Revisions and detail:

My father, the president of marketing and sales at Mecco Company, works in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, sixty miles from where we live. An entrepreneur. My mother teaches us, purposefully and amiably. We have horses and chickens and dogs and cats and a sheep- on our ninety acres. My sister and I take ballet. My brother, four years older than me, takes classes at community college so he can graduate high school.
“Fuck that”, some grungy guy behind me with hair that reeks of old cat litter and stinky socks blurted boisterously. Ignoring him I fish through my outdated book bag and discover a neatly folded note. As I open the buttery document, springs of fragrant lavender, in its subtle purple ness, soar tenderly onto my rugged jeans. Neat cursive graces the page with a note from my mother wishing me luck on my first day at Mt. Pleasant High School. The dark bus seems odd. Occasionally I hear a cough, and a puff of cigarette smoke streams towards me. How revolting. Why I am even going here? I am stunned, shocked, that children like me do this everyday of their lives, and are ok with it. Why did I want to do this in the first place? This was so the wrong decision. I hate this, eww. Maybe this day will get better and I’ll have a good experience- I step off the bus with an energetic boost, which does not kill my nervousness. What will my teachers be like? Will I make friends? Will the cafeteria food be good? Will I lose my way and be late to class? Will I get lots of homework?
Ugh.