I glance at the clock once again, feeling as if time is frozen. Yep, I am going to be stuck in English class forever. I will never grow old, I will never find love, and I'll never have the house with the white picket fence. All because the stupid clock in the stupid English classroom on a stupid Thursday would not hit three.

I tend to be over-dramatic about things. One of the perks of having anxiety.

"Hey, Charlie," my super annoying best friend Mason says. I tear my eyes away from the clock for a second to see what she wants. "Did you watch the season eleven finale last week?" I lower my eyebrows. She knows me well enough to know that in the past three years, I have never missed an episode of Supernatural.

"Is the day long?" I reply, quite literally finding the day hellishly long. I tap my fingers along the desk quickly, something I used to do all the time as a kid. Finally, the bell rings. I don't think I've ever jumped up from my seat that fast. As I get to the door, the teacher stops me.

"Charlie, they need to see you in the office." I internally groan and walk to the office, trying not to run into anyone on the way there. It's like a herd of cattle at the end of the day. Mason catches up to me eventually. "Whatcha doing?" She asks, her voice all high pitched and happy that it's the end of the day.

"I have to go to the office," I mutter, trying to focus on not tripping over anyone. "You can go home. I'll call you later." She doesn't say anything else, just hurries off towards the front doors. I roll my eyes and hesitantly step into the principal's office. My eyes widen a little as I see three police officers standing in front of the desk.

I stay frozen in the doorway. What did I do? I must've did something. Something must've happened. What happened? "Charlie Hannigan?" One of them asks. My hands begin to shake, so I clench them into fists at my side.

"Yeah?"

"I regret to inform you that...you're mother was in a car crash." Okay, so, upon hearing this news, I probably should be sad or angry or something, but I don't feel any of those things. "She died, Charlie." I know what you're probably thinking. I'll cry over the death of my favorite fictional character but I won't shed a tear over my dead mother? That's pretty cold.

It's not, though. Instead of feeling all of these things, I go completely numb. All the sounds around me become distorted, and it gets hard to find reality again. I can only faintly hear the officers apologizing for my loss and offering me a ride home and asking if I'm okay.

I stay unmoving, finding it difficult to even breathe. One of them walks over and takes me gently by the elbow, helping me out to his car. I don't have the energy to protest. I just stay silent in the passenger seat the whole way home.

When we get home, the nice cop comes inside with me and explains a bunch of stuff about my mom's funeral and stuff in her will. It was very hard to pay attention, though. After explaining everything, he didn't look as if he thought I was listening, which I wasn't. He said he will have another officer come by later to 'check on me', and then he left a note on the counter with something written on it.

After he leaves, the phone starts ringing. Of course, I'm still lost in my own thoughts, so I let the machine get it.

"Charlie, pick up the damn phone," Mason says, irritated. When I don't answer immediately, she goes on and on. "I heard about your mom, and I want to talk to you." Another pause. "Okay, that's it, if you don't pick up in five seconds, I'm coming over. One, two, three, four—"

"What do you want, Mason?" I pick up the phone, cutting her off before she decides to come over.

"Well, I was hoping to be the excellent friend that I am and offer to take you out to dinner, but now I'm not so sure." When I don't reply, she laughs a little. "I'm kidding, Charlie. Where do you want to go?"

"I— I really don't feel like going anywhere right now."

"Oh," she replies, surprised. I have never turned down when she has offered to buy me dinner. "Well, I could come over. We could watch Netflix and chill or something." I roll my eyes at her immaturity.

"Do you even know what that means?" She isn't really pop culture savvy, to tell you the truth. "Ugh, never mind. Just— I need to be alone for a while, okay? If I need anything, I'll call you."

"Alright," she says, disbelieving. "But tomorrow is Saturday, so I'm gonna spend the whole weekend at your house. Anyways, I gotta go."

After we say goodbye, we hang up and I turn on the TV. I don't pay attention to the movie playing; instead I think about all the stuff Mason and I have been through. Up until I was twelve, I was autistic. Most people don't believe it because I have gotten so much better in the past four years, but it's true. I had so much difficulty forming relationships and understanding people's feelings.

When I was ten, I started watching Supernatural (yeah, I know, that's probably way too young). It got easier for me to form relationships and stuff when I payed attention to the way Sam and Dean interacted with each other. My mom said that if I had never started to watch it, I may still have autism today. So, I kind of owe a lot to the show and the actors.

But now, I have anxiety, which is probably worse. So, now I understand people's feelings perfectly, and how to form a relationship, I just find it to be the most difficult thing in the world.

A few years ago, Mason was diagnosed with depression, which sucked a lot. I tried to be there and help as much as possible, but I'm not sure if I even made a difference. She got a lot better and today she doesn't even have it, so that's good. She doesn't know that I have anxiety, though, and she probably never will.

But she deserves to know, right? I mean, she's my best friend. We're supposed to tell each other everything. I pick up the phone and call her, hoping that she'll answer.

"Hey, Charlie."

"Mason, I was wondering—if you weren't too busy—if you could come over. I have something important I need to talk to you about."

"Oh, my god. I'm so sorry, but I can't. We're busy." My heart drops at the familiarity of the situation. It's like every time we make really fun plans she cancels at the last minute. This has happened numerous times in our friendship and I think it may be part of the reason I have anxiety. I won't tell her this, obviously. She'll either be mad at me for thinking this or guilty for what she's done and frankly, I don't want her to feel either of those things.

"Oh, that's fine," I say. "What- uh, what are you guys doing?"

"Well, my parents are going out of town for a few days, and I already told them weeks ago that I would go. I'm really sorry." Sorry, my ass. You always do this.

I force my angry thoughts aside and try to focus on the fact that she probably didn't do this on purpose. "Hey, don't worry about it. I'll just marathon Doctor Who for a while. I need to catch up on it."

"Okay, I gotta go." We hang up. A watch some Doctor Who for a while, until the nice cop calls a few hours later. "Hello?"

"Charlie, it's Officer Reed. I dropped you off earlier and I was wondering how you were holding up." I still feel fine, which should scare me. Am I dead inside?

"I'm okay," I mumble. "I do have a question, though, and I'm sorry if you already told me, but where am I going to stay now?" This has been one of my major worries since I found out mom died.

"With your aunt Genevieve and her family," he says. I pray that he's not talking about Genevieve Padalecki, because that would mean I am moving in with my idols, and that could be bad.

"Wait, I'm not related to them."

"Genevieve Padalecki is your mother's sister," he explains. Oh, my god. Oh, my freaking god. I am related to Genevieve. Jared's kids are my cousins. I, of course, cannot find the energy to say anything else because I am literally freaking out right now. "I know you did not know your father very well, but it's written in your parents' will that they would prefer it if you stayed with Gen if they died. We have already informed her and her husband of the situation, and they are more than okay with it. On June 12th, you are going to be living with her, so you should have time to finish up the school year." I haven't talked in a while because I'm still freaking out. "Charlie, are you there?" I clear my throat.

"Yeah, so will I need to take a plane, or...?" I ask, suddenly finding my voice again.

"Actually, Gen offered to come out on the 9th and stay until school is over. Then, you two could fly back together. Does that sound okay?" My eyes widen, but I immediately agree. "You have your license, correct?"

"Uh, yeah?"

"Great," the officer says. "You will need to pick her up at the airport on the ninth; she'll be staying with you until the twelfth." He explains a few more things in detail, which I have to write down, before he hangs up.

The same nine words keep going through my head continuously for the rest of the night.

I am going to be living with Jared Padalecki.