TOO GOOD ; Phan

s i x

I walk into my English class after composing myself from the events prior, making sure to cover my face as best I can with the hood of my hoodie. Starting the day off with being beaten up, surrounded by a crowd of almost every student in the school, isn't exactly the kind of thing anyone would take the joy out of, but I'm their rag doll, there to be pushed around for their enjoyment.

"Ah, Howell!" The teacher shouts, signalling for me to come towards her. I'm a few minutes late to the lesson, so it's probably to do with that. "While you weren't here we sorted out a new seating plan, you're at the back, next to Phil." She says, with a fake smile on and pointing to the back. Of course, Phil Lester. People can beat me up as much as they want, but he's still the scariest person I've ever met.

It hurts slightly to walk, being that one of them kicked me in the stomach, but I don't want to seem suspicious to anyone who doesn't know it was me. I'd rather not be in the limelight than be seen as what I am; worthless and weak.

"Guess we have to sit next to each other." Phil tuts, rolling his eyes.

"What was that for?" I ask, sitting down next to him.

"You were rude the other day, not exactly what I'd expect from you."

I laugh. The flower crowns make everyone else think I'm fine.

"Yeah, well you're terrifying, I don't really know how to speak to, well, whatever you're going for here." I say, signalling to his body.

"Punk."

"Punk and pastel; the two polar opposites." I state, causing him to chuckle.

"To be honest, you look more emo right now. What, with a massive black hoodie and your hood covering half of your face." he says, ending the conversing and getting back to his work.

I just had a normal conversation, no mocking, nobody spitting out disgusting insults in my face, just what any other person would take for granted; and it was with Phil Lester.

Now that is unexpected.

"Anyway, pastel boy, did you hear about the kid who got beaten up?" He asks, rocking in his chair and shooting a look at me. He doesn't know it was me, which is good.

"Y-yeah." I say nervously, tugging on my hood to make sure it's covering any bruises on my jaw and neck.

"D'ya know who it was? Getting beaten up I mean, not the cunts doing it."

"N-no idea, sorry."

"Shame. I want to talk to them."

"And say what?"

"That people are cunts and shouldn't treat them like that because they're a 'faggot'."

The word still rings in my ears, and every time I hear it has been moments before being beaten up, so I flinch a little.

"Yeah, now shut up and let me get on with my work."

"Ooh, Howell's got sass. You look especially sassy with that hood covering your face." He says, clearly mocking the fact that it's covering up so much that I can only just see.

"I just said shut up, or didn't you hear me?" I point out, causing him to stop any further conversation. Thank god, cause he's still terrifying, whether he's a somewhat good person or not.