Queen of the Bus

The morning sun, a lazy smear of orange and gold, wrestled with the grimy window of

the school bus. Inside, the air hung thick with the scent of stale fruit snacks

and cheap perfume. Beatrice, a formidable presence in the third seat from the front,

surveyed her kingdom. Her red hair, a riotous explosion of curls, framed a face perpetually

set in an expression of amused superiority. She wore a floral dress, its vibrant pattern

stretching taut across her ample frame, a silent declaration of confidence.

Her lips, painted a glossy cherry red, curved into a slight smirk as she watched

the new girl fumble with a backpack strap. “Morning, peasants,” Beatrice’s