"As you can all tell, this is your first day of school," Mr. Mack said in a thundering voice. Charlie winced. He didn't like this already.
“Who would like to get up and share something about themselves? Charlie, how about you?” Mr. Mack looked directly at Charlie.
Although he didn't see, Charlie could feel the deep glare that he was getting. He looked at his blue sketchers, reluctant to look up at the wrinkled, testy, Scrooge face. Once he gathered his courage, he stood up.
“I’m Charlie and I like to ride in boats with my dad when he’s home.”
He quickly sat down and looked at his Sketchers again, noticing a little hole that had started to form. His mom didn't buy him new shoes like the other kids’ parents. He then looked up. There was a deep scar on this man’s face; heaven knows what happened to him. Charlie’s eyes darted around the room. He noticed that the walls had been painted the color of the kitchen at home. It was tinted with a little bit of green which made it glow, but the paint in the classroom wasn't peeling like it was at home.  This was the first day of school, kindergarten. There were the art supplies, red paint slowly dripping on the floor, and the scissors that they had finally been able to use. Soon the days began to go by, slowly but surely. It felt as though time decided to take it easy and creep by. As time went on, Charlie began to use the origami paper and he sat at the big kid’s tables at lunch.
“Two times two equals four,” said Charlie as he began to learn multiplication.
More time passed. Charlie had very little motivation and began to dread coming to school. He was now in high school and his so-called friends didn't have much time for him. He became more and more distracted. He just wanted to be out of that place
“I hate this,” he’d mumble every morning, finding another bruise from the night before, whether it was small or the size of a baseball. His father knew that he wasn't motivated in school.
“Why don’t my parents love me like normal parents love their kids?” he asked himself more times than he could remember.
Many times Charlie would go to the old abandoned Smith house down the road to hide out for the day, or at least until school was done. He did this just to be alone and so his father didn't know. Before going, he would find his dad’s hidden bottles, and then finally make his way down. There he would sit for hours, watching out the window. He would sit on the old rusty tin can, rarely moving around. Every morning at the Smith house was the same. He would scavenge into his faded, army backpack until he found the bottle. His presence at school soon became worse and he skipped more and more school. There was no way to boost his motivation. He debated counseling, therapy, classes, anything. He was so worked up with his life; he didn't want to do put in any effort to get help for himself.
“I have to get out of this place.” Charlie began to pack his stuff. “I hate this place,” he’d say over and over. Before everybody knew what happened, he was gone.
Away from home, Charlie didn't know where to go. He really had no place to stay. He wandered the streets and found Gary’s Motel he could hide out in. The inside had a musty smell that almost made him dizzy. He figured he could get used to it. He used the money he had stolen from his father’s hidden jar to buy food. During the days, he would pace the bedroom looking for something to do. There were days that the rugged, cracked sidewalks provided sufficient comfort. On one particular day Charlie was walking past the park. Brown leaves were beginning to fall from the trees and the white lilies in the gardens started to wilt. The scenery matched his mood perfectly. He just wasn't feeling energetic, nothing new from the past few weeks. But then, there she was. She was standing there looking at him. She had long, brown hair that slowly swayed with the gentle breeze. She smiled and walked up to him.
“You look like you had a bad night.”
“Yeah, nothing to brag about,” he said back trying not to gain eye contact.
“My name is Angela.”
“Charlie,” was his response.
The conversation went on for a long time. They got to know each other a little bit and he felt his mood lift, very slowly at first. They talked until the sun turned the town golden and disappeared. They then walked to the little cafe on the corner of Main Street. The cafe was bright colored inside and the two of them still talked. Charlie had never opened up to anybody like that before. Later, they said their goodbyes. Charlie knew they’d never see each other again but he was thankful for her company. He was now feeling much better and wanted to go back home.
Back at home, people noticed a difference. To them, Charlie seemed different and there was something about him. He seemed…happier. They had to find out what had happened.
“I met a girl. We talked many hours. Her hair was long and she was the prettiest thing I had ever seen. She has convinced me that my life is actually worth living,” he said and everybody knew then that he had changed. “I had no place to go, I had to change.” It was his state of mind, the only thing that could change him.
“Therapy, counseling and the classes don’t sound so bad. I’m only 17 but I already know my life needs to change for the better, too.” And Charlie did just that. He graduated better than anybody ever thought he could be. Everyone loved Charlie.