The Care Taker

She sat outside the care taker's storage space. This was her spot now. The only spot she hadn't been bullied in. Probably because it smelled a little like sick, and a lot like dirty water...

She'd used this spot for several weeks now, and as she watched the care taker wander back and fore his duties, she often wondered if he was lonely. He didn't seem to have many people talk to him, and when anyone did talk to him, they were always just asking him to clean this, or fix that. She secretly wondered if he noticed her. She ashamedly wondered if he liked her. She didn't really care, but he seemed to be her last hope. He was that crush you have when there's no-one better around, but your hormones are telling you that you have to love someone, and it has to be now. But she reasons that the same could be said for any school crush – or at least in this school...

Care Taker Man rushed out of his tiny room, and she thought about his name. It was a big school, so it seemed he was just another face in the crowd to most people. She had never heard his name – not even from the people who spoke to him most often – and she found this sad.

Her lips formed the name Peter, before she took another bite of her home-made sandwich. Peter was a good name; old-fashioned, wholesome, befitting the quietness and gentile nature of the man she'd been so carefully watching. Urgh, she disgusted herself.

She closed her eyes as she took a long drink. Her food seemed tasteless, but she didn't mind, because she was distracted. She was lost in two eyes that had never actually looked into her own. She'd never been close enough to tell their colour, but she dreamed they were a hazel brown. The little black specks on his imagined iris' danced on her eyelids and she emptied her Dr Pepper. She missed those eyes when she went home, so she savoured them while at school.

Peter came back, with less white roll than when he left. Undoubtedly another spillage. And as the word spillage sprang to her mind, her inner poet leapt at the chance to write a love story of how he would spill his feelings to her one day... Maybe he would write her a note? And leave it in her spot? Or maybe he could finger-write a message on the window, instead of cleaning it as he usually did? She sighed, longingly feeding herself from her tub of grapes.

A clatter came from within the closed room, and her mind jumped from one fantasy to another, as she pictured herself running into the room to save him from whatever had fallen and trapped him. Maybe he would need CPR? Maybe he would have to thank her somehow...

Sadly, her disaster fiction faded almost immediately, as 'Peter' walked confidently out, wiping his brow with his sleeve, and huffing. It clearly wasn't a fun day, as she watched his muscles – which were much smaller than she remembered – move under the strain of movement.

Knowing he was gone again, she tried to recapture the image of his helpless body awaiting her rescue... but it, too, was gone. She tried another angle, hoping to get one last kiss from his lips before the bell rang for class. Now, she was laying helpless. Maybe she'd fainted? Maybe it was the heat? He'd lift her in his arms, and carry her to a bench, where he would lay her down and whisper for her to wake up, as he dabbed her face and forehead with a cold, damp cloth. Her heart quickened, and her breathing slowed as she fluttered her dream eyes open, ready to be with her saviour...

And the bell rang. Hastily, she packed up her bag, and worked up to a run to her next class. It wasn't even in this building, but the run will have been worth it, because she'd spent another lunchtime happy. Not alone, but loved. And that's all she's ever wanted, even for a little while.

The Bus Boy

Rachel had a love-hate relationship with the bus ride home. She loved the fact that college was over for the day. She loved the chats she had with her best friend, Becky. She loved the route and the sound of the struggling engine on the hills... but she hated that boy. But she loved that boy. That boy that always sat at the back of the bus, like the cool kid of the school. That boy that never looked twice at her, but when he hopped, uncaring, onto the bus each day, she loved the way his eyes always scanned the rest of the bus. Rachel didn't know where he was going, or where he'd been, but she loved his journey as much as she loved her own. She hated the fact that she couldn't do anything about it.

"You know he doesn't get off for at least another two stops..." Becky whispered into Rachel's ear, making her jump from her daydream.

"I know, but-"

"You can either talk to him, or hate yourself for another week. It's Friday. Before the holidays. Man up and do it!"

Rachel just stared at her best friend. She was right. If she was ever going to do this, it had to be now. With one last threatening, yet encouraging, look from Becky, Rachel stood unsteadily. 

The boy, in his big red hoodie, skinny jeans and tattered shoes that looked too big for him, sat in his usual back-corner seat, with one of his legs resting on the seat in front of him. He looked out of the window on every journey, but as Rachel approached, he looked toward her.

"Do you mind if I sit here, please?"

The boy just looked at her, with a shy smile for a moment. As the bus halted at another stop, Rachel stumbled forwards, but remained surprisingly calm. The boy smiled and nodded for her to sit.

Rachel's cheeks flushed, but luckily, he'd returned to looking out of the window. She plucked up the courage, and while staring at her hands, blurted her thoughts at him - "H-hey... So, I see you here quite a lot. I get the bus home every weekday and you seem to be here, like, three times a week. Monday, Wednesday and Friday, usually, but that's sounds kind of stalker-ish of me... Anyway, I see that you're always alone and that you get off at the stop just before mine, so I was kind of wondering if there was any way, because I often travel alone too, that maybe once in a while, or perhaps just once... We could travel together maybe? I mean it's fine if you don't want to, but I thought it would be nicer than sitting on your own. I know I could do with someone to talk to. Silence kills me. You can probably tell though, because I speak so quickly. I haven't let you say anything yet, but that's because I'm just nervous. I wouldn't be like this everyday. Look, my hands are shaking..."

She offered out her hand for him to see, but she was so busy looking at the grubby bus floor, she didn't know if he was laughing at her or not. Regardless, she plowed on.

"I guess you live pretty close to me, because you get off not too far away. I was thinking that if you wanted to, we could maybe even go out some time? Again, it's okay if you don't want to, I just thought... Maybe..."

Rachel gently reached out to the boy's hand in the space between them, and as she looked up at his face for the first time since she started talking, she noticed he was looking out of the window again. 

A little annoyed, but ever hopeful, she asked, "So what do you think?"

Slowly the boy lifted his head from the window pane, moved his hand from under hers, and looked her directly in the eyes. It's only when he spoke that she noticed he'd moved at all. She studied him as his lips moved, and his body moved with the bumps of the bus. He lifted his hands to the sides of his face, removed his earplugs and casually asked, "Huh?"

And Rachel never caught the bus again.