[Ian's P.O.V]
This trip to New York could not possibly be any less entertaining. Beth Ann (who did not even want to come with me) is listening to her earbuds, leaving me alone for my mind to wander. It isn't that my mind is some dark, depressing place that if you ignore me for too long, I'll lose myself. A wandering mind isn't so bad. It might even be okay, if it weren't for where my mind wanders to.
Two words.
Amber. Fitch.
It's exactly what it sounds like. A stereotype. The poor, almost living on the street falling in love with the rich and popular who couldn't be bothered to pay attention to you. Jesus, I'm living my own fucking Aladdin wannabe story. I'm the street rat who would do anything to get to know my princess. How cliche.
But my life is not a fairytale. I can't pretend to be something I'm not in order to win over the girl. No matter how cool I am (which is very) won't change anyones opinion of me. I'm barely a Ballard student as it is, riding a scholarship all the way to graduation. Beth Ann and I, we're not like the other students. They can all afford to be here, we're struggling to stay in our homes.
My attention is caught by Amber, who is sitting up front, laughing with Mr. Nash. I could make her laugh too.
Shit. I need to knock it off with the "I'm not good enough, won't be good enough, I'm nothing" talk. Perhaps self confidence is not my strong suit. Instead, I should take this opportunity to touch up on what really counts.
With nothing else readily at hand, I pull out my sketchpad and go through the unfinished drawings. Of course, I've drawn Amber before. But they were all purely from memory and I could never quite capture everything that her physical appearance has to offer. There's nothing better than a real life model right before me. She is the perfect model, that's for sure. From hazel eyes that I can see myself getting lost in, to full lips that I could kiss for hours if she'd let me… and her figure… If I could touch her…
Fuck. Oh fuck. Not here. Not. Here.
I can't let myself think these dirty thoughts about Amber. Not here.. Not anywhere. As much as I would love to do anything and everything with her, I have to remember that they're just fantasies in my mind. I'm not the kind of guy that gets to rub a lamp and wish for Amber Fitch.
Beth Ann looks over at me and then my sketch pad. She rips out her earbuds, grabs my drawing, and laughs. Is my time spent as a pained artist really that humorous, or is she just mocking me?
"Seriously? Amber Fitch?" Mocking me.
"She's got nice lines," Beth Ann's eyes roll away from me, "it's just a drawing."
"And I suppose that's just a pencil?" She gestured to my growing hard-on. With full embarassment, I snatched my sketchpad back to hide myself.
"I am as God made me."
"So you want to get on Amber Fitch. Everyone wants to get on Amber Fitch." Her eyes trailed off into the distance until they found Amber in all of her glory, "Damn, sometimes I want to get on Amber Fitch."
"I'd sketch that. But I'd have to watch. For perspective, you know."
"Settle down, cowboy. The thing is, Ian, people like us? We are invisible to Amber Fitch."
There's the confidence booster that I've been needing. Maybe Beth Ann can be the Abu to my Aladdin. At least the monkey would help me get the girl.
"Invisibility is a superpower. Maybe she's into superheroes." I don't know who I was trying to convince that we had a shot with people like Amber Fitch. Beth Ann, or myself.
"Beth Ann… Are you okay with your father being here?" She immediately whipped her head back to look at Mr. Gibson, who was sitting alone at the back of the bus, tapping on the bathroom door to get either Luke or Sloan to leave.
"One at a time."
"I don't think so, Mr. Gibson."
Beth Ann flinched when she saw him. I know he did a lot of really awful things to Beth Ann and Mrs. Gibson both. It's hard to imagine that Beth Ann will say more than a couple words more to him than she's already said. "You don't talk to me, you don't look at me."
"Ian… I've been thinking. What if I didn't come back from New York?"
"What do you mean?"
"I'll just slip away on one of our dumb tours… I brought my birthday money. Three hundred and eighty one dollars. Come with me. Come on, superhero."
"Beth Ann… Are you serious?" I ask. She can't be serious… Is she serious? She isn't cracking a smile. No laughter or giggles. Her eyelashes aren't batting frantically like they do when she lies to me. I've picked up enough of her mannerisms to usually know the difference between her truths and lies. She's just staring at me, like she's dead serious.
"No… I'm just messing with you."
I'm not given enough time to respond before we come to a hault. No lights, or signs, only a few black cars in front of us. Secret Service Agents to escort us, seeing as Kyle Devore decided to accompany us to NYC last minute. Beth Ann and I have a hard enough time trying to fit in alongside children to parents who are CEO's and millionaires, the last thing we need is to be in the presence of the President's son. We're definitely not worthy of him.
The students are chattering loudly, asking the chaperones and other students around them if they know what's happening. The Secret Service Agents are probably trying to ask the State Troopers to move their vehicles so we can continue on our way to deliver the package to New York that is Kyle Devore. They obviously didn't get the memo.
We have been stopped for a good minute or two before Beth Ann gripped onto my arm. I knew that whatever is going on outside made her nervous. I put her hand in mine to prove to her that she is, quite literally, in good hands.
"Everything will be fine."
And God, I wish it was. No more than 10 seconds later, the friendliest of fire was exchanged. The screams that fill the bus now, including my own, are almost louder than the gunshot. I lift myself off of my dark brown bus seat to see that one of Kyle's Secret Service Agents is down, bleeding onto the pavement. All I know right now is the constant and already way too familiar sounds of heavy breathing from everyone around me, and Beth Ann's fingernails digging into my skin. I can't even hear myself think barely now, not that much else is coming to mind except "Why isn't anyone helping him? Why the fuck did his partner shoot him?!"
In this moment, I'm also still thinking about Amber. My eyes travel to her, who is now on her knees holding onto Anton, trying to make sure that he is okay. She never stops being Amber Fitch, class president of Ballard High School, does she? Anton is a few years younger than us, smarter than the rest of us since he skipped a grade or two. Maybe three. I'm not surprised that Amber's natural instinct was to protect him.
"What's going to happen to us?!" He is panicking. I see that his cheeks are bright red and he's holding onto a piece of his jacket tightly.
"Nothing. They're not going to let them take us." Amber tries to reassure him. She seems so cool and collected, but the tear rolling down her cheek proves otherwise. She'll put on a brave face for the rest of us, she'll lead us, but she's scared, too.
I closed my eyes. I'm trying to pretend a grown man who is supposed to protect us the way that he protects the President and his son didn't just get shot. That even though he did, it was an accident. His partner shot him by accident and everyone is rushing to help him. Nothing is going wrong. He'll be okay, we'll get to New York, we'll build those houses. Running away with my best friend seems like a pretty damn nice plan now.
When I open my eyes due to our bus door opening followed by a combination of gasps and complete silence, I see a man in a bullet-proof vest and a white mask standing before us. On a completely normal circumstance, that might not seem so utterly terrifying, except for the fact that he's carrying a huge assault rifle that was probably used on Kyle's Secret Service.
"In 15 seconds, a truck will pull up," the masked villain begins to shout. His words are muffled behind his mask, "you all are going to get off this bus and onto that truck. Anyone who does anything different from that will end up like that man out there."
None of us are in any position to move. We're all too stunned from shock to even think.
"Come on! Up!" He shouts again.
"Come on, come on, come on." Mr. Nash yells as he tries to rally us all off of the bus as quickly as possible. He just took on more responsibility than he bargained for when he signed up to chaperone this trip. I bet he's wishing he hadn't. I know I am. Beth Ann didn't even want to come. I talked her into this. This is all my fault.
We are rushed off of the bus and onto the truck. I want to help the agent, who is watching us being taken and can't do a single thing about it, but I'm not invisible to the men who are taking us and I can't be the superhero now.
I climb onto the truck and we are lined up on both sides of the truck. I somehow managed to get myself ahead of Beth Ann, and I'm looking high and low for her, but she still isn't on the truck. This poses questions in my mind.
"Did she do something stupid? Did she try to help that agent? Oh God, she wouldn't be that stupid, would she?"
A combination of jet black hair and stripes suddenly climbs onto the truck after a few more students shuffle in. Beth Ann. I hold my arms open and she runs to me. Beneath all of the worried chatter, I can hear her muffled cries, but feel them even more so as she sobs against my chest. I've only seen my best friend cry a handful of times, and here, right now, has got to be the hardest.
"Sit down!" A man screams at us. The same white mask, but I think it's a different guy. How many are there?!
We all do as we're told, sliding down the truck walls onto the cold floor. This masked guard of sorts shuts the truck door, leaving us in this pitch dark confined space. Almost everyone is crying or having some sort of panic attack, including myself.
I'm crying now, too.