Date: Tue, 22 May 2018 09:53:12 +0000
From: D.K. Daniels <danny2017writing@outlook.com>
Subject: No Mutual Friends - Part 2

I have a selection of stories on Nifty, GayAuthors, Iomfats and
CornerCafe. If you would like to read more of my content; check out my
author's tag on Nifty or visit my website to find everything you need.

My Website - www.dk-daniels.com

As always, don't steal. Consider charity for Nifty, or if you want to join
the community, I'm building, pick up your hammers and nails and support me
on Patreon if you can. (Links are on my website.)

Lastly, feedback is crucial. I love hearing from you guys, and gals so
don't be afraid to drop an email. I have not received the feedback I was
hoping for. You can find me at danny2017writing@outlook.com

Check out my Patreon for early access to chapters.

A special thanks to my patrons: Samuel Roe (Cynus), Thomas Tallis,

Authors note: In writing, it is often hard at times to capture certain
accents, speech patterns, colloquialisms and common text that is usually
not used in a proper manner of English. However, to achieve the following
story certain liberties need to be taken with spelling, grammar and
punctuation to give the story the power it require's. Please allow me this
and go with the flow as, at specific events in the story, the need for
social media among young people is an ever-growing trend. And of which will
occasionally be demonstrated within the current account.

Glossary: The pronunciation of the protagonist's name is r-ee-s similar to
the same Reese.  Skive: Avoid work or duty by staying away or leaving
early.  Heaven Spots: Are places that present a challenge for graffiti
artists to get to.  Piece: Usually a work of art by a graffiti artist,
which can be later appreciated by other artists.

No Mutual Friends By D.K. Daniels Part 2

Plucking out my student identification card, I swiped it at the scanner on
the wall until it made a beep and then fixed the cardholder back around my
neck.

Senses sharp; eyes erratically scanning each side of the corridor, and
ear's fine-tuned, to the right frequency' upright like a dog if I could
listen that well. I eavesdropped on passing by conversations. My bag bobbed
against my shoulder as I slinked the main passageway of the Sacred Heart
Intermediate Catholic School.

It is absurdly funny to me as to why someone would name a building an ol'
ticker. Thus ironically the school's official name is denoting how special
the heart is between two things, in a place or time and Catholic, hmm... I
think someone fell asleep when they were designing this blooming place. I
mean it's nothing special on the eyes, I am supposedly here to learn. I
skive occasionally and go feeding the ducks in Hyde Park to spend the
time. I know it's stupid, although it's what I like to do. School is a bore
for me, and now since I am in hot water, I can't refrain from leaving the
grounds. Though it's one of those times; you know when you need to take the
bullet and get on with things. Otherwise, if I draw any other undue
attention for truancy, fighting, vandalism or even the occasional foul
language, I could be shipped out, and mum would be terribly upset. Of
course, what is there to do in Fulham, every day is the same. Bishop's Park
grows old and, and it's only a short bus journey to Hyde Park. There I can
watch people, though not in a weird way. It's absurd how people are so
clueless.

Just last week did I see a guy dip his hand into a bloke's pocket and make
off with his wallet.  Is it scary that I can pick up on these details
because I make trouble sometimes? Never have I ever, pickpocket, that is
below my benchmark. I don't aspire to be the next Fagan from Oliver. I want
to do my own thing. And it's not for the better lack of robbing someone.
When I set out to paint, I write what inspires me on the wall. If the
spraying turns out to be words then so be it, if it turns out to be a
piece, then that is fine too.

The pinnacle most certainly is heaven spots. They are incredibly hard to
reach sometimes, I have had a couple of close calls except how many people
can say they tagged the top of an arch frame under a bridge or a motorway
sign in the middle of the city centre.

I can't help but notice people sly glancing at me. It's not as subtle as
they'd hoped it is. Well, I imagine. I can clearly see when they are
looking. It originates with a brooding expression, then as you pass; the
watchers linger with their eyes on the ground until you wander by.  And
like that, you can sense the eyes on you as if it were going to burn a hole
in your back.

'What if... what if one of these guys is the guy who messaged me.' Somehow
the perception of that is intoxicating. Alone, I have nothing to go by
on. Nothing, not even as much as a hobby the other boy could be interested
in, or a name or... If truly this person is a boy and they are honest;
which according to the message I received would imply that they are genuine
then the boy who sent the message is in my year. The mysterious presence
online even said so. The guy known as John White presently, which I might
conclude is a fucking creepy name indeed, mentioned that he was in fact in
my year. Now if my calculations are right... which is extremely rare
figuring I am brutal at maths then that would bring the suspect pool to
about sixty boys... Yeah, I forgot, my year is the biggest in the school.
Furthermore, figuring there is roughly 120 of us both boys and girls, it
doesn't help in the slightest. Though sixty is better than that enormous
number and why the hell am I all detective like. All I need now is a
Watson, and I'll be my very own Sherlock. You'd think that I have more
important things to concern myself with today, like detention.

Turning onto the art corridor, I decided to have a ramble about before
going to detention.  Plus combine that with the mundane thought of sitting
there for the entire day, it will kill me with boredom. Surpassing a couple
of students; most younger teenagers from the years below me, I can't help
but see how small they look. I mean with the boys, they are tiny, and the
schoolbag's they are carrying is either just as heavy as their overall body
weight or as big as their torso in general. It's the first time this
morning for me to smile anyhow.

Pushing on a familiar face approached on the opposite side of the
corridor. The both of us channelled together effortlessly, and a sensation
of anxiety managed its way into my chest. I don't have the audacity to talk
to Charlie Golding. At least not today of all days. Panicked and in want of
escape, I considered bursting into one of the teacher's offices on the
right. I would much rather explain why I thought it was a good idea to
barge in, than having to look at Charlie in the face. Then again isn't he
in my year again. I don't know Charlie all that much, he mainly keeps to
himself, and that's fine with me I don't concern myself with his sort.

With Charlie horribly close, and his head bowed to the ground and deep in
thought, I feel wrong somehow. It has me thinking. Except does Charlie have
any friends to talk to? I have never seen him with anybody in school, so
that begs the question does he even know what a friend is. It's not that he
is disfigured or anything, or unapproachable. It's just Charlies doesn't
seem to try in most social situations from what I have come to observe. I
guess I have the luxury of being able to vent to friends when I am tired of
life getting in the way.

And like that, figuring he was transfixed in another reality the both of us
crossed by each other in the blink of an eye. I mean he seems genuinely
hurt, and I would be lying if I said I wouldn't be in the slightest bit
offended that he didn't even try and say thank you for what I did
yesterday. Not that I did it for him, and nor am I looking for
praise. Pivoting over my shoulder, I let my leg's carry me in a straight
line, and like that, I watched as Charlie despondently carried on as if the
world outside his head ceased to exist.

Ambling on, I reached the end of the corridor and turned right and
redoubled the length of the passage in the courtyard. Perhaps I should ask
him how he's doing? Would that seem weird coming from me? Of course. As I
trudge forward, the will to want to skip class died, and I didn't so much
want to skive anymore. Making up my mind, I pulled at the far door at the
end of the sheltered walkway in the courtyard and came back into the
central reception area. Reverting to the left, I made up my mind. I am
going to detention. Entering the all too familiar stretch that separated
classrooms from the main hall, and of which has an assortment of offices,
namely of which the counsellors base out of, I left the hallway and
bang. An abrupt pressure pounced down onto my shoulder, and as if to give
whoever it was a fist to the mouth, I retained it.

"Ah... boy," Stephen mouthed breathlessly.

"Late again," I smirked.

My friend let go of my shoulder and strained his posture up as we walked a
final couple of steps from where I was to part.

"Yeah... god my heart...," he panted.

"Maybe set your alarm twenty minutes earlier then," I teased.

The two of us stopped, and I glanced into the detention room. Perfect the
overseer is nowhere to be found. I have a minute.

"And be early for a change?" Stephen smirked.

"Yeah..." I bluntly put.


"Suppose..." Stephen mumbled.

"Since when have you ever gone to bed at a reasonable hour?" I quizzed.

"Nawh... Sleep is vital," Stephen deadpanned before breaking grin.  Stephen
giggled. Animatedly he said, "Man, I saw what you did to Jason yesterday;
that was sick."

Here we go. Now my blond headed mate, with his glaring but most noticeably
tired blue eyes, sort of assembled hair is going to praise me for what I
did yesterday. I assume the feeling is great, except is it ridiculous that
I don't want to get acknowledged for what I did now. From my own best
friend.

Cautiously choosing my words. I brought my arm to my neck and rubbed it.

"I guess. My knuckles are a bit sore sooo... I must have damaged him
irreparably," I cooed.

Stephen crinkled his forehead, and his nose drew up. A smile shun through,
and his teeth showed. Which made me think of the times I heard him
singing. Figuring with the gap between his teeth, that that saying is
somewhat true. That people with a break between the centre of there teeth
turn out to be good singers.

"It's not wicked like tha'... all you did was bust his lip, with a possible
black eye," Stephen commented.

As the corridor quietened down since most people where now in class now,
and ready for the day to begin. I observe a mare bit of movement from the
corner of my eye and figuring it is the teacher I started to finish up.

"Anyway, I'll talk to you later, can you tell miss' I'm in..." I asked.

With a nod from Stephen. I started away, and that's when I saw Jason,
trailing along, and ahead of me, he snaked in the door for the detention
room. Regressing to Stephen, I gave him a 'well wish me luck,' sort of
expression and started in the door.

Marching all the way to the back, as far away from that little cunt as
possible, I plopped down in the seat, tossing my bag into the adjacent
chair. Unusual enough, I don't seem to have any rage built up to care at
the minute so with that I decided to leave him be. Policing him, I preceded
to take out a pen as I waited patiently for the class to begin. In the
meantime, carving my name into the surface of the table and occasionally
glancing over at Jason seemed manageable. After a little time, Jason turned
around intentionally to remove his converse hoody, to drape it across the
chair he's sitting on only when he noticed me staring he gave daggers.

Now that has just gone and pissed me off. A festering brew is bubbling in
my stomach.  Darting my eyes to the clock, I assured myself. 'You can make
it through the class without punching his traffic lights in.'

The End Of Part 2

Stick around for more. I have a selection of stories on Nifty, GayAuthors,
Iomfats and CornerCafe. If you would like to read more of my content; check
out my author's tag on Nifty or visit my website to find everything you
need.

My Website - www.dk-daniels.com

As always, don't steal. Consider charity for Nifty, or if you want to join
the community, I'm building, pick up your hammers and nails and support me
on Patreon if you can. (Links are on my website.)

Lastly, feedback is crucial. I love hearing from you guys, and gals so
don't be afraid to drop an email. I have not received the feedback I was
hoping for. You can find me at danny2017writing@outlook.com

Check out my Patreon for early access to chapters.

A special thanks to my patrons: Samuel Roe (Cynus), Thomas Tallis,