Vlad

You're in eighth grade. There's a boy in your class. Everyone hates him. He only has a mother, who works very hard to provide for them at least a little. His name is Vlad. Everyone hates him. But why? Nobody knows. There are no good reasons.

He has unruly red hair that he always tries to comb and keep from sticking out. Green eyes. Freckles on his face. He wasn't handsome. But he wasn't ugly either. He wore old, but clean clothes. His mother sometimes didn't even have money for clothes. He didn't have many things. Sweaters and socks his mother knitted. Hats. Old jackets that he got from his mother's friends. Some things were big for him, too big for him to grow into. He had all the accessories. His mother tried to buy him what he needed. But she often bullied him. They could beat him up behind the school or in the men's room. He had no friends. He was smart, but the teachers didn't even ask him. He fed stray kittens as best he could. He petted cats. Everyone was disgusted by him, as if he were contagious. You were neutral towards him. You just didn't bully him, but you weren't friends with him either. Many teased him. But he just listened and said nothing. He felt terribly hurt and lonely. Because he, too, wanted to talk to someone. His mother loved him, but she was often at work, cleaning at a store for pennies. He didn't even resent those who bullied him. He just thought that everyone was like that. Although he knew they were still just kids, and someday he would meet friends. For his birthday, his mother gave him a book. And only she congratulated him. The others didn't even know. He never had cake. And he didn't expect to. He sat on the roof of the school and ate his lunch in the container his mother gave him.