Chapter 3: The Stupid Smelly Bus The bus wasn't like my daddy's car at all. It was very big inside. And the seats didn't have any cloth on them. The little curly girl was sitting near the front. And so I tapped on her. "Guess what?" I said. "Mother said for me to sit here." "No!" she said. "I'm saving this seat for my best friend, Mary Ruth Marble!" Then she put her little white purse on the place where I was going to sit. And so I made a face at her. "Hurry up and find a seat, young lady," said Mr. Woo. And so I quick sat down across from the curly mean girl. And Mr. Woo shut the door. It wasn't a regular kind of door, though. It folded in half. And when it closed, it made a whishy sound. I don't like that kind of door. If it closes on you by accident, it will cut you in half, and you will make a squishy sound. The bus made a big roar. Then a big puff of black smelly smoke came out the back end of it. It's called bus breath, I think. Mr. Woo drove for a while. Then the brakes made that loud, screechy noise again. I covered my ears so it couldn't get inside my head. 'Cause if loud, screechy noises get inside your head, you have to take an aspirin. I saw that on a TV commercial. Then the bus door opened again. And a dad and a boy with a grouchy face got on. The dad smiled. Then he plopped the grouchy boy right next to me. "This is Jim," he said. "I'm afraid Jim isn't too happy this afternoon." The dad kissed the boy good-bye. But the boy wiped it off his cheek. Jim had on a backpack. It was blue. I love backpacks. I wish I had one of my very own. One time I found a red one in a trash can. But it had a little bit of gushy on it, and Mother said no. Jim's backpack had lots of zippers. I touched each one of them. "One... two... three... four," I counted. Then I unzipped one. "HEY! DON'T!" yelled Jim. He zipped it right up again. Then he moved to the seat in front of me. I hate that Jim. After that, the bus kept stopping and starting. And lots of kids kept getting on. Loud kids. And some of them were the kind who look like meanies. Then the bus began getting very noisy and hot inside. And the sun kept shining down on me and my fuzzy hot sweater. And here's another hot thing. I couldn't roll down my window because it didn't have a handle. And so I just kept on getting hotter and hotter. And it smelled in the bus, too. The bus smelled like an egg salad sandwich. "I want to get off of here," I said right out loud. But nobody heard me. "I hate it in this stupid smelly bus." Then my eyes got a little bit wet. I wasn't crying, though. 'Cause I'm not a baby, that's why. After that, my nose started running. Only the bus didn't have a glove compartment. Which is where you keep the travel tissues, of course. And so I had to wipe my nose on my fuzzy pink sweater sleeve. Then I stayed on the bus for about an hour or three. Until finally I saw a flagpole and a playground. That meant we were at kindergarten! Then Mr. Woo drove the bus into the parking lot and stopped. I jumped up very fast. 'Cause all I wanted to do was get off that stupid smelly thing! Only guess what? That Jim pushed right in front of me. And the curly mean girl did, too. And then people started squishing me real tight. And so I pushed them away. And they pushed me right back. That's when I fell down! And a big foot stepped on my skirt that looks like velvet. "STOP IT!" I yelled. Then Mr. Woo hollered, "HEY, HEY, HEY!" And he picked me up. And helped me off the bus. Mrs. was waiting for me just like my mother said. "Hi! I'm glad to see you!" she called. Then I ran over to her. And I showed her the big footprint on my skirt that looks like velvet. "Yeah, only look what happened. I got stepped on and so now I'm soiled." Mrs. brushed it. "Don't worry, Junie," she said. "It'll come off." After that I just folded my arms and made a frown. 'Cause guess what? She forgot my B. again. From the Trade Paperback edition. Excerpted from Junie B. Jones Has a Peep in Her Pocket by Barbara Park All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.
