𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊 𝐓𝐎 𝐃𝐄𝐂𝐄𝐌𝐁𝐄𝐑 - jason grace ¹

i. remember this moment

I.      JASON   !
⋆ ★
remember this moment

               When Jason first woke up, he thought he was having a heart attack. But he didn't think he could get one at his age . . . What was his age? All he knew was he woke in the backseat of a school bus, not sure where he was, holding hands with a girl he didn't know. That wasn't necessarily the rotten part. The girl was cute, but he couldn't figure out who she was or what he was doing there. He sat up and rubbed his eyes, trying to think.

A few dozen kids sprawled in the seats in front of him, listening to iPods, talking, or sleeping. They all looked around his age . . . fifteen? Sixteen? That was the scariest part to him. If he didn't know his own age, what did he remember?

The bus rumbled along a bumpy road. Out the windows, desert rolled by under a bright blue sky. Jason was pretty sure he didn't live in the desert. He tried to think back . . . the last thing he remembered . . . Jason thought he could at least remember something.

Jason looked to his other side and saw a girl sitting in the seat across from him and the girl who held his hand. She was a cute girl, with soft features and dark hair so dark it contrasted with her pale skin. Every single significant point of her — her nose, ears, cheeks, even her knuckles, were bright pink like she was suffering from frost bite. The girl wore a blue sweater and a long white skirt, white tennis shoes on her feet. A few wisps of hair fell on her face, half of her hair pulled back with the rest flowing around her. She sat facing Jason, with white headphones over her ears and scribbling away in a journal. Something about her was almost compelling to Jason. Her eyes were bunny-like, with huge brown irises that glimmered and Jason could have sworn they had snowflakes in them.

The girl glanced up at Jason and immediately did a double take. She furrowed her eyebrows at him and closed her notebook and immediately Jason knew she sensed he wasn't supposed to be there. She sat up, removed her legs from the seat and turned toward the window while she continued to write in her notebook, only more aggressively. A part of Jason felt disappointed she reacted that way. Not even a smile. Was he that ugly? He hoped not.

The girl next to Jason squeezed his hand. "Jason, you okay?"

She wore faded jeans, hiking boots, and a fleece snowboarding jacket. Her chocolate brown hair was cut choppy and uneven, with thin strands braided down the sides. She wore no makeup like she was trying not to draw attention to herself, but it didn't work. She was seriously pretty. Her eyes seemed to change color like a kaleidoscope brown, blue, and green. But none of what was happening was right. The girl holding his hand, he didn't feel anything. Nothing except he didn't belong there holding it.

Jason let go of her hand. "Um, I don't—"

In the front of the bus, a teacher shouted, "All right, cupcakes, listen up!"

The guy was obviously a coach. His baseball cap was pulled low over his hair, so you could just see his beady eyes. He had a wispy goatee and a sour face, like he'd eaten something moldy. His buff arms and chest pushed against a bright orange polo shirt. His nylon workout pants and Nikes were spotless white. A whistle hung from his neck, and a megaphone was clipped to his belt. He would've looked pretty scary if he hadn't been five foot exactly. When he stood up in the aisle, one of the students called, "Stand up, Coach Hedge!"

"I heard that!" The coach scanned the bus for the offender. Then his eyes fixed on Jason, and his scowl deepened. A jolt went down Jason's spine. He was sure the coach knew he didn't belong there. He was going to call Jason out, demanding to know what he was doing on the bus— and Jason wouldn't have a clue what to say.