You haven't eaten anything since early this morning and the walls of your stomach are grinding together. You have to get your mind off of it somehow and the water fountain on the far wall beckons to you.

You've been on the road for days and it feels like the better part of it has been planted in this seat—even though you've only been here for the last couple of hours. The skin on your back and the backs of your bare legs rip free of the hard plastic seat as you stand and your flip-flops slap and smack your heels as you plod across the room.

You freeze midway when you see a cowboy roping a calf from horseback. It's the most wonderful thing you've seen for days even if it is only a poster. And it's not the only one! Scanning the room you see many, many more of far off magical places with waterfalls and cliffs and mountains and dark caverns. Some of cityscapes with towering buildings and some at night with only the lights on and still more of endless rolling plains.

From somewhere behind you, you hear a garbled voice fighting it's way through crackling static, droning on and on about things that only old people care about. You zero in on the source and discover that it is a tiny coin operated radio affixed to the arm of a terminal seat. Neat!

Just then a clammy hand clamps down on the back of your neck and you're whisked toward the double glass doors. "It's time to go, mister," comes the all too familiar voice of your mom and she only releases her grip—with a surprise thrust that causes you to whack your shin on the bottom step—to allow you to clamber up and into the bus on your own.

A shiver runs down your spine and the back of your arms prickle as you make your way down the aisle between tall and comfy-looking seats. You're not used to air conditioning and it brings both pain and relief.

You pass by an elderly couple. The woman looks up and smiles at you warmly so you give her a wide berth. You doubt that she would, being a stranger and all, but you sure don't want her squeezing your cheek like Grandma does.

You're nudged into the row behind them and you take the farthest seat. Your mother sits beside you and puts the bag with everything the two of you own at her feet. Her lips are pursed and her eyes drawn. She's been tired every day since the divorce and when she gets tired, she gets mad. You have a hard time even recognizing her now.

A hiss and a lurch later, the bus pulls out onto the highway and with your face plastered to the side window you watch as the fence posts strobe past with only the occasional bush or sapling breaking the pattern.

"There's a storm coming," remarks the old man to his wife, "and it looks to be a bad 'un."

"Mm-hmm," she replies absently, not bothering to look up from her needlepoint.

Your eyes drift upward from the fence to a draw on the horizon and there the sky is beginning to boil and bristle with blue-white sparks. You can't shake the feeling that you are at the very beginning of the greatest adventure—and worst nightmare—of your life.

After only a mile or two, the droning of the engine and the rhythmic beat of its tires thumping over the seams in the concrete soothes you to sleep and you sleep the whole rest of the way.



You are shaken from a pleasant dream of opening Christmas presents with your parents to stumble and trip over your feet as you're dragged toward the front of the bus. It pulls over, dumping the two of you out on a deserted street.

You know it's only your reflection, but the ghastly and pale boy is all you can make out in the store window before you. It brightens and fades, brightens and fades with each pulse of the stoplight on the corner. You take a step backward and the wind from the bus pushes you forward as it pulls away.

"You tryin' to get yourself run over?" Your mother cups the back of your head and shoves you toward the boy with hollow eye-sockets, "Get over there and sit down against the wall."

You do as your told, although you can't help but look up at the glass expecting him to be standing there looking down at you.

An eternity goes by with your mom standing slumped against a signpost and staring off into the night.

Your butt burns as the bones chew their way to the cement. You rock slowly from one side to the other to relieve the pain and she flashes her eyes at you. You melt.

"Sit there and don't move," she barks as she leaps toward the flashing light. A car has stopped at the corner and she waves her arms as she sprints toward it. It begins to pull away, but stops short and the window tentatively rolls down.

You can't make out her words, but there's happiness in your mother's voice again as she crouches there with her elbows propped against the car door. Maybe she's not mad anymore. You stretch your legs out as far as you can and wiggle your toes.

She stands as the car pulls away and turns toward you. You can't see her face, but there's no mad in her walk now. You let out a long breath in relief.

"C'mon, I've found us a place to sleep tonight," she beams snatching up the bag, "and tomorrow I start job huntin'. We're gonna do jus' fine you an' me. You wait an' see." She wraps her arm around your shoulders and the two of you skip off around the corner and into the crisp night air.



You sit with your shoulders slumped, dragging your feet in a circle as the swing's chains lazily wind and unwind and then wind up again. You've already walked around the park twice and sat on everything here so now all you can do is wait.

"You wait here an' watch our stuff," your mom had told you, "I've got a lot to do today an', with any luck, things'll be a whole lot better from now on. And don't you leave the park! You hear me? I'll be back as quick as I can."

Your stomach grumbles. The two half-crushed cheese and peanut butter crackers your mom gave you before she left didn't do much to satisfy it. At least the gnawing emptiness is gone.

You hear a squeal and giggles so you look up. Some little kids are playing in the dirt at the bottom of the slide as if it were a sandbox. A dozen steps away from them sits a plump woman with her nose in a book.

You survey the park for other signs of life and spot a group about your age. Three boys in a circle around a dark-haired girl. They're pushing her back and forth between them like some demented form of 'Hot Potato'.

"Where do you think you're going?" jeers the fat one.

"Yeah, you ain't goin' nowhere you little bastard," cracks the snotty runt.

"Let me go!" she hisses, "Leave me alone!"

The tallest of the three quakes from head to toe and nearly loses his breath in a fit of really annoying breathy laughter as he shoves her back toward the other two.

The girl turns beet red from anger and lashes out with flailing, non-connecting slaps which only seems to feed the boys' hysterical laughter.

You have the sudden urge to attack them, but that might be a little hasty. Perhaps you should find some other way.

You find a better way

The only adult you see is the woman reading on the park bench so you run up to her.

"Please help that girl" you say, pointing toward the group.

She looks clearly agitated as she lifts her eyes up at you and slowly turns her head toward them, but crinkles her nose and goes right back to her stupid book.

You have no choice now but to come up with something on your own.

Looking around for a club of some kind, you notice a bunch of rocks. You quickly grab up a handful and find you a nice spot behind a tree not too far from them.

"Get away from her!"

The boys look over and spot you.

"Who are you?" demands Snots.

"Just let her go!"

"Or what?" asks Tubby as he takes a step toward you.

Chortle grapples the girl as Snots trots up beside Tubby.

"Are you here to rescue her? Is she your girlfriend?" Tubby jeers.

You feel your face flush with anger. "Just leave her alone," you say, taking a step to the rear and letting your hand drop back.

"Look here, this guy's here to save his bastard girlfriend," spits Snots.

You flash red and send a rock sailing right at his little smart mouth. He manages to turn his head just in time and the rock bounces off the side of his face. He falls back in horror and starts tearing up.

Tubby lunges toward you, but you side-step and he misses you by several feet, flailing his arms to keep his balance. You ready another rock as he spins back toward you.

"Wanna be a tough guy, huh?"

He comes at you again like a raging bull—nostrils flaring and all. You chuck the rock at him. It bounces off his chest and he keeps coming without losing a step.

You dodge sideways, but his hand still clobbers your face as he continues past.

The girl manages to land one of her backward kicks and Chortle falls like a sack of potatoes, screaming in agony as his face goes purple. She turns and darts between two houses on the far side of the street.

"Get her," wheezes Chortle, "Get that little bastard!"

Snots runs to his aid and tries to pull him to his feet between sobs, but can't muster the strength. Chortle is in no condition to stand just yet anyhow.

You run.

When you feel like you are far enough away, you look back to see that Tubby has gone back to his friends. You dash between houses and start making your way back toward where the girl went through.

The alley is shrouded by trees arching overhead and you make your way to the end of it. Seeing no sign of her, you cut through to the next street. Still nothing. She's long gone.

You suddenly remember the bag tucked under the picnic table that you were supposed to be watching. If something happened to it, you'll be in big trouble.

You sprint like the devil is after you. A hedge claws up your arms and face as you dart through it, which you barely even notice.

Turning down the alley, a dark figure steps out from behind the corner of the hedge directly in your path. Your mouth goes all coppery and dry, and you skid to a stop.

You're all set to flee when you realize that it's the girl from before. She looks sheepish and a bit winded, but no worse for wear.

She hangs her head, but her eyes remain fixed on yours. As you cautiously approach her, you detect the faint hint of a smile.

"Hi," she barely more than whispers.

"Are you okay?" you ask.

"Yeah. They didn't hurt me."

"You sure hurt that one."

She chuckles.

"Who were them boys?"

"Just some boys from school. They always pick on me."

"How come?"

"Just 'cause. They've always been like that."

"What's your name?" you ask, scrunching your toes and noticing how dirty they've gotten.

"Jane. What's yours?"

"Billy. We just moved here."

"Where's your house?"

"We don't have one yet."

"Oh," she says, turning her gaze to the side, then back to you. "My house is on Hill Road."

"I don't know where that is. We just got here last night. We came in on the bus."

"It's over there," she points over your shoulder, "on the edge of town. C'mon. I'll show you."

"I can't right now. I have to watch our stuff so Mom can find a job."

"Oh." After a pause, she asks "What grade are you in?"

"I'll be in Second this year."

"Me too. Maybe we can sit together."

The very suggestion makes you feel queasy and uncomfortable. "I better get back before she comes back," you say stepping past her.

"Okay. See ya later."

"See ya later."

You cut between two houses following their shared ribbon driveway. As you get to the front, you peek down the street and see that the gang is gone.

The park is empty now with no one in sight. You cross the street and see that the bag is still right where it's supposed to be.

You climb the cement picnic table and plop down on top of it with your feet on the bench. All you can do now is wait.