School Bus Politics

five

On the weekend, Callie was able to drive me to the mechanic to check on the Jeep. Usually Jason was able to take me, but since his older sister took the car out, he couldn't go anywhere. And of course there were my parents, but I was sure Callie was more able to punch me to my senses if I ever start crying about my car's current situation.

Sort of like now.

"Geez, snap out of it Peyton," Callie hisses as we stare at my partially damaged Jeep. She shakes her hand gently and massages it after punching me repeatedly on the shoulder. "Grant is going to fix it. Stop blubbering like a baby."

"Wow," I sniff, glaring at her with wet eyes. "What a comforting person you are. I thought this was the year to have dudes more expressive with what we're feeling. Because you know, we're humans?"

Callie returns my glare. "Of course, but you're crying over a car that is literally almost fix. I'm telling you to calm down."

I shrug. "Fair enough."

From under my car, a lanky dude almost my age slides out and gets up. His dark green work jumpsuit was stained with car oil and soot. Grease sits on his pale face while his blonde hair rest scattered on his head. Despite the fact he looked overworked, Grant Dawson's wide smile and twinkling blue eyes said otherwise. While going to our school, he worked at his dad's mechanic shop after school and on the weekends to learn the ropes before the shop is passed down to him. He was a good friend to have, especially since he's fixing my car.

"Callie, Peyton," he greets, his southern accent presenting itself loud and clear. "How can I help you?" he squints at my eyes before looking at Callie, pointing at me. "Has he been crying?"

"Just tell him how the car is Grant." Callie sighs, rolling her eyes.

"Right," Grant says, his eyes flickering to me. "So I'm going to need a couple more days to finish up. It's takin' a while to find a new hood for the car as well as a few other parts. Shippin' is quite a bitch right now. But so far, it's going really well. Uh, hang in there Peyton."

I could feel my eyes stinging with tears again and poor Grant looked shocked. Callie must have caught onto what was happening, because a searing pain blossoms around my arm. I hiss, instinctively holding my arm and biting down on lip to keep from pouring out loud tears. At that moment part of me wanted to cry after my car while the other part wanted to sob at the effect of Callie's 1,000 pound fists plummeting into my arm.

"I'm so sorry about this Grant," Callie forcefully smiles, grabbing my arm and starting to steer us away from the bewildered Grant Dawson. "Call us when the car is finished!"

Callie continues to steer me to her cherry red Corolla, where she opens the doors and allowed for the both of us to get in. When we were settled, she starts the car and begins to drive away from the mechanic shop. As she drives, she gives me another of her scalding glares as if she was asking 'Do you seriously have to be that embarrassing?'

"Do you seriously have to be that embarrassing?" she asks, before averting her eyes back to the road.

Before I could answer the question, my phone rings from my pocket. Pulling it out from my pocket, I quickly answered it after seeing it was Jason calling and put him on speaker.

"Hey man! How was it?" he asks.

"Absolutely terrible," Callie expresses. "You didn't tell me how hard it was to calm Peyton down. Poor Grant – "

"Anyways," I said, cutting Callie off while Jason's laughter echoes from the phone. "What Callie means to say is that we have a couple more days until Grant finishes. I miss going there with you, man. Callie punches like Floyd Mayweather in a fight. Jeez."

"Don't listen to him Jason! He gave me toughest time!" Callie protests.

"Aw I'm sorry," Jason replies. "Tell you what. My sister bright the car back. How about we go to the arcade? I'll call Sydney."

I look at Callie, who gives me a shrug.

"I'm in if you're in." she says with a grin.

"Alright, we'll be there in ten."

...

Bart's Arcade and Comics was a quaint store in area. It was owned by a dude literally named Bart (Bartholomew was too long of a name for a store sign and Bart doesn't like his name that much), who is a 46-year old divorcee and father. The details of the divorce with his wife are kind of murky, but rumors claim that he was too much of a video gamer than a husband. His daughter, Zoey, not only was a junior at our school, but she often worked at the counter.

We had entered the arcade an hour ago and managed to cash in money for enough tokens and play for a few minutes. After we got tired of 4 rounds for Monster Blaster, which I managed to win for all rounds ("I can't believe I lost twenty bucks on betting to win against you," Sydney complained after the last round), we sat down in the booth, close to the appropriate bar for minors and ordered drinks.

"So the Jeep is absolutely totaled?" Sydney asks as Zoey places down our drinks on the table.

Taking my drink, I swirl the straw that was inside the glass. "Yeah, but it's okay. Grant says he's going to be done in a couple days."

"Oh yikes," Zoey frowns, holding her serving tray near her chest. "That's not really helping your reputation right now."

"No one needed to be reminded Zoey." I glare at her, to which she walks away.

"Well, she does have a slight point," Callie says, sipping her soft drink. "Maybe you can turn this thing around. Is the bus that bad?"

I ponder about this for a few minutes. The bus wasn't that bad like everyone makes it, but the thought of me, a school icon –

"For goodness sake Peyton," Callie cries aloud, exasperated. "You're not an icon."

"It's horrible, if I'm going to be honest." I finish, ignoring Callie's cries.

"Really?" Sydney asks, furrowing her eyebrows. She then leans in to take a sip of her drink through her straw, looking up at me. "What's so wrong about it?"

"Well, there's this girl --"

"Oi, another girl?" Jason says, his eyebrows shooting up. "What is up with you and the ladies?"

I shrug, pushing the ice around in my drink with my straw. "Her name is Melanie. Melanie Perez?"

I flick my eyes up to my friends to see if anyone recognized her, but all I got was nothing.

"So nobody knows her. Cool." I sigh. "She's basically this girl on the bus who created this set of rules called Bus Politics. By the way, did you know on the bus you have leaders?"

Sydney wrinkles her tan nose. "Bus Politics? Why does it exist in the first place?"

"Don't ask me. I've only been on the bus for a few days."

Finishing the rest of her drink, Callie removes her lips from the straw with a loud pop before looking at me bemusedly.

"If she's giving you a hard time, I'm here for it Peyton." She says.

"Geez Callie," I say, rolling my eyes. "Stop stalling and just join the universe in my downfall will you? Much appreciated."

I was being sarcastic of course, but the look on Callie's face told me that she didn't get it very well. The funny thing is, I was sure that she understood it. Unfortunately for me, any thing relating to my downfall is something that Callie finds fun.

If you're now question our friendship, I'd have to say you're a bit late on that bandwagon.

I've been questioning for years.