by Jessica Tan
The long, yellow bus screeches to a halt next to the curb as you lift your eyes up, watching the doors fan open for the first time this fall. You spent all morning organizing your school supplies, thinking of what your new schedule would be like. But first, you have to make the journey there. And if you had it your way, you would drive there yourself. If you were old enough.
You count to yourself as each person files in. One. Two. Three. After you reach number eight, you stretch your legs onto the steep steps, restarting your counts. One. Two. And three.
“Morning.” You hear from the bus driver as they nod in your direction. They avert their attention to check the rear-view mirror. Loud chatter fills the air, as if you walked into a baseball stadium. You jerk your head to the side as a shoe whips past your face.
“Duck!” someone shouts much too late. The bus driver scowls. As you scan the faces on the bus, you remind yourself to stay small and narrow so as not to bump into anyone or get pummeled by another flying object. You see an empty spot next to a boy with headphones dangling out of his hood. He looks out the window, shaking his leg and bobbing his head. You don’t recognize him but there aren’t many options, so you stand by the seat, waiting to see if he would notice you and grant you permission to sit there as if he owned the seat. He doesn’t notice.
You lower yourself onto the seat, steering clear of the aisle and holding your backpack. Your leg touches the boy next to you so you try to squeeze your knees together. Why couldn’t these seats be a bit bigger? Scooting over just an inch, your leg hangs out into the aisle. Luckily, you were the last to get onto the bus and you’re the last stop before reaching Henry Middle School.
A potent amount of sweat, deodorant, and body spray seeps into your nostrils: the smells of teen angst, body changes, and trying to fit in while standing out at the same time. You cough a few times and lean your head down to maybe get a few breaths of unaffected air.
The chatter increases and you feel the rock of the bus jolting every few seconds. While squeezing your bag tighter, a blue highlighter falls onto the ground, rolling behind you before you can reach it. You mutter a curse, saying goodbye to that highlighter you will never see again.
Two boys squirt their water bottles at some of the girls seated ahead of them, causing them to jump. You want to ask if they’re okay but do nothing since you don’t want the same fate as those girls. You continue to watch. They sprawl over the seats behind them, telling the boys to stop but then giggling while trying to rip the bottles out of their hands.
You count in your head, waiting for time to pass. One. Two. Three. Four. It takes about twenty counts until you hear the bus driver’s voice.
“In your seats, ladies. And put those bottles away. We don’t need this bus to turn into a slip and slide. Hey! You hear me?”
The girls roll their eyes, crossing their arms as they turn around and plop onto their seats. The boys snort, holding their bottles in reluctant compliance.
Your heart starts racing, face flushing as if you were the one being yelled out. Secondhand embarrassment is the phrase you learned recently to describe these incidents.
The moment the bus screeches to its final halt, you bolt up and step out into the aisle, swinging your bag over your shoulder and thanking God it’s over. You need to escape the heavy air of B.O., shrieks, and pure chaos.
You feel a hand on your shoulder behind you, causing you to turn your head. What now appears is a palm cradling your blue highlighter. You look up to see the hooded boy’s face only to realize that he is actually a girl. A girl with the sweetest smile you have ever seen. Is she new to this school? What grade is she in? She takes out her headphones and you hear her voice for the first time. It is just as sweet as her smile.
“Here, you dropped this.”
You grumble a thanks and grab the highlighter from her, your fingertips brushing against hers. First-hand embarrassed, you turn forward, needing air.
You’re now free from the yellow metal from hell. A gust of cool air hits your face and you take four slow, deep breaths as if you are enjoying the ocean breeze. You feel a tap on your shoulder, which causes you to turn around once again. The sweet, soothing voice is back.
“Wanna listen? It helps with the bus craziness.” She passes an earbud to you as you clear your throat. Maybe riding the bus won’t be so bad.
© Jessica Tan
Jessica Tan (she/her) was born in Seoul, South Korea and has been traveling ever since. When she isn’t writing or curled up with a good book, she is hiking, exploring the culinary world, or caring for plants and animals with her husband.
Find out more on Instagram @jessicatanwrites.
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