The School Bus

I excitedly got on the school bus and said, “Hey,” to Mr. Turner the bus driver. He looked me over and said, “Happy Friday, Joe,” in a way that conveyed no happiness or joy. This was not new; he said this to me every Friday after school. I always thought he was a strange guy. Nonetheless, it was a happy Friday. The shitty school week was over and now I was going to spend the night with my two best buds, Ed and Hunter, at a sleepover at Ed’s house. It’s gonna be great, I thought to myself as I walked to the back of the bus.

Most of the front of the bus was already filled with screaming kids, but the back was empty, or reserved, rather, for the older kids. We were only thirteen, but we were eighth graders this year, and in a rural area like where I lived, once you were in high school, you either got your farmer’s license and drove to school or you had a friend that did. So eighth graders ruled the bus. As I got to the back of the bus, I noticed I had beaten Ed and Hunter, so I took the half seat at the very back, which as we all know is the coolest seat on the bus.

I sat down as waves of superiority washed over me. I put my book bag and overnight bag under my seat and looked up to see Hunter and Ed walking back towards me. Hunter punched me on the shoulder as he sat across from me. “Fucker,” he said. “You took the good seat.” I hit him back and said, “If your fat ass wasn’t so slow, you’d be sitting here.” Ed sat in front of me and said, “Fuck both of you.” We all laughed. The punching and cussing was just an act of sorts. We were three of the smallest, nerdiest, and skinniest thirteen-year-olds in our class. The only place we had power was on the bus, but that’s only because nobody ever challenged us.

Ed looked back at us and said, “I think we can beat our record tonight: swim until midnight and then play ‘Call of Duty’ ‘til the sun comes up.” We all giggled like school girls, with the thought of an endless night of swimming in Ed’s pool, junk food, fart jokes and video games. Life was truly sweet.

We hadn’t quite gotten into girls yet, or rather they hadn’t gotten into us. There was a hierarchy, or food chain if you will, at our school and we were definitely at the bottom of it. We all had our crushes, but we were realistic about it, or just too big of pussies to do anything about it.

Our girlish glee was interrupted, though, when Hunter looked to the front of the bus and said, “Oh fuck!!” I followed his gaze and watched Clint Turner get on the bus; “Oh fuck” was right. Clint was the bus driver’s son, so he got away with everything. He was also seventeen, like over six foot tall and probably weighed as much as Hunter and I combined.

Clint stopped to talk to his dad. Ed looked back at me and Hunter and said, “What’s that asshole doing here? He hasn’t ridden the bus in years.” Ed was right on both counts: Clint was an asshole and I hadn’t seen him on the bus for over two years. When he used to ride every day, he fucked with everybody that sat in the back. We never had to deal with it because we were still young and stuck up front in steerage, but now here we were, big bad eighth graders, and I’m sure we all looked like sitting ducks in the back of the bus.

Hunter grabbed his book bag and said, “I’m moving up a seat.” I hit him on the shoulder and said, “Don’t leave me back here by myself.” Ed looked at me and said, “Move up here with me.” Clint finished talking to his dad and started walking to the back of the bus. “We’ll look like a bunch of pussies if we all move up,” I said with my heart racing. Hunter watched Clint moving down the aisle and said, “Joe, we are a bunch of pussies.” Hunter got up and moved up a seat just as Clint made his way to the back of the bus.

“That’s right, hershey squirt,” Clint bellowed, “Get the fuck out of my seat.” Clint smacked Hunter on the back of the head as he went by. Hunter kept his head down and didn’t say anything; none of us did.

I grabbed a book out of my bag so I could at least act like I was reading. Clint sat down across from me and said to nobody in particular, “Yeah, I threw a rod in the mustang, so I’ve got to ride the bus with you assholes.” My eyes burnt into my book like a laser beam; I’ve never been good with confrontation.

Mr. Turner put the bus in gear and we slowly moved forward, it dawned on me that Ed’s was way out in the country so his stop was one of the last. We all lived in the country but Ed’s house was really out in the middle of nowhere.

Clint smacked the book out of my hand and said, “Yeah, I’m talking to you.” I looked him in the face for the first time and said, “Thanks,” and picked up my book.