Jacob Diaz

Minutes later, Diaz exited the teacher's lounge to search the principal's office and walked face-first into an officer and his service revolver.

Diaz was court-ordered to serve six months at the Silver River Marina Institution, a state-run juvenile offender program.

They sent me home after four months, says Diaz.

The teacher said I didn't belong there.

He'd been committing petty crimes for years.

However, the majority of his criminal behavior, Jacob confesses, was to buy clothes and food.

It's not like I was a bad kid.

I was just trying to survive.

Shortly after returning from the juvie program, Diaz's mother neglected to come home from work one evening.

She'd disappeared for a day or two before, so initially he wasn't concerned.

Diaz continued to go to school and do his homework.

Then, roughly two weeks later, as the food was running out, the rent lady showed up and asked to see his mother.

When Diaz explained that she hadn't been home in weeks, the property manager told him if his mother wasn't back within 24 hours, she was calling Child Protective Services.

I didn't know what to do, Diaz admits as his eyes tear up.

She abandoned me.

An uncomfortable silence fills the air between us.

He eventually wipes his eyes and continues.

I packed up some clothes and went to my best friend Mike Brasile's house.

Brasile lived with his sister, Stacy Yarbrough, in a single wide in Little Mexico.

She agreed to take in Diaz for a few weeks, which turned into months, which stretched into over a year.