Charlie woke up feeling groggy. The early morning light crept through the curtains and painted faint lines across the ceiling. He blinked a few times before groaning and rolling to his side. Last night had been a long one — his mother had called and, as expected, the car incident had dominated the conversation. There were questions, a lot of worried sighs, and a handful of emotional pauses. She had almost booked a flight down. He had to talk her out of it.
Dragging himself out of bed, Charlie moved through his usual routine. Shower. Brush teeth. Stare blankly into the mirror for a few seconds too long. He glanced at the leather bag sitting on the floor beside his desk. For a moment, he debated taking it with him — maybe even showing it to someone. But something about it still felt too strange, too important. Instead, he opened the wardrobe and placed it at the top, tucking it behind an old hoodie.
Downstairs, Alfred was already in the kitchen, a mug of strong coffee in hand and deep bags under his eyes. Clearly, he'd had a lengthy call with Charlie's mother too.
"Morning," Charlie mumbled.
"Barely," Alfred replied with a tired smile. "Your mom's got a mean long-distance grip. Spoke to me like I was the one driving the car."
Charlie chuckled as he took a seat. "Sorry about that."
"Eh, she's just worried. That's her job. Mine is making sure you eat." He slid a plate of sandwiches across the counter.
Charlie nodded. "Looks good."
Alfred leaned against the counter, sipping his coffee. "You okay, kid? Big day yesterday. You feeling alright?"
Charlie shrugged. "Weird, honestly. Everyone's been talking about it, and I don't know... it's a lot."
"You don't have to be the town's golden boy, Charlie. Just be you. That's enough."
Charlie gave a small smile, stood up, and grabbed his backpack. "Thanks, Alfred. I'll see you later."
Alfred clicked his tongue, raising his coffee in salute.
Charlie stepped out of his house, slinging his bag over his shoulder. The morning sun was out, its golden rays casting long shadows along the sidewalk as he made his way through the neighborhood. It felt like a regular day. Almost.
As he walked, a woman watering her lawn paused and gave him a look that lingered too long to be casual. A man jogging by did a double-take. At the corner store, a group of teens looked up from their phones and nodded in his direction.
Charlie kept walking, giving polite nods, but said nothing. He wasn't sure how to feel yet.
As he neared Jefferson High, the sidewalks grew busier. Other students appeared, walking in clumps, riding bikes, or hopping off buses. A couple of upperclassmen slapped his back as they passed.
"Yo, Charlie! That video was wild! You really did that?"
"Respect, bro. That was brave."
Charlie gave a small nod, maybe a tight smile, but kept it moving.
By the time he reached the front gates, it was hard to ignore the attention. Even a few teachers standing near the entrance glanced his way. Mr. Reynolds, the football coach, called out with a grin.
"Mr. Viral Hero himself! You got some guts, son. Proud of you."
"Thanks, Coach," Charlie said, trying not to sound awkward.
Principal Manning was standing by the school's entrance, talking to the security guard. She spotted him immediately and approached with her usual composed stride. Her sharp gray suit contrasted with the warm smile she offered.
"Charles, isn't it? I just wanted to say—we're proud of what you did. Not many would've been that brave. Don't let the attention get to your head, alright?"
Charlie nodded. "Yes, ma'am. I won't."
"Good. Now go learn something."
The inside of the school buzzed with the morning rush. Hallways were filled with slamming lockers, shouts, and movement. But wherever Charlie passed, a ripple of recognition seemed to follow. Students nudged each other, some offered fist bumps, others simply stared.
When he entered his homeroom class, it got even louder. A group gathered around him.
"Charlie! Dude! I saw the video like five times last night. You tackled that guy like a pro!"
"I didn't know you were like... heroic. I thought you just skipped gym."
"He went full vigilante mode."
Charlie chuckled lightly, trying to play it cool. "Just did what anyone would've done."
Before he could say more, the bell rang.
Ms. Varela, their homeroom teacher, entered briskly, her short bob bouncing with each step. She placed her coffee on her desk, clapped once, and said, "Seats, everyone."
As the students obeyed, she gave Charlie a quick glance, then smiled.
"Now before we begin—" she looked around the room, "—I think we all saw what happened yesterday. We've got someone among us who didn't just go viral... but actually did something meaningful. Charlie, thank you."
She started clapping. The class followed.
Charlie froze for a second, then gave a sheepish grin as he sat, slouching a bit in his chair.
"Alright, that's enough celebrity treatment for now," Ms.Varela said with a grin. "We've got a pop quiz. Just kidding. But really, open your notebooks."
The rest of the day flowed like any other. Lessons. Notes. Small talk between classes. Charlie walked the halls with a few more eyes on him than usual, but it didn't feel bad.
And yet, a quiet feeling settled in the back of his mind. Something about all this attention felt slightly off. Not bad, not good—just strange. But he shrugged it off.