Panophobia

It was the last period of school of the day. I walked into my classroom, slightly mortified at the bursts of whispers and apologetic looks being hurled at me. Even when I sat in my seat the girl in front of me turned and handed me a sorry.

Everyone was sorry about Vic calling me a faggot. No one would have cared if it was just another guy; but since it was the psycho, bad boy new kid, everyone wanted in on the misery business. And I wouldn’t have cared if it wasn’t for his touch.

I opened my planner, jotting down my homework for this class, carefully copying from the board. The little words blurred together as I could feel myself falling into a flashback.

We were ages seven and five, playing on the black top with the other kids at recess. Jesse, Alex, the two Jacks, and I were playing marbles. Kailey was close by, jumping rope with two other girls. One was my age, her name Emily. After around six minutes of the Jacks battling it out with their marbles, I got up to get a juice box. But, in the same moment, one of the girls playing jump rope let go, making the trip over the braided pink plastic. I fell, and scraped my knee.

“Ow!” I cried, clutching my leg to my chest, holding my dusty hands to the open wound. That wasn’t smart, because the next thing I knew, sand was in the scrape, making it hurt ten times worse. Tear fell from my eyes; what else could I do?

“Haha, everyone look,” Emily yelled, pointing a finger at me. I wanted to break it off. “Kellin’s crying! Kellin’s crying!”

“Crybaby!” a random boy, Oliver, yelled, chanting it.

And, just like that, the whole playground from kindergarten to 2nd grade joined in the chant. All I could do was look at Kailey, helplessly.

She marched over to me, grabbed my dirty, bloody hand and led me off the playground and to the nurse, blowing raspberries to anyone who laughed at us.

I let my hair fall in my eyes as the nurse cleaned the scrape, pressing on a Spiderman band-aid, thin smile never leaving her face. Kailey thanked her and led me through the hallways. She sloppily wiped off the rest of my tears and smiled at me.

“They’re just doo-doo heads,” she said, and we laughed at her insult.

Indeed, they were just doo-doo heads.

I clutched my hands to my chest, dropping my pencil on the floor, forgetting it was even there. I could actually feel my heart breaking, if that makes sense.

I looked up to see everyone else copying notes off the board, chatting away with their desk neighbor. Yeah, I should probably do that. Why is everyone talking? The teacher is typing away at her desk, probably sending emails to-

“Be fucking careful,” I heard a voice harshly whisper, slapping my pencil on to my desk, making me flinch. I hate unexpected shit.

I looked to see none other than Vic. The new murderer kid or whatever. Not like I want to even fucking know.

“Thanks,” I just mumbled back, sinking further into my seat, feeling him stare at me.

“Don’t mention it. And when I say that, I really mean don’t fucking mention it.”

“Why are you such an asshole?” I blurted out, covering my mouth as soon as it escaped. A few people near us gasped, staring wide-eyed. Fucking fantastic.

“Why are you such a faggot?” he growled back.

“Oh, gee, what a great fucking insult. Why don’t you just shut the fuck up? You didn’t have to pick up my pencil for me!”

He raised his arm, and I already looked away and screwed my eyes shut, expected to be slapped. But it never came. No, all that came was a firm grip on my hoodie sleeve, yanking me down. We were eye-to-eye, our noses almost touching.

“Listen here,” he said, low enough so only I could hear, “you stay out of my way, and I’ll stay out of yours. Got it?”

I pulled back, “I was never in your way from the start.”

He stared back at me; I got him there.

“Just leave me alone.”

He turned back to his desk, scribbling something in his notebook, ripping it out and crumpling it into a ball. He placed it on the corner of his desk, and I brushed it off, going back to writing my notes.

After a while, the bell rang. I decided that I was going to leave once everyone else did. But felt something hit my head, and bounce on to my desk; I turned to the direction it came from and say Vic walking off with a smirk plastered on his face. Prick.

I opened the paper to find a note in slightly messy cursive.

“You’re the first person to stand up to me. We should be friends.”

Wait, what?