death of a conformist || phan

snowburt

disclaimer: anything said/done by any of the characters in this story do not link back to me personally as the author, i am in no way affiliated with the characters. it is fiction. so basically if they're being rude, don't think i'm rude. lol, enjoy (-:

When I was younger, I always thought kids that moved schools were 'troubled'. I was kind of a judgemental child, but it was just the way I'd been brought up I suppose. I always thought that when new kids joined the school, it meant something traumatic had happened at where they used to go or they had done something to get themselves kicked out the school, but it's a whole new story when you're the one that has to move.
Let me just clarify: nothing traumatic happened to me, I wasn't kicked out, I just simply had to move from my home in Wokingham to the northern town of Lancashire for my father's work. I must admit, walking into a classroom of fifteen year olds who I didn't know, was pretty terrifying. Each one of them whipped their heads round to look and analyse my every feature, trying to figure out my background and why I was there.
Then there was also the fact of which 'clique' I'd be placed in. Oh, the joy of bitchy adolescents sorting each individual into a rank of popularity, based on their appearance, personality and way of life. I simply couldn't wait to be thrown into the mix. Just looking round the room, I could already figure out each of the stereotypical groups. You had your popular, pretty girls at the table on the front, all looking at me and then at each other, giggling hysterically. Then, on the table opposite were the popular, attractive boys, all who obviously played sports and tried way too hard to keep up with the fashion. Then at the tables in the middle, there were your basic inbetweeners. Nothing that special about them, just normal kids who sat with their heads down and only spoke when spoken to. Then at the back two tables, one of them was the obvious nerds, all sitting comparing homework with unbrushed hair and flared trousers that rise at the ankles. On the last table were three boys. I couldn't quite figure out what group they'd fit into. They weren't inbetweeners, they looked a bit too alternative for that. Hipsters? No, chunky glasses and unusual piercings were nowhere to be seen. Emo's? They weren't wearing enough black and they seemed too indulged in each others conversations to be 'emotionally unstable'. I peered closer at them and decided on a simple clique name: rejects. Sat away from the rest of the room, isolated, refusing to subject themselves to the rules of blending in at the school. I sighed contentedly as I thought to myself 'I have this school completely sussed'.
"Daniel Howell?" I turned round at the sound of my name to see a slim, young, pretty woman. I nodded up at her and she smiled warmly. "Hello. My names Miss McTonkle. I'll be your tutor for your remaining time at Snowburt Academy, and I will also be teaching you art. Any questions you have, please just come to me." I nodded and smiled as she gave me a diary and a time table, sitting me down on the table full of popular boys.
They all turned to look at me.
"Aight." One of them said to me. He had a large quiff on top of his head and mildly tanned skin. I guessed what he was saying to me was an attempt at some kind of greeting, so I simply replied,
"Hello." And they all suddenly broke into fits of laughter. I looked around at them, my eyebrows furrowed with confusion.
"You're proper posh you are." One of them said, laughter shaking his voice.
"My names Daniel and I'm so poshe!" Said another, doing an extremely exaggerated upperclass accent. All of them started laughing harder. I was in disbelief of their immaturity.
I said nothing.
"You don't talk much do ya?" One of them said.
"Well you can't expect me to talk if I'm not taken seriously for the way I talk." I replied, rolling my eyes. "And, may I also say, I am not posh. I just know how to speak and pronounciate my words correctly." All of them started laughing again.
"I like you Danny," one of them said, putting their arm round my shoulders and exposing me to the toxic stench of teenage boys bio. "You stick with us and you'll be just fine."
"Even if you are a bit queer!" One of them shouted and all of them laughed.
"That's proper peak!" I heard one say.
"Yeah, it's only his first day, don't be tight." Another said, shoving the boy who had called me it.
"Boys, will you sit still and be quiet!" We all turned our heads round to see Miss McTonkle sitting at her desk, mock anger filling her face.
"Sorry Miss." They all muttered in unison. She just shook her head and went back to her computer. I decided I quite liked her.
Suddenly there was a loud ringing and everyone began to gather their bags. I did the same and followed the boys out into the hallway.
"Oi, Joe, what have we got first?" One of them said. The boy who stank of bio turned round and said,
"English." They all groaned. Joe then looked at me. "There's a spare seat next to me if you wanna sit there mate." I smiled at him.
"Thanks." He nodded and walked into a classroom marked 'English 4'. I followed. He collapsed into a desk as I perched down next to him, flicking my fringe out of my eyes.
A rather large woman sat at the front of the class, spectacles at the end of her pointy nose as she tried to work out how to use a keyboard properly. I looked around and saw the entire class talking to each other, a few of them looking at me now and then. But it was fine, I was new, it was completely natural to be curious. I just sat still and looked to the front as I let them silently judge me.
"And who are you?" A loud, lispy voice bellowed. The entire class went silent. I looked up to find the teacher staring at me. She truly was revolting, warts coming off her chin, frown lines all over her face, she even had a moustache.
"Daniel. Daniel Howell." I said. I heard a couple of giggles from the back of the class.
"Well Daniel Daniel Howell, I haven't been informed of any new pupils joining my class. I think you have mistaken this class for English 1, where you should be. It should all be on your timetable." She said. I opened up the sheet of paper that had all my lessons on it and glanced at Monday lesson 1.
Ah yes, English 1.
"Sorry Miss," I said, gathering my bags and beginning to walk out. I got to the door before turning back round. "Where is English 1?"
She let out an exasperated sigh as if giving me directions was the most time consuming, difficult thing in the world.
"Down the corridor to your left." I nodded gratefully and walked out the classroom, following what she had said.
I reached a door with the sign 'English 1' and knocked. I heard a voice say "come in" and I slowly opened the door. As I walked in, about 20 heads turned round to look at me. I ignored them and looked up at the young, male teacher at the front of the class. He was wearing a button down cheque shirt with black chords and Vans.
"Daniel Howell?" He asked. He had a normal middle class accent, different to all the northern ones I'd heard all day. I nodded. "Ah yes, we've been expecting you. You're a little bit late."
"Yes sorry sir, I went to the wrong class." I said. No one laughed at me this time I spoke. He smiled understandingly.
"That's okay. My names Mr Gilbert by the way. Why don't you go sit down at the back on that spare seat." I did as I was told and kept my head down, content on not drawing any attention to myself this time. Once I had sat down I put my bag on the floor and stiffly faced the front.
"Right guys, as I was saying..."
Half listening, I took this opportunity to take in my surroundings. Everyone in here looked completely engaged in what the teacher was saying. Everyone in here looked like they actually wanted to learn and although that may sound lame, it was actually nice to be in such an environment.
"LESTER." I looked up, noticing Mr Gilbert looking at my desk, me having no idea what he was on about. As I looked to my left, I only just noticed the ebony haired boy who was sat next to me, leant against the wall, fringe covering his eyes. "How many times do I have to tell you about that bloody hoodie?" The boy next to me sighed and flicked his hair out of his face, revealing a pair of oddly coloured eyes. I couldn't tell if they were blue or green. Or yellow? I looked at them as he began to talk.
"But sir, it's basic human rights that we should be allowed to wear a simple hoodie over our school uniform, not just to keep warm but to keep a little bit of our identity. In our uniform, you are making us all the same. Each one of us has an individual personality that we are forced to keep inside of us, we do not get the opportunity to express ourselves through how we look. All I ask is for you to let me wear a hoodie with my favourite band on to show what kind of person I am. I refuse to be stereotyped as the same as every kid in this class. It lets me show a part of who I am. As we grow up, we are taught to be ourselves, but how can we be ourselves if we are forced to be dressed like someone we're not? It's disgraceful sir, and I know you agree with me. Please for once actually listen to me and not block out my ideas just because I'm a fifteen year old boy. That's ageist and discrimination, sir. Als-"
"Phil, either take off that hoodie or I send you to the heads office and call your parents." Mr Gilbert interrupted. A couple of giggles spread through the classroom.  They both glared at each other for a few seconds before the boy muttered something under his breath and shrugged the jacket off. "Also that's... six minutes you have wasted of my lesson, so you can come and make them up this lunchtime." The boy sighed loudly and said,
"It would be a pleasure sir."
"7 minutes." Mr Gilbert said sternly. Phil shook his head and slumped into his seat. The teacher nodded, almost triumphantly and carried on with his lesson. The second he turned his back, the two boys sat in front of me turned round to Phil.
"Nice speech." One of them muttered. He had curly, mousey brown hair and vibrant emerald eyes.
"What's that, your fifth lecture this term? It's getting boring now douche." The other one said. He had a messy, brunette fringe and light brown eyes. As I continued to look, I realised that these were the boys I labeled as 'rejects' in our tutor room.
"This school infuriates me so much. They couldn't care less about their students opinion or well being, they just want to get paid." Phil said, shaking his head slightly. "Nobody listens because they believe that young peoples opinions are invalid and irrelevant. It's disgusting." The boy with the messy fringe turned to me and smirked.
"Good luck sitting with him for the rest of the year." He said. I smiled a little, slightly taken aback at the sudden involvement in their conversation. I kind of forgot I was actually in the room with them. Phil turned to look at me for the first time. I looked back at him. He smiled warmly at me.
"Daniel, isn't it?" He asked. I coughed a little, not wanting to sound stupid when I spoke.
"I prefer Dan." I said.
"Oh, okay. Well Dan, I'm Phil. That's PJ," he said, pointing at the boy with the curly hair. He gave a little wave. "And that's Chris." He pulled at his own shirt.
"Can I just say that I love your accent." PJ said. He looked at me with wide eyes, seeming absolutely intrigued by me. He just had this look on his face that made you feel like you were the most important person in the world.
"Well, you'll be the first." I mumbled.
"Personally, I think it sounds quite pretentious. You sound like one of those upper class twats from Made In Chelsea." said Chris. I nibbled my lip a little selfconsciously.
"Chris, shut up you're not even funny you're just rude and annoying." PJ said, punching Chris in the arm.
"Yes, but you love me for it." Chris said, pouting his lips in a ready-to-kiss manor.
For a minute, I actually thought they were going to kiss in the middle of the English class, but PJ just slapped Chris round the face lightly and they both laughed.
'What a platonic group of friends' I thought to myself. 'I can see why they're so rejected and unpopular'
"I like your accent," Phil suddenly said softly. "I usually hate people that talk like you, all up their own backsides, but you don't seem like that."
"You don't even know me," I mumbled.
"That's correct, but I thought it would be a good thing for you to be complimented twice in a sentence, make you feel a little less on edge on your first day." Phil replied, giving me this odd, lopsided smile.
"What makes you think I'm uneasy?"
"Body language, how you keep coughing and hesitating before you speak, how you are sitting as stiff as a board, how you are gnawing on your bottom lip as if it's a Maoam."
I removed my lip from between my teeth shamefully.
"How very observant of you." I murmured. "Do you do psychology or something?"
"Nope, I just like looking at you. You're pretty." Phil said, smiled, then turned his head to the front.
I did a double take.
I couldn't figure out if I had heard it wrong or taken it the wrong way. But I didn't get the chance to find out as no later than 8 seconds after he'd said it, the bell went. Phil didn't even look my way whilst packing his bags, he just spoke and laughed with Chris and PJ before walking out the room. I was left alone in the classroom to put away my books by myself.
I didn't mind though.
I had only been at this school an hour and I had already sussed it down to the core and been hit on.
I decided I was going to like it here.