Scars, drawing pads, pictures, and spitballs.

I feel so weird. I've never sat in a bus before. What in the world, a bus? I've ridden in Porsches, BMW's, Limo's, and other things like that... but a bus? I thought buses are for poor people who can't afford their own cars. We have several of them. Most are the world's most luxurius. But here I am. In a bus.

My parents told me that it would be fun.

"Come on, Amber. You'll have fun. You'll get to experience something different. You'll get to see nature, hear nature, smell it. Imagine smelling pollution free air. You'll never get that in the city. And the nice cool breeze..."

That's what my parents had said. All I'm feeling is the hot stuffy air in this bus.

I'm sitting next to this one guy, with sandy blonde hair. I can see this girl looking at him occasionally, from the aisle opposite. She keeps glancing at him, and then bending down to do something in the notebook she's holding.

I look at her victim. He's a rather tallish kind of guy, with sandy blonde hair, and blue eyes. He would be really cute, if it weren't for this long scar on his cheek. It doesn't really stand out that much, and it's not that huge and ugly, but just... not good?... enough to- not quite ruin his face... but to make it a bit imperfect.

"How'd you get that scar?" I ask. Just the type of thing I'd do.

"I was planting a rose bush, and a thorn scratched me."

I grimaced. Something like that had happened to me too once. I was plucking a rose from our garden back home, and I got scratched really hard. The thorn also came off of the bush somehow, and poked into my skin. A maid had to tug it out with tweezers. From then on... I had hated roses. "Ouch. That must hurt."

"It did."

"I hope that girl captures it properly.'

"Which girl?"

"The one over there, drawing a picture of you." 

He looked back at her. '"Ah," he said. "So she's an artist. Even I'm an artist. I love to draw." And our conversation ended there.

The girl looked up again, and then continued drawing.

I sat there, bored. I looked back at my parents. My dad was working on his laptop, and my mum was sleeping on his shoulder. I decided to take out my own laptop. At least it would give me something to do over the next four hours.

I took it out, and checked if there was any net connection. None. I took out the little wireless internet pendrive-thing that Dad had gotten for me, and plugged it in. After connecting, I went to Mozilla Firefox. I went to my mail inbox. No mail.

I exited the net, and went to the iPhoto. I looked around for something to take a picture of. I spotted the driver's rear-view mirror, and saw the driver staring at the back. It looked like she was staring at me. I held up the laptop, so that the mirror came into the screen. I mouthed 'Smile', and she first made an annoyed face, and then smiled. I took the picture.

I then spent the next half and hour cheking out the various ways I could edit the picture, and would have spent longer, except for the fact, that I felt the something on the back of my head. It was a spitball.

The End

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