Heartbeat, Part 1

Sometimes life just isn’t fair. Sometimes certain people are favored by whoever leads us all. That’s not to say some people don’t get their fair share of luck, some just have more than others.

My legs and feet hang over the edge of the new metal dock and the refreshingly icy cold water overcomes my wriggling toes as they send ripple after ripple through the water of Oaknut Lake. I guide my hand into the sand, searching for the perfect palm-sized stone, while my drifting hazel eyes gaze at the ever growing circles of disturbance. One hand pushes the sleeve up of the other and the smooth brown stone ends its short time in the air as it’s chucked into the water. Skipping stones isn’t one of my greatest talents. This one doesn’t get much farther than one thrown around one year ago, towards the beginning of my sixth grade year, where my story begins.

Shoot. I could see it now on my report card: Allison Young is a great student, but she was late for the first day of school. As long as there was something I could do about it, that wouldn’t happen. With this mental picture propelling me, I threw a dirty pink bulging bag over my shoulder and raced to the bus stop, cursing all things pink and the first day of school supplies weighing me down.

Just as I was rounding the corner, the big yellow monster was pulling up. My feet skidded to a stop along with new muddy brown convertibles, a backpack that was ‘accidentally’ soaked with brown stuff that suspiciously resembled mud, and not so new running sneakers from the company that produces “shoes that breathe.” The eighth graders boarding the bus with me probably weighed about as much as all the junk I was lugging around with me now. Fifteen rows of empty seats showed themselves before me in all their hideous smelly glory, and I picked the fourth from the front feeling that my fate could be hanging in the balance. One of my friends from Nox Elementary sat down next to me at the second stop. Jamie was her name, and she was a slightly crazed (but fun), tall, straight-haired brunette girl who had been a friend of mine since second grade. I had always envied her with my short and hard to manage brown curls, and she had never really been one of my best friends, but that’s a lot better than sitting next to some bulky eighth grader you don’t know.

Our seat also collected Flaire, a blond girl who liked to cake makeup on her face and wear long flowing skirts, and she kind of reminded me of an onion. It’s not that Flaire looked or smelled like one of these vegetables, but her personality was around the same as an onion’s. If combined with other sweet and sour friends she was great to have, but alone she could drive you to tears with insanity. Uncountable backpacks lurched forward as the bus became stationary and faces, new and old, began to stand up. I just clasped my hands and desperately wished for a good year.