Chapter One

The piercing alarm of my old digital clock woke me up from my refreshing slumber. The clock read 6:38. Great. I was going to be late for school. On the first day. In my new school. So much for first impressions.

I sprung out of bed like the mattress was aflame. I got dressed as quickly as possible, then practically flew down the stairs into my kitchen. I had been awake for one and a half minutes, and it already felt like I had run a marathon.

I scanned my cupboard titled “Snack Food” for the quickest meal possible. My eyes locked onto a bag of Doritos immediately. Perfect, I thought. I decided I would eat the Doritos on the bus going to school, giving me time to pack my backpack and do my hair.

Zipping through the china cabinets and cupboards decorated with U.S flags with my dad’s name on it, I bolted up to my room. Great, I thought, as I saw my phone charger not plugged into my phone. I picked up my Iphone 8 to see the battery at 8%, meaning I had barely any time to use it on the bus before it died. I located my clock on my nightstand and read the time: 6:41. That meant I had four minutes to pack my backpack, do my hair, and call my mom before I got on the bus. What a great start to the year.

I located my backpack and stuffed it full of all of the off-brand notebooks and folders that my mom bought from the dollar store. I scuttled to the bathroom, making sure I didn't trip on all of the boxes in my upstairs hall. I combed my hair in a matter of seconds, with  all of the thoughts about  a new school and school year racing through my head. Like my dad’s old Northrop T-38 Talon plane, I flew out of the bathroom, got my bag, and rushed down to put on my shoes. I read my dad’s favorite old clock, which read 6:45. My bus would be arriving at any second.  I opened up my phone, seeing two texts from my mom:

    hey, u haven't called me yet. I just                wanted to make sure ur up

    is everything alright

          I dialed my mom’s number with speed and clumsiness. As I heard the classic ringing sound, I saw the yellow silhouette of the school bus make its way down my street, the red stop lights turning on at each person’s stop. I shook my phone, trying to make my phone call faster (like that was a thing.) At last, my mother picked up.

“Sergio!” she howled.

“I know, Mamá, I woke up late because my alar-”

“I don't care! All I want to know is did you miss the bus?”

“No, 0amá, it is here right now.”

“Well then stop talking to me and get on it.”

RINGGGGGGGGG. And just like that, she hung up the phone. What's her problem today? I thought. She never acted like that, even when I got into more severe trouble, like catching the kitchen on fire when trying to make empanadas. Ever since my dad passed, she has never been the same. I knew that he was the most important thing in her life-even more important than me-and he was just ripped away from her. Since then, she had gone from a vibrant, energetic person, to a lazy, unmotivated individual. She had lost her main job as an accountant because of her depressed behaviour, she stopped cooking, especially my dad’s favorite meals. We had gotten take-out almost every night since. It had taken a massive toll on her health. She just was...so out of it. 

I jumped out of my thoughts as I heard the squeaking of the bus’s wheels outside of my house. Without hesitation, I sprinted outside, making sure that I had everything that I needed to go to school. I was sure that I had done everything that was needed. I saw the bus’s doors open, like arms unfolding. In an attempt to calm myself, I casually strolled outside and hopped on the bus.

The bus driver oddly welcomed me as I strolled onto the bus. All of the kids were looking at me but were not saying anything. The bus had this weird feel to it, almost as if you were in a zoo, feeling everybody gazing at you like sightseers. Zigging and zagging through the students’ legs in the aisle, I made my way to the back of the bus. Nobody said anything about it, which was surprising, because in my old school, only members of a certain gang could sit in the back (weird, I know). I was part of that gang, however, so I had the privilege to sit in the back. That's part of the reason why I am at this school now. I took a seat in the second to last seat, which nobody was occupying. A tall, lanky kid greeted me with a somewhat forced, “Hello.”

I responded quickly with a, “Hi, I’m Sergio.” I hated making small talk, but I was just introducing myself to this person.

“My name’s Michael. Are you new here?” he asked.

“Yeah, I moved in like two months ago,” I responded.

“Cool,” he added.

What was the point of that? I wondered. I get that he was just trying to be nice, but that was an odd interaction. There was absolutely no talking on the bus. It wasn't even a rule that the bus driver had made. The bus driver wasn't even talking either. The bus had a distinct stench, one of sulfur and iron. It smelled like somebody mixed a rotten egg with a bar of iron and left it out for days. The horrible aroma made me queasy, which added to my motion sickness from the bus moving. I sat by myself, listening to music throughout the rest of the bus ride, until we arrived at Westboro Public High School. The wheels of the bus screeched to a stop as we pulled into the bus parking spot labeled “24.”

-AJ Castillo