Sinking

wander

The weekend was over quickly, and soon it was Monday.

I had not seen one sign of Phil Lester, not since Friday night. His window had been dark the entire last two days.

On Saturday afternoon I'd gone out job hunting, and headed towards the small book store that was deeper in town. The guy had hired me as soon as I'd written down for him that I didn't speak.

"I fired the last guy for talking too much," He'd laughed, telling me that I now worked Monday through Saturday with Tuesdays, Wednesdays, and Sundays off, three to eight. I figured it would be easy enough, to stock books in their appropriate sections and help people find what they were looking for. It seemed peaceful to be surrounded by words, just as I'd been at my old job at the library. At least this guy seemed a lot nicer than the woman there.

But for now, I had to go to school, and I would think about my new job when I went there later.

I was out the door quickly, after throwing on a black sweater paired with my usual black jeans, ignoring the fact that my house was completely empty.

But so was the neighbourhood outside.

The trees were still dull colors of brown and orange; there were still leaves on the ground and dampness in the air. There was still grass growing in the yard and clouds moving along in the wind. I still felt tired and the rocks under my feet still pressed against the weak soles of my shoes.

Our street was quite void of people my age, except for Phil. Everyone else was old or married, without kids. They seemed to only have cats that somehow escaped and ended up in my yard. So, the street was normally empty, yet today it was extra empty, considering the fact that a certain boy named Phil wasn't standing anywhere by his house.

I was quite sure that he'd missed multiple days of school over the past few years; everyone stayed home once in a while. But now that I'd actually had a conversation with him, his sudden absence left me with an uneasy feeling. It was dumb, I knew, but I couldn't help but wonder about the reason why his feet weren't padding along the pavement in front of, or next to mine.

My steps came to a halt when I reached his mailbox, just in case he was running late, but I knew it was no use. His car was most likely in the garage, the blinds on every window drawn shut, no noise coming from the house.

It's none of my business, I thought when my mind began to wander, and I hesitantly forced myself to keep walking. I could possibly still make it to school on time. I picked up the pace as the wind blew against my already messy hair, my eyes trained on the building now only a block away.

Soon enough, I was inside the school and there were only seconds until the first bell rang. So I did something I rarely did, which was run down the halls. My bag flew behind me as I rushed up the stairs and practically flung myself inside of the history classroom.

Everyone was already inside, and they stared at me.

I noticed that our usual teacher wasn't standing at the front of the room, and the woman up front was most likely a substitute. She had long blonde hair and friendly features, looking at me with expectant blue eyes.

The bell rang just as her voice rang out. "And what's your name?"

I blanched, my grip on my bag loosening as I just stared at her, unsure what to do considering the nearest notebook I had was in my bag and I didn't want to randomly whip it out. Seconds ticked by and I felt more uneasy after each one, until finally her eyebrows furrowed in confusion and I grimaced.

"That's Dan," someone spoke up from the back, and I turned to see it was Joe Sugg, sister of Zoe from art class. He was one of the many people that thought it was funny to throw things at the back of my head, or snicker each time someone addressed me and I didn't reply. "Dan Howell, the freak who doesn't talk. All he does is draw in that dumb book of his."