Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 80572 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80572 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
The person in front of me steps aside. It’s just me and the uniformed ticket seller.
“May I help you?”
My hands tremble as I place the cash on the silver counter in front of me. “I’d like a ticket as far as this money will take me.”
The attendant grows quiet. Eyes me suspiciously. Picks up the stack of cash and counts it once, then twice, then glances at the schedule on the wall.
“One way or round trip?”
My heart beats faster.
It’s happening.
I breathe out my answer with so much relief it’s all I can do not to sob right here in front of him. “One way, please.”
For a moment, he doesn’t respond, just glances at the wall then back at me and the money there.
“Boston,” he says with a nod. “This will take you to Boston.”
“This one includes your lunch since it’s a long ride over mealtime.”
I nod excitedly. Food is a bonus.
“Safe travels,” he says, giving me a look that says he doesn’t think I’m capable of it.
I am, though.
I’m capable of lots of things.
I take the ticket and turn around, almost bumping into Quinn.
“I think he was hitting on you,” she hisses at me.
“He didn’t hit me!” I respond, appalled at the very idea.
“Oh my God, you’re adorable and maddening at the same time.” She shakes her head. “I didn’t say hit you. I said hitting on you. It means he thinks you’re hot.”
I look down at my faded skirt and shake my head.
Me?
I look back at the elderly attendant, clearly a senior citizen with graying hair and glasses on the tip of his nose.
“Are you crazy?” I ask her.
“Oh my God, you need to learn how to take a joke. Grandpa probably has a wife and ten kids.”
I’m glad for her sake she thinks that means he wouldn’t use me.
We take seats together near the middle of the bus. A cluster of raucous men come on the bus behind her, laughing and jeering and reeking of alcohol. They look a bit older than I am, dressed in college jerseys and sweats. I stare. They’re big and brawny, and nothing like the men I grew up with. I squirm when one of them looks my way.
“Look, Brad, you thought the ride home would be boring,” one guy says. “But we get to sit right near the pretty girls.”
I blink in surprise when I realize they’re talking about Quinn and me.
Pretty girl.
I wish the window next to me reflected more than my wide eyes and pale face. Pretty? Am I pretty?
No one has ever in my life called me a pretty girl. Humility is one of the basic tenets of my upbringing, and I have never thought of myself as pretty.
It’s a bit unnerving, but I’m strangely flattered. It doesn’t matter that these men are obviously inebriated and probably hadn’t even gone to bed the night before.
“Hands off, frat boy, this chick’s mine,” Quinn says staunchly. She crosses her arms on her chest.
“Oh, so we’re gonna play it that way,” one of the guys says, shaking his head. “Let’s go to the back, boys.”
They manage to stumble their way to the back of the bus. “Do you trust everyone you see?” Quinn narrows her eyes at me. “You look so sweet and innocent, and I need to know just exactly how much I’m gonna have to tuck you under my wing.”
I look out the window and swallow the lump in my throat before I answer.
“Actually, no,” I say softly, as the door to the bus shuts. “I trust no one.”
I stand on a street corner in Boston, staring at the early morning sky over the buildings. I wonder if anyone here ever really sleeps. According to that brightly lit clock over the subway station, it’s only six thirty in the morning.
“Girl, here’s my number.”
Quinn and I became fast friends on the trip up here. There’s something about spending hours upon hours with a veritable stranger who lives life like she’s an open book that makes rapid and sudden friendship.
“Thank you.” I stare at the number as if trying to make sense of it. I know what a phone is, of course. My family went into fellowship when I was only nine, but I have vivid memories of the outside world before then.
However, I’ve never actually owned a cell phone, and I most definitely have never been in the position of holding a friend’s phone number in the palm of my hand. I feel honored.
I think I want to hug her.
“And where are you going?” I ask, trying to sound curious and not bereft.
“Oh, here and there,” she says with a wink. “Going to crash on a friend’s couch tonight and then, sky’s the limit. You take care of yourself, okay? People take advantage of sweet girls like you.”
I laugh. “Well, I don’t have a lot of money, so that’s easy enough to avoid.” I won’t tell her I don’t have any money, because that might make her feel responsible for me.