"That's the last box," I say, closing the trunk of the van.
Shelby asked, "Do you boys have your ID, phone charger, and a change of clothes in your backpacks?"
Shelby is a kind, overworked middle-aged woman in charge of the Cheshire group home for orphans.
I'm thankful for her letting us stay here together, and I've tried to help out as much as I can.
I've prepared schedules and data sheets for the orphanage for the next two years.
Hopefully, she follows it.
I climb into the front seat, and Leo gets into the back. Shelby starts up the van, and we drive to the UPS store.
"Don't be strangers. Call every once in a while, okay? And you can come and visit anytime," Shelby says as we get out of the car with our backpacks.
"We will. I'll make sure this guy gives you a call," Leo says, patting my shoulder and smiling.
We head inside the bus station, taking a seat on one of the empty benches. We have to wait for half an hour until our bus arrives.
"Hey, are you excited? We get to start over and we can totally reinvent ourselves." Leo asks me.
"We don't have to be those poor orphan losers. New school, new city, new us." He continues.
"We are still poor, even more so now that we're 18. We'll have to work part-time to afford school next year." I replied.
"Okay, we're still poor, but we don't have to be losers anymore. We can make friends and go to parties. Ay, I'm even going to get a girlfriend," Leo says, laughing.
Snorting, I pat his shoulder, "Leo, we are skinny-looking poor kids. We won't be friends with the popular crowd. And getting a girlfriend, she would probably be just as ugly as you." I say, shattering his hopes of popularity at community college.
"Besides, why are you so focused on being popular anyway? You should study more and work harder. Your grades aren't as good as mine." I finish.
"Okay, okay, I get it. More studying and working." Leo said.
Our bus arrived, and we climbed aboard; I sat beside Leo by the window, grinning.
"Can you believe this? We're really leaving this small town," I ask, my voice barely above a whisper, tinged with excitement and a little fear.
"I can't believe it's actually happening," he replies, excitement bubbling in his tone.
"We're making our dreams come true, Lance! Community college, here we come!"
As the bus roars to life, I gaze out the window at the orphanage as we pass it, its peeling paint and weathered roof receding into the distance.
My heart feels both heavy and hopeful. I want to hold on to every moment and every laugh shared within those walls.
But as it fades from view, the thrilling promise of what lies ahead overshadows the bittersweet farewell.
As the bus rolls down the highway, the engine hums softly, lulling us in our seats. I lean against the window, watching fields of green and brown blur by.
Leo taps to the beat of his music, his headphones barely held together by duct tape.
I chuckle at him, then pull out my favorite worn-out book. I struggle to focus as my mind drifts to the day ahead in the city.
"Do you think we can afford furniture and visit everywhere we want?" Leo suddenly asks.
"Definitely!" I reply confidently. "With $12,000 usd between us. If we get everything secondhand, we can decorate with all our favorite things. We could even get you an ice cream machine!"
We laugh, the weight of uncertainty lifting.
Leo challenges me to think of twenty things to do, and we trade ideas, our voices bouncing off the bus's interior.
"Visit the art museum and try new food!" I suggest.
"Don't forget the subway and Central Park!" Leo counters, jotting down notes.
As we near the halfway point, skyscrapers pierce the sky, and my heartbeat quickens with exhilaration. The bus makes a scheduled stop at a rest area, and we step out for fresh air, feeling alive.
"Let's find a bakery in the city," Leo suggests.
"A bakery for you, an art supply store for me," I grin back.
Boarding the bus again, I glance at the other passengers—some tired, some as excited as us. The final stretch begins, and the landscape shifts; houses give way to shopfronts and vibrant murals.
In silence, Leo and I let the moment sink in. I gaze out the window at a massive billboard for a local festival, my heart fluttering in my chest.
We spend the rest of our time on the bus discussing our dreams for college: the classes we want to take and the future careers we envision for ourselves.
I share my ambition of becoming a lawyer, inspired by the stories of strong, justice-driven characters in the books I've read.
Leo dreams of being an engineer. He has always wanted to build inspiring structures that could someday fill the skyline.
"Imagine us in our graduation gowns, receiving our diplomas. I can see it now!" I say, feeling the energy of our shared dreams illuminating the space around us.
"Dude, I can already see the ladies swooning," Leo jokes, winking and striking a pose that makes me chuckle again.
But our joyful chatter soon takes a disquieting turn.
My heart drops as the bus comes to an unexpected halt.
Laughter freezes in our throats, and chaos erupts; the screeching of tires cuts through the ambient noise as the bus veers sharply.
I grip the seat, my knuckles white, as a sudden impact violently jolts us.
Everything blurs—I hear screams, feel bodies colliding against each other, and an overwhelming haze envelops me.
In that instant, amid the chaos, I want to reach for Leo's hand and feel the sense of security that has always been there whenever we face the unknown together.
Glass shatters and my body tumbles in the air as my head collides with the side of the bus.
I see stars and my vision goes dark.