Page 24 of Pick Me Up On Tuesdays

The second one tried to blend in.

Mr. Dax walked up to him. Stared. Then picked him up by the collar and placed him outside. Despite that, there were some more jocks left, but he didn't seem to care too much. I guess numbers were all that mattered to him.

“There,” he grunted. “Now we can go.”

As the bus finally started moving, I distributed the map link to everyone’s phones, already running through the trip’s schedule in my head for the twelfth time.

Ethan, of course, leaned over my shoulder and whispered, “Do I get a special map? Maybe one that leads us to a hidden treasure?”

“Yes,” I replied. “It’s called ‘The Nearest Cliff.’”

Joy laughed. “This is gonna be fun.”

Their definition of fun was broken, remember? I was so not going to let that happen.

Chapter 9: Breadsticks, Budgets, and Bus-Washing Vendettas

I stuffed my headphones in, hell-bent on shutting out the mayhem around me. The bus was already buzzing with energy, and it hadn’t even been an hour yet since we left. Mr. Dax was snoring like a malfunctioning chainsaw, the paper fight had escalated into a full-on war zone, and somewhere behind me, someone was trying to harmonize with the bus engine. It was unbearable.

I pulled out my tablet and scrolled through a collection of past winning documentaries, trying to focus on anything remotely productive. This trip wasn’t just some school adventure—it was a do-or-die mission to fix Ethan’s stupid, stupid car. And yet, here he was, seated next to me, contributing absolutely nothing except pesky commentary.

“You should really join in,” Ethan nudged me, dodging a paper missile with supernatural ease. Ease that made my stomach cuddle for a fleeting second. ‘This is not him, this is Ethan,’ I told myself to keep me at bay.

“You’ve got the build for it,” he added.

I scoffed. “What build?”

“The build of a champion. A warrior.”

“Ooh, you mean, a socially anxious nerd?”

“Exactly.”

I turned my attention back to my tablet, pointedly ignoring him, but that didn’t deter Joy, who decided to lob a crumpled piece of paper right at my head. It bounced off and landed on my lap.

“Oh no,” she gasped dramatically. “Clark’s been hit! Quick, someone administer first aid!”

Mia, who had been recording the entire thing like the dedicated filmmaker she was, zoomed in on my unimpressed face. “Clark, do you have any last words before the war claims you?”

“Yeah,” I deadpanned. “I hate all of you.”

“Spoken like a true hero.” Ethan clutched his chest. “So brave. So strong.”

I flipped through my notes aggressively, pretending they didn’t exist. If I ignored them hard enough, maybe they’d disappear.

The bus jolted over a bump, causing Mr. Dax to snort so loudly it startled a few people. He cracked one eye open, glared at the chaos, and muttered something about “ungrateful brats” before immediately resuming his deep, nightmarish snoring. I envied his ability to sleep through anything.

Just when I thought things couldn’t get any worse, they did.

A rival school’s bus—Boulder High—rolled up beside us on the highway. It was filled with jocks. Not our jocks—who were mostly obnoxious self-absorbed twits—but worse ones. The ones who existed just to torment others.

“Uh, guys?” I said, lowering my tablet. “Why do I feel like something bad is about to happen?”

As if on cue, an egg splattered against our window.

For a second, no one reacted. Then another egg hit. And another. And suddenly, the air was filled with the horrified screams of students as our bus was pelted with a relentless, smelly onslaught of rotten eggs.

“What the hell?!” Shun ducked as one barely missed an open window.

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