Crash (PTB Writing Challenge #1)

Chapter 3

Chapter 3

I stepped onto the bus and kept my head down, never meeting eye contact with the driver or any other students sitting on the bus. I located the nearest empty seat and plopped down, my face scrunching up at the smell that was expulsed from the old, musty blue seats.

I put my headphones in and leaned against the window, making myself small and shutting myself out from the world.

***

A bumpy half hour drive later and my bus pulled up to the fantastic establishment where I had spent the last three and a half years of my life. It looked closer to a prison than a school, minus the bars and barbed wire, but with all the grimness (at least for me). There was no excitement to alleviate my eight hour educational journey, unlike most people. I saw people talking, laughing, standing in groups in the courtyard. I heard snippets of their conversations. Some days I became jealous that other kids had friends to talk to. Others I was reminded of the grief that having friends could cause.

Teenagers caused so much drama. I had seen fights between girls who were best friends two days earlier, and girls reduced to shameful mascara streaked faces because of their short-lived romances. Today was another one of those days that convinced me I was right to be anti-social.

I was sitting on the steps leading to the cafeteria, well away from where most people stood in the morning, when a group of girls walked by. I recognized one of them from one of my classes, but I could not pinpoint which. Her name was something like Rosa.

"I saw this guy this morning, and just... wow. He looked like a model, I swear. I haven't seen him around before, but you should check him out, okay Kelsey? I would if I wasn't with Mark." I was straining to hear the end of her statement, and Kelsey's reply was too faded to hear. The girls had walked too far. Not that I would've cared to hear anymore. This was the kind of mundane conversation that made me sure no one could ever make me want to be close to them. I sighed and reverted my attention to the novel I was currently reading on my out-dated Kindle. What I was reading, I could not tell you. I read and re-read so many books, they were all a blur.

I had been sitting there reading for a few minutes when I heard more steps coming towards me. I didn't look up, hoping this was just a straggler on his way to fill his role in a social circle somewhere. Unfortunately for me, what I heard was a girl's voice, and it was directed at me.

"Could you be any more of a nerd?" Bianca asked in her silky voice. I sighed and tore myself away from my Kindle. She stood a few feet in front of me with her hand on her hip, which she jutted out probably in a habitual attempt at looking sexy. She had shiny brown hair that almost reached her waist, and I found myself thinking again about how much time she must spend straightening it to get it like that.

Today she wore a flirty, dark blue summer dress that flitted around her knees as the breeze hit it. Of course, she paired it with something no one would expect, a cropped gray sweater with a large collar that exposed a bit of her shoulder. She was too perfect. She was a walking fashion magazine.

Something like an animal grunt came out of her throat. She had scoffed at me for gawking at her. "God, seriously? What's wrong with you?"

I didn't know what to answer, but she still stood there waiting for a response; waiting for me to validate her insults through a pathetic attempt at defending myself. Finally I decided it was best to focus on her.

"Bianca, really, how does me being a nerd mean any difference to you?". My voice came out quiet and patient, and I was satisfied that it seemed as if her words had not affected me.

At this she took a second to reply. "It does when you're blatanly checking me out like that. Jesus, I didn't know you were a homo, Amy."

I rolled my eyes. I wasn't a lesbian, but she was beautiful and she knew it. Is that what she wanted from me? For me to admit that no, I'm not a lesbian, I'm just completely and utterly jealous of her thin figure, perfect hair, and fashion sense?

"Oh yes, Bianca. I am a raging lesbian that wants nothing more than to stare at you all day." My reply only had a hint of sarcasm, and I hoped her fear of it being the truth would make her run away, screaming. Sadly, she didn't quite go screaming, but she stalked off a little angrier (or embarrassed, either way she was turning red) than she had come, and I felt accomplished.