The Exchange Student ➵ phan

Chapter 8

My line of sight hits Phil's room, last room on the left, directly across from my door. It would be so easy to walk in, root through some of his stuff and figure out exactly who Rose is and solve this mystery. Before my mind can even think up a list of cons my feet have moved themselves, headed straight for the door I've gotten locked in my line of vision. It'll be a quick peek, I won't move anything, I won't leave any indication I was ever there. I will look for some photo frames and if I don't find any I'll leave instantly, simple a plan as that.

Opening the door slowly with my foot I tip toe into the dark room, flicking the light switch instinctively. "Now, that's redecorating." I mutter to myself, looking up and instantly being met with Sarah Michelle Gellar's eyes, along with hundreds of other posters collaged on the ceiling. Where the hell did Phil get the money for this? I sliently let myself wonder before snapping back to business mode. Find evidence, then leave. Two objectives, not that hard.

I expect clothes to be scattering the floor in natural teen fashion but absolutely nothing adorns the floor. The carpet is spotless and the bed is neatly made even though I know for certain Phil slept in it last night. Who knew he was such a loud snorer?

The desk is the one place I expect there to be photos but the space is empty, not a paper on top of it. There is a little Funko of King Lemongard from Adventure Time I defiantly did not expect to found in his room. I straighten the figure subconsciously, dismissing the idea of rooting through the desk drawers. God knows I'll find something I defiantly do not want to find.

Walking over to the dresser I look across the top, sighing when I instantly come up short. He has to have pictures somewhere right? If he was careful enough to keep that letter through all these years.

I start rooting around through his closet, finally finding where he's hidden all his dirty clothes. Uma Thurman stares me down while I search the space, making me uncomfortable and facing her instead if turning away. A part of me weirdly against turning my back to her, mind spiraling off to a word where she'll crawl from the cheap glossed paper and snap my neck for being in Phil's room, like a guardian demon. A bit of an over exaggeration, however what else can you do looking through a teenagers dirty underwear filled closet in silence but think?

The door to Phil's room opening surprises me, a lot more than it should have. I jump and choke back a gasp. My body ricocheting fully into the closet, shutting the door swiftly. Praying the sound is not heard over Phil's yelling.

"It's just a party mom! Jesus I go to them at least twice every night!! Do you notice anything!" I noticed something I never heard it in his voice before, he spat. He spat the word 'mom' like it tainted his brain to even think it. I shuffle farther back in the dark closet, throwing clothes over my body and thanking god it was a walk in. I set a few suitcases in front of me, making myself small as possible on the floor and praying he grabs what he needs and runs off again.

Of course, that happens to be the moment Phil throws the closet door open. Stalking inside and the sound of hangers on a steel rod rings clearly through the condensed area. I peak around the suitcase, hoping he won't see me. There is absolutely no explaining this if I'm caught.

Holy fuck he's not wearing a shirt. Why has god forsaken me in this way. My head shoots behind the suitcase again. Throwing a t-shirt over my head for good measure. My cheeks are heating up and I bury my face to the carpet uncomfortably, holding my arms like rulers by my sides.

Don't move Dan, the images is replaying in my head, this is torture. Pure, unrequnted torture. How the fuck do you get muscles doing absolutely nothing but party all day? And where the fucks his beer gut? This is way too unfair, if his eyes were still the same and he was less of an insufferable fuck nugget I would have hit on him a million times by now. I control my breathing, hoping it isn't as fucking loud to Phil then it is for me. Why do I always seem to get myself in the most mind meltingly embarrassing situations to ever exist. No, ex that, why does god want to rip my dignity to shreds and hang it out to dry whenever I attempt to do something even remotely dangerous.