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Welcome to fast food Horror. In
this episode entitled The New Kid by E.

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J. Miller, the only thing
worse than being the new kid is

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being the new kid. A few
months into the school year, friendships have

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already been made, cliques have been
formed, the entire social hierarchy has been

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established. You have no idea what
the drama is and who not to associate

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with because of their past or very
recent flops. It's a social mindfield where

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one false step could make you the
new joke, and you have no idea

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who is safe and who is not
unless unless you just choose not to associate

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with anyone at all, stay off
all radar to escape everyone's attention. Such

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was my life two weeks into my
junior year and my new home at Washington

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Irving High School that November. I
had a routine attend my classes, try

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not to get anyone's attention, which
included the teachers, and just go home.

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My grandpa would pick me up at
the end of eighth period on his

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way back from work in his rust
bucket of a work truck, so that

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left me to just take the bus
into school in the morning that rolling hellscape.

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The bus would pick me up at
the corner before the sun could even

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be bothered to come up. Each
morning, I'd make my way past the

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driver, who never said anything to
me, Thank god, he just sat

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there blankly looking straight ahead. I'd
make my way down the dark red emergency

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lit aisle to a seat towards the
back, passing rows upon rows of faces

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who never looked up to even acknowledge
my existence. Ah the way of teenagers.

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I'd throw my bag into an empty
seat and drop in after it and

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curl up, scrolling through TikTok and
Instagram until we got to school. Then

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get off the bus and start my
day. This was my routine every day

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for two weeks until that Friday.
It was pouring and cold out a dreary

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November ice shower. Another degree or
two lower and it would be snow.

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All I wanted was to make it
off the bus without getting drenched. As

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soon as the bus stopped and the
doors opened, I made a mad dash

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to the front of the bus,
then made a bee line to the front

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doors of the school. Halfway through
my sprint down the walkway towards the school

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doors, I realized I left my
backpack on the bus. I frantically turned

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to go back to my bus,
almost losing my footing on the wet pavement

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as I spun. It wasn't there. The big yellow bus I had just

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left, not more than ten seconds
ago was gone. Not only wasn't the

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bus there, none of the other
students were behind me. I was the

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first one off. There should have
been forty other students filing into school right

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after me, but it was just
me standing in the rain. The bus

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didn't pull away. I looked up
and down the road. Nothing. I

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stood there in the rain, wondering
where it could possibly have gone. When

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I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned to see the old security

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guard looking at me with concern.
You okay, he said in his graveled

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base. I my bus. It
was just here. I left my bag

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on it, and okay, let
me help, he said, happens all

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the time. What bus number were
you on? And I can call it

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back? Said seventy two, I
croaked out, seventy two. All right?

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Are you sure it was seventy two? Yeah, I replied, seventy

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two. I've been taking it for
two weeks. Kid, that's not funny,

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he said, What bus number were
you on? Seventy two? I'm

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not sure why that would be funny, he cut me off. Listen,

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he said, with more speculation than
concern. Maybe you got your numbers flipped.

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Maybe you're a little confused. It
couldn't be seventy two. No,

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it was seventy two. Picks me
up every morning. I'm not wrong.

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Well it couldn't be, he replied, with a little more sternness in his

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voice. And why couldn't it be, i asked, with the annoyance of

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having lost my bag and now standing
in the freezing rain. I'll tell you

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why it couldn't be seventy two,
he let out a long sigh. Ten

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years ago there was a rollover accident. No one knows what caused it.

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Bus full of students. No one
survived, not the driver, none of

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the passengers either. It was a
huge town tragedy. Bus seven twenty two.

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They've never reassigned the bus number out
of respect for those lost. That's

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why it couldn't be bus seventy two. Unless you rode in on a ghost

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bus. Yeah, that must be
it.
