“Don’t worry, smarty pants, I got expelled last year for fighting. Not because my grades suck.” He winks as if that lessens my concerns about him.
“I’m sorry?” I utter awkwardly. I’m not sure what else I’m supposed to say.
“I’m not. I beat the shit out of a bully, and he deserved it. My dad trashed my bike as punishment, though, so that sucked.”
He notices my confusion.
“My dirt bike.” He enlightens me. “Which is why I’m stuck riding the bus like a loser.” He glances at me. “No offense.”
I shrug because I don’t even have my temps. The bus is my only option.
“Your mom won’t let you have a coat because it’s frivolous?” He continues torturing me with conversation, and my heart is already beating out of my chest with nerves.
I’m starting three months late into the school year, and now a cute boy is looking at me. Cute boys never look at me.
“I have a wool poncho that she handmade, but it’s too hot for most situations, and she won’t buy me real deodorant. I’m afraid that I’ll stink.” Heat rushes to my cheeks with embarrassment.
“Yikes,” he says, raising his eyebrows.
“I don’t know why I told you that.” I squeeze my eyes shut, wishing I could hide. “It’s also really ugly,” I add, and an amused smile grows on his face before he laughs, making me smile bashfully.
“So, don’t come near you on the days you’re wearing your winter poncho. Got it.” He smirks, backpedaling slowly.
I think it’s part of his joke, but he continues backing away even as the bus comes rolling down the road.
“Where are you going?”
He shrugs. “Not feeling the bus today.”
I’m staring at his retreating form as the air brakes squeal, and all the other kids shuffle through the bus doors. It would have been nice to have one friendly face beside me as I arrived at the school, but I try not to think about it.
I’ll keep my head down and find my classes as fast as I can. If I don’t draw attention to myself, then the other kids won’t realize that I’m a fish out of water.
I went to public school until fifth grade, when my mom pulled me out to start homeschooling. She started a wellness journey, and it overhauled our lives. We bounced around from place to place while she sold her handmade goods and taught yoga classes. We cut out all toxic household products, and then she met my stepdad at a free spirit retreat.
Now, we live in his trailer, and I don’t have access to theinternet. It’s too radioactive, as they say. My options were to sit somewhere all day that provides free internet or to go back to public school.
I chose the latter. I wouldn’t mind more structure when my home life is the definition of flippant. I love my mom, but we’re polar opposites. She flows with the wind, and I’m rigid, responsible.
One of us has to be.
Too quickly, the bus screeches to a stop in front of the school, and I suck in a chest full of air. This is it.
My new school.
The large brick building is harsh and overbearing. Not for the first time, I’m regretting my choice to return to traditional school.
All the other students rush around me, heading through the main doors in a controlled flurry because they all know where they’re going. I am lost, and I haven’t even gone up the concrete steps.
“Hey, hippie girl,” the familiar voice calls from behind me. The relief that washes over me makes me blush, but as I turn to look, so does embarrassment. The boy from earlier is jumping out of some girl’s car and jogging towards me. She’s older, probably a senior, but only shoots me a suspicious look before turning her car towards student parking.
“My name is Olive,” I tell him when he gets closer.
“Olive?” he looks at me questioningly.
I nod my head stiffly.
“Damn, even the name is hippie.”
