[color=sienna][center][h3]Philip Howard Iverson[/h3][/center][/color][hr]Philly “Cheese Steak” Iverson frowned at his phone.
 
Why did [i]she[/i]- as in Ariel [and occasionally Lizzy]- insist on referring to him as Cheese Steak? Of all things? Why not Phil, or Philly, or How, or the rarely-used Ivy?
 
He shook the thought away, and pocketed his phone. It was a message that didn’t warrant a response, in his opinion- it was a summons, not a conversation. He turned to his bed, where he had his black duffel bag sitting, open and waiting. Next to it was the already-packed backpack of his, one that most anyone would recognize from school- he wore it everywhere, really.
 
He unzipped his tan-colored backpack anyways, rifling through it to ensure that his laptop, tablet, charging cords for all, and his wall and car plug was inside. Then he made sure his four books, sketchbook, and his small collection of random knickknacks were still present. Zipping the main pocket back up, he checked the front pocket, ensuring that the store-bought plastic ‘medkit’ with various bandages and medicines was still inside, and then his home-made plastic-baggy ‘medkit’ was present, which included some amount of alcohol, bandages, water purification tablets, and more. Next to that was a box of matches, a military-grade utility knife (nestled safely in its equally-black holster), and a lighter.
 
He had once gone to a geographic ‘show’ of sorts, with dozens of people with a dozen different ‘exhibits’ of rocks and Native Indian tools and such. A ex-Marine survivalist there had given him, and a dozen others, some tips and tricks- such as to always carry a way to create fire. Call him paranoid, he didn’t care.
 
Backpack check finished, he started throwing in clothes- pants, underpants, shirts, socks, even a pair of swimming trunks and swimshoes, just in case. He shoved in a sweatshirt on top of that, a hoodie, and finally, a thicker, waterproof leather jacket.
 
Having ‘packed,’ i.e. shoved everything messily into his bag, he zipped that up, and went to the closest bathroom.
 
Whipping out a plastic baggy he had in his pocket for this purpose, he started dumping his toiletries in it- deodorant, toothbrush, toothpaste, a brush, some shampoo and body wash (both the deo and the body wash being OLD SPIIIIIIIIIIIIIIICE because their commercials are funny).
 
That finished, he retreated back to his room and tossed the toiletries, in their sealed bag, in his backpack.
 
That finished, he slung his grey [possibly synthetic] wool-lined jacket on- which hung about halfway down his upper legs- and checked his pockets for all his goodies- pencils, headphones, random pieces of paper, wallet, and too much change. Satisfied that everything was in order, he took a moment to reflect on why he needed all this.
 
Fuck.
 
There were going to be other people.
 
He didn’t exactly hate any of them… or really dislike any of them at all, not really… but some of the ones that were invited aggravated the shit out of him. He didn’t really like many people, and he only opened up to just one. At least Lizzy was going- he would’ve flat-out refused if she wasn’t involved.
 
He sighed, and took the next five minutes to summon no small amount of courage and strength, building up his walls again. He… sort-of let them down when he was home, and school was obviously an entirely different matter. This? He didn’t know how to cope with this. Didn’t know what to expect or what to [i]do[/i], exactly, so he’d just have to do it according to the ancient human tradition of ‘winging it.’
 
Throwing the backpack over his shoulder, he grabbed ahold of his duffel. He shut off the lamp that currently illuminated his room and shut the door behind him as he left.
 
Downstairs, his mom appeared out from the kitchen and wordlessly embraced him. When she withdrew, she raised an eyebrow- and he nodded back. She hesitated, then nodded in return and hugged him again.
 
“Stay safe. Call every now and then, if only just to keep me updated. And try to have fun.”
 
This time, she smiled when she withdrew, and he tried to smile back. As usual, it elicited a laugh from her- she always found his attempts to smile when he wasn’t feeling it comical. He found it mildly annoying, but kept his silence, as always.
 
With a nod and a “See you later,” he was out the door and on his way to… ‘adventure.’ Like in a book. He didn’t intend to take a vehicle over- instead, his dad was waiting just in front of the house in his more seldom used pickup- a black SS pickup, nice and shiny.
 
Twenty minutes later found him at Ariel’s house- a couple other people seemed to have already arrived, based on the cars sitting outside. After a short goodbye with his father- both of his parents seemed to approve of the social and lengthy trip, for building character in their quiet, introverted, yet fairly mature son.
 
Unknowingly unlike the others before him, he simply knocked on the door, and waited, backpack on back, duffel bag in hand.