The Non-Magic School Bus


Riding the bus to school traumatized me. I somehow managed to humiliate myself so badly twice in one semester my sophomore year that I simply refused to ride the bus afterwards and opted to walk home.

I always hated my backpack. It covered half of my body, looked ugly and in my opinion is going to be the cause of future back problems with the 50 lbs. worth of books that I had to take home every night. And it gave me a humiliating experience to boot. I was wearing a cute denim skirt and a short-sleeved button down shirt, because once I got over my emo phase, I felt the need to dress like a young professional. My English teacher complimented me more on my fashion choices than anyone my age ever did. I also opted to be the only person in my entire high school who insisted on wearing high heels to school every single day. I’m short; it’s an insecurity of mine, so high heels were the solution to my problem. People thought it was weird. Last year, my best friend forced me to go out on a double date with her boyfriend and one of his friends. This friend lived in my neighborhood in elementary school; we were playmates, but he didn’t remember any of that. When he saw me, the first thing he said was, “Oh you’re the girl who always used to wear high heels to school!”

Anyway, with my cute little outfit I walked from the back of the bus to the front to exit and I could hear chuckles following me. I got off the bus, and as I started walking towards my house, I readjusted my backpack. It turns out my skirt got pulled up by my backpack strap so everyone on the bus just got themselves a free show. That’s when I started walking home from school.

A couple of months later, it’s pouring rain. I was wearing a dress again, as I often do, and I wasn’t in the proper attire to handle the storm so I decided to take the bus home. I was young and stupid so I made my two best friends walk with me to the bus and prep me for getting on. I hadn’t seen anyone since I let them see a lot of me. I know, I was/am dramatic. I’m finally ready to board the bus and as I took the first step, I tripped and fell and landed in a puddle. This is my life. My friends died from laughter…as did the rest of the bus, again. I was mortified, again. I refused to take the bus after that fall. I literally just walked (more like ran) away and made my older brother pick me up. High school was a rough time in my life that I normally just like to block from my memory.


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