Summer on the Short Bus Read Online Free Page A

appears he’s walking with a limp.
    What the hell kind of freak show is this?
    More yelping and laughter draws my awareness back to the first bus. The pigtailed, funny talker is now on the ground in her neon-yellow wheelchair (complete with an old-school Hannah Montana sticker plastered on its side). Then a dark-skinned boy with thick-lensed glasses sidesteps his way out of the bus, a pair of crutches in his hand.
    And it dawns on me . . .
    Oh. My. God. I’m spending my summer with a bunch of retards.

FOUR

    â€œC ricket! Cricket, can you hear me?”
    â€œHuh?” My eyes flutter open. Pete’s freckled face is just inches from mine.
    â€œCan you hear me?” he asks again, louder this time.
    â€œYes, Pete”—I wave him away with a swipe of my hand—“I can hear you. You don’t need to yell in my face. What the hell happened?”
    â€œYou fainted, that’s what happened. Can you try and sit up?”
    â€œI think so.”
    Pete shimmies through the gravel and gently transitions me from lying flat on my back to propped up on my elbows.
    â€œI feel a little . . .”
    â€œJust take a few deep breaths and get your bearings. That was a pretty nasty fall.”
    I brace my elbows firmly into the dirt and hoist myself upright. The second I’m vertical, I drop my forehead against my knees. I haven’t hurt like this since the morning after Tommy Kleeger’s keg party.
    â€œAny idea why you fainted?” I know he’s just doing the wholebedside manner thing, but running his hand up and down my back isn’t helping. “Are you dehydrated? When was the last time you ate?”
    â€œIt was probably the heat,” I hear Fantine say. “She’s probably only used to air-conditioning.”
    â€œI don’t know what happened, just stop rubbing my back!” I say, wiggling away from Pete. “I’ve never been dehydrated before, so I don’t know what that feels like, and it’s not that hot. I have no idea why I fainted.”
    â€œWell, what’s the last thing you remember?” Pete asks.
    â€œI don’t know. I . . . I guess I remember unpacking my stuff in the bunkhouse. . . .”
    He nods. “That’s good. What else?”
    â€œUm . . . I remember waiting for the buses.”
    â€œGood, good. Keep going.”
    I’m just about to say, “I’m not a retard, Pete, you can shut up now,” when a bright yellow object enters my peripheral vision, stealing my ability to speak. I glance over my shoulder and am immediately greeted with a picture of a prelesbian butch-cut Miley Cyrus and her enormous horse teeth.
    â€œAre yooooou okay?”
    I make a visor with my hand and squint up at the voice above me. The vision of two enormous pigtails sends my head into a tailspin as it all comes rushing back.
    â€œOh God,” I mumble, burying my face in my knees.
    â€œYou remember now?” Pete asks.
    â€œOh yeah. I remember everything.”
    â€œWell, that’s good to hear. What we need to do now is get you inside and out of the sun. Do you think you can stand up?”
    â€œI can try.”
    â€œOkay, let’s get you up on your feet. Quinn, can you take her on the left side please?”
    â€œYeah, sure.”
    Until this very moment I’ve only been aware that Pete, Fantine, and “Hannah Montana” are within range, but as I raise my head I see that a large crowd is circling, and yours truly is sitting center stage. There’s a kid with an eye patch, another kid with drool trailing down his chin, and though I’m not sure who they belong to, a very BeDazzled pair of crutches sparkling in the sunlight. No wonder I fainted!
    Before I can break into tears, Quinn approaches me. He looks as beautiful as I remembered, with the addition of a few worry lines etched in his forehead.
    â€œYou okay, Cricket?” he asks me quietly and kneels down. He drops his hand