So I looked both ways, into the crazy traffic of Moreland Avenue. I was never allowed to cross here except with the light. Mom and Dad had lectured me to death about it. Once, a man in a wheelchair had been hit at this intersection.

Cars whizzed past me in three lanes as the bus sat on the other side of the road, blocking the fourth lane. But suddenly, a gap appeared, a magical empty lull. And for a strange hushed moment, there was no traffic at all. It was as if the universe had made a space for me. Exactly the space I needed. So I took my shot and dashed across.

I darted around the bus and found that, sure enough, Jasper was no longer sitting on the bench. The bench was empty, except for somebody’s McDonald’s trash, crumpled and abandoned. But the bus door was still open, yawning like a cave, waiting for me.

With no thought at all, I hopped up and on.

All Settled

“Hi!” I said to the bus driver, climbing three very large steps.

“Hey,” he called back as he leaned down to pull some kind of lever that closed the door. “You almost missed me!”

I peered down the length of the bus, at a bunch of strangers who didn’t seem remotely interested in me, and there at the back sat Jasper, staring out the window, craning her neck and looking around. For me?

“Jasper!”

She turned her head, saw me, grinned, and waved. A bunch of passengers stared up at me too. But they didn’t look friendly. Then I realized that while I’d been focused on Jasper, the driver had been mumbling at me. Now he was waiting for something, but I didn’t know what.

“Oh!” I said. “Sorry. Can you say that again? I didn’t catch it.”

“I said,” the driver growled, “do you plan to pay me, so we can leave?”

“I—of course!” I stammered. “How much is it?”

“Two fifty,” he said, staring not at me now but through the windshield and out into the street. Clearly annoyed.

I fumbled in my pocket and pulled out the twenty I’d brought with me, held it out to him. “Here,” I said. “I have money!”

“Can’t make change,” said the driver, glancing briefly at the cash.

“Huh?”

“I said I can’t make change. Bus can’t make change. Got it?”

I looked back over my shoulder, past all the other riders at Jasper, who had scooted over to make room for me on the seat beside her. She was waiting, grinning.

“But that’s all my money,” I said. “How will I get home?”

The bus driver rolled his eyes. “Call your mommy.”