New York Part 2

I made it to my bus stop 10 minutes in advance, my dad beside me. Soon, new faces emerged from the tan buildings. A curly-haired girl came out with her mom. A tall boy with a black jacket came out alone. We all stood awkwardly until the arrival of the bus prompted us to stand lined against the curb.

I sat near the back end, as it seemed the kids had ordered themselves from youngest to oldest, front to back. I stared outside the dreary window with a blank mind until I was piqued by commotion further back.

“Is that car following us?”

“Woah, woah, woah, it’s pulling up into the school too!”

“Oh my god, guys, maybe it’s Pennywise coming to kill us!”

A quick glance back revealed to me a sight I couldn’t believe. I looked forward again and then back slowly again. A green Camry. Closer inspection revealed my parents inside. I quickly shuffled back into the window side of my seat, almost as if I thought I could escape through the window.

Nearing the end of the ride, the fifth grader who had shouted something about Pennywise, noticed the Asian couple in the car and asked if they were my parents. I replied with a timid yes, cautious to not let the others hear. The fifth grader muttered an ‘okay’ and lumbered out the bus.

Westmere Elementary. A teacher in a neon green high visibility vest ushered cars away from the school and students in. The tall and slender Dr. B, the principal, stood at the door. She waved and smiled and welcomed as the river of students rushed in.

I made my way down a white hallway and into a corridor lined with tight red lockers. I found my name plastered on one and put in my coat my mom had gotten me and the backpack my dad had picked for me.

A rather wide woman stood at the door.

“Are you Pono?”

“Yes.”

“Great! Come on in.”

I waited at my desk, surrounded by unfamiliar faces. The bell rang, and my classmates became seated. The wide woman introduced herself as Ms. Dee and ran through the typical first-day-of-school activities: name tags and fun facts. She would be teaching science, math, and english. The teacher next door, Mrs. Birch, would teach history. Speaking of which, the next class was history. I grabbed a pencil, an eraser, and my Chromebook before entering Mrs. Birch’s room. She also ran through the typical activities, but she asked a particular question.

“Are there any new students to Westmere?”

I raised my hand and so did a kid who sat on the opposite side of the room. Mrs. Birch noticed him first and asked about his name and where he came from.

“My name’s Jacob. I come from Tennessee.”

“Very cool, Jacob! I hope you have a good two years at Westmere.”

Then she moved on with class. She did not ask the question again, and she never knew I was new. Later in the day, she asked me to go get papers from the printer. I did not know where it was. She yelled at me for not knowing where it was, even as a fourth grader, who had stayed five years in Westmere. Too embarrassed, I did not have the nerve to tell her I was new.

I rode the bus back home and my parents were waiting for me. They asked me if the kids on the bus knew they were following them. I said yes. They asked if they knew I was their son. I said no. They said they just wanted to see, for themselves, their son walking into his new school, and that they were proud of me.

That night, I cried myself asleep in my mom’s arms.