missing side of an isosceles triangle. Then, before I knew it, my book was being snatched out from under my hands by Ms. Lewis' pudgy fingers.

A string of select swear words raced by my mind as I considered all the possibilities of how this could go horribly wrong. Always the optimist, I know.

She could flip through it, which would probably be the worst scenario. I loved life drawing, which meant I frequently drew people from school either during class or when I was all alone at lunch, often while they weren't looking. I also would take some, um, artistic licensing, to put it delicately. Let's just say, I don't think Ms. Lewis would be too happy to find some of her students in a few of the compromising positions I'd drawn them in. Not to mention, if anyone, especially a teacher, saw my drawings I would be completely mortified. They were almost like my diary except- you know- more manly.

Luckily, Ms. Lewis just tutted me and gave me what I assumed was suppose to be a withering look- though it really only looked like she'd smelled something particularly unpleasant- before carting my life away with her, and nestling it atop her chaotic desk.

I sighed, folded my arms on my table, and rested my head on top of them, as Ms. Sketchbook Stealer continued on with the lesson.

"To find the side of 'x' on this triangle you have to use the Pythagorean Theorem. If side 'a' is twenty-four, and side 'b' is seven, you would make an equation that read: 24² + 7² = c². Then you would solve for 'c' by adding the sum of 'a' and the sum of 'b' together therefore answering the sum of-"

My eyes had begun to glaze over when the phone interrupted her almost painfully boring speech.

"Hello?" Ms. Lewis said gruffly into the receiver. A chorus of "uh huh"'s followed, before she hung up, mumbled an nearly unintelligible "be right back", and left the room.

There was a quiet murmuring that spread across the classroom like a contagious fog, everyone using this time to pull out their phones in the absence of our teacher. I debated on whether I wanted to risk the chance of me getting caught by stealing back my sketchbook, but before I could decide-

"Hey mate! How's it going?"

I felt someone pat shoulder, but not in a friendly sort of way. This was more of a "you're- beneath-me-because-I'm-a-fucking-neanderthal-and-have-the-brain-capacity-of-a-teaspoon-and-am-the-size-of-a-freaking-truck-so-you'd-better-do-what-I-say" kind of pat. I winced at the aggressive touch and looked up at the leering face of Logan Marters.

Now to be quite honest there were only three things in this whole wide world that truly scared me- Logan Marters and his equally thick headed friend, Eli Stan- were two of them. I'd heard stories of them beating up freshmen in the third floor boys bathroom because the younger boys had looked at them funny. So far I'd managed to stay out of their way, but in the past week they'd started to take a certain interest in me- just my luck. Whether it was my shy demeanor, or my weird fascination with sketching every person I saw, or that I never spoke, not one word, I couldn't decide.

"How's it going poof?" Eli said, stepping up to the other side of me. I looked from one to the other, looked down at my desk, and swallowed hard. Shit.

"We couldn't help but notice that book you were carrying around, twinky," Logan said, his warm breath ghosting over the back of my neck making me shiver in fear and disgust. Fuck, I was so screwed, I thought.

"I wonder," Logan continued a bit louder, wandering towards Ms. Lewis' desk and grabbing the attention of some stray classmates. "What could possibly be so much more interesting-" Logan took a couple more steps closer to her desk. Step, step. "- in this book-" Step, step. "- than class?"

He was right behind her desk now, right there, hands hovering over what would be my most certain death. I could feel Eli's left hand gripping the back of my chair, a solid reminder that if I dared move, I wouldn't get far. As if I could- I was too frozen in shock and horror.

I held my breath, my lungs expanding and heart contracting painfully, as Logan's fingers began to pull back the cover of my sketchbook, revealing my drawing of Melissa Stone. She was a senior here at our school, one that always wore shitty daisy flower crowns her friends had made and shirts that showed just enough cleavage to be considered not slutty.

The drawing itself was fairly harmless- it was the first portrait drawings I'd ever done. She had been sitting across the cafeteria at lunch with her friends, her head thrown back mid-laugh, and I remember thinking she looked so beautiful and content. I was entranced, this overwhelming feeling building up inside me, like I just had to capture that- that emotion, like I just had to draw her.

Now, I wasn't that far off the social radar to know that asking some beautiful girl you didn't know if you could draw her- especially when you were a lanky, awkward, sociopathic teenage boy- was completely fucking weird and considered social suicide. Not like my social status was anything to brag about, and there was that small issue about how I didn't talk... So I drew her in secret. It became quite addicting really, drawing people. I just began to see all the little emotions of life in the faces of everyone, and would feel this engulfing urge to capture it down on paper- as if it were something special that needed safe keeping.

Although, not all my drawings were as innocent. I was a hormonal fifteen year old boy after all. Flip a couple more pages into my "precious" book, and you would find many drawings of some very, very naked classmates. I felt my stomach clench as I realized I may or may not have drawn two very naked versions of the two asshats humiliating me at this very moment.

Damn my fucking artistic licensing!

"Well, well, well," Logan said picking up my book in one meaty hand, the other poised in the air, ready to flick the pages to my predestined demise. "Looks like twinky over here is a frickin' pervert."

I felt a hot flush crawl up the back of my neck, and paint the tops of my cheekbones, my eyes fluttering closed. I knew there was about six more page before they found anything truly conspicuous, the tension in the air almost suffocating my already tight lung passages.

By now the entire class had caught on to what was taking place and was captivated by the intense scene, some with faces of curiosity and shock, others snickering and nudging one another.

I heard Logan flip a couple more pages, my eyes still hidden from the embarrassing turn of events. One, two, three.

"Wow kids! We've got ourselves a bonafide stalker!" Logan announced. Everyone teetered as I opened my eyes, my entire being burning with humiliation, praying with every fiber that the teacher would come back into the room.

"What's a matter?" Eli mocked, as Logan flipped another page. Four. "Cat got your tongue?"

I felt tears pricking at the edges of my vision at the pure unfairness of it all. If only I could speak- say something- anything! But I couldn't, I was trapped. I could only sit there, drowning and floundering in the sea of mortification.

I saw Logan flip another page. Five.

Oh god. I held my breath ready for-

"Oh, would you fuck off Marters!" I heard from the back of the class. All the air came rushing out of me in one breath as I whipped around to the sound of my saviour- only to find none other than Phil Lester sauntering down the aisle.

Phil Lester was probably one of the most astonishing human beings I'd ever met. He showed up about a week ago, dressed in all black, a cigarette dangling out of the corner of his mouth, his arms adorned in tattoos; he'd caused quite a mess, not only with the teachers, but in a variety of girls pants, if I'm being crude. He had a certain presence about him, something aggressive and hostile, something that made the teachers bristle at the slightest signs of trouble, never questioning his tartiness nor any other odd behavior. I took note to stay away from him and refused any attempts to draw him- I didn't want to run the risk of getting my limbs ripped off. It was difficult though- his eyes were blue- so blue- like ice; cold and hard, something I desperately wanted to capture on paper. However, his eyes also said he was someone who would- if you gave them the chance- definitely beat the shit out of you, so I remained cautious and resisted the desire to draw.

As Phil passed down the aisle those same blue eyes flickered to mine and I saw a calm, superior look cover his features, before his gaze snapped away and he continued to the now statue-still Logan. I watched in awe and confusion as Phil perched himself gracefully against Ms. Lewis' desk, removing a cliché red apple from the pile of clutter, and tossing it up in the air, the entire time his back facing the startled Logan.

"W-w-what?" Logan sputtered, his hands going slightly slack around my sketchbook. I sighed thankfully, casting my eyes back to Phil's nonchalant form.

"I said," Phil repeated, punctuating each word with a thwack of the apple hitting his palm. "Why. Don't. You. Fuck. Off."

Logan set down my now completely forgotten book, still open to the page of Liz Meadows smoking behind the dumpsters at school. I'd drawn that early this month, when I was sitting outside for lunch because of the unusually nice weather. I'd seen her, trying to suck the last life out of the bud of her cigarette, her bleach blonde hair blowing in the slightly humid breeze; she had looked elegant despite her surroundings.

Really not the time to think about drawing, Dan. I admonished myself.

"Look, punk." Logan said, hands clenched into fists and eyes narrowed, his whole body radiating anger. "I don't know who you think you are, but-"

"But what?" Phil interrupted, finally turning to face Logan. "Aw, should I be scared of the big mean bully growling at me?" he cooed, his eyes on fire, blazing with purpose.

Logan swallowed hard, his adam's apple bobbing nervously. "Yes. You should. I could mess you up, man."

Phil barked out a laugh, his head thrown back. It was cold and harsh, the kind of sound one made when they knew something you didn't.

Phil threw the apple on the ground- it splattered and skittered towards the door- Phil's now unoccupied hand reaching out to grab Logan's collar, pulling them nose to nose.

"Listen here you little shit!" Phil whispered harshly into a frightened Logan's face. Eli was standing behind me, still as stone, and true terror emanating from his being. "I've been to prison, and I've seen shit that would make your punk ass piss your pants! You can go ahead and continue pretending to be all tough- real cute like. But I'd stay away from any dark alley's if I were you, because you never know who's watching. Who's waiting. And your 'tough guy' act, certainly won't save you then. So. Watch. Out."

Phil shoved Logan, releasing his hold on him, making Logan's arms pinwheel in order to keep himself upright. As Logan caught his balance, Phil snatched up my sketchbook, snapped it close, and strode angrily back to his seat, as Logan gave him a stare that could only be described as loathing.

A moment later, Ms. Lewis reappeared in the room, everyone's eyes returning shamefully back to their work as Ms. Lewis told Logan and Eli to "kindly return to their seats", and began her lecture again about the Pythagorean Theorem, completely oblivious to the events that had just taken place.

Not even bothering to try and pretend I was listening to Ms. Lewis' yammering, I turned around to look at the astonishing Phil Lester. He was staring at the back of Logan's head with malice, as if trying to break his neck with his mind. My eyes twitched, from his fuming expression to my deserted book lying on his desk, thoughts pelting through my head.

Was he going to give it back?

If not, what did he plan on doing with it?

Why did he help in the first place?

Was he threatening Logan earlier when talking about his macho attitude?

Did he do that for me or for some other unknown reason?

I felt dizzy, and lost, and turned back to the front of the room, as something hit the back of my head.

I glanced at the floor to see a small crumpled up piece of paper. I leaned down to pick it up, set it on my desk, and tried to smooth out the creases, as I read the small, blue, scrawled handwriting:

Next time, try to be a little more subtle when drawing, loser.

I peek behind me once again, trying to seek out who through it. And as my eyes sweep across a certain tattooed boy's desk, I notice a torn piece of notebook paper lying there, with a blue pen resting on top.

A/N:

oh my god ok so hi! i've restarted this story much to everyone's disappointment but have no fear! Much to some peoples demand I've decided to keep the other passages I reasently deleted and add them back into some later chapters. just think of it like I'm adding a back story. I decided to keep the same kind of relationship dan and phil had in the previous version because what can i say- I really like punk!phil and shy!dan.

Also if you're wondering about the blank chapter intitled "chapter ___ (wip) no writing" i just deleted the writing and kept the page. sorry if thats confusing to anyone but dont worry. there will soon be writing there so you wont have to bother with it.

Also also if you're reading my other story "ghost" i'll be updating that soon aswell! Stay tuned!

thanks for everyone being so understanding and putting up with my annoying and procrastinating ass.

see y'all soon.

-Eddy Xxx