Janine Snider
English 1101 Section 351
Dair Arnold
09 February, 2013 “Flags to Confidence”

Repeatedly, I turned and looked away from the street and over the bushes, as if I was captivated by an event of some kind. Imagination came in handy sometimes. The hill up to the school district bus stop, which I trudged every day to school, was an exposure of all the uncertainty bound within me for all to see. The wafting cigarette smoke lingered in the air as my fellow classmates sped by in cars they didn’t deserve. This was the last day of my freshman year at Valley View High School; the lilacs were blooming! I couldn’t wait; the birds had a euphonious sound in the spring. The smell in the air, with its newness of life and earthy undertones had always made me want to hold my arms out to the side, look up and smile! This was also the day I would see the list of those who had tried out and made the Flag Corps. Would I be on the Corps? All week I had practiced the tryout routine with a determination to be perfect. I had decided to try out in hopes of becoming popular. The feeling of desperation to belong to something enabled me to step out of my comfort zone and try out for the Flag Corps. I had begun to feel the confidence seep in, each night, as the sun sank below the church that was practically in my backyard. The cool air that had begun to chill my skin would remind me that it was time to stop and go over my notes for the final exams of my freshman year. A freshly waxed ‘79 Monte Carlo with four of the most popular girls inside was screeching to a halt to pick up Trent Starry for a ride to the school of about 350 students. Valley View High was located 4 and ½ miles outside of town. Trent would walk to the bus stop every day, just as I did, but he never rode the bus. He was on the football team and very good looking. He would always get a ride. The girls sped off as Trent was still closing the door and an empty Marlboro box came out of the back window and tumbled behind them on the blacktop of Comstock Street. There it lay, tossed out with no regard or respect for the nice neighborhood. People in Germantown had always taken pride in their lawns and landscaping. I angrily went into the street and kicked it. Turning, I reluctantly walked back to pick it up with resentment. Those girls had always made me so mad by the way the guys would beg for their attention. Meanwhile, I was ignored like a piece of day old bread, or the heel everyone always skips over when making a sandwich. The following year was going to be different for me. Daydreaming as usual, I tripped on the steps as I climbed on the bus; my binder slung out of my hands as I tried to catch myself. The folder that was safely hidden moments before flopped out of the binder and landed perfectly and right side up on the floor next to the driver. Adorned on the cover were the words, “Trent Starry is Edible”. Mrs. Schaeffer had been a bus driver since my parents were in school, she seen the vile and obscene words. I quickly snatched it up off the floor. I felt the intense heat on my face as I scrambled to the nearest seat. Students laughed because of the slip and made the usual comments, “walk much?!” and “way to go grace!” I stared out the window at the early morning fog blanketed across the freshly plowed fields as the bus bounced up and along Farmersville pike. I was afraid to look forward and lock eyes with Mrs. Schaeffer in her big rearview mirror. She would most assuredly be looking at me with disgust. Fourteen year old girls were not supposed to be writing things like that. She was from the older generation so I felt really bad. Stepping off the bus, I inhaled deeply, inadvertently taking in exhaust from the buses. My sweaty palms froze on the handle for a split second before I slipped through the door of the school that held my fate. Turning the corner and almost crawling toward the band room, I spotted several girls