Hating Everything

Chapter 1

        Ugh, I hate taking a bus. There's too many people, you get no space and can't do anything. At least I can enjoy my coffee before 3 hours of torture. As I doused the last bit of my coffee, I threw it in the trash from where I was sitting and perched my knees up. Just as I did so, I began to hear the rumbling of diesel. The coach bus was here. I grabbed my suite case and carry on and walked up to the curb.

        When the bus puled up, I was exceedingly shocked to see no one. "Don't worry 'bout sticking your luggage below, it's only you and 2 other kids, then straight to the school." I hate being surprised, I thought to myself as I walked in and went straight for the back corner. Pulling out my sketch book and pen-marker, the driver spoke over the speakers. I realized right away that he did so by accident, because he was also talking into a walkie talkie. "Picked up Yankee number one, two more to go." I put on some Blood On The Dance Floor and worked on my drawing.

        For you to truly understand the extent to my passion in art, let me first tell what's in my carry on. I first have my tattoo needles, -yes tattoo needles- I enjoy doing tattoos for anyone, for free. I have an extreme variety of colour ink for the tattoos as well. One thousand crayons, four hundred pencil crayons, four hundred, fifty markers, one hundred, twenty pen-markers and ninety pastels. I have four, one thousand paged sketch books not including the one I'm drawing on, oh! Also, one thousand sharpies. I have nail polish too,  (call me gay all you want.) But only one colour/shade, black. Now that I have told you all that, you fully understand how much I love art.

        In the sketch book that I'm drawing in right now, I have my favourite bands drawn on the first page to my current one. As I am drawing a band, I listen to their music, so guess which band I'm drawing right now? When finished, I Put away my sketch book, but not closing bag and was just about to go on Tumblr on my phone, when the bus came to a stop. I looked out my window to see a bit of road and a side walk. I pulled my earphones out to get a listen as the next kid was coming on.

        A blond girl with a dorky smile came jumping on and was talking basically none sense with the driver. Then she turned around, obviously knowing someone else was on the bus and spotted me. As she ran to the back I tried to brace myself for stupid questions. I hate stupid questions. The bus started moving but she stayed standing. "Hi, I'm Nancy, What's your name?" Finally, a chance to do something I love to do, pissing people off. "Pass." I replied. "How old are you?" "Pass" "what are you doing?" (She pointed to my opened bag and sketch book sticking up, I pushed it in and zipped up the bag.) "Pass" I replied once again. "Are you going to answer any of my questions?" Might as well answer this one. "No."

        With that, she turned and walked to her seat right in the front, disappointment glowing. I smiled, curled back up in my corner and listened to Candyland by Blood On The Dance Floor, as well as opening Facebook, instead of Tumblr with a change of heart going towards what other people would consider "scary" photos.

        After another eternity the bus came to once another, halt. This time though, through my window, I saw some road then grass. I looked higher up and saw grass going for miles. I pulled out my earphones once again to overhear the conversation, which this time was between what sounded like a boy and Nancy. When the boy finally walked up the stairs, I saw that he had shaggy brown hair and a nervous smile. Oh, great a suck, I hate sucks. The bust jolted with a start for the last time, on it's way to the boarding school.

        I hate boarding schools. I pushed my earphones back into my ears and put on Happy Violentines Day by Blood On The Dance Floor. Ten minutes later the boy comes running to the back, to use the restroom. By the time the bus comes to it's final stop, The boy has come at least ten times to use the restroom. Five minutes before we arrived, Nancy ran all the way to the back just to talk to me. I hate talking.

        "The boy that we picked last, his name is Grover and he is twelve, just like me, So I was wondering if you could tell me your name and age." Well, I don't want to risk her asking two thousand times a day. "My name is Percy, I'm as well, twelve." Her eyes lit up. "That's such a pretty name. Percy." She turned on her heel and ran up to the middle where I assumed Grover was sitting. His name suites him so well.

        As all three of us waited for the bus driver to stop flirting with one of the teachers, Nancy, who was up at the front of the line kept pushing Grover to talk to me. Finally he gave in and turned around. "Hi." He said nervously. I'm going to hate this little chat. "Hi." I reply, sounding bored. It took him a minute come up with something to ask me.

        "I saw you listening to music, the entire time I was on here, What kind of music do you like?" Nancy knows this trick all to well. "Pass." I reply and I see Nancy roll her eyes. "Oh." Is all Grover can say back. The bus driver turns around and looks at all three of us. "Alright off ya get." With that all three of us steped off the bus.