I step out of the empty house, pulling the door closed behind me. The sound of that little click of the door as I pull it shut is an unsettling reminder that my day has officially started. I fish my keys out of my pocket, the familiar weight of the black skull keychain a comfort in my hand. With a quick twist, I lock the door and give it a gentle tug to make sure it’s secure. Satisfied, I turn and begin my walk to the bus stop, the early morning air cool and crisp on my skin.
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The block is quiet, the only sounds are my footsteps on the pavement and the distant hum of traffic. The houses are dark, their occupants still nestled in their beds. The sky is a palette of soft oranges and pinks, promising a beautiful sunrise. I reach the designated bus stop and stand for a moment, taking in the serene morning. The worn-out bench, chipped and weathered, stands empty. I lean against the signpost, adjusting the straps of my backpack.
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Soon enough, the school bus appears around the corner, its yellow paint glowing under the early morning light. The doors hiss open, and I climb aboard, greeted by the driver’s nod. He’s an older man with a neatly trimmed beard, and his eyes crinkle warmly as he acknowledges me.
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I make my way to my usual seat, on the right side, third row. It’s become a routine, this particular spot is where I feel most comfortable. The bus lurches forward as I settle in, placing my black backpack on the floor near my feet. The weight of it is familiar, grounding me in the midst of the early hour.
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Pulling my phone from my back pocket, I glance at the time: 7:46. The date catches my eye, too—Wednesday, September 22. I smile a little, mentally ticking off another day. I pull out my headphones and settle them over my ears, scrolling through my music until I find the right playlist. The melodies fill my ears, blocking out the world around me. The upbeat tunes create a cheerful backdrop to the start of my day.
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I place my phone on my lap and reach into my backpack, retrieving the adult word search book I recently bought. Flipping it open, I search for my pencil case. My fingers close around the smooth fabric, and I pull out a pencil. I flip through the pages of the word search book until I find the one on car brands. I quickly scan the list, counting how many words I need to find. Twenty. I think I might have enough time to complete it before we get to school.
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I start scanning the letters for familiar car brands, finding words like Acura, Jeep, and Kia with relative ease. The bus jostles slightly as it navigates the familiar route, sunlight streaming through the windows and casting moving patterns on the floor. I lose myself in the puzzle, the world around me fading as I focus.
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But then I get stuck on Volkswagen. I can’t seem to find it, no matter how many times I scan the grid. My frustration mounts, my pencil tapping against the page as I keep searching. The letters blur together, and I feel a knot of irritation forming in my neck.
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Suddenly, a manicured hand with a gold ring appears on my page, the nails perfectly polished in a light pink shade that catches the light. The hand points directly at Volkswagen. “It’s here,” a girl’s voice says, confident and clear.
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I look up, startled, my eyes following the hand to its owner. Standing next to my seat is a girl about my age, her expression friendly and slightly amused. She has lengthy, curly, dark hair that cascades over her shoulders like a mesmerizing waterfall. Her eyes are a striking blue, sparkling with a hint of mischief, and her school uniform is impeccably neat, the crisp white blouse contrasting against the navy blazer. I hadn’t noticed her getting on the bus.
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“Thanks,” I mumble, feeling a little embarrassed but grateful. I pencil in Volkswagen, glancing up at her again. She smiles, a warm and genuine expression that makes her eyes twinkle.
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“No problem,” she replies, her voice soft and kind. She moves to find her own seat further down the aisle, and as she walks away, I can’t help but feel a slight sense of connection, a brief but pleasant interaction in the early morning solitude. The bus continues its journey, and I return to my word search, a small smile playing on my lips as I resume my task, feeling a bit more cheerful than before.
