𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝 | 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐥𝐭𝐨𝐧

𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚠𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚢-𝚏𝚘𝚞𝚛

Charlie and I didn't speak when the professor introduced himself to the class. I think we were both shocked that we ended up in the same place at the same time. I did feel his hand creep into mine. I gladly took it. He then ran his thumb gently over mine, our hands still held together. I glanced over to him, but he was too focused on the teacher to notice.

"Why do we read and write poetry?" Our professor asked, glancing at every student in the class. No one was answering. Charlie finally stuck up his hand, getting called on. "Why do you think we write poetry, Mr...?" Charlie gave him his name. "Dalton."

"Because we are members of the human race." He spoke confidently, though some students in our class began to laugh quietly to themselves. Charlie was used to this being the case, but this time, he was serious. "The things we write about are the things we stay alive for." He continued, disregarding the other pupils. I could tell he was quoting Keating.

"That's a very poetic way of saying it, Dalton." Our instructor nodded toward him. "I look forward to reading your poetry."

Class went on, and I didn't say a word. Eventually, I let go of Charlie's hand because he wouldn't even look at me. I wasn't sure why. I didn't think I did anything wrong. Maybe I did?

I finally saw him glance over at me, but I didn't look back. Maybe it was stupid to play this game with him. We could talk after class. All was fine, right?

After the class, we walked back outside together. By this time, the sun had already set, and it was getting cold. Charlie still wasn't talking to me. "What did I do wrong?" I finally asked, making him stop in his tracks. "Seriously? You're acting like a jerk."

"What?" He looked back at me. I couldn't read his expression. "You didn't do anything?" He was being genuine. Then, his attitude switched on me. "Are you insecure or something?" He scoffed, then went quiet. "Sorry. I didn't mean that."

I rolled my eye, letting out a sharp sigh. "Are you okay?" He hadn't been acting like himself. He was a jerk usually, but not this much of a jerk—not a genuine jerk. He took a while to respond.

"I don't know." He shrugged, digging his hands into his pockets. "Listen, I miss the past, alright? Am I not allowed to miss it?"

"Of course you're allowed!" I replied, genuinely concerned for Charlie. He gave me a short, sweet smile and started to walk away. Was he depressed? Is that why he was acting so hostile?

I let him go, not wanting to anger him anymore. I got back to my dorm, and Rhonda could tell something was up. "Did you discover the hidden truths of humanity in poetry?" She asked, peering up from her psychology textbook.

"No." I replied, setting my backpack on the floor next to my bed. "I discovered the hidden truths of Charlie Dalton, that's what."

"Charlie Dalton? What do you mean, Charkie Dalton? That's that guy you liked in high school, right?" She asked, getting interested in the conversation.

I gave her a short nod, not wanting to deny it any longer. "Yeah," I paused, sitting on my bed. Rhonda looked across from hers to me. "He's in my poetry class."

"So why do you look so sad?" Closing her psychology book, she pushed it to the side, showing to me that she gave me her full attention.

"He got mad at me for... I don't even know." I responded. "He's sad about the past, and I think I remind him about it."

"What happened in the past?" She asked, and I glanced over to the poetry book. "Neil? Were they friends or somethin'?"

I nodded. "Best friends."

"And then he got expelled, right?" I nodded again at her detective work. "So, maybe he feels like everything was taken from him for a reason? Now, all his friends are back and willing to move forward, but he's stuck in time. Maybe he feels like you moved on without him?"

"You're too obsessed with psychology, aren't you?" I laughed, trying to cut the tension. She laughed too, grateful I had. "Okay, but if that's the case, how do I help him?"

"I don't know." She shrugged, being completely honest with me. "I mean, communication is the first step. You can't fix his brain chemistry, okay? Only he has the power to fix how he reacts and feels."

"I know." I said.

"I don't think you do." She replied.