By Whitney Jackson On Tuesday mornings I go 70 mph on the road behind my house. I leave at 7:25 a.m. and make it to school in record time. On the way, I pass a school bus on Falcon as it rounds the corner and stops in front of a driveway, waiting for little feet to climb up the thick, black steps and join the other sleepy occupants as they grip their lunchboxes, backpacks plump with unfinished homework. I pass the old man in the brown jacket and baseball cap, shelling out a wave as I zip by. I pass a cornfield, a church, and an abandoned house, falling apart from the inside out. If I’m lucky, I will bypass the school bus on…