As if Lance’s day hadn’t been bad enough, now he was forced to ride the bus home because Emily wasn’t answering his texts begging her to pick him up. With Emily’s new problems, he doubted he would get his own car any time soon. He’d tried his best to save enough this summer to buy what his mom called “a reliable vehicle.” He’d be content with a clunker as long as it ran. But her standard of “reliable” was stretching this thing out way too long. He’d managed to save a thousand dollars mowing lawns. Now he needed to find a part-time job so he could add to the till.
It was so unfair. Emily had gotten her car without putting in a dime. His mother claimed now that had been a mistake, that she was trying to build more character into him.
He didn’t particularly want character. He just wanted a stinking car.
Emily would usually pick him up on Mondays, but not today. That meant he’d have to suffer the hour-long bus ride home. He was one of the last to be dropped off, so he had to sit there while each kid was taken home, one by one.
He got to the bus door, grabbed the chrome bar, and stepped inside. He’d hung back too long. It was almost full.
He glanced over the heads of the noisy students, looking for empty seats. One was next to a freshman. He headed toward it, meeting the eyes of some of his leering peers. As he came by, Jeff Samson stuck his foot out and tried to trip him. Lance stepped over it. “Nice try.”
Big mistake, because the jerk behind him stuck his foot out then, and Lance stumbled over it. He pulled a Kramer and did a slapstick fall, going for laughs instead of mockery. Some of the kids giggled.
He made his way to the empty seat. The person by the window blocked it. “I’m saving this one.”
Life was pretty lame when even the younger kids didn’t want to be around you. Lance kept going, stepping over lanky legs, until he got to an empty double seat. It was in front of Brian Culpepper, who weighed three hundred pounds but was too slow for the football team. The kid was a bully on the bus, probably because others bullied him at school. Lance was his favorite target.
“Hey, Yankee boy.”
Lance rolled his eyes. “Excuse me, but Missouri was part of the confederacy in the Civil War. Technically, I’m not a Yankee.”
Lance doubted he even knew what the Civil War was. He unzipped his backpack and got out his iPod, shoved the ear buds into his ears.
Brian shoved him. “Are you disrespecting me, Yankee boy?”
Lance grabbed Brian’s hand and sprang up, twisting his wrist around. “Keep your hands off me, dude.”
Brian winced, and Lance let him go. The kid rubbed his wrist, looking embarrassed. Lance wanted to do more. He wanted to take that canned Coke in Brian’s other hand and pour it over his head. He wanted to grab the bottom of Brian’s shirt and pull it over his face. But the bus driver would freak out, and he’d wind up in detention.
Besides, Lance wasn’t a bully. He didn’t find the same joy in it that these over-sized toddlers did. He just wanted to be left alone.