![]() ![]() A guy behind me unwraps his breakfast and shoots the wrapper at the back of my head. I try to open my window, but the little latches won’t move. The engine clanks, which makes the guys in the back holler something obscene. The driver downshifts to drag us over the hills. As we leave the last stop, I am the only person sitting alone. As they walk down the aisle, people who were my middle-school lab partners or gym buddies glare at me. The bus picks up students in groups of four or five. If I sit in the front, it will make me look like a little kid, but I figure it’s the best chance I have to make eye contact with one of my friends, if any of them have decided to talk to me yet. ![]() If I sit in the middle, a stranger could sit next to me. Where to sit? I’ve never been as backseat wastecase. The driver pulls away from the curb while I stand in the aisle. I have seven new notebooks, a skirt I hate, and a stomachache. ![]()
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