My life as a short bus shareholder

Also known as the handicap bus or retard wagon, we the riders of this bus prefer to call it, the SHORT BUS. My first day of High school may have looked a lot like many others, then again, maybe it doesn't. Dressed in Notre Dame Catholic High School's finest uniform, a forest green plaid kilt, white oxford and forest green vest and knee socks, I awaited the bus outside my Burlington home with my older brother. As the bus approached, my 13 year old eyes couldn't help but notice that this bus was shorter than the buses I'd seen before. My brother loaded the bus no questions asked, so I did the same. We passed 7 rows of empty seats and sat down in the very back (notably the coolest part of this bus). Our bus driver introduced his OR herself as Pat, the sex of the individual was unknown at this point. As we drove past the rest of our neighborhood who were getting picked up on a notably larger bus, my brother leaned in and said "just wait". Minutes later, we had arrived at our first stop. The young lady who I'd come to know as Jessica got on the bus and sat in the first seat, her arrival marked the commencement of this wild ride. Listening to my brothers orders, I waited and watched as Jessica began to pull back the edges of the seat in front of her, not searching for treasure, this young lady was pulling the fuzz from the seats interior... and eating it. As instructed, I took it all in as we approached our second stop. A shorter gentleman with glasses loaded the bus and sat directly behind the fuzz eating girl. He put his back-pack down and adjusted his cardigan, and then he did it again, and again and again. He had adjusted his cardigan so much that his arms were stuck, he was stuck in his sweater. This, was Timothy, sweater boy. Continuing on the journey we had arrived yet again at another home. The young girl that loaded the bus was not in Notre Dame's uniform but in a Toronto Raptors jersey. The kindest of all the riders that day, was Jordan. She, with her jersey and smile yelled "yo yo yo" in my direction as she took her seat beside the sweater boy who had discontinued his search for arms. Within the same neighborhood was our last stop, the stop of no name girl. She sat in the seat opposite fuzz eater and started to scream and cry and foam at the mouth, maybe her name was Tiffany. At this point I had understood what kind of bus I was riding, but why was I riding it. I got off the bus and walked to my first class, sat down next to a pretty girl with long brown hair wearing the same thing I was. She looked at me a couple of times, nope, she was staring at me. Finally I got the guts to look over and say those two vindicating letters, "hi". She just looked at me and said " you don't LOOK special". I was astonished, "i'm not" i said shyly. "I saw you come off the special bus" she said with attitude... proving to Cassandra that I was in fact not a retard was just the beginning of the freshman year fun!