How To Run

I sit in the seat, the cold leather up against my arm and my bag next to me. School was hell, the bus ride home was hell, everything was hell. But I don't have it bad.

I go to a school called Charlotte. It's a school where it's stereotype is 'rich white kids'. I'm not rich. Nor am I poor. The dress code is the normal, guys can't show their under wear and girls can't show anything. The school system sucks with this. 

I have my phone in my hands and I check the time, three forty five.

The bus comes to a stop and I get frightened. My phone almost flies out of my hand, but I catch it in time. I notice a few people stand up and leave dangling to the ground as they walk. But I see someone, able to be pointed out from the crowd, biting his lip and looking anxious. His eyes are looking side to side glaring at people. I'm not gonna judge a book by its cover or anything, but he seems weird. 

My eyes follow him out of the bus and then he sprints. I get out of my seat and throw my bag over my shoulders. I run and push my way through the crowd to the back and I see him run to his gate on the side of his house. He opens it and I watch him climb up a ladder into a room. 

And he disappears.

I sit down on the seat closest to me. The time hasn't changed. I unlock my phone and text my mom, letting her know I'm still on the bus.

We hit up a few more stops before mine, but they weren't as important as the one with him.

The bus stops and I get up. I walk to the door and smell the fresh air that didn't smell as much as pubescent teenagers.

I walk to the door and open it with my key and lock it behind me.

I look at the pictures on the wall. My parents wedding pictures. My mom was beautiful like a 10 out of 10 and my dad didn't look bad. Under that is a picture of them shortly after I, the oldest of three, was born. 

I set my bag on the seat under it. It's wooden and holds blankets, mainly. Sometimes I can sneak in there to focus on things.

I walk through the archway and I see my sectional, the flatscreen, and the desk in the corner. When I turn around I see the pictures of me and my siblings. I smile at it. I see them everyday but on the picture they aren't the spawn of satan.

I walk to the couch and I fall onto it. I don't turn anything on the television, I just think about why he wanted to be home so badly.

---

I see him. He looks tired and so I walk up to him, I have some questions.

"Hey," I say jogging to him. 

"Do I know you?" He asks. He sounds kind of scared. He sounds sad, too.

"Probably not. But I noticed you yesterday,

The moment you got off the bus, you ran home. Why?" I ask.

"I don't want to talk about it." He tells me. I watch him walk away with his bag on his side. 

I catch up with him. "Look, you can trust me."

"I can't trust anyone." He tells me.

"Yes, you can. Look, I might seem all big and tuff, but I know what it feels like to be sad."

"You shouldn't be sad." He grabs my face.

"I just want to know." I say. His warm hands on my cold face felt nice.

"I know we haven't known each other for a long time, but if you want to know, meet me in the amphitheater after school."

"Why?" I ask.