Walking on the bus wasn’t that unnatural to me, yes, sometimes I hate having to go on the bus instead of having my parents drive me to school like all the rich kids got to do. But other than that, it didn’t bother me much. Meeting new kids my age always was my mother's excuse for making me ride the bus. And saying that it saved money. But it wasn’t that easy to fool me when it came to her. Even though she really tries to hide the fact that she was addicted to other things beside alcohol, it was pretty hard to when white ‘powder’ is found in the bathroom before leaving for middle school.

After meeting so called ‘Church Boy’, I couldn’t get the way he moved that piece of hair out of his face from my mind. I could tell that his fingers were soft by the way he glided his hand across it, bringing it behind his ears. His face was pale and looked more innocent than a child's, big blue eyes staring back into his was like seeing the ocean right in front of him. His fingernails looked bit and chewed, showing obvious anxiety like I had but his hands were pale and small, looking almost fragile. I wanted to hold them and make them look strong around my fingers.

“Ugh.” I pushed those thoughts out of my head. Not now. I thought. Waiting for everything about Church Boy to escape my mind scape. It was hard but after several minutes, it was pushed back, ready to be explored later.

My homework was an easy essay about a book we had been reading in class. I hardly payed attention so just wrote about what I thought the book was about according the title. It wasn’t as long as Mr. Hagman wanted it but I just wanted to get it done and resume my deep thinking about the pail knuckles that caught my attention more than I like.

Thinking took up more time than usual because soon, after dark had descended upon the small town, my mom drove in the driveway, lights causing mine in the room to turn a yellowish-white.

Right as the front door opened I heard mom laugh down stairs. Yet another guy. I opened the door just to find my mom with her arms wrapped around the neck of a hooligan. His eyes were red and beaty, staring at me with a lust and rage filled look that made a shiver run up my spine. He had matted, dirty brown hair and the smell of alcohol coming off of his shredded pants and shirt caused my stomach to do flips.

My mom wasn’t looking so hot either. But, you could tell she tried. She was wearing a cheap, skimpy, red dress that clung to every curve on her body and a fake minx that was obviously stolen. Her dirty blonde and brown hair was curled and had a leaf stuck in it for some reason. Her makeup was smeared and no longer looked as real as I imagined it had before.

She spoke, her eye’s heavy and dreary as the smell of alcohol bled from her words.

“Sweat- Why aren’t you in ‘ed. God, it’s mmm-midnight! Go to the bunk bed and fall back to sleep. Mommy’s going to be naughty and you-” She pokes my nose with her fake nail and caused me to flinch, “Need to the sleep. Good night d-darling.” She giggled and turned back around towards whoever this man was.

She whispered in his ear, giggling profoundly as the man looked very pleased with himself, walking her towards the only other room of the 2nd floor, which was moms. I gave the man a eye roll before slamming my door, not giving the anymore time. My room was right next to her’s, I had a hard time sleeping that night.

Waking up with a headache was normal for me. I always had low blood sugar, meaning that everything in my body hurt when I got up. But my head, when the sun shined on my eyes and woke me up, pounded as hard as it could. Causing tears to sting my tired eyes and a silent scream scratch its way through my throat. My sat up as fast as I could only to be brought down as dizziness took over from getting up too fast. I cursed as I got up more slowly, looking up for the pills I got when I was 4. They probably weren’t safe to take anymore but, pain meds were pain meds. I took 2, drinking them down with disgusting water from the night before. I look for a simply clean outfit, or just something I could fit in. After about an hour of doing nothing in the clothes I had chosen, I got looked in the mirror one last time as the clock hit 7:30, the time I go out and wait for the bus.

My outfit wasn’t much different from the day before, same concept just different shirt and jeans. My gray skinny jeans had three large holes in them that were patched up using old sewing thread I had gotten from grandma before she died. I disliked the fact that they looked really, really gay but made me look like a tough guys at the same time. So I continued wearing them. My shirt was long and went down to my lower thigh, it was dark pale and looked ragged and had two holes at the left shoulder. My book bag hung on my shoulder and my blue converse looking unwanted on my feet.

My mom was passed out on the couch with her night gown on. My mom was a beautiful woman when asleep. Her hair had returned into its natural state. She had a large tattoo across her chest that said my brother’s name and mine in beautiful writing that was almost hard to read. I grabbed a blanket and threw it on her, grabbed a glass of clean water and set it on the coffee table next to the couch. I smiled as she snuggled into it, mumbling a “Thanks George.” into the empty air. My smile immediately vanished. George was my dad’s name. I hated the fact that each time I did this for her she would always assume it was dad. Why did he leave then? I always wondered but couldn’t dred on it too long as I saw the bus honk out in the street. I dashed out the door and to the bus, ignoring the judging glances from the other students.

I walked into my seat until a pair of familiar ocean blue eyes caught my vision. My breath caught my throat and I looked up to see Church Boy looking at me with an apologetic look. He didn’t sit even though the bus was moving. He opened his mouth, those darn fingers coming up to brush his fluffy looking hair back and over his head. His head nodding upward, my eyes following his direction, looking anywhere but those eyes and fingers. And I saw our names on a white notecard.

“The bus driver said that he set these up with whoever you sat with yesterday morning.” He took his seat and looked at me with sorrowful eyes, “That being you and me.”

Shit.