amity // phan

two.

-phil-

Everywhere I went, people just loved to paint pictures of me in their minds. They changed who I was until I matched up with who they wanted me to be. Maybe that was just what kids did in highschool- or maybe my classmates were assholes. Probably the latter.

And normally, I'd do anything and everything to stay away from them, from the kids made from porcelain and ice instead of skin and bone. But the promise of getting to know Dan- that odd little boy I'd met in the rain- well that was just too good to miss.

It was the first football game of the year, between our school and our rivals, not that I was really keeping track. I had to pay an entire four dollars on entrance, which still seemed rather steep for an over glorified game of fetch. I climbed up the bleachers, and found myself an empty row. I kept myself busy by drumming my fingers on the bench next to me. All around the football field, the stands were packed full of people. They were milling about, all buzzing together with excitement for the coming game. I rolled my eyes, and tugged on my sleeves a bit. Everyone cared so much. Too much.

In all honesty, I didn't know anything about football, and after the first two minutes of waiting, I firmly decided that I'd rather be sitting under the bleachers. Or staying at home. Or going to a party. Or even kissing Sarah Flemming behind the school- because sitting alone before a football game- well, that was no fun at all.

And then, as if someone was listening to my thoughts, I felt a sharp sting on the back of my head. Someone had thrown a rock at me. I spun in my spot, and smiled when I saw the dirty blonde hair and abundance of rings that meant Amelia Swander was there.

"What the fuck did you just throw at me?"

She threw her head back and laughed as she sat down next to me.

"Dunno, Phil." She smiled at me, and fiddled with her flower crown. "Are you imagining things?"

Amelia was one of my best friends. Or my oldest, at any rate. We'd met in the first grade, having been introduced by our equally unbearable mothers. And we were that awkward type of almost-friends that comes about when two kids have moms that are good friends. I'd been to her ballet recitals, and we'd had countless family dinners together. But we were never real friends. And then, in grade eleven, we figured out that the two of us had a surprising amount in common. And then we made a concious effort to become real friends- and since then we were.

Amelia said that she was a hippie born in the wrong generation. I always thought it was just an excuse to get high and buy incense, but she claimed it had to do with more important things- like inner enlightenment and her chakras and other bullshit. She liked to skip class lots- which I assumed was common among not-quite hippies. And she stayed up late at night to pick daisies and weave shitty flower crowns, or write cheesy poetry about love and the stars. She pulled the whole flower child look off fairly well- her face was dusted in freckles, her eyes were very blue, and her hair was always a bit of a mess- a very pretty mess, though. Her loose curls were usually woven with flowers or feathers. Sometimes I thought she'd hatched from an egg when she was little, and had since gone on to grow into a fairy or a bird or something, because there was no way she was entirely human.

Throughout all the years I'd known her, we'd kissed twice. Both times because there was nothing else to do, and nobody else to kiss. Since then we firmly decided to be just friends- with the exception of making one of those shitty pacts to get married if nobody ever fell in love with us.

I got hit with another pebble, this time on the shoulder.

"Seriously- What the fuck was that?"

Amelia started laughing. I stared at her, raising my eyebrows, but she just smiled at me, her eyes twinkling. I punched her in the arm. She stuck out her tongue at me. I spun around yet again to find the real cause of my annoyance- Spencer Tolliday. Very much a pain in my ass, very much my friend.