Everyone's heard it time and time again: "Don't judge a book by its cover". This could mean a variety of things; from the new girl in school, to the shady looking man in the grocery store, or the horrid, awful scars on one's wrists. Constantly, we are judging people by things that don't really matter at all- outward appearance, academic and athletic ability, or even by the way someone talks. Logan Mitchell knew all too well about this treatment.
Walking into his new high school on the morning of his first day, Logan could feel all eyes on him. He could hear everybody fall silent for a moment, mid-sentence, as he passed them in the hallways. It didn't faze him in the least anymore; he had been the "new kid" enough times to know what would happen as his classmates saw him for the first time. Logan knew exactly why they stared. But, he also knew what really happened, something that nobody else did. He had never stayed at one school long enough to develop any real friendships, therefore he had no one to confide in.
Three years previous, when Logan was thirteen years old, his home had been caught in a horrible fire. The reason for the happening was never given a definite cause, but it had happened, and the evidence was right on Logan's skin.
The horrific burns from the fire had made their permanent marks on him. At the time of the incident, he had been able to save his legs from any severe damage by bending over as he tugged his mother from harm's way, but, unfortunately, that had submitted his entire left side to utter vulnerability. The scar tissue was a blotchy mixture of reds and whites that contrasted drastically with his dark hair and brown eyes. The scars had shined over, now that the last of the lifeless skin had peeled away. Logan's left eye turned down on the outside corner to match his mouth, although his nose was essentially the same, seeing as how the differentiation crept just barely up the bridge. The scars traveled down the same side on the front of his neck, until they disappeared under the neckline of his top.
The burns themselves had stopped hurting long before, at least in the physical sense. Emotionally, the marks radiated the worst of any pain. Burning, stinging, and sometimes the memories of it all became too much, too much to handle, and Logan would break down in tears and hide under his bed for hours. It was a childish thing to do, yes, but it kept anyone from seeing him so raw and vulnerable, and that was all he could ask for.
Well, no, maybe he could ask for a one more thing. A friend, maybe? Someone that would see him beyond the angry scarlet disfigurement. It was like everyone couldn't help but watch every move he made. And every word Logan said, it was like they were picking it all apart. He figured it was safe to assume that his classmates found it amusing, hearing the freak speak like any other human being. Maybe they thought he chose it, chose to be the monster he was, just to get attention. But that was as far from the truth as possible.
It wasn't until he was midway into his third week at the school when a boy plopped down next to Logan at his lunch table. He introduced himself as Kendall Knight, and did Logan like hockey? Because there were tryouts for the team after school today, and he was looking for someone to go into it with, because it's so scary to walk into something unknown by yourself, and, oh, did Logan have a pair of skates? Because he could lend his extra ones to him, and he could even keep them if he needed to.
When Logan looked up at him and took down the hood of his sweatshirt to reveal all of the marks, the things that had seemed to define him for three years, Kendall didn't run away. He didn't scream, nor laugh. He simply continued in the one-way conversation they were having.
And for the first time in a long time, for the first time since the incident, Logan gave a genuine smile.
Don't judge a book by its cover. It's a simple statement, really. If you just take the time to look beyond what's on the outside, it could be the greatest thing that ever happened to you.
