Bittersweet

Part 1

Today sucks. My hair isn't cooperating with me at all, I look like shit, as if I only got three hours of sleep, which I did, but that's irrelevant to this whole situation. I dreaded Mondays. They don't like me, and I don't like them.

I put my hair up and say "fuck it" because there's no winning this fight.

I sigh. School. One of my guilty pleasures. Unlike every other normal human being, I actually enjoy being at school. Without school, I'd be a lazy, stupid, bum who has no friends or no idea as to what to do the next week. It's something to look forward to, I guess.

"Have a good day."

My mom looks at me in this way that showed she understands how I feel.

She also had her hair up like she didn't care.

"Thanks mom. Love you."

The door shut and I made my way out.

It's a bit chilly, maybe in the 30's or so, but it's not too bad. I actually prefer cold weather than warm weather. I can't stand being warm. The way your shirt sticks to you by your sweat is just unbearable to me.

I put my headphones on and head to my destination: the bus stop. It's a block away so I have quite a ways to go. So if I leave late, I'm basically fucked because if I get there too late, I'll miss the bus and then I'll have to stay home and do nothing. All day.

Like I said, I enjoy going to school. I hate not being able to do anything productive.

This time, I'm not late. I'm actually quite early. So that leaves me to stand for ten minutes in the cold to wait for the bus to come pick me up.

I turn up my music and just stare at the ground. The song fills my ears and up to my brain.

When I listen to music, I just don't sit there and listen. I pay attention to every line, instrument, beat, and what not.

In this case, Miss Jackson by Panic! at the Disco is welcomed into my ears and through my mind. I would sing along, but every time I stand and wait for the bus, I feel as though someone is watching me, even when I assure myself that nobody is. So, I just stand there and listen.

Before I know it, the bus enters my field of vision and causes me to remember where I was because for a moment, I forgot. I get on and say "good morning" to the driver, who turned a little bit of a lot more grumpier this year. I remember her being so sweet last year. But, thanks to the smart ass kids who think they have to have the last words all the time, she lost her patience and a little bit of her mind.

I find a seat, the same seat I always sit at every day I get on. When I sit, I just look out the window of the bus until we get to school. And by we, I mean the other forty kids who ride this crummy bus each and every morning.

When I get to school, I'm usually the last one who gets off. I try to avoid getting in people's way and when they're waiting for me to grab my shit, get up, and move from my seat to the door, I feel as though I'm taking too long. So I just sit and patiently wait for all the kids to get past me.

It's my turn now, so I gather my things and get out of my seat and head off the bus.

I walk about halfway down to the doors and I see him walking down to the door.

Jake Peters.

He's wearing his black trenchcoat looking, well, coat. His short, well cut blonde hair complements his bright, blue eyes quite well. And his face, his perfectly chiseled, jaw lined face with a bit of scruff to top it all off like a cherry on a sundae on a hot summer day. Then there's his lips, plump and smooth looking and just to die for. He was perfect. And he had this walk, I don't know how to explain, but he walk differently, as if he  walked with style but with a little "penguin waddle" added to it. It was so cute.

I almost trip over a crack in the sidewalk. I regain my balance and try to walk faster to get ahead of Jake so he can possibly notice me. But, like every other time I see him, He's already a million feet ahead of me and through the doors of the school.

Whatever. I'll see him later, probably.

At least I hope. I pray.

I walk into the school and hurry to my locker because there is only two minutes until the bell rings and I would hate to be late for class.

I gather my notebooks and binder and hurry to first hour.