Viper

Ch. 5

  Why are school busses so loud- and cold- and messy- and outright disgusting? Most of those things were contributed by the occupants.

If the school had been closer, Ostentatious and I would have walked there, but we would have to leave at 5:30 to get there on time by foot. So there we were, sitting side by side on the cramped bus seats. Two six-foot-and-taller guys, (muscular, too, if I'm being honest) were not meant to squish together on a seat that's big enough for only one of us.

  As if the deafening roar of the bus's engine wasn't loud enough, the students on the big, metal trash-heap found it necessary to shout to each other from the front by the driver to the back near the emergency exit that's rusty edges looked like it would inflict more harm than it would prevent. I restrained myself from glaring daggers at the students, but the temptation was nearly as deafening as the bus.

  The moment I stepped onto the vehicle, I noticed, to my horror, that the girl I had bumped into in the candy store the day prior was sitting in the front. Once Ostentatious and I found a seat, I slouched into it as far as I could, but my long legs didn't have room to compact as the seat in front of me was already touching my knees. Had my brain been working at full capacity (due to the frigid temperature that my hoodie wasn't able to compensate for, it wasn’t), I might have panicked and risked the ominous escape route, but my faintly cold-blooded inability to think and Ostentatious sitting on the inner seat confined me to my embarrassment.

  I tried to look around at the students and attach names to their faces, but I could only match a few of the names that I heard being launched down the aisle.

  A blonde boy with green eyes sitting towards the front went by the name of Strike. He unsettled me, to say the least, with his confident and brusque demeanor. His short, spiked up hair, unlike the way a lot of people do it with gel, looked soft instead of crusty. If I had to guess, I would say he was an athletic guy: basketball or soccer, maybe. He was fairly muscular, for a human, but not built enough for football. I didn't like the way he looked at me. Then again, everyone on the bus was looking at me and Ostentatious weirdly; we were the only new people.

  His twin sister, Pas (I think. It didn't sound like a name, but everyone called her that), had the same blonde hair, green eyes, and athletic build that he had. Despite all of their similarities, she seemed to be nearly the opposite in her personality. She smiled frequently- and genuinely- and talked with pleasantness, unlike the harsh, jerking tones that Strike used.

  Sitting across the aisle from Pas was Owen. Previously, he had been chatting with his friends in the seats around him, but now he sat quietly, reading a thick book. Ostentatious was going to like this guy. His dark brown hair was about as long as mine, but it hung straight, swept across his forehead. He wore a Champion hoodie the color of a muddy sunset. His backpack sat in the inner seat, daring anyone to move it and sit directly beside him. I couldn't help but wonder how he made it into the "friend group" of Strike and Pas.

  A girl named Brave (I know, I know. They’re all weird names, and not just because of Disney) sat two rows behind Owen, already thumbing through her textbooks. I could easily see how they were friends, and, by extension, she talked with the twins. She had brown hair so dark it was almost black, and eyes of the same manner. She wore an orange t-shirt with something printed on the front that I couldn't quite read. A purple and gray bracelet adorned her left wrist.

  The last person that I managed to attach a name to was sitting across from Brave, directly in front of us. His hair and t-shirt were black (as well as his jeans, which I saw later). One look at his dark eyes framed with black eyeliner told me that he was emo. He begrudgingly spoke to Brave on occasion but completely ignored the rest of the bus, leading me to the conclusion that he and the girl were relatives somehow. When he wasn't mumbling, he was looking at his phone. His name was Michael. Not what I had expected, but who am I to judge?