The young boy walked to school with his hands placed firmly in his pocket, and his backpack was balanced on his right shoulder, weighing him down. He looked towards the ground as he walked, his surroundings being mostly unknown to him as he had placed his navy blue earphones into his ear and turned up the sound to an agonizing volume for any other human being. He knew where he was going without having to glance up to read the road signs above, so he continued to walk the way he always did. He'd been walking down this same empty street since he was just a small child. He had always been independent, his mum hadn't left him much of a choice, he had come to realize that over the years.

Newt lifted the cigarette to his mouth to inhale another breath of the chemicals that he'd been warned about by any adult he'd come across. Newt thought that more than half of them were extremely hypocritical, because they smoked themselves. It doesn't matter anyway. He'd tell himself. I don't care. It was something he'd have himself say, as if telling himself so, convinced him that it was the truth. But Newt wasn't dumb, and he could see through his own lies perfectly. It did matter, and he was very capable of understanding that. Those rare days where his head was clearer, he would ask himself what am I doing? Only to come back and think oh. The answer would soon follow, and it wasn't a pleasant one that he liked to talk about. In fact, he didn't really talk at all. Sometimes, Newt would go so long without talking that he'd have to think for an excruciating long time to remember when he'd last uttered a word.

He threw the cigarette to the side, and contemplated on having another one, because he had another ten minutes to go before arriving to his destination. School. A real lovely place. He laughed at himself. He was too sarcastic for his own good sometimes, but it'd come in handy when he didn't want his mother around. Which in his case was a lot.

As Newt approached the school, his figure began to shake, and he bit his lip in anticipation as to what was to come. He wasn't waiting for something good. No, good things never happened in his life. It was rather an anticipation of what would happen to him today, and it wasn't the good kind. What would they do to him? There was always someone waiting to throw something at him, it was unavoidable. It could range from a simple comment about his dirty blonde hair and the way he had decided to present it, or it could also be a more hurtful comment, or a punch in the face. There were some comments that really did bother Newt, and they made him flinch. It was usually his limp. If someone commented something about it, he'd end up thinking of it in his seat all day. Newt would squirm in discomfort, bite his lip and look down, avoiding any eye contact from any other person in the room. Didn't know it was that noticeable anymore. Newt would think, however, it was noticeable if you looked for it and many people did look. His peers in school liked to joke with him about it, but he never found it funny. It physically hurt him when someone would say;

"Newt, your damn legs still fucked up? The hell happened?" and then he'd avoid eye contact with them for the rest of the day, maybe even a week if he could. Once he looked at them again, he'd earn a good punch in the face. Bloody deserved that one didn't I?

Newt had finally approached the school after a twenty minute walk, and the white marble stone on the outside reminded him of how modern this school really had become. It was recently renovated around a year ago during the holidays, and it really had made a difference. It still wasn't a good school but at least the exterior now made it look like one. As he walks past the sea of students, and up to his locker, he takes careful notice to the banners that have been hung on the walls around the lockers. As he was placing his textbook in his hand, he remembered. The game was this week, and he had no intention of going. He hated social places, he hated being social in general. Contact with people was something that he didn't want. It scared him actually, being around that many people. It wasn't something he particularly enjoyed. He was bad at talking to people, and he was bad around crowds. He didn't like it, and he wasn't planning to work on his "problem" anytime soon.

It was his school against some other school. People were ecstatic, because apparently both teams were really good. If you asked Newt if they were as good as people say, he wouldn't be able to tell you. He hadn't watched his school play at practice. He did sometimes pass the field after school, but he'd never steal a second glance at the players. The other school, of course, he hadn't seen play either. He didn't even know where that school was located, or that it existed. He shut his locker carefully, and turned the corner, but he came to an abrupt halt as he saw the people straight in front of him.

"Look guys, Newt decided to join our little group chat." He looked down, scared that they'd do something to him, and he could hear one of them mumble, "I don't think he'll do much chatting though" followed with laughter, and he cringed. He could talk, it wasn't that he wasn't able to. He just chose not to. He didn't like talking, because he'd always feel like he'd tell people the wrong thing, and that they'd instantly hate him. No matter what he'd say, it would always be the wrong thing to tell. Newt was proven right the few times he would say something, and so in turn he didn't.

One of the guys approached him, a sort of arrogance in his walk. He was shorter than Newt by a few inches, but he had much more muscle mass because he was one of the players on the team. He liked to work out a lot at the gym, Newt had heard. The shorter boy could easily take him down despite the variation in height, and it scared Newt. It scared Newt more than he'd ever like to admit.

"Ya better be at tha' game this Friday or I'll find ya personally and drag ya there." Newt didn't say anything, and he tried looking anywhere but the raven haired boy in front of him. He concentrated on the wrong grammar the boy had used. Or maybe it was the accent he had. Whatever it was, he jumbled the words correctly in his head to distract himself from what was in front of him.

"I'll find ya freak later on an' I'll want an' answer. Get me?" Newt nodded and cursed at himself on the inside for making himself appear smaller out of fear. He was fearful, and it wasn't something he'd lie about. The boy gave him one last glare and shoved past him, and Newt didn't hesitate to run off to his class.

Less people than expected were in the class when he had arrived. In a way, he was relieved. Less people would look at him as he walked past. At the same time, however, he was curious where half the class was currently at. He could hear people talking about the game as he walked past, but in his mind he always thought they were whispering about him. It's the game, not everything is about you. It wasn't always about him. In fact, the majority of the time it wasn't, but he had the sort of mind set that it was, and even if he told himself that he was wrong, he still thought he was right.

He didn't wanna hear about the game. He didn't care, and people talking about it was a constant reminder that he was now being forced to go. He knew what would happen if he didn't. A physical altercation is what would happen to him. Newt wanted to avoid that as best as he could. Or at least give it a bit of time before he'd be used as a human punching bag again. He was an easy target, and he knew that. Newt made himself vulnerable and weak, because that's what he believed he really was, and in turn, people took advantage of it. They weren't intimidated by his 6'1 frame, even when they were a lot shorter then him. It sucked, but it was his fault. He made himself like this.

"Newt are you listening or busy daydreaming?" The teacher called to him and he quickly snapped his head up only to see the whole class staring at him. He shrunk back in his seat and just gave a short nod. Stop looking at me. Please. They wouldn't stop. At least not for a while, but eventually the teacher told everyone to look back to the board where he had written something Newt could not for the life of him understand, and he wasn't about to try.

_____________________

After his first two classes, Newt had a break, something that he always looked forward to during school hours. He'd run off the school property, past the football field, and to a huge tree behind the bleachers. It was sort of his place, and he liked to think of it as his tree. It was hidden behind the bleachers themselves, and a stone wall. Besides, no one really came here. Especially teachers, so he could easily have a smoke unnoticed, and so that's just what he did. He pulled it out, and lit the end on fire while balancing it between his lips.

Sometimes he wished that someone was there, to tell him that what he was doing wasn't good, and that he should stop. That was just it though. He had no one. No one to tell him that this wasn't something that he should do daily. He'd sometimes wish that someone would care about him. But how could someone care for another that doesn't care about themselves? It doesn't work that way, at least not how he saw things in his book. Besides, Newt thought that even the dumbest people wouldn't be that dumb to care about him. He was a waste, and he deserved death, so he wouldn't do anything to avoid it. Newt was waiting for it, inviting it as if it was a friend he couldn't wait to see again. However, Newt had no friends, and he'd never known death either.

He stood in the cold for a good ten minutes before his cigarette had burnt down to the filter and he let out a disappointed sigh. He contemplated once again on lighting another one, but he had a few classes left, and he didn't want it to be that obvious.

He walked the short distance back to school, passing the wooden bleachers and walking the pathway past the trees, back to his school. His break was over, and he tried to remember what class he had to attend next. The boy walked up to his locker and got out his schedule to double check what he had left to endure this day, when he noticed a presence behind him.

"Ya better have an answer. Are ya goin' or not?" When Newt didn't say anything, the boy flipped him around and shoved him against his locker, a loud metal sound echoing in the hall as his back collided with it.

"Can ya even talk?" Newt nodded feverishly, trying to get out of the boys grip, but he soon gave up as the grip on him got harder. Newt was weak.

"Well if ya can, why are ya not?"

"S-sorry." It was the first thing Newt had said all day, so it came out scratchy and could barely be heard between both boys. What Newt got in return for talking, was a punch to the shoulder, and he bent over grabbing onto it with his other hand. Newt didn't think the boy had a lot of talent, but he could certainly hit someone if he desired it.

"Ya better be there ya freak." Then he let go and walked off, leaving Newt by himself in the hall.

Guess I know what I'm doing on Friday. He told himself bitterly.

_____________________

Newt walked home with a searing pain in his left shoulder. He really should've gone to the nurse for ice, but he couldn't be bothered, and it involved explaining. Which meant talking, something Newt definitely could do without if he wanted, which he did.

He once again walked home with his earphones in on the same volume as before, and it took around the same amount of time to get home, as it did to leave.

When he arrived, he walked up the broken concrete and up to the wooden house that he'd lived in for years with his mother. He was about to get his keys out, when the door opened in a haste, and he was dragged inside like an animal.

"Was just about to leave. Don't know when I'll be back so there's money. I'll be gone for as long as I want, don't make me any more embarrassed of you than I already am. Okay?" His mum rushed out, fumbling with her earrings while looking in the mirror above the shoe rack.

"Mhmm." The most he spoke was to his mother, but only because it was his mother. They were related, and he didn't care about what she thought of him much, because he thought that when he was legal it wouldn't matter anyway. He could say what he wanted with her.

"Good, at least you know how to do something right." She walked to the door and put on her heels, and then turned to give him one last look.

"Don't call me." Then she slammed the door, furniture shaking at her departure, and leaving Newt behind.

See Newt, no one cares. And the fact that he was standing in his hallway alone was perfect proof.

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My first go at writing a Newtmas Fanfic so I hope it's good :)