Being Wrong

Travis was just leaving for school when he spotted Artemis weaving a path along the fence that separated the block of flats from the neighbor's house. She paused and stretched her neck out to sniff the air as she peered around the carefully manicured garden that surrounded the house on the other side of the fence.

"Art," Travis called. "Get down. You'll get sprayed with the hose again if you go over there."

Artemis mewed and looked from Travis to the neighbor's house, unconvinced by Travis' argument.

"Artemis," Travis said, his voice taking on an edge of warning as he stomped over to her. He picked her up and placed her on the ground. "The neighbours hate you and they'll shout at me if they find you in their yard again."

Artemis gave him another quiet mew, squished her tail, and strutted off. Travis glanced at his watch. He was going to be late for school.

#

The next day, after Charlie confirmed once more that he was happy with the choice of school, his grandma took him in to take placement exams for his classes. How he did on each exam would determine which grade he was placed in for each of his classes. For some of them Charlie felt like he hardly knew anything and that he couldn't even reach eighth grade standards, but he wasn’t terrible at everything.

Shortly after the bell rang signaling lunch for the students, when Charlie was about halfway through his exam sheets, the sound of an acoustic guitar drifted through the classroom window. Charlie didn't even notice he'd stopped working to listen until the teacher supervising him got up and shut the window, blocking out the music. Charlie lowered his head and got back to work.

#

That evening Charlie forced himself to spend time with his grandparents. He even let his grandpa teach him checkers, though he would have rather spent some time alone. When it passed seven and he asked his grandma for batteries for his walkman, though, she told him they didn’t have any without even looking. Did she know they were out, or did she just not care? Charlie told her he was going to bed and retreated to his room.

Charlie didn't spend long laying around on his own before the sounds of the neighbour’s music tempted him again. He knew if he kept this up he'd probably get caught, but he couldn't resist its lure. The cat met him on the path this time and walked with him to its owners flat. Charlie settled in next to the door and the cat curled up on his lap, purring loudly.

Charlie left earlier that night, as soon as he noticed himself starting to doze. The last thing he needed was to be caught taking a nap on a stranger's porch. He knew the affinity he felt for the stranger through their shared enjoyment of the music was an illusion that would be shattered horribly if he ever actually met whoever lived there.

There next day Charlie went back into the school with his grandma and a teacher sat with them and went over Charlie's results for the placement exams.

Charlie's results had been mixed. In English he hadn't remembered the names for things like parts of sentences and he had only the vaguest idea of how to write an essay, but one of his favourite hobbies was reading so his grammar, spelling, and vocabulary were quite good.

His geography and history knowledge was not, and he was patchy when it came to the sciences, knowledgeable in some areas and far behind his peers in others, depending on what he'd happened to have read about.

Unsurprisingly, maths was his strongest subject. He'd received nearly perfect marks. This he owed to a huge maths textbook he'd convinced his dad to buy him from the second hand store when he was fourteen. It had been designed to cover all areas of high school maths in preparation for college.

It had only cost five dollars, but it hadn't been easy to convince his dad to buy it for him. He'd said it was too hard, that Charlie would soon lose interest in it. For once since he'd learnt it was safer not to argue, Charlie had persisted.

Eventually they'd come to an agreement. An odd one, considering all the things Charlie had tried offering in exchange. He would have to eat one meal his father made in its entirety without complaint.

It was true that Charlie was a fussy eater and that that had at many times led to frustration between him and his dad, but a single meal seemed like such a small thing when most of the time his dad forgot to make meals or didn't care whether Charlie partook in them or ate dry cereal instead. In retrospect, Charlie should have been suspicious.

As the teacher tried to convince Charlie’s grandma that Charlie might benefit from some special classes, Charlie zoned out as he remembered what had happened the night after he’d bought the textbook.

Charlie's dad grinned at him when he set the salad, piled elegantly on their nicest plate, in front of Charlie at their small kitchen table that night. Charlie looked from the salad and then back to his dad, spotting the edge of malice that confirmed his dad hadn't forgotten about his carrot allergy.

This was a dare, a challenge. What would his dad do if he refused to eat it? Destroy the book? Hold this over Charlie forever as a sign he couldn't be trusted to keep his promises? And if he did eat it, what would happen to him then? He was a careful enough eater that he'd avoided setting off his carrot allergy since before his mum had died. He remembered his mouth itching and swelling a little bit. His mum had been very worried and that had worried Charlie, but it had gone away eventually and Charlie had been fine.

Charlie took a steadying breath, stabbed his fork in the salad, and took a bite. At first, nothing happened. He was onto his third cautious mouthful before he noticed anything off.

It started as a tingling in his mouth, and then when he swallowed his throat felt tight. He could feel his heart thumping hard in his chest as he dropped his fork and looked up to meet his dad's eyes. His dad was no longer grinning, his expression turned to something blank and unreadable. It was becoming difficult to breath. Charlie clutched at his chest. It hurt. Had this been his dad's plan? What was going to happen to him?

As Charlie sagged against the table he heard his dad swear and then arms were around him, lifting him up from where he sat at the table. His every breath came out as a wheeze as his dad carried him to his bedroom and lay him on his bed.

The next thing Charlie noticed, through the panic and feeling of suffocation, was his dad on the phone, but he couldn't even begin to process what his dad was saying. Was he going to die? Was that what his dad wanted? Charlie patted a hand against his face. It felt swollen and hot.

Charlie must have passed out after that, because when he next became aware there was a strange man kneeling next to the bed. He had Charlie's arm in his hand and was feeling for his pulse.

"I'm not dead," Charlie wheezed out. He wasn't sure why he felt it was so important to tell the man that.

"You're very lucky you're not," the man said. "What you were experiencing was anaphylaxis brought on by an allergic reaction. You're lucky your dad got me over here as quickly as he did, though I still think an ambulance would have been a better choice."

"Oh," Charlie said.

"He was really worried about you," the man said. "He cares about you a lot."

Charlie saw movement and looked up to see his dad standing in the doorway, watching them with an unreadable expression on his face.

"Yes," Charlie said as he watched his dad. "I know."

“Charlie,” a voice said, followed by a light swat to Charlie’s shoulder, and Charlie looked up to see his grandma glowering down at him. “Time to leave.”

Charlie nodded. Charlie stood. Somewhere, across the school grounds, he could hear the sound of an acoustic guitar. Everything felt too raw, but at the same time not quite real. He followed his grandma silently, keeping his head low.

#

Charlie went back to the neighbor's house again that night. Somehow the constant music and the quiet sounds of whoever lived there moving around were better company than any his grandparents could provide. Someone was there, existing, enjoying the same experience Charlie was. Whoever they were, they felt like the closest ally Charlie had just then.

He stayed until the music was turned off before giving his new cat friend a kiss on the head goodbye and sneaking away before its owner opened the door to let it in for the night.

#

The next day was Thursday, and Charlie was starting school. He didn't want to. He wanted to learn and he wanted space from his grandparents, but school seemed like such a big, complicated thing. How could he ever be ready for something like that? He fiddled with the stiff collar of his button up uniform shirt as his grandma led him to his homeroom classroom.

"You'll be fine," she assured him. "If you choose to apply yourself, I'm sure you'll do very well. Your mother was so intelligent. If she hadn't let herself get distracted by the wrong things she could have done anything she wanted."

But instead she had me, Charlie supplied in his mind. He knew how disapproving his grandma had been of that, how she had believed choosing to have Charlie was what had destroyed his mum's life. He remembered. He kept his head down and stayed silent until they reached the classroom and she said her goodbyes.

Inside the classroom was a chaotic mess of sound as students talked to each other, raising their voices to be heard over everyone else, and the bright florescent lights made Charlie squeeze his eyes shut against their glare. He found a desk in the corner and curled in on himself, doing his best to hide from the turmoil, but a few minutes later he felt a hand tap his arm. He made a grumbling sound and flinched away.

"Dude, move," a voice said. "This is my seat. Find somewhere else."

Charlie stood and moved a few seats down, but before he could sit a girl stuck out her hand and waved him away. "This seat's taken."

Charlie bit down on the inside of his cheek. How was he supposed to know which seats were truly free? He went and stood in the corner of the room and waited as the classroom filled up, then quickly claimed one of the few empty desks near the front of the classroom when the teacher walked in.

The teacher pointed his pen in Charlie's direction as he settled in behind his desk. "You're new."

Charlie wasn't sure if that was supposed to be a question, but he nodded anyway.

"Name?" the teacher asked.

"Charlie."

"Uh huh," the teacher said as he wrote that down. "And last name?"

"Brooks," Charlie said without thinking. That was his father's last name. He doubted that was what his grandma had registered him under. "Or, um, Wallace?" That was his grandparents last name, the last name his mum had used.

The teacher eyed Charlie for a moment before jotting something down. "Well, I'm Mr Mason, your homeroom teacher. I hope you enjoy your first day here."

Charlie just stared back for too long before murmuring a barely audible, "Thank you." Was that the right thing to say? It didn't feel right.

The teacher's attention shifted away from Charlie after that as he began doing roll call and then reading the morning notices. Charlie did his best to pay attention to what the teacher was saying, but the words that flooded his mind didn't fall together to form anything meaningful.

Once homeroom was dismissed, Charlie was left with a list of his classes and a map of the school and was expected to use the two to somehow end up where he was supposed to be next within the space of five minutes. It was an impossible task, but he knew without asking that nobody in his homeroom would share his next class. He'd done badly enough on his geography placement exam that he'd ended up in a grade eight class.

By the time Charlie found the right building and then the right classroom within it, twenty minutes had passed and the grounds were quiet, everyone else already in class. All eyes were on Charlie as he entered the room, the teacher's included as she waited for him to be seated. Ms Milligan, according to Charlie's schedule.

"You're late," Ms Milligan said once Charlie had found somewhere to sit. He'd wanted to hide near the back, but the only free spots were in the front row. Ms Milligan's grey flecked brown hair was pulled back into a tight bun and the pattern of wrinkles on her face suggested she spent a lot of time scowling, just like she was now.

"I couldn't find the room," Charlie murmured. He'd spoken quietly, but his voice carried in the silence of the room.

"Then you should have asked someone for directions," she told him. "Open your book to page thirty three. Before you interrupted we were..."

Charlie flipped to the correct page in the book, but he couldn't follow what Ms Milligan was saying. She was right, Charlie should have asked for help, but from who and how? People always acted like these things were easy, but they weren't. Not to Charlie.

Ms Milligan pulled down an unmarked map of Australia over the blackboard and began calling students up one at a time to put markers on certain cities and landmarks. Charlie startled when his name was called.

"Sydney," Ms Milligan said, holding a marker out to Charlie.

Charlie froze. He knew where Sydney was. Didn't he? He was fairly sure he did. But what if he was wrong? It was one of the easiest locations, a major city. What if he got it wrong in front of all the other students? Ms Milligan waved the marker insistently in Charlie's direction and Charlie shook his head rapidly.

"You're telling me you don't know where Sydney is?" Ms Milligan asked.

Charlie gave an exaggerated shrug of his shoulders in response. His throat had closed up. He couldn't form words.

"You should at least try," Ms Milligan said, but Charlie just shook his head again. He shoved his knuckles in his mouth and bit down. Ms Milligan sighed loudly. "Eliza, can you find Sydney for me, please?"

The rest of the class passed in a blur. Charlie drew patterns in his notebook, checkers and spirals, keeping part of himself moving so that he wouldn't find himself chewing on his knuckles every time he got distracted. By the time class finished, Charlie felt lost. He stood outside the classroom and looked between his schedule and his map, completely unable to make any kind of sense of them. He didn't notice the girl leaning over his shoulder until she spoke.

"It's just the next building over," the girl told him, pointing.

Charlie stared at her, stunned, for slightly too long before following her finger. "Oh."

She nodded, her eyes drifting to the building before cutting back to Charlie. "Well, good luck."

And then she walked away. Charlie stood there staring at her as she walked away for several long moments before his brain kicked back into gear. Right. He had English next, and now he even knew more or less where he had to go. He hurried in the direction the girl had indicated.

Charlie made it to class before the teacher and found a spot near the back. The room was still half empty of students, but it was filling up quickly. Despite the gaps in Charlie's knowledge, he'd made it into a grade ten class for English. The teacher who had explained his exam results had told him he had a good grasp of the basics.

Charlie hoped to go unnoticed in this class, but as soon as everyone had settled down the teacher, Ms Lawson according to Charlie's schedule, pointed to Charlie and gave him a smile.

"Charlie, right?" Ms Lawson asked, and Charlie nodded. "Would you like to introduce yourself to the class, Charlie?"

For a moment Charlie just stared, wide eyed. How did you introduce yourself to a class? Charlie wasn't even sure how to do it to one person. It had been a question, though, he realised. One for which 'no' was a possible answer. He gave Ms Lawson a firm shake of his head.

Ms Lawson laughed, though Charlie didn't see how his response had been funny, and picked a book up off her desk. "All right, let's get started then. Here, you can borrow my copy of the assigned reading book until I can get hold of a copy for you."

Ms Lawson didn't call on Charlie to answer any questions like the other teacher had, but she did keep him on edge by constantly drawing attention to him. Explaining things to him in particular to get him caught up as the class discussed the latest chapter in the book, telling him that he could catch up with the reading in his own time. It was kind, friendly, considerate, and Charlie could barely focus on what was going on around him because of how nervous the attention made him. He wanted nothing more than to be forgotten.

When the bell rang for lunch, Charlie wasn't hungry at all. At least it would give him time to find his next classroom so he wouldn't be late. After he did that, he didn't really know where to go or what to do. He had an hour for lunch and no one to spend it with.

Charlie was wandering around looking for somewhere quiet to sit outside when he heard the first few notes of a song played on an acoustic guitar amplified across the school grounds. Something tightened in Charlie's chest as he headed towards the sound, seeking out the source of the comforting music.