"I think you have internalized homophobia."
Philip looked at her, his mouth slightly curved.
"Jokes on you."
--
Philip is a seventeen year-old teenager who just wants to try to live. Severely affected by a fatal accident that he deems himself to be...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Fletcher Handerson was done waiting.
He abruptly stood up from the lunch table, startling his friends as he did so, and stormed out of the cafeteria, to find a certain weeping boy.
He headed straight to the library.
He was upset.
Upset about not being able to comprehend his heightened, mixed emotions when it comes to a certain curly-haired boy.
He slipped inside the library quietly, and walked towards the seats in the corner of the library.
There he had found his weeping boy.
Philip was curled up on the couch, crying silently while he hugged his bag. His cheeks were swollen and eyes were so red, all tenderly.
Fletcher leaned over the couch to look at the curly-haired boy.
Philip sat up suddenly, bumping their foreheads in the process.
"Ow," he winced, rubbing his forehead.
Fletcher crouched in front of the boy and pried his hands away from his cheeks, and applied pressure to his forehead with his thumb finger.
"You didn't come to see me," Fletcher Handersom murmured, not taking his eyes off the forehead.
Philip's heart was pounding.
He wanted to cry.
That's something he does everyday.
"Why?"
"I just did."
Fletcher did not speak about the sticky note.
Philip was speechless.
He counted the syllables in the words that came out of Fletcher's mouth.
"Why did you want to see me?" Philip asked, gazing straight inside Fletcher's eyes, studying the specs of black around his blue eyes.
"I wanted to. I don't know why," Fletcher moved away, and noticed that Philip was looking intently at him.
"You are seeing me now."
"I am."
"Why?"
"I think I need to--I want to."
Philip's eyes welled up with tears.
"What is my name?" He asked, wiping his eyes, feeling embarrassed the next second.
"Philip Fork, you were my desk partner in grade three for a week."
Philip had stopped crying and he was now looking expectantly at the boy crouched before him, looking at ease.
"You don't think I'm weird?" Was Philip's big question, to which he dreaded the answer. The poor boy really liked to expect every answer and nothing at all.
