I woke up this morning coughing loudly. The windows were open, and smog from a tugboat or a truck or something was coming in. It got so bad; I had to run to the window to stop it from coming in. I opened the door to let the smog out of my room and hopefully into the hallway, down the stairs, and out of Playa des Losers.

I got up and looked outside to see what the hell made all that smoke. I drew the curtains back to get a better view. The smog was beating against my window, but I managed to see through the thick haze.

It was a bus. A little bus made all of this pollution?...damn!

I got my usual outfit on, and began to check the drawers for any forgotten items. Once I opened the top drawer in the bureau, a jewelry box fell out. It was light wood with an image of a flower carved into the top. It had a golden lock on it. I shook it to see what was inside. If it sounded metal, then it was simply some golden necklaces and such. It didn't sound metal. I was curious.

I ran over to my group of suitcases. The larger one was for clothes, the smaller one was for toiletries and stuff to dye my hair with. I went to the small one and dug in the front pocket to find a small bag filled with house keys and ponytail holders. It also held some nail polish, but I never used it.

I got out some smaller keys for diaries and such. I carried them to where the jewelry box is. There were four keys. The first key was small and gold, and had the appearance of a skeleton key. It didn't fit the size of the lock. I put it to the side. The second key was a little bigger and more modern. It didn't work. The third key was a little bigger than the second, and more ornate. I put it in the lock, turned the key, and it opened. My heart raced and I threw open the top of the lock.

Well, this was disappointing.

It was just a bunch of jelly bracelets. Then I remembered what they really were. They were those Love Bracelets from when I was about thirteen. The different colors represented stuff like kiss, make-out, sex, et cetera. I shrugged and put them on for the hell of it. I was dating Trent, but we kept it safe. We were both soft-spoken, and just dating at sixteen. He was sure that I was "the one", and I was sure too.

Not really, but almost. I'm a virgin and I'm not planning to "do it" until marriage, which was a decision always made, and sometimes broken without regret.

I'm confident I won't break that mental promise ("mental promise" is a term I use. It means that you make a secret promise, just something you're hoping not to do again, there are no papers or anyone else involved…not a very hard term to figure out).

I wore a few, and repacked my bags. Turns out I'm horrible at packing – I forgot my jewelry box, a pair of combat boots, my black Converse sneakers, my journal, and my hairbrush. I made the bed until, suddenly, I heard Chris yell through a bullhorn: "Season Two Competitors! The bus to your new location is here, you are due there in ten minutes!"

Well, I was already prepared, so I decided to go down now. After one more check, I closed the door and began to walk downstairs.

I stopped by Trent's room to see if he was still in his room. I opened the unlocked door to find it vacant. I quickened my pace to meet him at the bus. I boarded and looked around.

I saw Trent. Not saving an empty seat, but sitting next to Lindsay and in front of Beth. They were drooling all over him and asking him questions…about his love life, sex life, hobbies, the sorts. He obviously seemed uncomfortable with the two bimbos he was sitting with, and when he caught me walking down the aisles, he tried so hard to escape, only to be grabbed and once again seated by his admirers. He tried so, so hard.

I looked around. Everybody was sitting next to someone. Bridgette was sitting with Geoff, Izzy was sitting with Owen, Harold was sitting next to LeShawna…to her dislike. Even BETH was sitting next to JUSTIN. I repeat, Justin. The male equivalent of Heidi Klum, sitting next to the female equivalent of Napoleon Dynamite (who was sitting next to Beyonce). The only two people who didn't have someone to sit with were Duncan and Heather, who apparently hated each other with a burning passion hotter than the sun. Maybe Heather hated Duncan that way, but maybe the hate feeling wasn't mutual. I decided to sit next to Duncan, mostly due to the fact we got along so freaking well last season.

I came up and said, "Can I sit here?"

"Sure, as long as you don't fall asleep, lean your head on my shoulder, and drool on me." He replied. Smartass.

I smiled and rolled my eyes. My bags were in front of me, and I quickly got out my iPod, due to the fact I had "Everlong" stuck in my head.

I turned it on, and the album art for "The Colour and the Shape" immediately popped up. I turned the volume low, so if there were any alerts, I could hear them.

Soon, the bus took off, and nobody really talked. The only thing I could hear was Dave Grohl and the sounds of cars passing us on the highway.

Halfway through my song, Duncan leaned over and said, "Foo Fighters?"

"Yeah, I think they're pretty good." I responded.

"They are, I have that CD…" he nodded awkwardly. "It's pretty good."

"I know, I bought it on iTunes." I nodded back.

"Ah."

After a moment of awkward silence, he said, "…did you ever hear Nirvana?"

My eyes widened. Nirvana is my pot. I memorized every song, every beat, every note, every scream and every mumble.

"They're my favorite band…ever." I said smiling.

"Mine too, I wish they were still around." He nodded. Not so awkwardly.

"It's all damn Courtney Love's fault."

"What?"

"I believe that Courtney Love took advantage of Kurt's fame which pushed him to his suicide…I would love to see her in prison…" I smiled mischievously at the thought of her breaking rocks, the Botox oozing out of her lips, begging to leave.

"Good point, that's a really good theory…damn, can you imagine that music world today if Kurt was alive? It would be so much different…and better." He said. We were both slowly easing into the flow of conversation.

"We probably wouldn't have a lot of the rappers we have today. Thank GOD." I exclaimed.

"They all suck! They're annoying and repetitive, and it's not their voice! It's the voice of something a computer fucked up! That's why they never have concerts, it'll be a disappointment to their fans, who are probably all brain-damaged!" he ranted. I actually laughed. Why? I don't know. I heard and thought it times before. Maybe it was his tone.

"Gwen! Gwen…!!!" I heard in the front of the bus. I stood up and saw Trent frantically waving with a huge grin on his face. I began to wave – not as fast and happily as he did, but I did. I slowly and awkwardly sat back down. Duncan was laughing.

"Why are you laughing?!" I asked.

Holding back laughter, he said, "Your boyfriend is such a douche…" and began laughing even louder.

I whacked him in the back of the head. "No he's not! Trent's manlier than you!"

He began howling in laughter. "He's the one who writes James Blunt love songs on his guitar and waves to his girlfriends screaming 'Gwen! GWEN, OH DARLING GWEN!' like a Shakespeare nerd! However, I spend my weekends listening to hard rock while spray-painting skulls on the wall behind the Superfresh!"

I really couldn't beat that. Trent was soft, but not soft enough to be a douche.

I leaned over Duncan and looked out the window.

"Where the hell are we?" I asked.

Reading the signs, he answered, "Apparently we're going to Toronto. We're about ninety minutes away."

I fell back in my seat. I glanced at Heather. She was staring at me and Duncan. She still had that fugly mullet wig on. I narrowed my eyes at her.

"What are you staring at, Billy Ray Cyrus?!" I exclaimed.

"Oh, nothing, just the scenery…" she innocently replied, and looked forward. As a child, I learned never to play with the fire, or you will inevitably be burned. In this case, Heather was the fire, always burning the ones trying to put her out. I decided to keep a close eye on her.

I looked at my iPod again, and then Duncan. He looked bored.

"Want to listen to 'Blew'?" I handed him my left ear plug. I'd rather not give him the right one, which means I'd use the left one, and then our heads would be right next to each other, sparking Heather's immediate attention. God forbid, Trent saw, he would be on edge.

He shrugged and took the ear bud. I immediately scrolled through my music until I reached Nirvana. When I thought I looked just fine in front of him, I realized I forgot what album the song is on.

I sat there going to every CD I had – In Utero, Nevermind, Insectide, Bleach – until he finally said, "It's the first track on Bleach."

"Thanks." I said, and quickly scrolled to the album and chose the song. We sat there for another two minutes and fifty four seconds in utter silence and awkwardness. Then I asked, "Whatever happened to Krist Noveselic?"

"He's a bald politician." Duncan nodded.

"Sad." I said abruptly.

"I know…hm…what method of torture is Chris going to use on us this season…" he looked up at the ceiling. The conversation began to flow again.

"It's apparently movie-themed, so it'll probably have a huge range…" I said, in sheer terror.

"Fuck our lives." He said in a very disappointed tone. "Damn contracts! I would find and burn them, but he has copies of them…everywhere…"

"Everywhere?" I asked, confuzzled.

"Oh, believe me hon, I searched this so many times on Google." He leaned far back into his seat. "He has copies with his lawyer, copies with him, and copies in the computer…they're everywhere, Gwen, everywhere…"

"Probably in the U.S. Supreme Court…" I said. He looked back at me.

"You come from the United States?" he asked.

"Yeah, Philadelphia. Why, where do you come from?" That, I really wanted to know. Why? I have no idea. He was simply mysterious…some part of me was begging for more information about him.

"Camden." He nodded. So, he comes from a town with a very high murder rate. I heard that it's the second-largest in the nation. Why I am not surprised? I then realized something.

"Holy shit…Philly and Camden are pretty freaking close." I said in sudden realization.

"That's total irony man. God's fucking with our minds." He laughed under his breath. I admit, his sense of humor was somewhat off. I don't know if it qualifies to be humor. But I sort of shared it. I snickered with him.

I guess he was sort of one of my best friends. I mean, we shared the same taste in music, movies, everything. Our taste in people, though, was different.

He liked Courtney. The girl who always feels she is the best at everything, and everyone she leads will become victors. I was seriously considering the assumption that clearly someone never heard of the saying "rules were meant to be broken". Rules, in her mind, "were meant to be followed and obeyed to avoid the horrible consequences that will inescapably proceed."

What a communist.

And my friends are down-to-earth, creative people, such as Trent, Bridgette and LeShawna. Duncan was…creative…and rebellious. I mean, that's straightforward Generation X, Kurt Donald Cobain material right there. My friend criteria rules broke due to him being so close to me.

Holy crap, he breaks rules without even knowing it.

We continued the conversations about music, movies, and soon enough, the miscellaneous.

Such as Canada…

"Dude, I just thought Canada was simply a barren wasteland with bacon and syrup. Now I know it's full of freaks." He said. "I mean, everywhere I go, there's something you wouldn't see in the United States…like a sixteen-year-old Scottish girl who goes ape-shit for fun."

And location…

"I mean, I don't like much in Philadelphia. Just the art museum and culture. I don't like Rocky, I don't like sports curses. I'm usually just an isolated person. I find my friends at the museum and at school. There's not many of them." I said, angry at the fact nobody I liked lived in Philly. LeShawna lives in Quebec, and Bridgette lives in Miami.

"Camden's okay, the late nights are hellavuh good time, to be optimistic." He said. Without thinking, I said, "Are you part of a gang?"

"No, I go solo. I usually carry some pepper spray and a knife…"

And then we started to talk about criminal life.

"So what do you do at night being like…an outlaw?" I asked. I checked my iPod. Apparently, me and Duncan were talking through "Bleach" and halfway through "In Utero". Holy chizz, lots of Nirvana right there.

"Well…" he seemed to enjoy the topic. Too much. "I start off getting sticks and a rock or something…"

"Dude, you make shanks?!" I exclaimed. I loved making shanks. I used to make them as a kid, sitting on the blacktop and storing them in my lunchbox. It was good against the older boys teasing you for being an individualist.

"Well, I actually use the rock to sharpen my knife, and with that, I sharpen the stick to – yes – make a shank." He closed his eyes and smiled slyly. "Then, I usually vandalize the back of the supermarket..."

"Of course." I sighed.

"And, you see, it's not really my place to be, due to the fact I'm sort of a lone wolf. That's where the knife comes in handy. You see, only the serious gangs carry guns. That's in another part of town. In my part of the city, we have knife fights. I have some night-vision, you see. My vision and reflexes usually help me out in these situations." He began smiling even wider looking up to the ceiling. Illicit memories last forever, apparently. "And, when you win these knife fights, you will leave with a scar or two, which is the reason I wear a lot of long clothing, as you probably already figured out. But, the girlfriends of the gang members usually leave the pussies whose faces you hacked open and drool over you."

Typical, oh so typical. I laughed quietly. "This is your type of conversation, isn't it, Duncan?"

"Yes, it is." He nodded. "I do have some friends that hang out on the street. We don't fight together. We're just four solo criminals, you see. Rob hangs by the train tracks. That's where we meet. And he's the one with all the pot. Vick is the one with all the knives. Jack is the one with the gun and everything. However, I'm the strongest one, but all I have is a knife, spray-paint, and immeasurable shanks. So, really, if some mugger comes up, I'll cut his arms off, but otherwise, I can't do much."

Well, that was way too much information. "So, let me get this straight…" I asked. "You vandalize buildings, cut the hell out of people, have about twenty-seven girlfriends…"

"Correction, twenty-eight whores at my beck and call." He said proudly.

I said sarcastically, "Oh, I'm so sorry." I cleared my throat and asked, "How the hell are you simply on parole? And how doesn't he catch you?"

"Due to my family being in the police force, my mom – the police chief, actually – lets me off easy. My dad, on the other hand, wants me in Alcatraz." He laughed. I did, too. Alcatraz…not nearly enough discipline in my book. Maybe I was overreacting…I didn't know.

Suddenly, we heard a loud thump and someone go "GAWSH!"

Harold fell flat on his face on his way to the bathroom. Laughter boomed. LeShawna looked totally mortified. Not at the fact he fell, but at the fact she's sitting next to him.

"Smooth, Alpha Nerd." Duncan said sarcastically while slowly clapping his hands. I began to laugh harder.

Harold eyed Duncan and rushed quicker to the bathroom.

"Ha, what a loser. The kid has a hamburger on his shirt…what the hell?!" he exclaimed. I high-fived him. I always thought the same thing. Suddenly, the bus came to a sudden stop. Everybody screamed, and we heard Harold yell from the restroom, "Ew! It's seeping through my shirt!...aw, why does this always happen to me?!"

Duncan and I find ourselves laughing hysterically. The bus doors opened, and Duncan immediately hopped out of his seat, grabbed his duffel bags, and rushed off. I did the same.

So did that bitch Heather.

I walked behind Duncan, even beating out the people in the front. The bus doors opened, and we all walked out.