Selfish Souls (Phan)

Pancakes : 3

I made up some elaborate story about tripping on my shoelaces and faceplanting into the lockers. Which the nurse didn't believe, but I refused to tell the truth. Eventually, she gave up, letting me go home but advising that I got a doctor's appointment as soon as possible. I agreed not wanting to argue, but deep down I knew I never would.

Phil offered to skip school to walk me home and make sure I didn't die in the process. The nurse agreed, writing an excuse for the next two periods before he would need to get back. Much to my disagreement, Phil carried both of our bags. The walk home felt like walking through the depths of hell even with Phil helping me.

As I unlock the front door, I see Phil gawking at the house. It looks like something plucked out of a magazine, the ones you always dream about. But once you get to live in one it loses its fun, the edges and contrasts that once made it seemed cool like sci-fi movie now seem bleak and cold; especially since no one's ever here but me.

"This place is awesome!" Phil says excitedly. He helps me sit down on the fluffy sofa in the corner of the room. And as I see Phil walks around the place I swear it seems to light up more, if only a little bit.

"When do your parents come home?" He asks, taking a seat beside me. "My mum never comes back," I say sadly. He gives me look of guilt. "Oh well, what about your dad?" He asks hopefully. "Haven't seen him in years," I say shrugging. I reach over Phil grabbing the remote and switching on a random show. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to bring up a sensitive subject," he says, the hope draining from his eyes and I feel like I'd do anything to get it back. "It's not that big of a deal," I say, hiding the pain the thought brought. "Yes it is, " he says.

After a few seconds of silence, he speaks up again, "So you live her by yourself? That's cool." "Yeah, it's nice sometimes," I admit. No one to nag on me about my grades and how they are suspiciously lower than normal, although I can't say it would be that bad. It would show they care; no one cares about me. Phil notices that I got quite all the sudden. "What's wrong?" He asks. Everything. "Nothing," I say. Phil looks like he's thinking about something.

"I don't think you ate lunch. Are you hungry?" Phil asks. I shrug, but at that very moment, my stomach growls. Phil laughs, and the pleasant sounds fill the room. "What do you have to eat, I'll make you something," Phil says heading for the kitchen. I start to get up, and Phil is by my side in an instant, helping me. We clumsily walk into the kitchen Phil sitting me on a barstool as soon as possible, so I don't have to stand.

"We could make pancakes," I day as I go through a mental inventory of what I remember buying. Phil's face lights up. "Fun!" he says. I laugh as he stumbles through the cabinets and drawers looking for the ingredients. "Do you have like a separate room for bowls or something because there aren't any in here," he says, looking confused and lost. He gives me an expectant glance. "Yeah, upstairs. First door to the right. I call it the designated bowl room. Or DBR if you wanna be fancy," I say, laughing. He rolls his eyes. "Are you gonna tell me or am I going to make these on plates," He says, reaching for the cabinet.

"Spin around three times click your heels together then move the left about a foot, the second one down," I say. He does as told, including the first part which makes me laugh again when he gets dizzy and almost falls over.

We finally get to making them; it starts off normal. Crack an egg into the bowl, measure the salt, then we get the flour and by the end of it, we're both white and look like ghosts vomited on us.

We turned the kitchen into a war zone, Phil ducking behind walls and me doing my best to dodge the clouds of white. Eventually, I'm having so much fun I forget about the pain and can play with wincing every five seconds. I laugh as one of my throws hits Phil directly in the face causing him to cough and laugh at the same time. "No! I've been injured," he says before dramatically collapsing to the floor. I smile evilly and while he still has his eyes closed take it upon myself to dump the remaining flour on hit head, turning his black hair almost entirely white.

Phil struggles to get out of the pile but in the process hits my leg knocking me down into it with, sending a giant cloud of dust into the air after me. Phil laughs at my misfortune. Taking a handfull of powder and getting revenge on my dark shirt that isn't so dark anymore. After a few more throws from both of us, we calm our laughing and steady our breathing, both of us laying on my kitchen floor with a cloud of flour floating around us. And when I look over to see Phil already smiling at me, I know this is the happiest I've been in a long time.