Chapter Four
“Ready for the first day of eleventh grade?” Mom walks into my room and sets a box on my blue carpet.
“Yeah,” I set the shirt I’d just held up to myself back in the closet, “What’s that?”
“Open it,” she smiles, “Trust me, you’ll love it.”
I inch toward the box and open the flaps.
“Ah!” I exhale in surprise as I pull out a brand new messenger bag with the picture of the Eiffel Tower on it, “I love it, Mom, thank you!”
I hold it to my chest, already imagining myself walking into school with this over my shoulder.
“I’m glad,” she smiles, picks up the empty box, and walks out.
I decide on a red tee shirt and a pair of faded blue jeans. Yes, they are cute enough for today. I don’t hesitate to go put them on.
I walk downstairs in my outfit and the Paris messenger bag over my shoulder. I begin to pile the stacks of school supplies on the couch into it.
Dad had already left for work and Mom was getting ready to leave. “Remember,” she reminded me for the third time now, “Your bus is number 42, okay?”
“Yeah, I got it the first time, Mom,” I reply.
“Okay, I’m just making sure that you get on the right bus.”
“Well, all the buses go to the same place eventually anyways,” I point out.
“Oh,” she raises her eyebrows, “Oh, that’s true.”
Then she pats me on the shoulder, “See? You’ll do fine. You’re so smart that they’ll have to accept you into the social groups.”
“Well, Mom, I wouldn’t be so sure.”
“Oh, you’ll see. You’ll love Lake Side High. It’s one of the best high schools around here.”
I nod, holding back what I really would rather say.
She kisses my forehead, “Bye, sweetie, I have to go.”
“’Kay, bye.”
She reaches for the door knob, “Remember, Bus 42.”
“Yep. I got it.”
She put one leg out the door, “Oh, and?”
“Mom!” I don’t mean to yell, but it certainly gets her attention.
“I’ll be fine,” I declare.
She nods, looks away, and closes the door behind her. I hear her car purr to life and drive away.
“Okay,” I whisper to myself, “I can do this. It’s just the first day of the eleventh grade. You’re going to be a great junior. They’ll love you.”
Oh, who am I kidding?
“I’m gonna be a mess,” I admit to myself, my good mood fading, like the sun in the sky during a storm.
I reach into my closet and pull on a hoodie to wear outside, as it is a little bit misty.
I wish I could find a way to make today great, to be happy for everyone I’ll meet. But now, as I walk out the door with my messenger bag around my shoulder, I feel the foggy weather around me messing with my mood. I suddenly feel the urge to cry.
No, I can’t. The whole point of my junior year is to prove how I’ve matured another school year.
I glance down the road. There it is. A big yellow-orangish bus coming over the hill. It presents a big number 42 on the side.
It slows down as it reaches my driveway.
“Here we go,” I mutter softly.
The bus doors open and I get on. I sit in a seat near the back and, before I can help it, tears begin to fall upon my cheeks.
I cringe at myself and lay down in the seat, hoping that I’m not currently embarrassing myself majorly.
The bus stops again and I feel the weight of someone getting on shake the bus a little bit. I hear their footsteps get closer and closer?and then stop.
“Are you okay?” A slightly British-accented guy’s voice asks me. I shake my head and try to hide myself behind the seat in front of me.
He sits in the seat across from me, “What’s wrong....um...”
“Angel,” I glance up at him, tears blurring my vision, “My name is...” I hiccup, “...is Angel.”
He smiles, sweetly, “It’s very nice to meet you, miss Angel.”
I try to smile, but end up crying some more instead.
He scoots next to me, “Awww, come here...” He cradles my head on his shoulder. And I let it all out.
My tears run out, as luck would have it, right when we pull up in the school’s parking lot. I wipe my eyes on my hoodie sleeve.
“Thanks,” I sniffle a tiny bit.
“No problem,” he smiles again.
Well, this kinda lightens my mood, meeting a guy within the first hour of my day, even if he did have to hold me while I was crying.
He stands to leave, but I grab his sleeve. He turns around, still smiling that adorable smirk, “Yes?”
“I...” Wow, now I’m feeling shy, “I didn’t catch your name.”
“It’s Stephen.”
Then he walks off the bus. I follow his lead and hurry inside the building.
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Lucas.....No, that’s not the same guy as Stephen, obviously.
“Angel!” I hear Lucas’s voice before he runs around the corner into my hospital room. His face is red. Oh, he looks terrible. I mean, he looks exhausted, as if something bad has happened.
By now, I’ve learned to control my speech whilst still in my coma, so I speak calmly to him, “What has happened?”
“How did you know?” He asks as if I do know.
“I don’t know. But something has happened, yes?”
“Yeah,” he sits down in a chair he pulls up aside me, “It’s your sister.”
“My....sister?” I am super confused now. I have a sister? I guess I haven’t gotten that far yet.
“Yeah,” he raises his eyebrows like I’m stupid, “You didn’t know?”
“I?I guess....” I stutter, “I guess I just didn’t remember.”
He laughs a little, “Eh, it’s okay. At least you’ll get better soon so you can see her.”
“What happened to Rebekah?” I say her name without even thinking. A moment ago, I thought I didn’t even know her name.
“You just said her name,” Lucas informs me.
“I...I did.” I confirm with myself.
“Well, she was riding her bike when....when....” I see tears forming in his eyes now.
“When what?” I prompt him to finish.
“She was hit by a truck.”
I gasp without feeling it coming. And even though my eyes are closed, I feel tears slide down my face.
“Where is she now?” I’m almost yelling now. I silently remind myself to quiet down or a crowd or so of doctors will cram in here wondering what the h*** is going on.
“She’s in a room down the hall,” Lucas starts to stand up, as if to lead me to her, but then is reminded that I can’t or risk the truth about my current condition.
“Well, just so you know, she’s in room number 403, I think,” he sits back down again.
“Thanks, I?” I hush myself when a nurse walks in and says to Lucas, “Sorry, young man, but visiting hours are now over. You’re gonna have to leave. You can come back tomorrow, though.”
“Okay,” He replies like a good boy.
She walks out and Lucas stands up, placing the chair back where it was before.
He leans down and kisses me on the forehead before whispering, “Goodnight, Angel.”
“Goodnight, Lucas,” I respond in a similar whisper.