Left Behind

         “You have got to be kidding!  How can the bus just leave us?” I storm.
         “Calm down.  It’s no big deal.  We’ll just look up the itinerary and see where the next stop is,” the boy says, rolling his eyes.
         Great.  Here I am standing in the rain, on the sidewalk in downtown D.C. because the tour bus I am supposed to be on couldn’t wait a couple of minutes. I knew this trip was not a good idea.
         “Cara, your father and I decided that it would be good for you to go on this school trip,” Mom had said.  “Besides, it will give you a great opportunity to get to know some of the kids before you start school.” 
         “History nerds are not the kind of kids that are exactly going to help my social standing, Mother.”
         “You’re just going to have to make the best of it, Cara.”
         The best of it, apparently, was to go on a trip across the county to visit the tourist traps in Washington D.C. while pretending to enjoy myself.  The small group I came with was made up of other kids from what will be my new high school.  Two days ago the group joined several larger groups from all over the country.  Young future politicians or something.  Yippee.
         “Hmmm…” the boy says.  I think his name is Matt or Mike or something like that.  “We have a problem.”
         “As if watching the bus leave without us wasn’t problem enough for the decade?”
         He ignores my sarcasm. “The itinerary says that after seeing the Declaration, it’s dinner and free time at the hotel. They‘re probably not going to notice that we‘re gone for a while.”  He looks at me.  “It’s not that far. We could walk.”
         “Hello? It’s still raining.  Do I look like I want to get all wet?”  I snap.
         He looks away before quietly saying, “It’s Cara, right? Not your idea to come here?”
         “Yes, my name is Cara and no, this is not my idea of great summer time fun.”  I grumble.  “Well, how far is it?”
         “Not too far.  Come on, I’ll carry your bag.”
         “I’ll carry my own bag, thank you very much.”
         We begin to walk in uncomfortable silence.  Shadows are starting getting longer as the sun begins to sink, and the traffic (not to mention my bag) heavier.
         “Excuse me?” Who does he think he is talking to me like that?
         “All I am saying is, it’s not that bad.  You could lighten up a bit, you know?  You might find yourself having a little bit of fun.  Tell me that you didn’t want to die laughing when the bird left his little present on Mr. Johnson’s hair earlier.”  Mike-Matt scans the traffic as he says this.
         That was funny.  The tour guide had been droning on and on about President Bush when a pigeon decided his head was a great place to take a bathroom break.  So gross.
         “And you cannot tell me that the changing of the guard wasn’t awesome.” That was pretty amazing.  Of course my camera started to automatically (and loudly) rewind in the middle of the ceremony.  I cringe at the thought and keep walking.
         “Let me guess.  New kid, you don’t know anyone, forced to go on this trip because your parents hope you’ll get to know people.” I stop walking and stare at him.
         “Southern accent gives part of it away,” he grins.  I am surprised to find myself laughing. 
         “The ‘I hate your guts and everything about this stinking trip’ attitude gives the rest of it away,” he smirks. “Have fun.  Learn a little history.  Bask in the glory of my presence and let your hair down.” At the last comment he reaches up, pulls out my scrunchie, and dances down the block.
         What a dork! I catch up to him and the next couple of blocks seem to pass quickly as we compare backgrounds and exchange stories.  Turns out, Mark is also a new kid in town.
         “There’s the hotel.” I motion with a nod.
         “We could keep walking.  Let ‘em wonder a while. Or.. the FBI tour sounds like it could be interesting.  Who knows, maybe the bus will decide to leave us again,” Mark
winks.
         I  laugh.  Maybe, just maybe, this trip wasn’t such a lame idea after all. Surely the bus wouldn’t leave us twice on one trip, would it?