(This is a rolling story so you may add to it by using the comment section.)
As I stepped off the bus on the first day of 6th grade, I couldn’t believe she was standing there. Did she know? My thumbs fiddled nervously with the belt loops of my jeans. Maybe it wasn’t too late to get back on the bus.
I swallowed hard, the beads of sweat gathering at the nape of my neck. As I stood frozen in my own fear, I convinced myself that she couldn’t know.
I took the first step toward the menacing double doors that marked my temporary safety. Perhaps she had not seen me yet. Almost there. I wove around queen Barbie chatting on her cell phone, and stepped inside the school.
All she talked about was her sacred little “Jimmy” – how special he was to her, and how he was among the most important people in her life, and how they would be together “forever and ever.” Of course, I got the message. I knew I was not one of her “people” anymore, not that I cared to be, mind you, after the stunt she pulled last year. Still … maybe I shouldn’t have done it.
The school doors slammed behind me as I ran down the hall to my locker. My first encounter successfully averted.
