The wind furiously blows between the buses as I try to find mine. My eyes water horribly and my hair is whipping back in forth in the freezing air. I glare at Ron to open the door. They slide apart and I dash into the warmth. I sit in seat 12, which is the boundary line between high school students and junior high students.
Kasey, along with Brandon and Brian Redmond, plop in their seats with smiles. Kasey peeks at me, but says nothing. She hardly talks to me on the bus, and that's probably because I'm a 'loser'. Kasey has gotten very popular at this school. She's flamboyant, sweet and loves to have fun. I don't talk, I'm shy, and am virtuoso. Its not like I shut anyone out. No. I would welcome anyone if they wanted to know me. But... other kids don't. I feel like I'm running in circles or treading in depth-less water.
Kasey gets up and runs to the back of the bus with Brian and Brandon. Then, Brock comes along. Kill me, I think bitterly. I put my headphones in really fast so I can't hear him. I blast Michael Jackson in my ears. I don't talk often, but I would not waste breath on this boy. He is always asking me, "How's life?" But then I would think, ' I wouldn't want to corrupt your mind, little one.' So, when its his stop, I gradually pull out one headphone and watch him get out of my seat.
"Nice talk." He says sarcastically. Now I felt bad...
"Sorry, I ... I just didn't feel like talking." I smiled at him as I murmured my sheepish excuse. The bus started again, speeding through the sharp curves and bends of the black paved roads. It was a soggy afternoon. Everything was glistening with rain. Ron pulled into the church parking lot, driving in a huge circle to drop us off.
"Do your chores NOW!" Mark (my father) shouted down the stairs. I had just gotten home and was sitting on the couch. Getting up at 5:05 AM and sitting on the bus for an hour is tiring. Kasey was upstairs in our bedroom sleeping, yet I get yelled at for sitting. No matter how tired I am, I don't sleep after school.
After reluctantly doing dishes, laundry, and dusting, I run upstairs to grab my Sketchbook. When I felt anguish or depression, I would draw, blast music in my ears, or play my piano. I angrily scrawl on the thick paper, sketching a mess of things into a bleeding angel. Then I took a red pen and dashed lines on her face and around her halo. I'm sure it had some depth to it. A hidden meaning. but I don't feel like pondering my art.
"Kasey, you better get up because I don't want to get yelled at for you."
"Whatever..." She slurred as she rolled over onto her stomach. With a roll of my eyes, I grab my keyboard (Piano) and blast it full volume in her ears, playing Viva La Vida by Coldplay. I crack a smile as she turns to look at me.
"Are you up yet?" I giggle.
"Now I am..." She drags herself downstairs to finish her chores. She is one lazy girl. I'm lazy, too, but not as lazy as her. She is the number one procrastinator.
I've been sitting up in my room for about an hour alone. I look down at my arms. Scars are there, small but prominent. Then there's my burn scar that I received in Florida from exploding grease. But the burn scar is not what caught and held my attention. It was the slits running up my arm. A dumb, but satisfying mistake.
Disgusted with myself, I but a jacket on to cover my hideous arms and laid in bed. I imagined that I was in a patch of bright light, looking up into the endless blue sky for clouds. I did that on the way up to Florida. I thought that was going to be a great time, but in reality, it wasn't. She just painted a pretty picture in my head to make me go. I close my weary eyes and fade away to my paradise.
