ONE
HORRORTON U.S.A.
HORRORTON U.S.A.
The faded-green, rusty bus rolled over the old bridge, rocking from side to side as it went. The bridge creaked and strained as the bus’s wheels pressed down on its aged wood and metal. Peter watched blankly as the bridge swayed. He figured that the bus would plunge into the ravine below if fate wanted it to. Being scared that it would did not make any difference. Still, Peter wondered at the old bridge. It hardly seemed fit to walk on, much less drive on. The bus bumped over the deep divet where the bridge met the road on the other side. Peter, having sat in the back of the bus, was thrown upward with the bounce. He ducked his head, sure he would hit the bus’s ceiling, but then he found himself back in his seat.
He scowled at the driver for a moment and then looked up at a large sign alongside the road. Horrorton, U.S.A., it read. Population 7,650.
He scowled again. He could not believe this is where his parents had taken him. Horrorton? Of all the Podunk, little, backwoods towns they could have ended up in, they were stuck in this dismal, rusted-out, junkyard.
He shook his head and rolled his eyes.
“Hey.”
Peter looked up at the voice. “You’re new,” the boy who sat across the aisle from him said.
“Yeah,” Peter said back.
“Where you from?”
“Lincoln,” Peter said.
“Yeah?” The boy raised an eyebrow. “City kid, huh?”
“I guess.”
“You won’t like it here,” the boy said as he turned away to stared blankly ahead.
“You think?” Peter said under his breath.
The bus slowed down and then rolled to a stop. Peter looked out the window. They had not even arrived in the town yet. The door to the bus opened and a young, freckled girl climbed up the bus steps. There were only four others in the bus, including Peter. The girl made five. She adjusted her backpack and walked toward the back, sitting a few seats in front of Peter. He watched the back of her head for a moment. Her auburn hair was pulled into a tight ponytail, and freckles tipped even the back of her ears. Then, all of a sudden, she turned.
“You’re new,” she said with her brow a bit wrinkled. “Right?”
“Yeah,” Peter said, wondering why people kept asking him that. He was obviously new. Everyone probably knew everyone in a small town like this. They did not know him, so he was new. Why did they have to ask?
The girl turned around fully in her seat and leaned over the back, holding out her hand for him to shake. He took it limply. She gave it a solid shake and then said, “I’m Chris.”
“Peter,” Peter said.
“Sit down!” the bus driver said over the intercom.
Chris whirled around and plopped back into her seat.
Peter went back to staring out the window.
end of 1
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