Chapter Text
Phil was an introverted boy, meaning he didn't talk much to other students his age, only being able to talk to his friends—friends meaning his only best friend, PJ. Even with PJ, Phil tended to keep most of his thoughts to himself.
Because Phil wasn't that great with socializing, he busied his feelings and opinions on paper.
Phil liked to draw. His specialty was realism—though he wished he could draw comically—and expressed his feelings through his pencil. He would start off with a thought and then the thought would on his sketchbook in minutes—sometimes hours. These past few weeks, all Phil's thoughts were directed towards the theatre kid, Daniel Howell.
Daniel Howell was loud and obnoxious, a popular theatre boy with a killer smile and annoying laughter. He was tall, taller than Phil, and cute and talented, and he talked way too much with those shiny, pink lips of his and he had the most gorgeous brown curls atop his head and Phil was in love.
Phil tried to keep his crush a secret, but PJ later found out when he had caught Phil staring at Dan during lunch break. Dan had been laughing out loud to whatever his friend had said and Phil had been staring at him with hearts in his eyes. Thankfully, PJ didn't tease him about it, but would send playful glances at him whenever Dan was around.
Nowadays, his thoughts had been all about Dan. Dan and his cute, pig-tail curls; Dan and his one-sided dimple; Dan and his big, brown eyes; Dan and Dan and Dan and Dan. Phil started drawing all these features and now he was only ever drawing his crush. After drawing Dan (and only Dan) repetitively, Phil's drawings had improved and now his sketches had started looking more realistic than before.
Finishing up another portrait of Dan, Phil hummed, pleased with his drawing. Phil signed his pen name and the date on the bottom left of his sketchbook and started adding little hearts and stars around the edges with a wide smile on his lips.
"Mr. Lester," his math teacher voiced, shocking Phil away from drawing and towards Mr. Brookes with panic, "if you could please give us the answer for the equation shown on the board?"
Fuck. Phil glanced towards the board, and back towards his desk. Pulling out his math notebook from under his sketchbook, Phil tried to find whatever help he could to solve the damn equation. Shit, shit, shit, this is what he gets for not paying attention.
"Mr. Lester."
"Um—I—" Phil finally looked back up towards his teacher and sighed, "—I don't know, sir."
Mr. Brookes hummed, not looking very surprised by the answer. "If you could stop doodling away in your notebook and start listening to our lesson, it would be most appreciated."
Phil swallowed, avoiding all the eyes that were now on him. He felt his cheeks redden in embarrassment. God, he hated being the center of attention. "Sorry, sir."
Mr. Brookes nodded. "Wouldn't want to repeat your final year in High School, now do we, Mr. Lester?"
"Y-yes, sir." Please get back to teaching, please get backtoteaching, pleasegetba—
Mr. Brookes finally turned away and returned to the board, backtracking to whatever he was previously teaching. Phil exhaled, his burning cheeks starting to simmer and wiped his sweaty hands on his jeans.
Right after, the bell rang for the next class and the students around him were quickly packing. With a tired sigh, Phil closed his sketchbook and his notebook.
"Mr. Lester—" Phil looked up, "—come see me before you leave."
Phil bit his lips in worry and quickly tucked away his pencils, hurriedly putting away his other belongings in his backpack. With a quick zip, Phil rushed towards Mr. Brookes' desk.
"Mr. Lester," he started, "I recently checked your grades and noted that you were failing my class, as well as two of your other classes."
Phil gulped, glancing away from his teachers hard gaze. It's not like he hasn't noticed, it's just that he really didn't bother to bring it up when all he really wanted to do was draw. Draw Dan.
"How can I help you bring those grades up?"
Phil just wished he could leave. He looked back at Mr, Brookes and finally spoke, "I—I don't know, sir."
"Well, I—and many other teachers—noticed how you tend to draw in class," Phil's eyes widened in panic as his teacher continued, "and recently, the Theatre Club actually needed a banner and some flyers drawn out to attract more students to come watch their upcoming musical."
Phil noticed some students walk into the classroom, probably for the next class and his thought was confirmed when the first warning bell rang.
"Are you asking me to draw something for them?"
Mr. Brookes shrugged. "I don't tend to give out extra credit at the end of the year, but I can make an exception."
Phil bit his lip. He really needed the extra credit because honestly, he really didn't want to repeat a year in High School, especially when this was his final year. And it was the theatre club, the club his crush was in. Maybe this was his chance of getting noticed.
Phil glanced at the door again when the last warning bell rang, spotting the Daniel Howell walk into the classroom with his friends behind him. Phil watched him laugh, a dimple appearing on one side, and turn his way, making direct eye contact with Phil.
Phil quickly turned away with a blush and loudly replied, "Yes! I'll do it!"
Mr. Brookes smiled at Phil's response. "Great! Come back after school and we can talk about the details for the extra credit."
Phil nodded and thanked his teacher before rushing out the class with his face burning.
——
Phil glanced at the time on the clock above his teachers head for the nth time that hour. They had a few more minutes left before school was out and Phil just wanted to go home—after, talking to Mr. Brookes, of course.
Sighing, Phil bent down and grabbed his backpack, pulling it onto his lap and searching for his sketchbook. He figured he could doodle some instead of listening to his teacher talk about sentence fragments.
When Phil couldn't locate his black sketchbook, he blinked in confusion. Was it stolen? Phil dismissed the idea, searching his backpack again, but still couldn't find it. Phil felt himself starting to panic and he looked around his desk in search of his precious item, but luck wasn't on his side.
Where the hell was it? He was sure he had it. Did someone steal it while he wasn't looking? He was sure he had stuffed it inside his backpack last class. Did he pack it? What if he forgot it? Fuck—shit—okay, now he could panic.
Phil heard the bell ring, but he was already packing up his notes and rushing out of the room. What if someone saw his sketchbook? What if someone showed his sketchbook to the whole class—or worse, to Dan! Phil turned the corner and picked up his pace when he saw the sign that read, Mr. Brookes. Dan would think Phil was weird, if he hadn't already and Phil would get teased for the rest of his senior year—which wasn't much, but still!
Phil rushed into the room, noticing that there were still some students there.
"Ah! Mr. Lester—"
Phil ignored his teacher and rushed to the back of the room where his desk was. His heart beat didn't lessen once as he walked towards it, but stopped when he saw something else rather than his precious black item: a post-it note folded in half.
Phil ripped it off the desk and quickly opened it, reading the text and his eyes widened in horror.
if you want your sketchbook back, text this number:
(xxx) xxx-xxxx