I am surrounded by a sea of excited, chattering children, yet I feel so alone. How did I end up here? Unfamiliar murals are painted on the white washed walls. The ubiquitous commotion of the crowd inundates my mind, and prevents me from thinking clearly. Where was I?


An hour earlier I was standing at the base of a large hill, waiting for my school bus to arrive. With a name tag tied with purple yarn around my neck and a backpack on that was almost the size of my entire body, I anxiously searched for my bus. All I knew was that I was suppose to ride the purple line. To my surprise, when the bus came, it wasn't painted purple. I climbed up the stairs of the disappointing yellow colored vehicle and found myself to be the only one aboard seats. I plopped into a seat, pressed my face to the window, and watched he gravel accelerate backward as the bus pulled forward.

Eventually the bus filled with other children, most of whom were older than me, but I remained in my position adjacent to the window. The wait for my very first day of school was agonizing, and the bus ride seemed to last for hours. When the bus was relatively crammed with kids, the driver took a turn onto a street I didn't recognize. We maneuvered through a parking lot I had never seen before, and screeched to a stop in front of a building that was also unknown to me. The doors opened and the students began to flood out. I stood up, this wasn't right. I went into the aisle to tell the driver he had made a mistake, but before I knew it, I my small body had been forced with the excited tidal wave of kids right out of the bus.

And that is how I ended up here, where ever "here" is. I wander around until the sound of a strident bell replaces the roar of the hallway. Now I'm literally alone. I randomly choose a door and find myself in a room with its ceiling supported by walls made of books. No one is here except for the librarian so I approach her desk while she eyes me suspiciously through her spectacles.

`"Can I help you?" she said irritably. I just silently stand in front of her, so she begins her interrogation.

Who is my teacher? Where is my class? What grade are you in? What's my name? Her questioning makes me feel uneasy and guilty, as if I was a delinquent. She decides that my answers, all communicated by the horizontal shake of my head, are insufficient. She leads me to the office, where the pieces of the puzzle fall into place.

It turns out, I had gotten off the bus at the wrong school. I wasn't aware of the complexity of school transportation, but apparently it is an extremely elaborate system. My bus makes two trips to two different schools in the area and my real school was on the second trip. Some students remain on the bus while the others leave at the first school. At the same time, other buses are rounding up children from my school and dropping them off at the first school so they all transfer to my bus and we all travel to the correct school. After the office members manage to thoroughly confuse me with this enigmatic arrangement, I am sent to ride backseat in the principal's personal car as he chauffeured me to my correct school. In the car, I relax in my seat a little. My trip had taken a bit of a detour, but it was now coming to a long desired end. I just hope school is easier than the bus ride.