Rules for Good Writing the title said. Jay stared at it warily, eyes scanning the 20 bullet points which promised an A+ on every paper and college essay.

“I found this list over the weekend,” her teacher said “I think it’s an excellent compilation of writing tips so I’m going to adapt it into the official essay rubric for our class. I’ll email it out tonight so make sure to use it when you write your David Copperfield essay.”

There were multiple clicks as everyone popped open their binder rings. Jay folded the paper up and stuffed it into her backpack.

“Now can anyone tell me what they thought of Jean Bodt’s literary criticism of David Copperfield?”

Several hands shot into the air. Jay sighed. Her hands found the much-chewed pencil at the tips of her fingers and per habit, began doodling vague sketches. The light from the window cast odd shadows and a couple of rainbow sprinkles over her notebook. Deftly tracing the shadows, Jay brushed her hair out of her eyes and snuck sideways glances out the window. The bright blue sky and billowy clouds were a stark contrast to her darkened classroom. As she drew, the sunlight was momentarily blocked and she looked up curiously. A flock of birds were swooping past the window in sets of four. They were plump and graceful, with glossy black wings and golden beaks—identical and beautiful. They even flew the same way: wing-tips tilted upwards, heads cocked to the side, and tail-feathers completely flat. Who had decided that?

“Miss Raj, can you please tell the class of your opinion of Mr. Bodt’s analysis?”

Jay started and dropped her pencil. The teacher was glaring at her. She opened her mouth and closed it again.

“Doodling in class is against the rules Miss Raj. If I catch you not paying attention again, it’s detention.”

Against the rules. Of course. She slumped down in her seat, turning resolutely away from the inviting rectangle of blue just as the last bird drifted out of sight. Out of the corner of her eye she thought she saw a flash of orange, a single multicolored feather hidden within the black.

She remembered the birds again when she caught the bus home. That slight glimpse of color…why did it bother her so much? The bus jolted to a stop and a plump woman with frizzy blonde locks climbed aboard with two children in tow. She plopped down into the seat next to Jay and tried to settle her squirming charges on her lap. “Mama look!” one cried, pointing out the window at a white butterfly that settled on the windowsill. Her mother quieted her, pulling her hand down and whispering “It’s not polite to point. Sit quietly and behave.”

“But Mama—!”

“I said hush, didn’t I?”

The girl pouted for a few minutes until she began playing with one of the rings on her mother’s hand. Jay chanced a look. The woman’s face was set in a weary mask of exhaustion and stress.

She has the Commuter Look, Jay realized. The mask that everyone slipped over their faces on the Ride-On, the look that New Yorkers wore while dashing across busy crosswalks, the look that cashiers had etched into their faces.

Mama, look at the pretty butterfly!

Who had decided on this look? Who had made it a rule that it was rude to point and that you had to “behave” in public? What did it mean to behave properly anyway? Jay looked around once more. The sunlight pouring through the bus’s windows did nothing to offset the drab blues and grays everyone was wearing, including her wrinkled gray sweater.

A couple more people boarded at the next stop, this time a group of teenage girls. They too, wore matching combinations of gray sweaters, tight black pants and brown boots. Once again, Jay thought of the flock that had flown by her window in a tight posse like this one. The girls had taken the seats above her and were eagerly swapping iPhones.

“Andrew liked my Instagram selfie!” squealed one “D’you think that means anything?”

“Maybe but don’t get your hopes up. I hear he has a crush on that weird guy with all those tattoos up his arm and who blasts classical music all the time.”

“Ugh.” The girl groaned, slumping in her seat “Why would he have a crush on him? He’s so weird. I mean, who blasts classical music?”

“I dunno,” another one shrugged “some of those tats are pretty fly.”

“Yeah but it’s not normal! He’s probably on drugs or something.”

Jay sighed and turned away. Rules, so many rules. She propped an elbow on the armrest and watched trees and cars blur into each other as they got closer and closer to her stop. A lone figure was walking down the sidewalk on her street, guitar in hand and cigarette hanging limply out of her mouth. She couldn’t see her face properly but the girls in front were snickering at her bright shirt patterned with…..little Chihuahuas?

How odd, she thought. She’s not following the rules, is he? The woman was plucking a couple of guitar strings and chewing on her cigarette at the same time. Was she singing? The bus stopped with a jolt. Jay seized her backpack and slipped out the side door. The woman had almost caught up to where she had gotten off. From her position, she could see that her guitar had bright red clovers painted on it and her hair had streaks of orange. Men with black neckties and gray faces pushed past her, making disgusted faces if she so much as brushed against them.

“Crazy hippie,” Jay heard one of them mutter. The woman smiled serenely and started singing softly. Her streaked hair fanned out behind her in the wind. Jay felt frozen.

Orange, orange, orange…….the woman’s hair was the same color orange as the errant bird in the flock. The one that broke the rules, she thought dizzily. The men’s black ties flapped in the wind, glossy and perfectly ironed. They moved in synchronized rhythm, one they’d been dancing to all their life while the woman zigzagged erratically yet gracefully through the crowds. It was only a split second before she drifted past Jay, their eyes locking. The woman winked—and then she was gone.

Jay stood there, feet refusing to move from the middle of the walk until someone yelled at her to get out of the way. Robotically, she turned and made her way down the path leading to her house. Throwing her backpack down on the doorstep, she ran up the stairs two at a time until she was standing in front of her closet. Taking a deep breath, she pulled off the gray sweatshirt and put on a bright orange one. Jay smiled.

Tomorrow was a new day. A day to break the rules.