For as long as I can remember, people have called me Mike Schmidt. I don't know if I ever had parents. I've lived in foster care my whole life, bouncing from home to home with no memory of a mother or father. Some houses were fine. Others... not so much. Neglect was common, and love was rare. School wasn't much better. I was constantly bullied, beaten up, and blamed for things I didn't do. I had no friends. Teachers ignored me like I was invisible. No one cared if I got straight A's or failed miserably. One particular kid, Judah, was the worst out of all of the bunch. He was the principal's son—smug, arrogant, and untouchable. He pushed me around, blamed me for pranks he pulled, and made my life hell. Once, he even cornered me in the bathroom and dunked my face in the toilet. One day, I snapped. I had enough of Judah.

I was walking to chemistry class when I spotted Judah. I quickly tried to walk out of his sight. Unfortunately, he managed to notice me.

"Hey!" Judah shouted. 

I tried to ignore him, veering to the side, but he was quick. Too quick.

"Hey! where are you hurrying off to?" Judah asked, grabbing my backpack and slamming me into the lockers. 

"Don't you like me, little ol' Mikey?" 

 "Can't you just quit, Judah?" I asked, trying to push past him.

"Aww, is Mikey going to cry for his mommy and daddy? Oh wait—you don't have any." he mocked, tightening his grip. "You pathetic loser."

That was it. I punched him. Hard. 

Judah stumbled back, crashing to the floor. I didn't stop. I lunged and kept punching, fists fueled by years of frustration and torment from this brat. A vice principal finally pulled us apart.

"Hey! Break it up, you two!" he shouted. "Principal's office. Now!"

 * * *

I sat in the office, waiting for the inevitable. I wonder what type of punishment I'll get this time. My foster mom eventually barged in, clearly furious. Probably had to leave work early again. She hated that.

"What did he do this time?" she snapped.

The principal cleared his throat. "A fight broke out between the two boys. To my understanding, Mr. Schmidt here claims Judah insulted his parents, but Judah claims Mike attacked him out of nowhere."

"You know that's not true!" I stood up, my voice trembling with anger.

"Watch your tone, Mister!" my foster mom barked.

"Mrs. Turner," the principal continued, "Mike will be suspended for two weeks. Judah will serve five days of detention."

I stared at him, stunned. "Are you fucking kidding me? You're suspending me and giving him detention?! That's fucking bullshit!"

"I understand your frustration, Mr. Schmidt, but we do not tolerate inappropriate language--"

"Oh, but you'll tolerate your degenerate of a son?" I snapped, barely containing my rage. "I'm pretty sure he's as rotten as you are!"

"That's enough, Mike! You've caused enough trouble for me today!" Mrs. Turner shouted. "I'm sorry. Mr. Steinbeck," She added to the principal. She grabbed my arm. "We're going home. Now."

As she dragged me out, I caught Judah smirking from across the hall. He mouthed the words: Later, loser 

My blood began to boil.

 * * *

At home, my foster dad sat at the kitchen table, reading the newspaper. He didn't even look up at first.

"I just don't know what to do with you, kid," he finally said with a heavy sigh. "It's always something. You and Steinbeck's damn kid--frogs in classrooms, putting sharp objects on teachers' chairs..."

"I didn't do any of those things," I muttered, but I knew he wasn't listening.

He folded the paper and stared at me with cold brown eyes.

"And now assault? Honestly, I don't care what your excuse is anymore. You're full of shit," he said. 

His words struck me deeply. My eyes burned, but I refused to cry. I wouldn't give him the satisfaction.

"Of course you don't care. You never have," I said quietly.

"Watch your mouth!" He roared, slamming his fist on the table. 

I stood up, refusing to say another word. "This is nothing new. I'm just another paycheck to you," I muttered, turning toward my room.

"get back here! I'm not done talking to you!" he shouted after me. "You live under my roof--you wear the clothes I provide!"

"You mean the paycheck you got from the government?" I snapped back. My foster dad was shocked at my comeback. 

"Y-you little s-shit!" I ignored him. Closed my door. Locked it.

Collapsing onto my bed, I shoved in my earbuds and turned up the rock music playing. It barely drowned out his yelling from the hallway. I buried my face in the pillow.

All I wanted was for it to stop.

I wanted someone to care. A real family. A mom who held me when I cried. A dad who believed in me. A brother or sister who laughed with me. 

Instead, I was an orphan

Born to be forgotten.

Born to be hurt. 

And all I had left... was a pillow to cry into.