“No way, you’ll never do it!” challenged a young boy to his friend. The older, taller child scoffed as he slung his bag over his shoulder.

“Watch me,” he replied with a grin. He tapped the Pokéball attached to his belt. “With Houndour I can take on anyone.”

The younger boy sighed. It was times like this that made Charlie wish he had Joe’s impulsiveness. He looked across at his friend. The fifteen-year-old with the mop of dark curly hair stood confidently, his mind racing with hopes and dreams. He seemed every bit the Pokémon trainer with his red and white striped polo shirt hanging loosely from his skin and his canvas backpack over his shoulder brimming with supplies for the road. To Charlie, Joe was a sort of idol.

“You should come with me,” Joe suggested, leaning against the painted navy wall of his bedroom and softening his voice. “I can’t see why you don’t want to”.

“I do want to,” Charlie insisted.

“Then why the hell don’t you!” Joe exclaimed, raising his voice. He didn’t seem to be getting his point across to his disheartened friend.

“You know why I can’t,” choked Charlie. He knelt on the wooden floor beside Joe’s desk and stared downwards at his feet, his shaggy hair obscuring his twisting features from view. “You don’t get it!” he sobbed, the words bursting out of his mouth uncontrollably. “It’s not you who has to work – you get everything you ask for! You can do what you want with your life!” His tears fell hard and fast onto the floor.

The thirteen-year-old clambered clumsily to his feet, still refusing to look at his best friend.

Angrily he stormed, stomping over to the door and pulling it open with a force that could have ripped it off of its hinges.

Wide eyed, Joe stood staring at the open door, his jaw slightly open.

“Wait!” he cried, throwing his tan arms out in front of him as if to grab Charlie by the shoulders, though not before the door had slammed shut and his friend had stormed out on him.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he whispered to nobody.