So the day started off as normal. I got up, threw on some clothes, brushed my teeth, combed my hair in a bang and ate my breakfast. On the way out, I kissed my mom "good day" and nodded towards my stepfather Jean-Luc Baptiste. My father died in an poisonious snake accident at his and my moms job as exterminators. My mother was the most devestated. I ran into my brother, Axel, on the way out as I handed him my extra pencil because he chewed the hell out of them like he always does.
As I made it through the messy clutter of the house, I nearly made it on the bus. When I jumped in, I stumbled on flat ground as the bus swerved through the neighborhood. I looked across the rows of heads, curly, straight and nappy, and saw a specific grey beanie with shutter shades sticking out on top. It was my best friend since the 3rd grade, Alec Krugmann. I was the only one who actually called him by his name. Everyone else called him Krugmann or Jewfro. He was indeed jewish but that didn't really bother me. He didn't pick on me in 3rd grade when I made a farting noise on the beanie bag, which is why we became best friends. I would never think of doing the same.