The yellow bus pulled up slow and steady,
Its brakes sighed softly as children climbed in ready,
Backpacks swung loosely from shoulders and arms,
Like tiny gray shields protecting their hearts.
The seats filled quickly and the engined roared deep,
While half awake students still drifted through sleep,
Laughter bounced from window to wall,
Yet somehow I still felt the smallest of all.
I was the new girl with nervous eyes,
Hiding my fear beneath silent replies,
Clutching my backpack close to my chest,
As questions and worries refused my rest.
I never had heard of this town before,
Its black tar roads and each little store,
The names of the streets sounded strange in my head,
Like pages of stories I’d never once read.
It was April, with spring trying hard to arrive,
With cool morning air that still felt half alive,
Trees just beginning to wake up in green,
While I stayed uncertain, somewhere in between.
Outside, the world looked gentle and bright,
But inside I carried a heavier night,
Like school had a feeling I couldn’t define,
A mix of excitement and something like brine.
A taste of new pencils, paper, and air,
Echoing footsteps and voices everywhere,
The bells sudden ringing and the shuffle of feet,
A strange kind of rhythm I couldn’t yet meet.
What if they laughed?
What if they stared?
I still kept moving even with my stomach turned tight,
Wondering if each step was towards something right.
But fate had a strange sense of humor I guess,
Because my first day arrived with enormous stress,
No friendly introductions of teachers saying “hi,”
But the ELA MCAS waiting nearby.
Chromebooks glowed with pale, ghostly light,
Passwords and screens obscured my sight,
The tapping of keyboards swallowed the room,
Like soft rain falling in a quiet classroom.
Teachers walked slowly row after row,
Whispering reminders in voices kept low,
And the clock on the wall felt heavy and still,
Like it was testing my focus and will.
I stared at each passage, question, and line,
Watching the minutes slip out of my time,
Everyone else looked steady and sure,
While I tried to find a way to endure.
I felt like an island nobody sees,
Lost in a sea of unfamiliar skies,
A stranger surrounded, unsure where to start,
With nervous thoughts pounding inside my heart.
Finally lunchtime arrived like relief,
A soft kind of break from uncertainty’s grief,
The cafeteria buzzed with a layered sound,
Like life in a hundred directions around.
The smell of warm pizza drifted through the air,
Mixed with laughter and movement everywhere,
But despite the crowd I stood there isolated,
Like a road that was deviated.
Then someone looked over and made me a space,
A simple small smile on an ordinary face,
And suddenly April didn’t feel quite so wide,
Like maybe I had a place to reside.
The hallways were rivers of sound and motion,
With footsteps and and stories and voices around,
Sneakers squeaked sharply on polished tile floors,
As spring light spilled through classroom doors.
By the end of the day, something changed in me,
Not fully a part, but beginning to see,
That school had a feeling, a pulse, and a name,
A world that keeps shifting but stays still the same.
The yellow bus carried me home through the light,
Past April skies slowly softening into night,
And for the first time I looked out the glass,
Not wishing for the moments to hurry and pass.
Because school wasn’t just places or rules I knew,
It was something alive in the things I do,
A unique sense I couldn’t explain at all,
But somehow already I didn’t want to fall.
It wasn’t just school.
It was becoming home.
