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2
Mia leaned her elbow on the door and rolled her eyes.
The Lyft driver reeked of weed and bitter disappointment.
“I bet your pop makes bank,” skeevy Lyft driver said, with a condescending tone, while reading the navigation screen on his device as it directed him to the nearest Greyhound bus station.
It was getting late, and Mia was eager to get on the road.
“Why would you say that?” she asked, staring out the window from the back seat, not caring the slightest.
“Uh, because you live in a house the size of a… massive building.”
Mia rolled her eyes. There were hundreds of better analogies to her home than a massive building. Try, an airport hangar or the Pentagon.
“Yeah, it’s a big house,” she replied, monotone.
“Your dad rich?”
“Is your dad poor?”
Lyft driver’s eyebrows smashed into his forehead. “Whoa, dude… rude.”
Her driver, sensing she wasn’t open to mindless conversation, remained silent the rest of the trip. It wasn’t a moment too soon when he finally pulled up to the bus station and parked near the entrance.
Mia grabbed the door handle. “This is my first stop. Wait here.”
“No can do. You didn’t click ‘multiple destinations’ when you booked online.”
She sighed, reached into her pocket, and pulled out a twenty. As he looked over his shoulder, she noticed the safety pin rammed through one nostril.
Attractive. Typically, she appreciated self-expression. But a safety pin was the best he could do?
She grabbed a ten instead.
“I’m mentioning it now,” she said, throwing it in the passenger seat next to him, pushing her door open and stepping onto the curb. Before slamming the door shut, she bent over and said, “This should only take a couple minutes.”
She walked inside toward an overhead board with route schedules. She found the line to Wayward and the departure time. The first bus left in thirty minutes and would take twenty-three hours and forty minutes to get there.
She didn’t have that much time.
But she could certainly take the time to leverage her current situation.
Biting her bottom lip, she made her way outside, toward the bays and through the rows of buses, searching for the number of the bus that made a pit-stop into Wayward.
“Hello there, young lady.”
She took another resigned sigh, looked skyward, and turned to what she was sure was pervert number one of many she would encounter over the course of her journey south.
“What?” She turned, popping out a hip and giving creepy dude her most bored, teenage-angst look that she kept in her arsenal of expressions.
She was mature like that.
“You traveling all alone?” He grinned, not in a good way.
Gross, he was old enough to be her dad. He even looked like your everyday dad. But he wasn’t. She read enough true crime to know the difference.
Again, it was a maturity thing.
