One Wrong Summer

[Ch 1] Monday, September 13th, Fall of Freshman Year

"The bus will be here in ten," my mom reminds me as she glides into the kitchen. She grabs a seltzer from the fridge and an apple from the bowl on the kitchen island before walking out of the room again.

Nine minutes and forty-one seconds, I silently correct her.

I'm sitting on a stool at the counter, shoveling a bowl of Raisin Bran with almond milk into my mouth as I stare at Jason's most recent Instagram post, a photo with Bethany at the skatepark. In the picture, both of them are smiling, Jason standing on the pegs of his BMX bike while Bethany perches on the seat in front of him, leaning back into his chest. I know I shouldn't be torturing myself like this, because seeing him this happy without me is nauseating, but it's like a car accident; I can't tear my eyes away no matter how bad it makes me feel inside.

I've stared at this photo every morning since he posted it five days, six hours, twenty-two minutes and eleven seconds ago, and the only thought I've had every single time I see it is that it should have been me on that bike.

*****

When the number 11 bus picks me up, I slump into a seat at the back, stuffing earbuds in and staring out the window in an attempt to discourage anyone from trying to sit next to me and engage me in small talk. It works like it usually does, so I let the music quiet the noise in my brain and I settle back into my seat. I watch the trees as they blur by, melting into one giant blob of color as the bus rockets me closer and closer to its final destination.

Finally, after a twenty-two minute and forty-three second drive, the bus dumps me at the school's main entrance. I shuffle my way off, falling into step with the hordes of other miserable-looking angsty teens marching their way into what will feel like our prison for the next six to eight hours (give or take extracurriculars). Because I look as unhappy as everyone else, most would assume I hate the idea of learning just as much as the next kid, even though the real source of my misery is much more complicated. I scuttle along down the sidewalk to the front doors, grateful no one will bother to ask.

I trudge through the hallways, eyes on the feet of everyone around me as I navigate through the sea of students. If I keep my head down, hopefully I won't run into Jason or Bethany, or any of their couple friends, even though those couple friends used to be my friends once upon a time.

I round the corner to E hallway and head towards Ms. Sharp's classroom. As I walk closer, I watch as she lingers near the door, smiling and greeting students, welcoming them into her classroom. She's a pretty cool teacher, but it doesn't change the fact that first period study hall sucks big time.

I'm one of the first students to arrive, forgoing the opportunity to linger in the hallways and socialize before the bell rings. I pick a desk in the back corner, next to the window. My foot starts bouncing and my fingers drum the desk as I eyeball the door, willing every student that walks through it to be either Shelley, Callie, or both. The clock tells me to shut up, that they still have ten minutes and fourteen seconds to get here. I dig a paper clip out of my backpack and scratch aimlessly at the bare skin on my thigh, hoping no one sits in the two vacant seats on either side of me. I hear Ms. Sharp laughing with someone at the door and glance up; Shelley is chatting her up, probably telling one of the hilariously snarky stories she's known for. She sees me and gives me a huge smile, heading my way.

"What's up buttercup?" She plops down at the desk next to me, glancing down at the J-A-S- I've successfully carved into my leg. "Oh, you're not still hung up on that, are you?" she questions, raising an eyebrow. "You were, after all, the one who dumped him. Which I still don't understand, by the way. I just don't get why you're torturing yourself over something you didn't seem to want in the first place."