Perfect Ninety

-5

After I do the yoga course, I take a shower and make myself breakfast. Not anything fancy like an omelet or bacon and eggs. Just a bowl of Frosted Flakes or about 3 grapes. Usually the house is completely dark this early and it usually gives you this eery feeling like you're about to be murdered. An episode of "Criminal Minds" just waiting to happen. Is the unsub a man looking through the bushes into our screen door? Is it a women who used to date my dad? After the paranoia melts away and my gourmet meal has been eaten rapidly, I go back to bed for 20 minutes. I usually have a headache after doing that and even a small nap can decrease symptoms better than my prescription. When I wake back up, I get my clothes on, brush my teeth, and do my hair. I love wearing vintage clothes but not fake vintage. If it were up to me, I'd pick out clothes 100% from the 80's. I have been told that I act like I was born in another era, which is always a compliment to me.
I always have about 20 minutes left and I spend this teeny space of spare time either watching TV or doing homework until my bus comes. I'm almost the last one to get on and almost the first one to get off, and I live in walking distance of my gym, which is good because practice starts at 3:30.
I grabbed my backpack from the floor, turned off the TV, and locked the bottom lock on the door and I leave.
As I'm standing outside--don't forget to mention that I am wearing a lovely white lace shirt and denim capri overalls with black leggings--it starts to drizzle. The clouds start to form and puddles decorate the ground. I hate it when it rains but sometimes it can be pretty and this was not one of those beautiful times. This rain was beautifully depressing. I was hoping my bus would come sooner because we don't have a porch for me to stand under and the door was already locked. Smart choice of me but I didn't get the mental memo that it was going to rain. I look through the rain and get eager with every loud sounding vehicle I hear...just to see that it's just a truck or a Tractor or a van with squeaky breaks. I bet the bus is going to be later than usual today, I thought as it began to pour down.
Then my superhero bus comes to my rescue! A split second before the train was about to run over my body tied to the tracks. You could hear the squeaking brakes a couple streets over. Coming right when you're about to lose hope, but taking its time coming to your stop, taking a century to completely, legally, stop. I sigh with relief as I walk down my drive way and towards the bus. I knew my friend Julia would have a seat saved for me in the back of the bus.
I'm not even going to try and smile at the bus driver today. I either get this disgustingly forced smile or a scowl. Like, It's not my fault you're stuck being a bus driver for these kids. It was your desicion, now good morning.
Anyways, as I'm trudging down the aisle--with my beautifully wet hair on my shoulders--I realize that it smells more like wet-dog than it does on a regular day and feels more humid on this bus than it usually does when it rains in February.
I see the stoner kid with his instrument case with his headphones trying to sleep off his high. I see the conceited girl on her 2nd tube of mascara ( because obviously, the more makeup you add, the more of a personality you have. Hard to believe when she has the personality of a dial-tone). I hear country music through this girl's headphones 2 seats before I get to mine and I'm faux-surprised because she claims to hate that genre of music.
As soon as Julia slides over, the bus driver closes the doors and leaves from my front yard.

Ever since 3rd grade, she has always been prepared for the weather. With her long, black hair that was actually shiny--which opposes my brown hair that has split ends and the only quality it has is  that it can hold a basic curl for days without hairspray--a smile that would make you kill just to see it again, and a figure that even the most fit girls would kill for. Well, not me.

As soon as Julia sees me, she slides near the window and asks, "so did get first all-around?"
This is her typical question. It doesn't matter that it's Thursday and our last meet was five days ago, she'll find a way to ask me. Sometimes I wish she'd ask something like "Did you see that episode of The Middle?" or "What did you make on the math test?". Being first all-around isn't the most important thing in the world...well try telling that to my mom. 
"No," I tell her as I sit down in the seat and place bag in my lap staring out the window, looking more at the cloudy sky than at Julia's face. "Miss Debra says that I need to work on pointing my toes more often and that I my tucks shouldn't be as sloppy."
You would think that with all of my work I would have scholarships calling my name. Even though I'm the kid on the team that gets all of the benefits, I need to work on the same things as everyone else.
We have to point our feet to prevent foot injury and because our routines look more graceful when our feet are pointed and not just dangling there. It is also a point-deductor. Get it? Point and...It's a funny--never mind. I just get so focused on the routine, I don't think about pointing.

The bus jerks back and the stoner band kid sleeping in the front wakes up abruptly, looks around, and lays his head back down on his saxophone case.
"Anna, she's been stressing you about that for weeks." Julia places a hand on the seat in front of us because our crappy bus driver with the crappy brakes was about to take a sharp turn.
Everybody on the bus leans to the left and I almost fall out of my seat but I recover quickly.

"Julia, calm down, I will get it one year," I joke. I felt a little frustrated because she isn't even a gymnast but this has always been her nature. She smiles and then the bus stopped. Everyone's heads jerk back hard on their seats and Ryan gets onto the bus--the last stop before we go to school. I stare at him and smile until he sits in the seat next to ours.
"How was your last meet, Anna?" He asks me. That's all I want. Don't be obsessed with me winning unless you do gymnastics.
"It was alright. My mom is not proud of my score and want me to listen to the coach or something." I can hear Julia sighing loudly behind me.
He smirks and says "because the judges are lame prunes."At that moment, all of my attention went to my boyfriend and not to the annoying 'best friend' sitting next to me. Whenever he is around, she usually gets on her Mp3 player so it doesn't matter.

"Whatever," I reply. "It doesn't really bother me."
Before anyone can say anything to make us feel artificially better for this artificial conflict, the bus pulls up in front of our lovely high school.