Wendy. (Wattys2015)

One

 I think that it would be great to have a car, or maybe even a red, low rider truck, instead of riding the bus with everyone who hasn't gotten their license yet. With a truck, Trevor Kingston, Adelaide Good and I could all go for some midnight exploring or something, with that damn legend still in the woods. The whole town talks about some kind of monster in there that traps you in the trees and never lets you go. 

Bullshit.

I stride up to the bus and wait for the doors to open. When they do, Mr. Fisby's treacherous mildew, armpit, never-wash-your-damn-body-and-clothes fills my nostrils. I'm used to it by now, since he's been my bus driver since kindergarten. But when I was five, I didn't exactly appreaciate the smell of anything that resembled my uncle's farm, mixed with the mold in an uncleaned shower. Mr. Fisby isn't all that bad though, he's a good guy. Once he made everyone cookies that were chocolate chip with caramel. Of course, we were all a little reluctant to take one, but I ate one anyways.

And you bet it was the greatest cookie a man who  never showers could ever make.

Tired and dizzy from exactly zero sleep, I climb onto the steps, taking a seat in the front and greeting him. As usual, I look out the window and watch the greens pass by, my entire hometown before my eyes, picking up everyone i've known since birth. After the last stop, Adelaide's stop, we're supposed to head to school, but today we don't. The bus drives past the Wilson's farm, and takes a right turn onto a dirt road.

A frenzy of whispers immeadiately begins, and Adelaide turns to me. 

"We never go down this road, do we?"

I shake my head and look out the window. "Never. We should already be on our way to school. Your stop is always the last one."

"Maybe it's someone from school that just started to ride the bus."

"Oh," I relax and smile. "you're right. Tell everyone else that."

Adelaide turns around and plants her knees on the grimy, brown leathered bus seats that the same 48 kids have been sitting on. As her voice carries past my ears, all time stops as Mr. Fisby stops in front of a house, with a farm behind it. A girl with long blonde hair waits, a pair of Levi's jeans resting on her hips, her floral blouse flowing with the slight, summer wind. As the sun glints off her face, I shiver.

"Adelaide, do you know who that is?" I whisper.

She gives me a confused look, and looks out the window. "Is that Isobel? I didn't know she lived here."

"She doesn't."

"Then who is that?" she asks. "She looks familiar.."

As soon as she says that, someone on the bus screams.

"Wendy Townsman!"