High school wasn't quite ready for her.
"Bye, Mom!" Summer shouted, grabbing her gray-green shoulder bag out from under the kitchen table. She ran out the front door, slamming it back into its wooden work frame as she did so.
Stopping for a second on the brick steps, she took a deep breath and gazed around at her mother's beautiful gardens. They were colored every shade of the rainbow; red and purple, yellow and blue. In the coming October frosts, they would all wilt, but, for now at least, they were here for people to enjoy.
Suddenly, Summer heard the low hum of the school bus. Although she couldn't see it yet, she knew from long experience that it would come down the hill in front of her house. Trying her hardest not to be late, she threw herself down the steps and ran to the end of her driveway. Just as she reached the mailbox, the bus came steamrolling over the hill. As it stopped, she heard the protestation of the old, worn breaks and, when the door opened, she heard the familiar hydraulic sighs of the use-tired machinery. Summer smiled to herself. She loved those sounds.
Grinning cheerfully at the bus driver, she pulled herself up the steep steps with the help of a silver hand rail. When she reached the aisle she stopped and stared at the cold faces on the bus. It seemed the frosts had come early this year. Summer wilted.
"Bye, Mom!" Summer shouted, grabbing her gray-green shoulder bag out from under the kitchen table. She ran out the front door, slamming it back into its wooden work frame as she did so.
Stopping for a second on the brick steps, she took a deep breath and gazed around at her mother's beautiful gardens. They were colored every shade of the rainbow; red and purple, yellow and blue. In the coming October frosts, they would all wilt, but, for now at least, they were here for people to enjoy.
Suddenly, Summer heard the low hum of the school bus. Although she couldn't see it yet, she knew from long experience that it would come down the hill in front of her house. Trying her hardest not to be late, she threw herself down the steps and ran to the end of her driveway. Just as she reached the mailbox, the bus came steamrolling over the hill. As it stopped, she heard the protestation of the old, worn breaks and, when the door opened, she heard the familiar hydraulic sighs of the use-tired machinery. Summer smiled to herself. She loved those sounds.
Grinning cheerfully at the bus driver, she pulled herself up the steep steps with the help of a silver hand rail. When she reached the aisle she stopped and stared at the cold faces on the bus. It seemed the frosts had come early this year. Summer wilted.