Fangirl

Chapter 5 Phillip

Getting back to the academy, I didn't return straight to my room. I went up to the second floor and ducked into the bay window, where I could see the front entrance.

The girl approached the steps, took a step, and froze as if looking at something. No matter how closely I peered into, I couldn't see anything. It was only when she bent down and touched something that it suddenly hit me - my boot prints!

That's so creepy!

That's how she must have realized I hadn't returned to the academy!

I swallowed, feeling my hands go cold, and thought that she should have been an investigator, no one could escape from her. But no matter how weird she was, I wasn't going to hide.

I behaved as usual in class, not giving away what had happened earlier and not paying any attention to Martha at all. Peeking at her covertly, I decided that she was following the same pattern ignoring me for a while.

I couldn't know what she was thinking: whether she was offended by my overreaction, or maybe she was hurt that I'd called her weird a few times. She didn't show it, but that didn't tell anything.

Still, I hoped I hadn't hurt her too much. I'd told the truth, of course, and it would be foolish to blush for my words, because I hadn't lied or tried to intentionally insult her. It was just that her behavior was a real too much. She was a classic stalker.

Anyway, I felt sorry and worried.

A couple weeks went by and I had to admit that her behavior had changed. She no longer looked in my direction; the stares disappeared. I also noticed that she used to always be around me, but now she had changed her habit.

'Hey, Phillip, why are you in a bad mood?' Maxim asked, sitting at the dining room table.

'It's nothing.' I tried to dismiss it.

'It's nothing? You've been frowning like a storm cloud for days. Problems at home?'

My friend made his conclusions for obvious reasons. I was usually upset when I got news from home. Just at the beginning of the week, the mail came.

'No, I'm fine, really. Just insomnia.' I lied a bit.

The lack of sleep did bother me sometimes, but it was something else, and I'd never admit it.

I should have watched myself more carefully and acted like nothing was wrong. It's my own fault.

Right before lunch, I saw Martha in the hallway and, damn me, I got mad out of nowhere. I deliberately blocked her way, so that she almost ran into me.

At that moment I was looking straight ahead, wanting to peek into her eyes. The task seemed easy, for we were the same height, but she glanced at my face and turned away.

I flared up, and I still couldn't calm down. I cast a sidelong look to the corner where she usually sat. Martha was still there, except that, unlike her usual manner, she was looking away.

Not at me.

Was she offended by my frank - too harsh - words about her oddities? Or maybe she was disappointed in me after that conversation?

She'd called me polite and courteous - all right, that's exactly what I was. I'd been raised well and other way wasn't familiar or pleasant to me, but perhaps I'd overpressed it in that conversation.

The annoyance saddened in my chest. Made anxious. That night what I'd lied to my friend about during the day had happened to me: insomnia.

A couple of weeks later, I had to work harder to stay attentive and focused in class. I didn't sleep well, and everything irritated me. Especially Martha. She pissed me off. Her long, insistent stares used to annoy me, now the lack of them.