Chapter Two- Phil:

What an idiot, I thought as I exited the total mess that was my geometry class. It was only my second week here, and I already deemed the place miserable. The people here were dickheads, ones that valued football players and pretty girls above everything else. It was the typical high school hierarchy you'd find in a bad American teenage drama, fully equipped with a small town where everyone knew everyone, and outsiders were welcomed with torches and pitchforks.

Joking.

Sort of.

Not really.

My parents, brother, sister, and I, all moved here a few weeks ago because of my parent's temperamental jobs. My dad was a photographer, and my mum was a journalist. They were both what they liked to call "free spirits" and nomads and all the junk. Their jobs required us to move around a lot because of their "artistic vibes" and other weird hippy-dippy bullshit.

They claimed this time it would be different, that we'd be settled here for a while; happy. I wasn't holding out too much hope, though. They weren't the most reliable when it came to these kinds of things.

I pulled out my time table to check my schedule, blindly walking down the crowded hallway, accidently bumping into people. While glaring at a few intimidated Freshmen, I spotted my next class on the green paper- art- and saw the class was in Portable A. It was a smaller building located just outside the main one. As I stuffed the time table back into my bag, I noticed that one kids sketchbook I swiped, still nestled between my sweatshirt and geometry textbook.

It's not as if I wasn't curious to what was inside it- believe me I was. I just had a policy of not sticking my nose where it didn't belong, which in this case was most definitely not in that kids book. I didn't support Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum's actions earlier, so I ignored the nagging curiosity. Instead I pulled out my pack of cigarettes from the side bag pocket.

If I'm going to be honest, I might as well say it now: I don't smoke. Ever. It's disgusting. I guess the thought ofwaking with the taste of ash in your mouth, and constantly having that pulsing ache of nicotine never really appealed to me. The only reason I bothered to carry around these soul sucking sticks what to just make people think I did. I'd pull them out at lunch, or stick one behind my ear, so people would just make the assumption. It helped my whole "bad guy" image I'd cultivated over the years- anything to keep the idiots and shiny people with their pretentious ideas at bay. My mom liked to say I was like the under cover reincarnation of Augustus Waters gone grunge. I liked to tell her to fuck off.

I took out one of the soul sucking sticks from the pack, and put it behind my ear, like always, and scowled at a couple more underclassmen for good measures. As I reached the portable, I shoved the cigarettes back into my bag, and walked inside to find some kind of list projected on the screen. A list, I might add, that looked suspiciously like-

Yep.

Assigned seats.

Awesome. Fantastic. Woop-dee-doo. Don't mind me, I'm just doing my happy dance over here.

Luckily, I was assigned to the back- somewhere I could easily distract myself. Even if this was a class as effortless as art, it didn't make me hate it any less. In fact, I probably hated it more for the soul reason that I was surrounded by it constantly; a photographer as a father, a painter as a sister, a musician as a brother. I practically had art leaking from my eyeballs.

I sat at the back table with four seats, one of which was already occupied by a small boy, his head down and hands fidgeting nervously.

Hey! I thought. That's the kid from earlier! Sketchbook Kid.

"Hey you," I said. The kid looked up scared, something I'd gotten used to. Everyone around here treated my like I was some big bad wolf that was going to swallow them whole if they didn't bow down to my every command. It was a little pathetic if I'm being honest.

"Dude, I'm not going to eat you or something, jeez. Here." I scoffed as I handed him his sketchbook.

He looked at me tentatively before snatching it with shaky hands. I stared at him pointedly as he quickly stuffed it into the safety of his bag, like he thought I was going to take it away from him again. I almost regretted not looking at the contents inside. Almost.

"A thank you would be nice you know," I said being a snot. "I don't stick out my neck for just anyone."

He looked at me, his expression read one of panic, as he made some weird movements with his hand. I took me a second to realize he was signing to me- probably what was my thank you.

I snorted and signed back, You're welcome, you dork.

His already wide eyes became even more owlish.

You know sign language?! he signed incredulously.

I smirked. Yep. And Latin and Russian and Swedish and Spanish and Japanese and French and German.

His expression was one of awe and it amused me immensely, I almost didn't see his next question.

How do you know so many languages?

I've traveled a lot. I signed simply.

The boy paused before asking his next question, hesitant.

Can you say something in French?

I thought for a moment. "Je veux apprendre à vous connaître plus. Vous semblez intéressant."

The awed expression had returned. What did that mean? he signed.

"Aww, looked Melissa. The punk and the mute are flirting," I heard behind me.

I looked over my shoulder to see Tweedle Dum- AKA Eli Stan- and some chick with plastic blonde hair draped like two curtains, framing her enormous tits fit into a low cut t-shirt. The two shiny populars were heading towards us- fucking hated assigned seats.

"Oh great," I said sliding my signature smirk back into place. "Looks like the Neanderthal has come to join us- and look! He's brought a snack!"

I heard a couple people giggle at the tables near ours, and I could have sworn I heard sketchbook kid chuckle.

Tweedle Dum scowled at me, his arm wrapped protectively around the blondie at his side. I saw her whisper something into his ear, making him smile. He continued smiling as he took a seat next to me, Blondie next to sketchbook kid.

Not much was said after that, as the teacher began class. He told us that we would be embarking on a figure drawing unit within the week. He also said that we should begin to practice drawing figures- starting with the person sitting across from us.

As the teacher continued giving instructions, I noticed sketchbook kid reluctantly pull out said sketchbook, all the while never removing his eyes from Tweedle Dum's unintellegent form.

I sighed heavily as the teacher finished giving instructions. "Looks like it's you and me, kid." I said addressing the anxious boy across me. "Do you want to draw first and I 'model'?" I proceeded, using excessive finger quotes around the world "model".

The kid nodded slowly, and began drawing light pencil lines on the clean page in front of him. I wasn't really sure where I was supposed to be looking.

Should I look at him? I thought. I glanced in his direction, his form hunched over his paper, his eyes darting to mine now and again, his pencil dancing across the page.

Nah, I decided. Too awkward.

My eyes slowly drifted from the frantic kid to the window at my left. I looked out at the telephone wires and all the crows sitting on top of them. It reminded me of the dumb jocks at this school and made a mental note to write that down later. A horn honked outside and the birds flew away. I sort of wished I could join them.

"Dan Howell," I heard a voice squeak. My attention was drawn back to the table. "I've heard an awful lot about you."

I saw Blondie facing sketchbook kid, twirling her hair with one finger, and tapping the table with her pencil in the other hand. She was leant over for maximum cleavage spilling out of her shirt. I could practically feel the drool coming out of Tweedle Dum's mouth, as I looked at him from the corner of my eye.

I realized after a moment that Blondie was addressing sketchbook kid, and put two-and-two together.

So that's his name. Dan Howell. I mulled. Suits him.

" A little birdy told me," Blondie continued, wearing a pout that made me want to yak. "That you drew a picture of me. Oh Daniel, won't you let me see it?"

I looked over at Howell to see he was buying any of it, still furiously sketching away, his left elbow resting on the table, like a barricade to keep Ms. Nosey out.

"Pleeeeeease, Daniel?" she whined, stressing the "e".

"Yeah come on Dan," Tweedle Dum chimed in, like they were the best of buddies, and he hadn't just tried to humiliate Howell in front of the entire class, just a period before. "Logan and I were just fooling around earlier. We didn't mean anything by it, honest."

"Oh bullshit!" I blurted, making Howell's head snap up at my outburst in surprise. I was starting to get the feeling that no one defended him much.

"Alright everyone, time to switch! Model's your turn to draw." the teacher interrupted.

I was fuming as I snatched Howell's sketchbook, flipping quickly to a blank page, not giving any mind to the other drawings inside, and muttering fast angry French under my breath.

"Do you mind if I draw in here?" I bit out at Howell, still struggling to contain my anger.

He shook his head quickly his owlish eyes downcast, as he began fiddling with his fingers as I had seen him do earlier. It was almost as if he didn't know quite what to do with himself when he wasn't sketching. I felt bad about taking it away from him, and nearly handed it back. Nearly.

Now that Howell wasn't all hunched over, I could finally get a decent look at him- or really, the lack of him. He was pretty skinny and pale, his lanky limbs fit snugly into the tiny desk. He was somewhat plain, dressed in all black and grey- the obvious goal to just blend in with the crowd. His hair was messy, like his hands were constantly in it, tugging at it, his forehead always resting in his palm. His brown eyes were darting around wildly. I could tell he felt self conscious and uncomfortable with me staring at him. I narrowed my eyes at him and looked at him closer.

With the dad that I had, I'd seen a lot of photographs. Probably more than some people seen in their entire lifetime. I had fond memories of helping my dad in the makeshift darkroom we had in one of our old apartments. I remember mixing the chemicals, the smell of vinegar coating the heavy, musty air. I remember the small oranges lamps, the only light sources in the whole room, making spots in your vision when you finally stepped out into the light. Sometimes, when I was pissed or frustrated, I would go into my closet and shut the door, and think about the sound of rushing water, and pretend I was eleven again, helping my dad in the darkroom.

Anyways, in seeing so many photographs, I'd seen a lot of faces: young people, old people. Sad people, happy people. Rich people, poor people. Black people, white people. The list went on and on.

After seeing so many faces, I began to notice things about everyday people too. Take Howell for example: I noticed things like how his clothes didn't fit him right, how they were too loose in all the wrong places. His hair was not only unkempt, but probably hadn't been cut in sometime, curling around the nape of his neck. His sleeves were pushed up, revealing small, delicate, pale wrists meaning I had nothing to worry about in that department.

Bulimic, possibly.

Poor.

Introverted, most likely not by choice.

My sister liked to say I was a proper Sherlock Holmes, deducing people all the time. I also like to tell her to "fuck off".

I flicked my eyes back to Howell's, as I kicked his leg under the table.

"Stop moving!" I hissed. I saw him tense up, his averted eyes becoming locked on his desk. It looked almost as if he was going to cry.

"Just-" I whispered again, so Ken & Barbie wouldn't hear me. "Just, look at me, okay weirdo?"

His eyes snapped to mine, a flush beginning to crawl up his cheeks. I resisted the urge to smirk, taking pity on him, and began to draw.

I started with his cheekbones, and made a line down to his chin, and then back up to his other cheek, all the while my eyes tracing his face. After I'd gotten the main shape of his face, i kept my eyes on my paper as much as possible, to avoid the awkward eye contact. I filled in the rest of the little details, like the eyelashes rimming his worried eyes, and the dimples that decorated the corners of his mouth, and the short wisps of hair curling behind his ears...

"Alright time's up! Pencils down." the teacher interrupted.

I shoved the sketchbook at Howell, like it'd burned me, pulled the soul sucking stick from behind my ear, and stuck it into the corner of my mouth. I picked up my bag, shrugged one strap onto my shoulder, and ruffled my hair a bit.

I watched as Howell looked at my drawing of him. It wasn't very good: his eyes were drawn too close together, his nose wasn't right, and his lips were too thin. Still, Howell traced the outline of it with his index finger like it was something precious, something to be cherished.

"You like what you see, Howell?" I said, waggling my eyebrows at him, my voice slightly muffled by the soul sucking stick in the corner of my mouth. He blushed and I rolled my eyes.

As the bell rang, Tweedle Dum and Blondie brushed past me, both of which were suspiciously quiet for most of the period. I didn't trust them.

"See ya 'round, Howell," I said finally, giving him a half wave, before turning and heading towards the door. As I walked through the doorframe I turned and looked over my shoulder, finding Howell still sat at his desk, just sitting there with a dumb smile on his face. I smiled too.

* * *

"Hey! How was school today?" I heard as I unlocked the door to my house. I pushed it open with my shoulder as I jimmied the key from the lock, putting the keys back into my pocket. I heard soft footsteps padding down the hall in front of me. As I looked up I saw my little brother trotting towards me.

"Phil!" he said tiredly, one small fist rubbing the corner of his eye.

"Hey buddy," I said smiling down at him. Neil was eight years old, and had just started public school for the first time, this week. Before that he was homeschooled by dad, mainly for convenience, but mum thought it would be better for him to have a more "social learning environment".

"How was school today?" I asked Neil as I picked him up and rested him on one hip, walking the two of us into the kitchen.

"Terrible!" he said glumly, frowning a little, making small crinkles between his eyebrows. "Samantha was mean to me again today, and I got a paper cut. And I spilled water on my pants and Samantha told the whole table that I peed myself. But I didn't!"

I chuckled.

"Sounds to me like Samantha has a bit of a crush on you," my mum chimed in as we entered the kitchen. She was over by the cutting board, preparing something with a lot of green vegetables and chicken broth. My twin sister, Meredith, was sitting at the breakfast bar, her calculus homework spread all across it. She was a senior too, but went to the Arts Academy downtown. Like our parents she wanted a profession in the arts. In all honesty, I didn't know what I wanted. I could hardly decide what kind of pizza I wanted, so what I wanted to do in the future was nearly impossible to decide.

"How's it goin' frilly?" I asked Meredith, as I set Neil down on the floor.

She turned and sent me a glare. "I. Hate. You."

"What?" I said, still playing dumb. "What did I do?"

It was like she was trying to set me on fire with her eyes. "You will so pay for this. You're just lucky Jeremy wasn't there today otherwise..." She trailed off but I got the point.

See despite us being twins, we practically despised one another. I can't remember who started it, though it was probably me, but for as long as I could remember we've had this sibling rivalry going on. Each week, we would prank one another; sometimes it was tame things like when I mixed up the sugar and salt, so Meredith's bake sale cookies tasted like shit. And sometimes it was a bit more extreme, like today, when I cut a hole in her pants. She was in a big rush and didn't even notice her pink frilly butt hanging out until it was too late. However, I'm sure the whole school noticed.

"Watch your back Phillip," she warned, turning forward to focus back on her math homework. I would never admit it, but I was a tiny bit scared for what she had in store.

"Hey, I'm going to head up to my room," I said, jerking my thumb in the direction behind me. My mum nodded, still stirring whatever veggie concoction she was creating as whiny Neil sat at her feet.

I sprinted up the stairs two at a time, finally able to have some alone time. I tossed my bag into the corner of the room and flopped face first onto my bed, releasing a large sigh. I thought about the day and the weird kid with the sketchbook came back to mind. I still wasn't really sure why I helped him. Usually it was me, bullying some kid and making them look like a fool. But even though I'd only been here for a couple weeks, I'd picked up on somethings. Like how Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum thought they were tougher than they actually were. How the girls wouldn't talk to you unless you talked to them first. How Howell didn't really talk at all.

Huh, I thought. It always came back to Howell, didn't it?

I wondered what his story was. He didn't seem to really fit into this town. I wondered what he drew in that book of his. I wondered why he never spoke.

"Phil! Dinner!"

"Okay!" I called back to my mum.

I laid in bed for a couple more minutes thinking about this dumb town, before getting up and heading downstairs.

Truthfully, it didn't matter too much anyways. I probably wasn't going to be here long anyways.

AN:

Translation: Je veux apprendre à vous connaître plus. Vous semblez intéressant = I want to get to know you more. You seem interesting.

oh my god here I will up date soon and edit this later and add a new authors note love ypu shits k bye

Eddy xxx