bodycount ⋆ luke hemmings

the first day

It is raining hard in a countryside that I don't know, each tiny pelt of it hitting the plexiglass in front of me, the liquid freezing up and turning into a mixture of weak hail and slushy snow. Beyond the fields and fences I can barely make out endless rows of trees, protecting large tanks that pump grey smoke into the night air. If I close my eyes and lean my forehead against the rattling bus window, I can pretend that I am in my father's car; softly lulling to sleep as I wait for us to arrive at our destination. I can feign that spot of bliss for only a split second, before a guttural scream is heard from the back and a handful of my peers give Michael Clifford the sought-out attention the boy so badly craves.

"Wolves! Wolves! Wolves!" he chants, fingers flared, every single one of them stretched out into a claw shape. With a grimace, I try to ignore his poor imitation of our school mascot and turn to face the front again. Six more hours to go. As if the past two haven't been bad enough already.

One last whoop leaves his mouth before he finally lets out a loud cackle, collapsing onto the poor soul sitting next to him- Bernie the Beanie Boy, as Michael likes to call him. He's shy and sweet and very quiet, a complete contrast to the self-proclaimed class clown being told to buckle his seat belt for the seventh time this hour right next to him. I feel bad for people like Bernie. He keeps his head down, much like I do, but there's a difference between not wanting to be noticed and making yourself invisible altogether. One takes you out of the limelight; the other makes you a doormat for boys like Michael Clifford to make the pinnacle of the meanest, most unneccessary jokes.

Sighing, I wait for the laughter to die down and tuck my knees up to my chest. It hasn't been a bad school trip (I've had worse) but it always seems to be the journey that makes or breaks the experience. And if I have to endure yet another six rounds of 60 minutes, filled with nothing but Michael screaming at the top of his lungs and the bus driver swerving off of the road every 10 because of how startled he gets, I'd rather walk.

⋆ ⋆ ⋆

When I wake up, the bus is parked somewhere lit by dim streetlights and my head hurts as much as my knees do. I hear my bones crack and pop when I attempt to stretch them out, and yet another grimace covers my face at the unpleasant sound. Lovely.

There's a thick blanket of snow covering the concrete outside, a difference to what I'd fallen asleep to just a couple of hours prior. As I wipe the condensation away from the window, my eyes narrow at the only two buildings surrounding the vehicle; a cafe, small but bright and labelled Kerry's Kitchen, and a gas station that seems a good five minute walk away. It's dark and tiny compared to how close we are to the 90s style diner, but still- it's there.

Yawning, I unbuckle my belt and wince, tracing the mark on my hip from where I'd been pressing up against the armrest. I'm guessing everyone went inside for food; the driver's gone and there's only me, head cheerleader Chloe Marshall reapplying her make-up in the front seat and a barely curled up ball sitting right at the back, even further than where Michael was seated. At first glance I think it's Bernie, enjoying the quiet company void of his Coach Mate from Hell; but upon further inspection I spot the familiar tuft of light blonde hair and instantly, I know that it's Luke Hemmings.

"You're awake,"

I jump slightly, feeling quite sheepish for staring too long at the boy in the black hoodie not too far away from me. I hear the unmistakable clasp of a face powder being clicked shut and as I turn around, my eyes lock with Chloe's, and my shoulder's sag in relaxation as I spot the kind smile on her face.

Chloe and I go way back. From the start of Elementary to the start of High School, we were inseparable; but then hormones, social status and general differences caused us to drift. Not exactly in a spiteful, one-sided way- oh, no. It was never like that. It was more of a mutual thing; I guess, that's what made it so sad.