Sing []Ryden Daughter[]

One

Twelve years later....

" So suck on that, I'm still alive,"

That's what I say. When I finish retelling my life story to the endless amount of interviewers that come pouncing my way when I'm at the bus stop. When people quiz me every time I start a new school because I outgrew the endless extra facilities I require of the last one. When I return to the hospital every week, for another check up and another hand down my neck, sometimes making me gag or even throw up.

But it's worth it. Because I hadn't have been stuffed with drugs, pricked with needles, and my throat literally opened up and scraped out, then I wouldn't be here. Starting my sixth Goddamn school.

The new bus stop is crowded, as it seems to be that lots of kids on my street are at my new school. They're chatting, laughing, sharing sets of earphones. Being normal teenagers. My only wish.

I look up from my book, The Midnight Doll, ( I have two others in my bag: The Temptation of Pure Water and The Island of Nobody) and as I hear a rumble and tyres on the road. A bus stops in front of us and I read the number, squinting as the Los Angeles sun reflects off of the glass. 532. Not my bus, the 204. OK then, didn't realise this was a multi bus stop. About half of the kids quickly scramble for their bags and run on in a mob, barging and pushing so that they get a seat. It kind of looks painful.

With a large of the kids now proportion half way down the road, there's more space on the bench. So I place my old cardboard Waterstones bookmark on the page that I'm leaving, close the book, swing my backpack over my shoulder and walk over to the space, pulling my tank with me. I sit down and look to the girl next to me, I smile to her. But she just trails her vision down to my tank and just awkwardly shuffles away from me. So I just reach into my bag for the book once again carry on reading.

With my emersion in the, plot, I almost don't hear the coming of the second bus. The number reads 204, and so I quickly slap the book shut and quickly get up. But as I near the mob, my awkwardness arises and I just stay to the back. I still hope that there may be a seat somewhere, no matter how anxious I may get.

At last, I step onto the bus. It's humid and noisy, full of teenagers ranging from (by looks only) 13 to 18. I walk a few paces slowly, feeling extremely self-conscious as I can almost feel eyes on me, when I almost trip up the first step. I bite down on my lower lip, and I carry on. I reach the third step, and I see a free set of two seats. Why are there people standing up when there are free seats. Is there some sort of seating plan? A bus law that stops people sitting here? Has someone saved it? I ponder for a few seconds, until the bus stops, throwing me to the side. And then noise arises as another crowd of kids from the stop we've halted at barge through. I then quickly take the seat closest to the window, because if I'm not quick, the American Football boys clique would have barged me out of the way. I breath, and take out my phone. It's an Android, but a good one. I switch it on to my lockscreen, a selfie of myself, Ryan and Brendon at the beach last year. I type in the password and switch on my mobile data. Twenty-three WhatsApp messages come through at once, 10 from @Urie-Ross fam (me, Ryan and Brendons chat) and the other thirteen from @Sucky Cancer Support Group (which is what everyone is the group calls it). I open up Urie-Ross Fam first, and as usual, it's Ryan and Brendon sending each other red love-heart emojis. Then another one comes through.

Ryan: Dammit, Skye's online.

I laugh quietly to myself, and reply,

You: Yeah. In case you've forgotten, this is a groupchat.

Ryan replies quickly, with a two lines of laughing emojis. And then Brendon comes online and says,

Brendon: But seriously though, don't use sarcasm. Your supposed to be making a good first impression.