Kyle

Seriously, this school is nothing different, always the same routine. To my right, Kenny is looking out the bus window, quiet as always. You can't say, "Wow, Kenny frowned," no, he always does the same thing, only opens his mouth when someone asks for his opinion or asks him a question.

Cartman and Stan are making fun of innocent Butters. Seriously, seventeen years old and still doesn't know what it means to talk back to Cartman's swear words.

As for me? Accustomed to the classic routine, I'm reading a new book they put in the library about the dictatorship. It's kind of strange, even though I'm Jewish, but the stories interest me. The bus keeps moving until it stops at a stop where almost no one was going. The brakes were abrupt, enough for my book to fall. I complained and bent down. I noticed the strange silence. I picked up the book and looked up, and there I saw her: the new student, completely different from those cheerleaders who were also chatting. She wasn't from here. Her appearance, besides being perfect, made her seem foreign, from another country. Colombia? Israel?

Calm down, I can't think! She's looking around, searching for a place to sit, but I know she's judging the others. She wrinkles her nose slightly until she sees me. It wasn't a smile; she saw me as just another student. She sat down next to Bebe. They were talking, and I couldn't read that damn book. She stole the attention—her clothes, her eyes, HER EYES! Those beautiful eyes. They tied me up in a noose where I had a knife to cut it, but me? For her, I'd turn upside down, but I won't cut that rope without a reason.

But just looking at her makes me give up on all escape routes.