This is my first non-fiction story, so bear with me.
Also, I will be telling this story in the first person. Names have been changed for privacy reasons.
I suppose I should describe myself at the time. I was 12 years old, I had dark brown hair, and I was about four and a half feet tall. I was about to enter the sixth grade at a junior hgh school outside a small US town.
Enough information for now. On to the story:
Chapter One
"Bye Mom!" I shouted as I ran out the door to catch the bus. She may have replied, but if she did, I didn't hear her.
I run to the big yellow school bus waiting at the foot of my driveway. I have ridden on a bus to school ever since I first started. See, my house is the furthest one out, so it's natural to ride the bus. Mom has to be at work soon so she doesn't have any time to drive me.
Since we live the furthest out, I'm usually the first one picked up, so I'm surprised when I get on the bus and see a boy around my age sitting in the far back seat. Being the nice guy that I am, I sit down next to him and introduce myself.
"Kyle, huh?" he says. "My name's Damien. My family and I just moved here from Maine."
"Maine, really?" I ask. "What's it like there?"
As he fills me in about what Maine is like, I take a closer look at him. He has short black hair, and seems to be a little shorter than me. I can't tell yet since we're both still sitting.
"So what about you?" he asks. "What's it like here?"
"Eh, nothing special," I say. Then, out of curiousity, I ask, "Say, how far from me do you live?"
"I lve right next door to you," he says.
"Really," I reply. "Well, that's pretty cool. Maybe we can hang out sometime."
"We should," he agreed.