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I wink at her. “Close.”
She hoots with laughter, and for some reason it makes me feel like I’m ten feet tall.
I blow out a breath and clear my throat. “And you don’t have to think too hard about it. I’m here for the same reason as you.”
The person in front of me steps aside. It’s just me and the uniformed ticket seller.
“Can 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.”
I’m not sure why he reaches into his own pocket and takes out a slender black leather wallet and places a bill on top of my stack before handing me the ticket. “This one includes your lunch, as it’s a thirteen hour bus ride.”
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 says, shaking her head. “I didn’t sayhityou. I saidhitting onyou. 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. A riot 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.”
