I was supposed to be going home from Chicago in a caravan of people, consisting of my parents, my high school english class, and my current boyfriend. I ended up driving, and M and my parents followed me. The conditions on the road were bad, but it was late and deserted. I skidded once, rotating onto the shoulder then back onto the road, where I finally realized I should brake. The vehicle came under control, and I continued without stopping. I lost control a second time, and this was worse: after the obligatory few sickeningly slow revolutions, the bus (the bus!? I'm driving a bus!?!?) begins to roll. After a few flips, it comes to rest right-side up, but partly sticking out into the right lane, and facing the wrong way in traffic. To show that everything's okay, I quickly get out of the bus and stand next to it. Surprisingly, only the door is damaged. My impulse is to get back in and pretend like nothing happened, but for this purpose, it's rather inconvenient that the bus is full of other (although now very quiet) people. Anyway, the other cars pull up, and we all go into the women's rest room of the rest area conveniently located exactly where we happen to be (luck that one never has in real life), and I'm forced to discuss what happened and what should be done. It's decided not only that I'm not fit to drive, but also that a new bus will have to be got. To make things worse, my mother starts to grill me about the eighty dollars she gave me, which—perhaps—was i supposed to know this?—was intended to be used to hire a bus driver.