Brooke's P.O.V.
I was walking home that afternoon and I knew he was walking behind me, I didn't even have to turn around.
"What's your name?" I yelled behind me without turning around. But when he didn't answer, I knew something was up. I turned around and there he was. He had his hood up on his hoodie and he was walking a bit slow.
"Hey, what's your name? I never learned it." I said a bit louder.
"Michael." he said without looking at me.
"Michael." I repeated.
"Yeah, my mom gave it to me." he said.
"Nice," I said giggling. "You know you're really nice, why don't you have more friends?" I asked. But, clearly that wasn't the right thing to ask because his smile dropped, I could tell.
And he shrugged.
That's all he did, was shrug.
"Oh, sorry for asking." I said a bit quiet but loud enough for him to hear.
"It's fine, you know, I can't control what comes out of your mouth. Only you can," he looked at me. "And it was rude of me not to answer. Wanna know why I don't have more friends? Actually, I have no friends. Zip. Zilch. Zero. It's because I'm weird, and no one likes me. NO ONE LIKES ME!" he screamed making me flinch a little. "And I have no parents, I don't have a mom anymore I don't have a dad anymore. All I have is a pet cat who doesn't do anything. All he does is eat and sleep. And poop in a box. That would be a lot easier than the life I have now. A lot. And yeah, I do cut. I know you saw 'em. Everyone does. And there is something physically wrong with me. Seriously. I don't know what it is, but there's got to be some way to find out. But I don't want to find out. Because no one cares anyway." he said.
"I'm taking you somewhere tomorrow, meet me outside school at 3:00. Okay?" I said.
"Why?"
"Because I care."
"Okay."
