Under a bright blue canvas, smeared only with sporadic white cotton-candy clouds, was a barren street corner inhabited by the area’s indigenous fauna. A single mosquito disturbed the stillness of the sky. It noisily hovered around the bougainvillea like an overprotective mother; whining in anticipation; the air polluted by her obnoxious humming. Lying stealthily in the foliage, a family of cicada chirped; mocking the birds that aimed to obtain their morning’s feed. Two geckos –of pale pink translucent skin- voyaged over asphalt and rock; their tiny tails twitched nervously. Mirages of various sized pools of refreshing water belied the 108 degree dry temperature. Visible heat waves wafted off the dry concrete, which obscured the vision of the vivid summer sunrise. A slight breeze ruffled the hairs on the drowsy heads of slow-awakening schoolchildren, who shuffled in what seemed to be slow-motion toward the corner from all four directions. Parallel to the day-dreaming teenagers, uniform rows of single story houses lay in a solid beige and brown block, topped with murky green coverlets. One, two, three streets away, a large, lumbering bus chugged barely in to view, and flaunted its glossy, new, yellow coat of paint. Curtains of black, billowing smoke belched from its rusty tailpipe and momentarily stained the pallet of Arizona’s August sky.

The squeak of an unoiled door-hinge interrupted the melodious music of nature’s symphony. I ran outside and acknowledged the scolds of my parents who yelled through our entryway. Don’ be late for th’ bus! It’s tha’ firs’ day of school! I’ll ground ya t’morra ‘f ya don’ hurry up. Hurry on over! Quick, now. Quick! I, embarrassed, scampered across the road, clutching my new schedule tightly. Iread it over once.. Twice. Again. Four times. I fidgeted nervously next to the other incoming freshmen, who were also unaware of what to expect from this beguiling and new routine. Behind a shrub, I spied an unruly boy toking on his first cigarette of the day; he furiously fussed with his lighter to catch the flame on his addiction. Two other unhygenic boys gathered around and shared the same stick, passing and inhaling; passing and inhaling. Passing and inhaling. The three antagonistically blew the putrid fumes in rings toward me and the girls surrounding me, who glanced back at them disapprovingly; our lip-glossed mouths befouled by scowls. The amber vehicle rounded the corner, and the smokers argued angrily. Put it out! Drop the bud. Bury it with th’ gravel! Don’ furget to stomp it out.

The bus grinded to a noisy and cumbersome halt in front of us, the awaiting passengers. Immense tires groaned under the weight of the days’ difficult labor. The creaky doors swung open, and we began to board. One, two, three steps before the seating platform. Rows of uncomfortable, wooden benches filled the entirety of the inside of the school bus. In the driver’s seat, an ancient-but-amiable fellow was hunched over the wheel, and whistled pleasantries through his mouthful of scraggly teeth while wafting nauseating onion-breath onto each oncoming passenger. Good mornin’. Take a seat. Faster now. Don’ wanna be late on th’ firs’ day of school. Gross. I used my hand to dismiss the odor from my burning eyes and nostrils. I chose a seat in the front. Bad choice. The poisonous onion-aroma hung in the air surrounding our driver. His bony, arthritic, white-knuckled hand clenched the lever, and the doors closed in complaint. He shifted gears, and his leathery hand resumed its vise-like grip on the steering wheel. Sweat constantly dripped off his furrowed brow, and stained the plaid shirt that stretched over his pot-belly. A button wheezed tiredly as the elderly driver inhaled and exhaled; no longer able to be pulled apart by opposite forces, it popped off the septuagenarian’s shirt and dangled by a crumpled red thread. We sat silently, awkwardly, while listening to the hypnotizing drone of the engine as the bus evacuated the neighborhood.

Red light One. The other First-years and Iread and re-read our schedules. Second-years looked contentedly out the window. Third-years tapped their feet in beat to their music, which annoyed the Fourth-years who sat nearby. The outcasts crowded in the back seats, immaturely hassling each other and exchanging offensive humor. Red light Two. A gregarious grey feline complained loudly and slinked across the embankment; her head and tail drooped toward the blacktop. She lazily flopped in the company of an off-white brick wall. I saw a sliver of her parched tongue before the transit vehicle resumed its journey, having left the panting mouser in its wake. Red light Three; the most curious location. It was a great hive, with hundreds of bees buzzing in and out; in and out. In and out. Each insect entered the hive with nothing more than a slip of green paper, maybe a box or a bag, then returned outside with its fresh, sweet, bold honey, in various-sized containers. A small flask, a large flask, or a flask in-between the sizes of both the large and small. In this instance, however, the hive was not a hive, and the bees were not bees. The “hive” was called Starbucks, and the “bees” were businessmen -and women-, bumbling about their day busily trying to quick-start their morning with “honey” or coffee, they might have said. Most of them flew in and out hurriedly; they jumped to and from cars. Some remained at the Hive and took out their travel-sized computers from rectangular bags, and, at the speed of light, they typed. Click-clack-clicketty-click-clack. We students on the bus pressed our faces longingly up against the window. We wanted nothing more than to forget about school and to sit down and sip a lovely caramel macchiato. Mesmerized, our hopeful eyes followed the Starbucks until the bus rounded the corner, and the coffee shop was out of sight.

Destination. The autobus turned left into the winding, asphalt labyrinth. A moment in time felt frozen. A small cement coated area, bordered with mud-brown, brick buildings, was flanked by teenagers and professors alike. The dark grass sparkled, each blade coated with the morning’s dew. Children’s eyes burned holes like acid through the thick glass windows of our bus with begrudging stares. Upperclassmen that were already in the courtyard shot dagger-eyes at our truck-load of incoming lowerclassmen, and judged us harshly for our undignified mode of transportation. We were separated by cliques, and ignored everyone aside from those in our own social circles. The moment thawed and time resumed. The lumbering yellow brick slowed to a sluggish crawl, and then stopped abruptly. The doors screeched open; students spewed out, and raced to their friends, before exchanging greetings. I hopped down the three worn out steps and like my other peers, sprinted across the courtyard to my first class. I felt nervous, but eager to start my very first day of High School. The mosquito was the last to exit the bus, humming happily, and hungrily, as her eyes beheld the sight of the glorious buffet before her. She whisked off into the air, and disturbed the stillness of the bright blue canvas, smeared only with sporadic white cotton-candy clouds; Arizona’s August sky.