Awkward Bus Rides and Drew

i. Sweat and Peeing

Friday morning
three days before Spirit Week

I was late. I was so late.

Not my period. But for my bus.

“Wait!”

The cold fall air nipped at my skin as my feet pounded against the asphalt. My breath came out in little warm puffs, my lips numb from the cold.

“Don’t leave!” I yelled, not giving up. I ran until the bus rounded the corner, where I collapsed on the wet snow.

“Of freaking course I would be late on the day of the pep rally. How typical,” I told myself, huffing my way back to the bus stop. It didn’t help that I only had a huge coat over my cheer uniform.

I plopped down on a seat, grumbling to myself about Joe, the old bus driver, and about how he couldn’t hear properly.

“Had a rough morning?” I heard someone ask.

“Like you wouldn’t believe,” I replied. I pulled out my phone, texting my friends about my morning.

“First, I woke up with this huge zit on my forehead.” My phone pinged.

“Second, I ran out of my favorite concealer,” I said, my fingers moving in a blur.

“Third, my car broke down the other day, so I’m car-less, and now the bloody bus left without me! So no, I haven’t just had a rough morning, I’m having a terrible morning!” I cried out, turning to face the stranger I was talking to.

Oh. My phone pinged again, but I ignored it.

Sitting a few feet away from me, wearing a beanie low over his eyes, was Andrew Greene, the first-string linebacker, and my sworn enemy. I wouldn’t have recognized him all bundled up, if it weren’t for his all-too familiar pale gray eyes.

Thankfully, the next bus came immediately, and I hopped off the bench, rushing to the door even before it opened. I chose an empty seat and set down my bag beside me so no one would sit next to me.

8 am. Oh I was so late.

A few seconds, a hand threw my bag onto my lap, and somebody plopped down next to me. The scent of fresh lemons hit me, and I knew who it was.

“Go away,” I said, through gritted teeth.

“Why, a few minutes earlier you were telling me about your day. Please continue, your story was so captivating,” he said, his slight English lilt rolling out.

I sucked a huge breath. His lemon scent invaded my nostrils, and I recoiled.

Deciding not to say anymore, I plugged in my earphones, raising the volume to the highest.

As Vic Fuentes’ voice filled my ears, I felt Andrew lean in, obviously listening in. Crap. He and I shared similar music tastes, and he had the habit of stealing one of my earphones just to listen in.

‘I laid down, I drank the poison then I pass the fuck out...’

Surprisingly, Andrew kept silent, showing incredible self-control, probably realizing how awkward the situation was.

Can we create something beautiful, and destroy it?

For the rest of the trip, Andrew kept silent, hurrying off the bus before I had any time to even wear my bag.

“Imogen! Where the frack have you been?” Olivia, or Oli, my co-captain and best friend, asked, even though she was near the entrance doors and I at the street.