Dan Howell
I make my way to Phil leaning against his locker. I had wasted quite a lot of time thinking what the fuck I had done to Phil to make him act like a jerk but I couldn't recall. Maybe he just realised I'm a dick and he should stay away from me? Probably.
We didn't interact at all the whole day. He didn't even return my smile or said anything when I complimented his art project. Seems like he really is trying hard to avoid me. I wouldn't blame him.
"Hey," I greet him, and he looks up from his phone, smiling slightly at me. Well that's a start.
"Hi," he responds, pushing his phone in his pocket and straightening his posture.
"So, let's go?" It comes out as a question and he nods. He looks better than yesterday, his nose and cheeks aren't that red as they were before, and he is not wearing the beanie that suited him well. Today he is wearing a blue shirt, with a pixelated pikachu and ash printed on the front. I would compliment his shirt if we were in a different position, but we aren't so I stay quiet.
"You have a car?" He seems surprised as he opens the door to the passenger's seat.
"Yeah," It is actually my mom's but he is better off not knowing that. She isn't around enough to use it anyway. Thinking about my mother has just caused me irritation and I feel as if I could snap at anyone. I didn't go to the party last night, probably should have so I could take my mind off my spectacular mother and her adventures with Robert.
We are sitting in an uncomfortable silence as Phil looks out the window. His forehead is resting against the glass and he looks tired for some reason. I am glad he isn't speaking because I don't really want to have a conversation, but him sitting quietly like that makes me feel awkward.
"Do you have anything in mind?" I ask him, and he diverts his attention from the moving cars to me. His eyes look brighter today as the sun reflects light onto them.
"No, I haven't really thought about it, but maybe we could go for volunteering? There isn't anything great for sightseeing in London." He groans, slumping back against his seat.
"Yeah, okay." I don't argue, and we sit quietly for the rest of the ride to my place. When we reach my driveway, I notice that Phil has his phone out. It seems like he's texting someone, PJ probably.
We get out of the car and Phil keeps his phone back into his pocket, slinging his bag over his left shoulder and quietly following me up the porch steps. It feels unfamiliar inviting someone to my house, even if it's for a project. It is just weird. In a normal house I would enter and my mom would greet me and ask who is my friend whom I have brought home. But this isn't a normal house, it's mine, as so when I push the key in and open the door I am just greeted by silence and white walls closing in on me.
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