Young Writers Society

Chapter 1

It was a Monday. An ordinary Monday. The sun was out. Birds sang their song, perched on flimsy tree branches that had shed their green leaves weeks prior. I had school today like I did every Monday.

But today, my room was stripped of all furniture and decorations. My “bed” was just a sleeping bag on the hardwood floor. I went to the bathroom to brush my teeth and wash my face, thankful that the water was still on. I went to the living room, similarly stripped of its couch and TV. There was barely anything inside the fridge, only a few Lunchables for my breakfast and dinner. I grabbed one and opened it. I had homework due today, but I couldn’t bring myself to finish it. Suitcases and cardboard boxes filled with my life’s possessions were scattered around the empty living room. Today was moving day. But not by choice.

My family couldn’t pay rent for a long time, and the landlord was tired of asking. He threatened eviction if we didn’t move out by September 12, tomorrow, so my family and I spent the entire weekend hurriedly packing everything we owned and putting it into storage. Essential items went into the suitcases for easy transportation.

My parents would spend today loading the suitcases into the car and unpacking them in the hotel we were going to stay at. They promised me that we would only live there for ten days while we found a new place. But weren’t we in this situation because we had no money? How could we find a new place with no money?

I stacked a slice of processed cheese onto a stale graham cracker and stared at it for a while. We had ordered takeout for the past week, rotating between Panda Express and McDonald’s for dinner. I didn’t mind bad food that much, though. The nutritional content of my meals was the least of my concerns. I leaned against the kitchen counter and started to eat the cracker sandwich when I heard footsteps from the hallway. It was my mom.

She had been waking up before my dad recently. Usually, they would wake up together, or whoever woke up first would wake the other. I hadn’t even heard them talk to each other lately. On the off-chance that they could hold a normal conversation, it quickly devolved into mindless yelling. They were constantly at each other’s throats because of our current situation, but I wasn’t particularly bothered about their fighting. The only thing that bothered me was how often they fought in front of me.

My mom joined me in the kitchen to make herself some coffee. It was almost time for the bus to get here, so I got my backpack and put on my shoes at the front door. She called out from the kitchen.

“Had breakfast?”

“Yeah. Where’s Dad?”

She didn’t answer. They must be in another one of their arguments. “Headed to school?”

“Yeah. I’ll see you later.”

I walked out the door into the chilly air. The cold air I breathed in felt like little spikes entering my lungs. I zipped my jacket up all the way and shoved my hands into my pockets. I reached the end of the street and saw the bus come to a stop at a traffic light, patiently waiting for the light to turn green.

I had never taken the bus until a couple of months ago when my mom got a low-paying job at a local restaurant to cover basic expenses. She took the car to work, so my dad and I relied on public transport to get around.

The bus is a very strange place. It’s designed in such a way that only a very strange type of person could enjoy it. It’s a moist, cramped, musty, and depressively bland tube of metal. All of the cushions are worn polyester, covered in mysterious stains left by mysterious people. As you boarded, the bus driver would look at you with an unsettling emptiness in his gaze that made you wonder if he was even alive.

The light finally turned green, and the coffin on wheels pulled up to the curb. The door slid open and I got on, taking a seat near the back. I’ve made the bus sound pretty shitty already, but there’s more. Every day, a few minutes after I sit down, the old people arrive. The people who, for any number of reasons, aren’t able to drive.

The octogenarians that catch this particular bus all have one shared foot in the grave. They bring a sickly sweet smell onboard, a smell emanating from all the medicine they take just to stay alive. It’s all I can do not to projectile vomit out of the window, and combined with the already prevalent nose-crinkling mustiness, it’s almost too much for me to handle.

Despite everything I’ve told you, I still look forward to this whole ordeal every morning, because after the old people, somebody very close to me gets on. Somebody who has a magical way of making the bad things in my life seem insignificant.

“Hey, Chris!” She speed-walked over to me and sat down next to me, putting her backpack on the floor between her feet.

“Hey, Bella.”

She brought a fresh, lavender fragrance that seemed to push all negativity from my mind. She wore a navy blue shirt, black jeans, and a well-worn pair of Nike sneakers. “How are you? Are you okay? Did you sleep well?”

“Yes, yes, and kind of.” I looked at her suspiciously, her rapid-fire questions catching me off-guard. “Isn’t it a bit too early for this interrogation?”

Her elegant black hair shifted as she adjusted her body to better face me, tucking a loose strand behind her ear. “It’s never too early to worry about you. Also, why haven’t you been sleeping?”

“I can’t help it. Anyway, I slept a couple hours. It’s better than nothing, no?”

“No, it’s not. We have a test today, remember?”

“I do not remember, actually. Math isn’t that hard though.”

“Aren’t you failing the class?”

“A B- is not failing.”

“It’s pretty much failing when you have a B- in the first three weeks of school.”

“Well, that’s why you’re gonna help me cheat on the test today.”

She giggled and lightly punched my arm. “No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are. Don’t you want me to get better grades?”

“I do. But I don’t encourage academic dishonesty.”

I gave her a sarcastic smile. “Yeah? Whispering to me during our history test last week doesn’t count as academic dishonesty to you?”

“That’s different. I didn’t know anything because I didn’t study for it.”

“So you only permit cheating when it benefits you?” I shook my head. “Tsk. Tsk. Tsk. Very hypocritical of you.”

She let out a deep sigh. “Ugh. Fine. I’ll help you cheat. But, for the record, I still don’t encourage cheating. I’m only doing it because you asked me.”

I put my hands together like I was praying. “What a benevolent soul.”

“Why, thank you." She laughed again, the delicate sound landing gently on my ears. "I’m very benevolent.” She reached for her phone and started texting. “Give me just a minute. I haven’t replied to Emma since yesterday night.”

Emma was Bella’s very close, very possessive friend. She harbored a deep animosity towards me because she thought Bella and I were secretly dating, which was not the case, but she didn’t believe me no matter how many times I told her.

“Does she still hate me?”

Her fingers rested on the screen as she turned her gaze back to me. “Yeah, I’m really sorry about that. I’ve tried talking to her about it but she will not understand.”

“It’s okay. Don’t worry.”

She put a hand softly on my shoulder, her deep brown eyes meeting mine. “She’s just really protective. She doesn’t mean to be the way she is.” 

“Don’t worry. I’m kind of used to it now.”

She gave me an endearing, apologetic smile as she went back to texting Emma, and I looked out the window as the school came into view.