"Leave me the hell alone!" I yell, I bit my lip as I can feel more and more pairs of eyes looking back to see what's going on. The whispers start to get louder and louder, and I already can tell that rumors will be spread.
"Calm down, I wasn't doin' nothin'," Tommy is still laughing, and I turn away, sulking.
The bus comes to a halt and more people jump onto the bus. The talking and shrieking get louder, and the boys behind me are giggling like little girls.
Suddenly, I'm pushed into the cold metal wall of the bus and I jump from surprise. My "best friend" Kylie giggles and brushes her almond colored hair over her shoulder.
"Cassie, baby! How was your summer?" she asks me, placing her backpack on the floor and then pulling out her lip gloss. She swipes about half of the whole tube on and then fluffs her hair before turning around and smiling at the giggling boys.
"Hey guys," she giggles. Tommy leans back over the seat in between Kylie and I. They banter back and forth, with her letting out an obnoxious giggle every other sentence. After a few minutes, one of the guys calls Tommy's name and he turns away. Kylie directs her attention back to me, and I give her the same fake smile she's giving me.
"Oh! How was your summer, betch?" she says again. She adjusts her flowered top and denim shorts, making sure she looks perfect.
To Kylie, looking perfect is one of the most important things in life. If you look perfect, you are perfect. And when you're perfect, everyone wants to know who you are and talk about how rich you are or how pretty you looked in the blue shirt that one time. To her, that is the bane of her existence.
Kylie and I's friendship is weird. We're best friends, but then we aren't. We giggle about the stupidest things, talk about the juiciest secrets, and discuss which boy is cuter than which, but when it gets down to it, the skeletons in our closets don't reveal themselves unless by accident. I know that her nice clothes are not from buying them with money but because of her little shoplifting problem. She knows that my parents fight, and then my mom goes out to the bars while my dad stays at home, bottle in one hand and a cigarette in the other. And we both know that neither of us have much money, because not many people in Brookfield have money unless they live on the corners of town.
"Umm...same old, same old. I stayed at home most of the time, and then sometimes went down to Smitty's. My cousins visited a couple times," I tell her, trying to sound like I had an amazing time sitting in my living room and staring at the fuzzy TV.
"Calm down, I wasn't doin' nothin'," Tommy is still laughing, and I turn away, sulking.
The bus comes to a halt and more people jump onto the bus. The talking and shrieking get louder, and the boys behind me are giggling like little girls.
Suddenly, I'm pushed into the cold metal wall of the bus and I jump from surprise. My "best friend" Kylie giggles and brushes her almond colored hair over her shoulder.
"Cassie, baby! How was your summer?" she asks me, placing her backpack on the floor and then pulling out her lip gloss. She swipes about half of the whole tube on and then fluffs her hair before turning around and smiling at the giggling boys.
"Hey guys," she giggles. Tommy leans back over the seat in between Kylie and I. They banter back and forth, with her letting out an obnoxious giggle every other sentence. After a few minutes, one of the guys calls Tommy's name and he turns away. Kylie directs her attention back to me, and I give her the same fake smile she's giving me.
"Oh! How was your summer, betch?" she says again. She adjusts her flowered top and denim shorts, making sure she looks perfect.
To Kylie, looking perfect is one of the most important things in life. If you look perfect, you are perfect. And when you're perfect, everyone wants to know who you are and talk about how rich you are or how pretty you looked in the blue shirt that one time. To her, that is the bane of her existence.
Kylie and I's friendship is weird. We're best friends, but then we aren't. We giggle about the stupidest things, talk about the juiciest secrets, and discuss which boy is cuter than which, but when it gets down to it, the skeletons in our closets don't reveal themselves unless by accident. I know that her nice clothes are not from buying them with money but because of her little shoplifting problem. She knows that my parents fight, and then my mom goes out to the bars while my dad stays at home, bottle in one hand and a cigarette in the other. And we both know that neither of us have much money, because not many people in Brookfield have money unless they live on the corners of town.
"Umm...same old, same old. I stayed at home most of the time, and then sometimes went down to Smitty's. My cousins visited a couple times," I tell her, trying to sound like I had an amazing time sitting in my living room and staring at the fuzzy TV.
