The Rebels

Chapter 6

I knew that when I decided to skip the rest of the day that I would get in trouble. I just didn't care.

I've been sitting on the same bench for over four hours. I don't know exactly where I am, but again I don't care.

I found a lake about a mile away from the school. I've been staring at the water thinking about Brooklyn. I killed him and I didn't take the blame. Maybe I deserve to go to juvie. That's where a murderer like me belongs. The fact that it was an accident doesn't bring my baby brother back.

What if he was going to be a president? What if he was going to cure cancer once and for all? Then I have way more than one death on my conscience.

I wanted to die with Brooklyn, but I couldn't do that to my parents. I took one child away from them, who am I to take the other? They are the only people who know what really happened to Brooklyn.

Dealing with Brooklyn's death would have been a lot easier if it wasn't so high profile. Things like what happened to Brooklyn happen more often than you think. Brooklyn's case was blown out of proportion by the media. For some reason they decided that Brooklyn's death was going to be the thing that started a revolution against neglectful parents. My family wasn't left alone. People would scream nasty things at my parents everywhere they went. Then, the trail happened and the court decided that they would not charge my parents for anything. That made people go even crazier. They only shut up after I was taken away from my home. My family faded into 'has been's according to the media, yet the effects that the masses had on my family, like taking me away for instance, were everlasting.

I truly believe that I would not have been taken away from my home if the media had not gotten involved.

Brooklyn would have been seven now.

The silent tears fell down my cheeks.

"Everyone is looking for you, you know." I jumped at the unexpected voice, but didn't bother acknowledging it. A massive ginger sat down next to me.

"My dad was a drunk." Blake said after five minutes of silence.

"You don't need to tell me." I whispered, not wanting him to hear that I was crying in my voice.

"I know your story. It's only fair. He hit me all the time, but I dealt with it. It could be worse. He could be hitting my mom. I thought that he actually loved her. When I got to middle school, I started working out. I spent as much time as I could away from the house. I joined an underground fighting ring to try to get enough money to leave when I was old enough. One day, I came home from a fight and saw him on top of my mom. He was punching her repeatedly, while she tried to cover her face." He clenched his jaw.

I wanted to give him a big hug, but something told me that hugs aren't really his thing.

"I beat him within an inch of his life. My mom pulled me away from him. She said not to ruin my life. Long story short, my dad didn't like beating on someone who fought back. He put me in foster care. I went straight to the Wesleys. I was only fourteen. I wasn't an easy kid to deal with, but they helped me." His face was emotionless throughout his story.

I wanted to stay silent, but I couldn't help asking, "You are eighteen. Why are you still here?"

He chuckled. "I had the same plans as you when I first got here. On my eighteenth birthday, I was going to be gone, but things changed. I want to finish high school. The Wesleys even have a college fund for me. It's not much, but it's enough so that I have the choice of getting a higher education. I want to be someone. I want to make enough money to do all of that white-picket fence crap." He smiled to himself. "I'm going to give some kid the childhood that I never had."