Welcome to fast food Horror. In this episode entitled The New Kid by E.
J. Miller, the only thing worse than being the new kid is
being the new kid. A few months into the school year, friendships have
already been made, cliques have been formed, the entire social hierarchy has been
established. You have no idea what the drama is and who not to associate
with because of their past or very recent flops. It's a social mindfield where
one false step could make you the new joke, and you have no idea
who is safe and who is not unless unless you just choose not to associate
with anyone at all, stay off all radar to escape everyone's attention. Such
was my life two weeks into my junior year and my new home at Washington
Irving High School that November. I had a routine attend my classes, try
not to get anyone's attention, which included the teachers, and just go home.
My grandpa would pick me up at the end of eighth period on his
way back from work in his rust bucket of a work truck, so that
left me to just take the bus into school in the morning that rolling hellscape.
The bus would pick me up at the corner before the sun could even
be bothered to come up. Each morning, I'd make my way past the
driver, who never said anything to me, Thank god, he just sat
there blankly looking straight ahead. I'd make my way down the dark red emergency
lit aisle to a seat towards the back, passing rows upon rows of faces
who never looked up to even acknowledge my existence. Ah the way of teenagers.
I'd throw my bag into an empty seat and drop in after it and
curl up, scrolling through TikTok and Instagram until we got to school. Then
get off the bus and start my day. This was my routine every day
for two weeks until that Friday. It was pouring and cold out a dreary
November ice shower. Another degree or two lower and it would be snow.
All I wanted was to make it off the bus without getting drenched. As
soon as the bus stopped and the doors opened, I made a mad dash
to the front of the bus, then made a bee line to the front
doors of the school. Halfway through my sprint down the walkway towards the school
doors, I realized I left my backpack on the bus. I frantically turned
to go back to my bus, almost losing my footing on the wet pavement
as I spun. It wasn't there. The big yellow bus I had just
left, not more than ten seconds ago was gone. Not only wasn't the
bus there, none of the other students were behind me. I was the
first one off. There should have been forty other students filing into school right
after me, but it was just me standing in the rain. The bus
didn't pull away. I looked up and down the road. Nothing. I
stood there in the rain, wondering where it could possibly have gone. When
I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned to see the old security
guard looking at me with concern. You okay, he said in his graveled
base. I my bus. It was just here. I left my bag
on it, and okay, let me help, he said, happens all
the time. What bus number were you on? And I can call it
back? Said seventy two, I croaked out, seventy two. All right?
Are you sure it was seventy two? Yeah, I replied, seventy
two. I've been taking it for two weeks. Kid, that's not funny,
he said, What bus number were you on? Seventy two? I'm
not sure why that would be funny, he cut me off. Listen,
he said, with more speculation than concern. Maybe you got your numbers flipped.
Maybe you're a little confused. It couldn't be seventy two. No,
it was seventy two. Picks me up every morning. I'm not wrong.
Well it couldn't be, he replied, with a little more sternness in his
voice. And why couldn't it be, i asked, with the annoyance of
having lost my bag and now standing in the freezing rain. I'll tell you
why it couldn't be seventy two, he let out a long sigh. Ten
years ago there was a rollover accident. No one knows what caused it.
Bus full of students. No one survived, not the driver, none of
the passengers either. It was a huge town tragedy. Bus seven twenty two.
They've never reassigned the bus number out of respect for those lost. That's
why it couldn't be bus seventy two. Unless you rode in on a ghost
bus. Yeah, that must be it.