Chapter 1 The Bully

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I woke up to my mom calling, "Matthew, 10 Minutes until the bus comes." I quickly jumped out of bed and ran downstairs. I then stuffed as much cereal as I could. As soon as I had finished breakfast, I ran back upstairs and changed into my school clothes. As quickly as possible, I ran to the bus stop just in time to get on the bus. As I stepped on, I said "Good morning, Mr. Anderson." "Good morning to you too, Matthew," he replied. I then took my seat and began the 45 minute bus ride to Christopher H. Anderson Middle School, or as we call it CHS.

About 15 Minutes into the bus ride is the school bully's bus stop. His name is Jimmy and he is an eighth grade jerk. When he boards the bus, he walks past me and says, "what's up loser?" He takes his seat at the back of the bus where all the bad kids sit. I personally think that everybody who sits in the back of the bus will be internationally wanted criminals.

This is also the stop where my best friend gets on the bus. He plunks down next to me and says "'sup Matthew." "'Sup Eli," I reply. "Do you want to hang out after school today?" He asks. "Sure at my or your house?" I ask. "I don't know, how about your house?" Replies Eli.

When we get to school, Jimmy pushes me flat on my face. He pins me down and says, "Hey stupid twit, how 'bout that lunch money of yours."

"No," I said, "I will never give you my lunch money!"

He opens his mouth and exposes his yellow, crooked teeth. His breath smells like a sewage treatment plant, only worse.

He again asks, "Stupid twit, how 'bout you giving me your lunch money, or or I'll put a dent in your face!"

I then decide that going without lunch would be better than a dent in my face. "Here's your stupid money Jimmy."

My first class is Spanish. I swear my evil teacher, Ms. Jackson, is out to kill us. But I get a great surprise when I walk in the room. There's no Ms. Jackson. Where Ms. Jackson usually sits is a beautiful woman probably in her thirties. She tells us all to sit down and we do.

We then begin Class.

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