Operation Sal | Sally Face x Travis Phelps

8

Travis was falling behind in his classes. That much was obvious and not much of a surprise either, if he was being honest.

He had enough drama in his personal life to worry about. Schoolwork and tests and lectures were just too much for him to shoulder.

He tried to pay attention in class, he really did, but with thoughts of facing purgatory, his father's criticism, and the extraordinary cedarwood scented head of blue hair that he was so terribly addicted to, Travis found that he really didn't give a shit about math or science.

Being himself was hard enough on its own. He was already pushing himself close to his breaking point.

His head was clouded thick with confused, swirling emotions that threatened to drag him into insanity. There simply was not any room for Algebra in his mind.

Travis told himself not to worry about it, that it would turn out okay in the end.

But now, standing in front of his father at seven in the morning, he had a feeling he should've been harder on himself.

"How's school?"

It was a simple question really and had Travis not flunked several tests this month, he wouldn't have been so afraid to answer it.

His tan hands balled into tense fists at his sides. A rush of panic flooded his hollow chest, like a gust of wind against his ribs.

Kenneth Phelps hardly looked up at him from where he was sitting at the table, hands clasped together. He was in the middle of prayer before Travis appeared at the threshold of the staircase. His face was wrinkled and pale, eyes so blue that they made Travis afraid to look away.

"School," he paused, trying to stand up straighter, "School's fine." He choked out, lying right through his teeth.

His father hummed and closed his eyes. For a moment, Travis thought that he was safe and he took a step back, towards the front door, just before Kenneth's voice rang out again.

"You're not slacking off in your classes, are you?"

Travis shivered.

Slacking off? Well, those weren't the exact words he'd use.

   After all, he wasn't purposefully zoning out during instruction. He shook his head firmly, "No, sir," he made a profound effort to sound as genuine as possible.

His father paused for another moment, and Travis could tell that he didn't believe him. Kenneth was stubborn, and old-fashioned, and dare Travis say it, not a nice guy, but he was sharp. He must have been, at the very least, skeptical.

"You've been... Distracted, recently." Kenneth looked up at him, something unsettling brimming in those chilling, clear blue eyes of his. "Is there something you need to tell me?"

Fuck.

"No," Travis said, almost too quickly. He swallowed and pulled on the hem of his sweater, "No, I'm just... tired. That's all."

Silence; for one, two, three moments. Travis felt like his legs might slip out from under him.

"You should get more rest then," his father finally muttered, "I wouldn't want you flunking out of school, not when you carry our last name."

Travis shuddered and nodded before excusing himself from the house.

   What a crappy excuse of a morning. It was a cold Wednesday and for once, Travis wasn't wearing a completely unsuitable outfit.