Tiffany D. Jackson

“Thing is, though,” he said, “if I can’t love and accept myself just as I am, why the hell would I expect anybody else to?”

I can’t fight away a smile. “Will you remember this?”

“Forever.”

Earlier, Mrs. Tucker asked him where he was from too.

“Earth,” he said. “Still debating if I’m staying, though.”

The class group chat agreed—he’s our favorite bus driver so far.

not everyone circles the same sun.

not everyone circles the same sun.

Monday grunted, staring off. “She never gets that mad.”

This was us, in our own world, with our own language and customs. We lived inside a thick, shiny bubble that no needle was sharp enough to pop.

“I said wait!” Mrs. Charles growled. “Damn! Little fast ass won’t listen! Fast since the day she was born, I swear.”

Monday backed away from her in a frantic panic, crashing into the table behind us. Ma blinked, her brows pinching together. Monday’s teary eyes glanced between Ma and me a thousand times before she gulped.

Climbing out the tent, I froze midway, my mouth dropping at the sight of her purpling skin.

“Dang, what happened to your back?”

“Hey, fast ass,” Mrs. Charles sneered. “Where’s my kiss?”

Monday froze, her face tight.