Where are my pants?

For writing hour today, I was too lazy to come up with my own ideas, so I went online and looked around for possible first sentences. I found "Where are my pants?" and decided to go with it. How can one pass up such an opportunity? Here's what I have so far. I'd say it's about a 1/4 of a story, and I haven't really gotten to the main idea (which is not grounded in reality of course), so you can think of your own plots for now:

Where are my pants? I know I put them on this morning. I know for sure because I remember suspending them between two chairs and then trying to jump into them, and ending up putting them on the old-fashioned way. I've been trying to learn that trick for the last five days, but I've allotted a month so it's OK. My only fear is that we'll run out of chairs; I've already broken two, and nearly killed myself both times. But that's not important right now. What's important is that I'm sitting on the bus, and I don't have my pants on. This better be a dream. Maybe I should slap myself.

OK, this doesn't seem to be a dream. I now have two very rosy handprints on my cheeks and still no pants on and I'm starting to panic. At least no one's sitting next to me; maybe if I figure things out before we get to school, no one will have to know this ever happened. I duck and look under the seat. Nothing. I duck even lower, with my face practically touching the floor, and look down the row of seats, first towards the front, then towards the back. Still nothing. "Where could they have gone!? Where could they have gone!?" I yell frantically inside my head with poor enunciation.

Lily Thorns leans over from the seat behind me. I quickly get up on my knees on the seat, shove my backpack in front of me and meet her halfway. I'm praying that everything's hidden.

That's when I notice I'm wearing tighty-whities. I blush immediately. I haven't worn tighty-whities since elementary school. It's just a hazard. You might as well send out invitations to all the school bullies. "Hi, I could really use a good thrashing today. Should I wear tighty-whities, or will you cut me some slack and beat me up even if wear boxers?"

"Something wrong?" Lily Thorns asks. She's a pretty girl, nice too, and she doesn't really deserve quite that caliber of a name. "Thorns." Last names like that should be reserved for hot "Ms. Popularity of Jordan High" contestants. Maybe someone with a unisex first name. Like Jessie. Or Addison. Someone hot and cold, if you know what I mean.

"Uhh...no," I stammer unconvincingly. How long have I kept her waiting?
"I heard you shuffling around, I thought you might have lost something."
"Oh! Ha! No...," I say in my best impression of a million awkward movie scenes.
"I mean, I did, but now I got it."

"What was it?" Lily wonders innocently.
"Mmmmy...My homework. For English. I thought I forgot it at home, but nope. Got it. Here it is." I pat my backpack.
Lily smiles and sits back down. I notice that I've been existing on one breath for a while now and draw in another, walking a thin line between choking and sounding like an asthmatic swallowing a cat. I don't want to draw more attention.

I sit back down and look out the window. The bus is waiting at the entrance to the school; it's a left turn. Prayer isn't getting me anywhere today, but I make a quick one for heavy incoming traffic. Nope. The bus pulls in. There are about thirty seconds left before I have to get out. Not having too many options, I spend all thirty worrying.

Everyone gets up from their seats and starts piling out. It's eighth grade, so it's in that transitional period between the elementary school stampede and the lazy off-beat herd of high school students. Lily Thorns is now standing next to me. I'm holding my backpack across my lap, but my two spaghetti legs are still showing from mid-thigh down.

"Coming?" Lily asks. She still seems oblivious to my situation. I don't really have a choice.
"Yea." I get up. The stink of fear is in my nostrils, but only there; I'm a big fan of deodorant. I start wondering where the smell could possibly have come from. I cruelly hope for a second that it's Lily. That would take away some of the attention I'm about to receive. No, Lily smells strongly of that peach perfume that middle school girls abuse so tastelessly these days. Sickly artificial peach, probably with lots of Blue 9 and Red 11.

Something's wrong. I've been up for five seconds now, and there haven't been any tears of joy, not one elated scream from in front or behind. I look around and spy exactly zero pointing fingers and laughing double-chinned Jakes or Billies. Bullies are always named Jake or Billy. Or Brian. And sometimes Tom. Why doesn't anyone notice?

The bus is slowly decongesting. Lily pulls away, and I follow her, still holding my backpack in front of me like an oversized groin protector. I can't help but look everyone in the eye, when it's physically possible. I get weird like that when I'm embarrassed. I'm gauging their reactions, but so far, no one has noticed a thing. I nod and thank the bus driver as I too go down the steps and off, and receive the same lazy "Have a nice day" that I'm used to. Not a hint of surprise or disbelief. Strange...

I'm slowly getting a little braver with all of this consistent failure to cause a ruckus. I'm walking towards the front entrance, and now I'm really in good position for being spotted, but still nothing.

"Hey! Jack!"
My heart goes from 60 to 120 in about half a second, putting the fastest vehicles of our modern age to shame. I look over to where the sound originated from. It's my friend Vinny, he's walking towards me.
"Sup," he says, pulling up to walk next to me.
"Sup," I say, incredulous.
"You alright? You look dazed."
"Dazed?" I echo. "Nothing else stands out?"
Vinny takes a step back like a cameraman to take in my entire frame.
"Uhh...did you get a haircut or something?"
"Yep," I say, even though I hadn't.
"Weird. Looks exactly the same."
"Huh. I must have forgotten to tell the barber to make it look different."