For my entire life, people have called me Mike Schmidt. I don't know if I had parents or a family. I've lived in foster care for as long as I can remember with no memory of my late father or mother; sometimes, I was even neglected. The school was never kind either; I was constantly bullied, beaten up, had no friends, and was always put into bad situations all the time. At this point, my teachers chose to ignore me as if I were invisible. Nobody really cared whether I got excellent grades or not. One particular kid named Judah was the biggest asshole ever. He thought he could do anything he wanted just because he was the principal's son. He'd always push me around, blame me for pranks he had done, and pick on me. He once cornered me in the bathroom and stuffed my face in toilet water. One day, I lost it. I was walking to chemistry class when I saw Judah across the hall.
"Hey!" Judah shouted. I ignored him and quickly tried to get out of his way, but unfortunately, he was quick enough to reach me.
"Look at what we have here, little ol' Mikey!" Judah said, grabbing my backpack and throwing me to the lockers.
"Can't you just quit, Judah?" I said coldly. I was squirming as much as I could to get out of his grasp.
"Aww, is Mikey going to cry for his mommy and daddy? Oh, wait! You don't have any friends! You pathetic loser." Judah spoke, his grip tightening as he laughed heartily.
I completely lost it and punched Judah so hard he fell—so hard that he fell on his ass. I followed him to the ground and continued to punch him repeatedly. The vice principal soon separated us.
"Hey! Break it up, you two!" He said furiously. "Principal's office! NOW!" He shouted angrily.
In the office, I was sitting. I was waiting for my foster parents to arrive. "I wonder what punishment I'll get this time," I thought.
"What did he do this time?" my foster mom said, barging into the room. She looked beyond furious — she likely had to leave work early again. My foster mom never liked leaving work early because she'd lose money and hours. I always hated being part of the spotlight, but it was common, especially with Judah antagonizing me almost every day.
"A fight broke out between the two boys. To my understanding, Mr. Schmidt here claims he was insulted about his parents and then punched Judah, but Judah is saying he is innocent and he hit him out of nowhere.
"You know that's not true!" I shouted, interrupting the principal and standing up from my chair.
"Watch your tone, mister!" my foster mom snapped back.
"Mrs. Turner, as you can see, I'll suspend Mike for two weeks and place Judah in detention for five days." The principal continued.
"That is ridiculous!" I proclaimed angrily. "You fucking gave him detention and me a suspension?!" I yelled.
"I understand your frustration, Mr. Schmidt, but we do not tolerate inappropriate—"
"Oh, but you'll tolerate your degenerate of a son?" I uttered those words, struggling to control my anger.
"That's enough, Mike; you have caused enough trouble for me!" Mrs. Turner snapped. "I am sorry, Mr. Steinbeck," Mrs. Turner said apologetically. Mrs. Turner turned towards me and grabbed my arm "We are going home NOW!" Mrs. Turner roared. As my foster mother dragged me out of the office and shoved me into the car, I watched as Judah smirked, making my blood boil with hatred. "Later, loser," he mouthed provocatively.
Later, I was face-to-face with my foster dad. He looked up from his newspaper with disappointed eyes. I waited for his response, but he never said anything; it was quite awkward. He looked at me with his cold brown eyes and began to speak.
"I just don't know what to do with you, kid." He said while exhaling. "It's always you and that damn Steinbeck's kid getting into some sort of trouble. Whether it's you supposedly being blamed for releasing frogs in the classroom or putting a sharp object in the teacher's chair."
Despite never having done any of those things, I sat there in silence, dreading the fact that people always blamed me for them. Specifically Judah. My foster dad placed his newspaper aside and crossed his fingers.
"And here we are again; you assaulted someone in school." He spoke. "Honestly, I don't care what you have to say because, at this point, you're full of shit," my foster dad said. His words stung me. I almost burst out in tears, but I kept my composure. I couldn't show him I was weak. However, I'm pretty sure he saw my eyes become watery.
"Of course you don't care; you never have," I said coldly.
"Watch your tone around me; you're on thin ice right now!" He angrily pounded his fist on the table.
Without saying another word, I got up and walked to my room. "Nothing new here, I'm just another paycheck to you," I muttered to myself. These people always saw me as just another paycheck. All of them saw me as easy money for their fulfillment.
"Get back here! I'm not done talking to you!" my foster father said. His voice was booming. "You live under my roof! And you wear the clothes I provide!" he added.
I ignored him and closed the door behind me. Locking it, I collapsed onto my bed and plugged in some headphones. Classical music played softly, barely covering the sound of my foster father yelling from the hallway. I just wanted it all to disappear. I wish someone actually cared about me. I wish I had a real, caring family. A family that loved me. Maybe a brother or sister I could laugh with. A mom who'd hold me and comfort me. A dad who didn't see me as a burden. Life had other plans for me. I was an orphan. Born to be forgotten. Born to be hurt. I lay there, with only a pillow to comfort me as I cried into it.