Biblio-what?

"Alright, class, turn to page two-hundred in your books," the teacher instructed from the front of the class room.

My heartbeat immediately changed, picking up and sending my body into a slight frenzy. Liquids evaporated from my mouth. The classroom seemed to spin as I looked at my classmates taking out their textbooks. My stomach lurched.

I have to get out of here.

My hand rose.

"Yes, Maxwell?" the teacher addressed me.

"C-c-c-ca-can I g-g-go use the restroom," I stuttered.

She sighed. "Sure."

I nodded my thanks and rushed from the classroom. My footsteps echoed in the hall, bouncing from wall to wall. The contents of my stomach began pushing their way up my throat. My hand clamped over my mouth. The sign marked "RESTROOMS" was clearly in sight. I ran towards it and into the restroom labeled "MEN". My body hurried to a stall, immediately bending over. Everything I had eaten that morning spewed into the toilet, some of it splattering against its edge. I leaned back taking a gulp of air. My heartbeat returned to a regular pace. I sighed to myself.

Why does this keep happening?

I lay against the cold tile of the bathroom floor, awaiting the bell.

There's no way I'm going back to class now.

I made no note of the amount of bacteria most likely infesting the floor. The restrooms at this school were beyond the point of ever becoming clean again. I ran a hand through my shaggy, brown hair, sighing again. The bell cut through the air.

Lunch time: the one part of the day I can get through without running.

I pushed my body off the tiled floor, flushed the toilet, and walked from the stall. My eyes caught my reflection in the mirror, forcing me to stop. I walked up to the mirror, placing a hand on it.

Brown hair, curtsey of my mother. Green eyes, thanks to my dad. My dad's jaw. My mom's nose. Thin frame because I can't keep down a fucking meal.

A growl escaped my throat.

Damn books.

My heart skipped a beat. With a huff, I stormed from the restroom only to collide with another body. We fell to the floor with a loud thump.

"I'm so sorry," I said, jumping to my feet and offering the boy my hand.

He accepted it, "Its okay. I was looking for you actually. The principal wants to see you."

My eyebrows furrowed. "Why would he want to see me?"

"You are Maxwell Stump, right?" the boy asked.

"Yes."

"Well he asked me to find you. I really don't know why."

"Oh. I guess I'll go see him then," I said, a little unsure.

"Cool," the boy walked away.

Onward to the principal's office.

I walked through the sea of students quickly, stopping in front of the principal's office. Lungs took a breath. I pushed the door open and walked in. The receptionist immediately looked up at me.

"Can I help you?" she asked.

"Yes ma'am. Um, the principal asked to see me," I explained.

"Name?"

"Maxwell Stump."

"Oh, yes. You can go right in; he's expecting you."

I nodded and walked down the hall to the principal's room. When I reached it, the door was firmly shut, earning a few knocks from my fist.

"Come in," a rough voice called.

My hand turned the knob and opened the door slowly. I poked my head in.

"You wanted to see me, sir?" I asked.

"Maxwell," he boomed. "Yes, yes. Come in."

Cautiously, I entered the room. My eyes glanced around. The shelves were covered in books. Immediately, I averted my eyes from them in my best attempt to ignore their existence. Mrs. Peters, the school councilor stood by the principal's desk. My dad sat in one of the two empty chairs.

Wait, my dad?

"Am I in trouble?" I asked, easing my body into the open seat.

"We just wanted to have a talk with you and your father," the principal stated.

I looked at my dad; he smiled reassuringly at me.

"Mr. Stump," the principal began.

"Please, call me Patrick," my father insisted.

"Patrick," he restarted, "I've been getting reports from your son's teachers that he's been missing out on a majority of his lessons. He asks to leave around the time they ask to pull out textbooks and begin reading; then he doesn't return to the period. I don't if you know anything about this but it's been happening for awhile now and he's grades are starting to slip. Is there something going on that could possibly shed any light on this issue?"

My heartbeat quickened at the word "textbooks." My eyes focused on the books lining the walls.

"I had no idea this was happening. I mean, I just gained custody of Maxwell maybe a week ago. His mother was dubbed unfit to raise him. She didn't inform me of anything going on," my father said, confusion evident.

Breathing became difficult. The books taunted me. Sweat coated my hands. I rubbed them on my pants in an attempt to clean them.

"Maxwell, would you care to explain to us what's been happening lately?" the principal's voice met my ears, seeming farther than it actually was.

My body began shaking.

"Maxwell?" Mrs. Peter's asked.

"C-c-ca-can we go ou-out-outside?" I stuttered.

"What ever for, boy? What is wrong?" the principal asked.

My father touched my shoulder; I flinched away.

"The books," I stated.

"What?" the principal asked.

"There are too many of them. I have to get out here. Please, can we go outside," tears streamed down my face.

Mrs. Peter's face dawned in realization. "Are you... afraid of... books?" she asked.

"Yes," I yelled, jumping from my seat.

My dad stood and embraced me in his arms, shielding my face from the shelves.

"It's going to be okay," he whispered.

I whimpered, allowing him to keep his hold on me.

"This is amazing," Mrs. Peter's marveled. "I've only heard of bibliophobia. Never have I met and individual actually suffering from it."

"Biblio-what?" asked the principal.

"Bibliophobia. It’s the fear of books or more like the fear of something that has no real danger," she explained.

"Stop talking about them," I whined.

"Sorry," she apologized.

My heart controlled itself, causing the body stop shaking.

"So, what do we about it?" my father asked.

"Therapy and a bit of home-schooling. It’s a rare problem that takes a bit of time to fix but I'm sure Maxwell will jump back in no time. I can send you a list of therapist in the area and we can have a teacher from the school tutor him. The school will be waiting with open arms when he's ready to return."

My father nodded. "I'll take him home then. It was nice meeting with you. Thank you for bringing the problem to my attention."

He shook hands with the principal and led me from the office, still holding me in his embrace.

"I promise you, Maxwell, you will be okay. I'll get you what ever help you need," he whispered.

I smiled into my father's shoulder.

Thank you, Dad.