<div class="floatright">(http://25.media.tumblr.com/f30104898b4d0b5e5615320b562c8889/tumblr_mfo86fNmaS1rlxy60o1_500.jpg)</div><br/>Helen Poston - Tuesday 4 September 2012 06:30 - Bus Drop Off<br/><br/>The yellow bus opened its doors and vomited forth students.  Helen was among them, looking like an especially young Freshman because of her slight stature and still babyish face.  The only reason you noticed her was the red hair stood out among the other students.  Not flashy, just different.  It was especially different when looked at in the context of the bus riding population.  Neptune was still, just barely, a majority white town, but most of the students coming off the bus were black with a smaller group of Hispanic and a sprinkle of white kids like Helen.  They all had one thing in common though; poverty.  If you didn't live near the school, and your family had two working parents or only one car or none, and you lived below that invisible ceiling called the poverty line, you were bussed in.  Helen was one of those kids.<br/><br/>It also meant you were probably on free or reduced price breakfast and lunch and it might be that your only two decent meals of the day were what more privileged kids considered gross.  A few split off from the crowd, but most of them, Helen included, headed into the school cafeteria.  It was typically noisy and starting to get crowded as buses continued to discharge their human cargo.  Helen joined the line and emerged with a small paper basket of French toast sticks, a cup of syrup and a plastic bottle of strawberry milk.<br/><br/>They were doing schedule pickup in the cafeteria.  That line wasn't too long yet.  Most kids were going to wait until the end of breakfast then use the excuse of picking up their schedule to be late to homeroom before First Period.  Not Helen.  Between Daddy and Coach and Mommy, you weren't late.  Not if you had any way to not be late.  She got in the M-S line and ate her French toast dry as it moved forward.<br/><br/>"Oh, nice to see you, Helen."  That was Ms. Trowbridge, one of the secretaries in the counseling office.  She was a middle-aged black woman, already going doughy and wearing comfortable shoes, but she was super sweet.  A lot of times if you needed something from your counselor, Ms. T took care of it for you.  The counselors were always in meetings or off campus at a training or wandering down to the lounge to get some more birthday cake or PTSA goodies.  Not Ms. T.  She manned that front desk and took care of her babies as she called them.  You just liked Miss T and she never forgot a name.<br/><br/>"Hi, Miss T," she said and smiled.  "I was hoping you were still here."<br/><br/>"Child, I ain't going nowhere.  Who'd take care of all my babies?"  Experienced fingers flipped through the stack of schedules and pulled Helen's out.  "That all you having for breakfast?"<br/><br/>"Yes, ma'am."<br/><br/>"Best eat some more, girl.  You need to hit that growth spurt," she examined Helen's schedule, looking for any holes in it, then handed it over.  "You have Mr. Baker for Algebra II," she said and looked apologetic.<br/><br/>"He's such a -"<br/><br/>"Uh uh," Ms. T interrupted and wagged a finger.  "You go along and get along, Helen.  You hear me?"<br/><br/>"Yes, ma'am," she said and sighed.<br/><br/>"Good.  Now go on and finish your breakfast, honey.  Drink that milk," she admonished but with a smile and sent Helen on her way.<br/><br/>Great, Algebra II with Mr. Baker.  He was such a jerk, a real tight ass.  He'd been Helen's Algebra I teacher when she was a fish and she'd almost failed every six weeks.  He was hard, and mean and picked on the kids he didn't like.  Funny how he never picked on the pretty girls or the boys already bigger than him.  But if you weren't pretty, or not big, or didn't just get math you were in his sights.  Helen qualified on all three and she hated his class.  She skimmed the rest of her schedule but didn't see anything half as bad.<br/><br/>Period 1 English 3<br/>Period 2 Algebra II - Baker<br/>Period 3 Lunch<br/>Period 4 Family Science<br/>Period 5 Earth Science<br/>Period 6 World History<br/>Period 7 PE / Competitive Athletics<br/><br/>At least gymnastics was at the end of the day.  They didn't really have any decent equipment, most of it was broken, but they could do some floor routines.  It was also when she worked with the cheerleaders when they told her to come help. Not asked.  Told.  Their coach bullied her school team's coach and was always borrowing mats or girls to help with the cheer squad. Her real gym coach, the one after school, wouldn't have put up with any of that.  She'd have put the cheer coach in her place and sent her off pale under her spray on tan.  But it was still good.  Helen wouldnt have to change twice into her leo every day.  Just throw on some sweats or shorts and go to the real gym where the equipment was quality and so was the coaching.<br/><br/>Helen sat down at one of the tables and ate her last French toast stick, no syrup, then drank her absurdly pink milk.<br/><br/>