Omera clumsily stumbled onto the pavement that led towards their soon enough destination. It was their first day of reuniting with friends including Jayden, Lorenzo and well, no one else. Omera was a rather dissociated and distant child, someone to lurk and gather information from word rather than striving for it themselves. It was something that many of the students had latched onto, the main gossip surrounded the topics of getting your cherry popped at the ripe age of 13 and maybe even younger in some cases. 'This school is full of wankers' were one of the many phrases Omera would constantly hammer into their list of mental sentence starters. Just like any other average day, Omera slumped down on one of the school bus seats. If Omera was lucky enough they would catch the gaze of Benjamin Junior, a fellow, yet distant friend of the short figure for many years. Benji, however, simply slithered by Omera.
"Hey Benjamin!"
No response, the usual. Omera was obviously shattered by the lingering silence, however, it was rather something to be expected. How do you still feel hurt? And most importantly, why? It was natural for someone such as Benjamin to just slip by and ignore your words, besides, Benjamin was never a real conversationalist like you or Jay. You're used to it, and yet somehow you still connected and managed to put up with each other for so many years.
You reattached yourself to the world of music, something that took you out of the zone and made it seem like your ride to school was simply your mum dropping you off at your neighbours birthday party. You glance over to your right, how did you not notice Lorenzo perched there? What an inconsiderate bastard, you didn't even bother to invite them over to your side.
"Hey, Lore." Your glance is exchanged, and Lore slips on over to your seat.
"Bitch." Lore never meant that in a harmful way, in fact, you were both quite close. Lore and Jay had been dating for approximately 2-3 months, honestly, I'm not even sure if you keep track. You're more of a third wheeler anyways- the bus halts to a sharp stop.
"Alright kids get the fuck off my wife."
She's a blunt bastard she is, the bus driver, but she would consistently hand you free Mc Flurry slips so you had a sort of agreement going on. You nicknamed her Bussy, oh, also, she's one of those confusing souls both sexually and romantically attached to objects. You departed from the cranky, moody looking bus and walked in a messy sync with Lore to your form room. Summer seemed so long away, yet it was in the palm of your greasy, chubby fingered hand. Why are you so fixated on your upcoming break?
