The school bell rang, but Robert didn't move. The sound echoed like a sentence rather than a signal—each clang a reminder of the name he now wore: Charles.
A name with weight. One that bruised. One that left a trail of enemies behind it.
He spotted Jamlick standing by the rusted fence at the edge of the sports field. His shirt was torn. One eye was still swollen from yesterday's fight—the one Robert's "friends" had started, and he hadn't stopped soon enough.
Jamlick glanced up, eyes narrowing. "What do you want?"
Robert took a deep breath. "To talk."
"That's rich," Jamlick muttered. "Charles Barn suddenly wants to talk. What happened—run out of people to humiliate?"
Robert flinched. So this is what it feels like. He approached slowly, hands out like he was taming a wild animal. "I'm not who you think I am."
Jamlick laughed bitterly. "No? You look like him. Walk like him. Still smell like that cologne you used to spill over me in gym class."
Robert didn't know what to say to that. He hated this. Hated how true it was.
"I'm sorry." The words felt foreign, like trying to play a song he never learned.
Jamlick's laugh cut like glass. "You think 'sorry' is enough? My sister—she... you made her life hell. She tried to end it. You don't get to fix that with one word."
Robert's throat tightened. "I didn't know. I didn't..."
"You didn't care." Jamlick's voice cracked. "You wanted power. You wanted fear. You got it."
Silence stretched between them. Then Jamlick stepped closer, close enough for Robert to see the pain behind his eyes. "You don't get to wear that poker face and act like a hero. Not to me."
With that, Jamlick shoved past him and disappeared into the school building.
Robert stood alone, a bitter wind scraping at his skin. For the first time in either of his lives, he truly understood: being normal didn't mean being powerless. Sometimes, it meant being accountable.
Robert sat alone on the rooftop of Charles house's , legs dangling over the edge as the sun dipped behind the skyline. The wind tugged gently at his sleeves, but inside, the turmoil brewed. Saving Jamlick hadn't earned him praise. If anything, the boy's eyes had burned with more hatred than before.
"I didn't do it for thanks," Robert muttered to himself, kicking a loose pebble over the edge. He had seen himself in Jamlick's pain—the helplessness, the bruises not just on skin but on dignity. Robert never expected forgiveness, but he thought maybe... maybe understanding.
The door creaked open behind him. It was Charles's mother
"You don't usually come here," Robert said, not turning.
"Neither did you," she answered.
Silence stretched between them.
"What's on your mind," she asked finally.
Robert snorted. "Everyone thinks I'm a monster. It fits better than being kind."
She sat beside him, curling her arms around his shoulder s. "You're not defined by what people think but what you think about yourself ."
Robert looked at her. She didn't flinch.
"I want to make things right. With Jamlick. With everyone Charles hurt. But I don't know how."
She thought for a moment. "Then start by listening. Don't defend yourself. Don't explain yourself. Just listen."
It sounded too simple. Yet so hard.
The next day, Robert approached Jamlick after class. The bruises on the boy's face had faded, but the stiffness in his shoulders hadn't.
"What do you want now?" Jamlick asked, voice low.
"To listen," Robert said.
Jamlick stared. Waiting for the punchline.
None came.
"You can't undo what you did," Jamlick whispered. "You humiliated my sister. You made me afraid to walk through my own school."
Robert nodded. "I know."
"Then why are you pretending to care?"
"Because someone has to."
The tension hung heavy. But for the first time, Jamlick didn't walk away.
That evening, Robert wrote a note. One line:
What if I told you Charles isn't here anymore? Would that change anything?
He didn't send it. Not yet. But the words were a beginning.
In a world that praised strength, Robert was learning that sometimes, real power lay in the apology no one expected you to make.