"Look at that four-eyed-flat-faced-rice-picker!" the kids jeered on the late bus from school.
This bus transported all the kids who had detention, remedial classes and tests, the crowd from the wrong side fo the tracks.
They were having a field day with the minority on the school bus, a quiet bookish Asian boy.
"You speak any English Ho Chi Minh?!" one bully shouted as he gave the boy a hard shove.
"Is it because of your slanty eyes you need those dumb gay ass glasses?!" a girl wearing heavy makeup sneered.
The boy sat quietly, doing what he always did, ignoring them.
At times, he'd have to hold his breath to keep from turning and confronting them.
He knew he couldn't though, it was basically twelve against one.
The bus driver was oblivious to all of this, their headphones on snuggly as they drove their route.
"Careful guys, Charlie Chan might try and kung-fu or karate us!"
"No," another kid teased, "He'll probably go get his liquor store owning daddy's gun and shoot up the school tomorrow!"
The Asian boy began to smile to himself, unsettling the other kids, shutting them up for the rest of the ride.
When the boy was getting off at his stop, one of the kids on the bus threw a flat can of soda at him, hitting him in the back of the head.
"Bullseye Charlie!"
The bus pulled away, and the boy smiled again.
For once, through all the filth they had spewed at him, only one thing had been right.
For once they were right, he knew exactly where his father kept his gun.