SUPERGENE

Chapter 03

"Hello, New York City!" Jake shouts as the first towering skyscrapers fade into view in the horizon.

"We're in Chicago, genius," says Brennan, whacking him in the back of the head. Brie snickers at their antics from across the row.

"Technically," Mr. Miller turns in his seat behind the bus driver. "We're not there yet, Brennan. We still have about forty five minutes to go before we reach the city."

"Ugh, really?" Audrey groans from the seat across from the sponsor. "Just kill me now."

"Well, factoring in traffic, parking, getting to the restaurant we booked, and let's see, what else was there..." Mr. Miller either doesn't hear or just ignores his daughter's comment. I watch as he fishes a tiny itinerary notebook from his hefty backpack stuffed with loose papers and fumbles through the pages. This is probably the most he's ever had to do for this job.

"This is going to be the best trip ever!" Mason yells from the spot next to Mr. Miller. He's bouncing up and down on the seat cushion, his short legs swinging back and forth just inches off the floor. Just as I thought, he's wearing that trademark blazer again. I fully question its cleanliness.

I roll my eyes and turn to Lucia. She's sitting in the aisle seat beside me with her earbuds in. She insisted that I take the window seat so I could look outside and quote, "take everything in." Since the only photos of Chicago I really see are highly edited and artistic shots that people post to their Pinterest boards, you can expect my disappointment when the majority of the ride is mostly office buildings, billboards, and the occasional dingy neighborhood or apartment complex.

Everything whisks by in a blur— from the pounding trains careening down their tracks next to us to the cars zipping alongside us in the surrounding lanes and under bridges, looking toylike from up above.

"I'm really surprised your mom let you come," Lucia remarks, breaking me out of my trance.

"Yeah, she figured it was finally time for me to do my own thing," I say.

Well, it's technically the truth. If you count being grounded for a week "doing my own thing." I look down at my phone to see that I have three unread texts from my mom, silently shooting daggers at me from my lock screen.

When I told her that I was planning on sleeping over at Lucia's house— who decidedly wasn't going on the trip because she just felt so awful that I couldn't attend— she begrudgingly agreed to let me out of the house for the night, probably stemming from feelings of guilt for the exchange we had earlier.

I power off my phone and shove it to the bottom of my purse. She'll just think we're buried in some study material anyway. After all, Lucia is the friend every parent wants their kid to have. In other words, routine "sleepovers" with her pretty much just involve studying for our AP classes and watching Ted Talks on her laptop until we pass out around nine p.m. Or rather, Lucia does anyway. I don't have the heart to tell her I stay up under the covers hovering my phone in front of me, watching my comfort documentaries late into the night to drown out her thunderous snores.

"Well, I'm glad she finally came around," Lucia says gleefully, "this trip is going to be totally smashing!"

...

One by one we hop off the bus and gather in a tight cluster on the sidewalk, clutching our bags and jackets and grunting as we stretch out our limbs in a chorus of pops and cracks.

Others join me in staring upwards in awe, taking in the sheer enormity of the skyscrapers dwarfing us in every direction. We probably look something like a pack of starstruck sardines swiftly dropped in the middle of a chaotic, bustling coral reef.