Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
The most annoying thing about my alarm is that it’s on my cell phone, which means I can’t throw it across the room when it goes off.
My face twists into a sour expression as I attempt to detangle myself from my sheets. They’re heavy and have a mind of their own, wrapping around my body every night like a cocoon.
I yawn as I walk to my vanity. My neglected appearance greets me, and I immediately regret going so many days without taking care of my hair.
The brush locks into my ratty blonde snarls, tugging at my scalp. With every stroke, my nose wrinkles, and I wince from the pain. The agonizing process takes way too long, and when I finish, my curls poof out—making me look like a glorified pomeranian. Not the cute kind.
To try and control the volume, I gather it into a loose ponytail above the nape of my neck.
My makeup sits in its organizer on the corner of the vanity, calling out to be used. I reach for it, but my hands stop mid-air. I don’t think there’s enough concealer in the world to cover the purple bags under my eyes, so what’s the point of putting it on?
I settle for the smallest bit of mascara, giving my hazel eyes a light framing. It’s the best I can do.
I lift my shirt to my nose and grimace. There’s no way that it’ll pass as clean. I tug it over my head and rummage through the mound of clean clothes I shoved off my chair the day before.
All I’m after is something comfortable and loose.
Looking cute is the last thing on my mind.
I’d rather blend into the walls of the school.
I pass every bright color in the pile and settle on a gray sweatshirt with blue letters that are peeling off the front.
Then, I choose a pair of dark jeans to complete my lazy outfit.
I don’t bother to find a matching pair of socks.
As long as they both cover my feet, I’m good to go.
I lock eyes on the back of my chair. It’s empty, and panic begins to set in.
My backpack is nowhere to be seen. The disorganized chaos in my room screams at me as I scan over the mess.
I wade through my dirty clothes pile. I even muster the courage to glance into the black hole that’s underneath my bed.
When I turn on my phone’s flashlight, I gag.
Smelly socks and cobwebs cover random junk lining the floor.
But no backpack. I yank the bed skirt back down to cover the horror and open the closet to continue my search.
In the farthest corner is the familiar black fabric.
I hoist the backpack onto my shoulder, wavering under the weight.
A sharp pain shoots through my back as I try to find a comfortable way to carry it.
I’d almost forgotten the ridiculous number of books I’m expected to carry.
Carrying it around all day should count as a P.E.
class in itself, but so far that logic hasn’t given me any additional school credits.
“Becca, it’s 6:50 already,” Mom says, walking into my room unannounced.
“What?” I pull out my phone to double-check.
She’s right.
I’m going to be late.
My shoes line the bottom of my closet in a lifeless heap, their laces sticking up in every direction like ramen noodles. I grab my beat-up sneakers and shove my feet into them. “You should drive me. You haven’t left for work yet,” I say.
“I’m about to, and it’s in the opposite direction. You know that.” She gives me a side hug and leans in to kiss me on the cheek—as if that’ll make up for her deserting me.
“Yeah, I know.” My spine stiffens. I wipe off her kiss with the sleeve of my jacket, transferring a pink smear onto the fabric.
“Just try to have fun. I’m sure your friends miss you,” she says.
My stomach twists in on itself, and my palms clam up. What are people going to do and say when they see me? Will people gossip about me, or worse? Will they avoid me out of pity?
I run out of my room in a flurry, steering full speed ahead.
Mom follows me out, but I’m already halfway down the stairs by the time she closes my bedroom door behind her. “I love you. Have a great day,” she calls after me.
“You too,” I mumble. My words are so faint I doubt she heard them, but I don’t bother to say them again. They were forced enough the first time—said more out of habit than anything genuine.
Outside, the air is frigid, grazing my cheeks. With every breath, a cloud forms in front of my face. Our grass is frosted over and crunches under each step I take across our yard.
In the distance, the brakes from the bus groan. It’s been years since I last rode on it, but the sound is unmistakable, etched into my memory. It’s getting closer. If I had to guess, I’d say it’s just down the hill. That’s not good because I’m still a few hundred feet away from the bus stop.
I start sprinting to try and make up the distance. My backpack flies up and crashes down against my spine with every stride. The road curves up, and my legs become lead. My lungs burn, and my side cramps. I reach the end of the road panting like a dog as the bus rolls to a stop.
My reflection on the dirty bus door welcomes me. As if I didn’t already look wild enough, now I have a bright pink nose. My cheeks aren’t that much better. Someone might as well have taped giant red roses to either side of my face and topped it off with a clown nose.
I inhale deeply to calm myself, resting my hand on the bus while waiting for the door to open. When it finally does, the door hisses, crying out for some overdue TLC. The sound is like needles over my skin.
I stagger up the metal steps and pause at the top, taking in the handful of freshmen and sophomores who scatter across the gray fake-leather benches. Most of them are half asleep and couldn’t care less about my entrance.
“Find a seat,” the bus driver says. Her grouchy tone is amplified by her icy blue eyes. She doesn’t wait for me to sit before the bus begins to roll forward.
I grip the seats on either side of me to avoid falling into the aisle and slide into the first empty spot I come to.
The seat is cold and freezes my backside, sending a shiver through me.
I shake it off and set my backpack down beside me, blocking the spot to ensure a solo ride to school.
Then, I rest my head back and make the foggy window my center of attention, watching the houses and trees pass.
The bus turns and the familiar buildings blur together, speeding past us. It’s been so long since I rode the bus that I’d forgotten the route. With each passing house, my anxiety spikes. We are heading directly for Lincoln St.
I squirm, and my hands start to sweat.
It’s been three months.
This shouldn’t bother me, but it does. It’s the spot where it all happened.
I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to avoid it, but that just makes it worse.
Instead of watching the street come closer, my mind is filled with agonizing images I’ve tried so hard to forget.
The front of his car smashed with pieces of the headlights sprinkled on the ground.
His head leaning against the seat. . . and blood.
There’s a lot of blood. I’m shaking him, trying to get him to talk to me. I’m finding his weak pulse.
My eyelids jerk back open.
The bus is getting smaller. The gray seats are pushing me in all directions, suffocating me.
My pulse is skyrocketing.
My stomach lurches.
My skin crawls.
I jump up. “I have to get off!”
I lock eyes with the bus driver through the mirror.
“Sit down,” she says with a firm voice.
I grip the seat in front of me, hoping that holding on to something solid will settle my stomach. It doesn’t. My head shakes vigorously. “Please. I—I forgot something.”
With my free hand, I clutch my side.
Don’t throw up.
“Once you get on the bus, you have to stay on until we get to school,” she says.
Shaking, I sit back down.
I let my head fall forward, pressing into the seat in front of me.
Don’t throw up.
Maybe she’ll look back here and see just how pathetic I am and change her mind.
She doesn’t.
The bus continues barreling down the road as if nothing happened. We’re headed toward a group of kids clustered together for their ride.
“Are you okay?” the kid across from me asks. I know he isn’t Ethan, but for some reason, my mind is playing tricks on me. It’s Ethan’s face staring back at me—clear as day. I whip my head around taking in everyone around me. Everywhere I look, I see him.
A shiver runs through me and my hands go cold. Still, the bus is getting smaller.
We slow, and the bus door hisses again, opening.
I watch my tapping foot, contemplating how to get off. Lincoln St. is only two roads up, and I can’t do it. I can’t do it. I can’t do it.
I’m going to throw up.
The obvious exit plan would be the front door, but I doubt I’ll be able to get out with all of the other kids getting on.
That leaves only one other option—the emergency door at the back of the bus.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I bolt. I wrap my hand around the handle and twist it. The door flies open.
“Hey!” the driver yells at me. She’ll never let me back on her bus again after this.
My brain hurts from the explosion of anxiety consuming every one of my thoughts.
My feet hit the ground, and I take off. I don’t stop to look behind me. I can hear the bus driver yelling after me, but her voice is just a faint sound overrun by my intrusive thoughts. Ethan is still vivid in my mind. He’s everywhere. He won’t leave me alone.
Once I’m far enough away, I buckle to my knees, letting my tears fall.