A fist pounded on my bedroom door several times sometime between o’dark thirty and oh-hell-no o’clock. Melissa—not waiting for answer—threw the door open and then threw off my comforter. Great thing for the both of us that I slept in a t-shirt and shorts.
“We got an hour to get to the school before the bus departs.”
“And we’ll get there in five minutes,” I groggily replied as I kicked the blanket back on top of me.
“My dad’s driving.”
I whisked the blanket off and then bounced up and out of bed. Mr. Anderson believed in driving precisely five miles BELOW the speed limit. He once stated it was best for the engine and that if you really needed to speed to get to your destination then you needed to get your carcass in gear and leave early.
I made a mad dash to grab my backpack, Zune player charger cable, sleeping bag and a “Jefferson Rangers” duffel bag packed with my clothes for the week. Melissa grabbed the sleeping and duffel bags and went to place them in the car as I got dressed in a new school shirt that we were to all wear on the first day to camp. I also decided to wear my new shoes—while hiding my old ones under the far side of my bed: Mom would have to put in some effort in any search and destroy mission.
“Toothbrush?” Mom asked.
“Yes.” I replied as I tied my shoes.
“Deodorant?”
“Do I look like I'm twelve?”
“Do you want her to answer that or should I?” Melissa asked as she raced in and grabbed my pillow from off the bed.
“Neither.” I replied.
“Besides, Lin, you don’t look a day above eleven,” mom replied as I zipped the duffel bag.
No sooner had I closed the bag, Melissa whisked it away and—literally-threw it out of the room.

I clutched my backpack and snarled at the both of them.
Mr. Anderson sat behind the wheel of a late model Ford Explorer as Melissa, this time gingerly, took my backpack and then closed the tailgate.

Melissa then got into the SUV and sat on the opposite side of me with a large space between us—well, relatively large. For a second or two I felt shocked and unloved, but, again, there were only two of us in the row and it wasn’t like we were going out. I clenched my teeth in the darkness as I confused about what I wanted. I loved the camaraderie we shared. We told each other almost everything, stopping short of dating advice or asking “who’s the cuter guy…for apparently obvious reasons up until yesterday. I wanted to tell her what happened but I thought Mr. Anderson would overhear—as Melissa could seldom keep her voice above a low roar—and I would be riding on the luggage rack.

Or maybe, maybe he would feel even safer I was with his daughter.

I laid my head back for what seemed like a second only to be awaken by a slap to the face, courtesy of Melissa. We were at the school with a charter bus idling next to the curb. I dreaded it was going to be a school bus, but instead, it was something much better.
“Melissa, Lin! Get over here!” Andrea—somehow was bright-eyed and awake—motioned for us too haul our butts to the rest of the group.I grabbed my backpack and duffel bag and ran ahead. Andrea grabbed the duffel and threw it onto the cargo hold. I clutched my backpack like Gollum.
Melissa followed behind, carrying a katamari-style ball of stuff which she shoved it into the bus. She then turned back to her dad and waved. I waved as well until Andrea grabbed my arm.
“On the bus, now!”

The bus was large enough that everyone could pretty much have their own seat and for the most part, everyone was. Melissa plunked herself in a seat and ordered me to sit with her—on the outside—across the aisle from other members of the squad that I had maybe talked to twice.
“Attention,” Mrs. Humphrery, our advisor and coach stood at the front of the bus with Andrea’s clipboard. “We should be at the college in five hours. The restroom is not working”
“We could just press up against the windows.”
“Disgusting and not happening, Miss Anderson.”
“How did she hear me?” Melissa whispered to me.
“I’m a math teacher, I hear everything,” Mrs. Humphery replied while looking at the clipboard.
I shrugged my shoulders at Melissa’s questioning face.
“As said before. No. Cell. Phones. They are not allowed on campus. You should not even have one with you right now.”
The glow from a few screens immediately went out.

“We have everyone, so let’s get going, girls and guys.”
The bus engine roared to life and the inside lights dimmer further.
“You can go back to sleep,” Melissa said as she picked her backpack up and took out a bottle of nail polish.
“You’re going to do your nails here? On a bus?”
Melissa lowered the stowed tray on the seat in front of her. “Yes. Cherry Cordial. It’s a low odor version.”
“What if we hit some sort of bump?”
“Then I’ll replace your shirt or sweats. Whichever gets more on it.”
I looked at her for a second and, knowing she was serious, decided to do just as she suggested. I just hoped I wouldn’t snore.
“If I snore, wake me up.”
“No problem,” Melissa replied as she removed the cap.
“I don’t believe you.”
“Go with that feeling."

I turned slightly towards Melissa, in order to get a more comfortable position. The seats were nice with so much give to the back one let like they would be swallowed up by it and you didn’t have to recline the seat back into someone else’s lap. It was easy to fall to sleep.
My dreams were more difficult: filled with people laughing and voices I had never heard talking about crazy it was that I actually looked like a girl. This was not something I liked hearing in the real world, much less in my dreams. The worst part was a vision of standing in front of Tony, at Subway, or maybe it was a Dairy Queen, wearing a cheerleader uniform: the shell, the sweater, the frilly socks, my hair saturated with a bow that would make Jojo Siwa scream that I was overdoing it a bit. My nails were even painted, a light red, and my hands were caressing his face, his neck, his chest—I guess one could be a nude sandwich artist—and lower but my eyes never left his face. My hands were moving all around and I couldn’t stop them until one of them slapped me in the face and I woke up to see Melissa showing me her nails.
“See? Not a drop spilled.”
“Nice, but why did you paint mine too?” I asked as I flashed my hands.
“They look good on you and who’s Toni? Is she new?”