Crying. 

Screaming.

Humid air.

No, this was not a classroom–this was much worse. This was a bus. A school bus. 

Much like a classroom, it was full of annoying kids who just wouldn’t keep their damn mouths shut. Much like a classroom, its seats were of poor quality, many of which had holes and stains. The only difference was it was much more cramped and some of the windows were jammed. 

Willow’s neighborhood was home to many kids in her school. Unfortunately, there were not so many buses. As a result, students were expected to sit three per seat. This explained why Willow had her stress ball out and why Arbor’s shoulder was closely pressed upon hers. 

“This kid,” Arbor hissed in her ear, “is taking up ALL MY DAMN SPACE.”

“Here,” Willow said, passing them the ball. She’d taken it from the lost-and-found a year or two ago. She knew “finders keepers” wasn’t really a fair saying, but stuff that ended up in the lost-and-found never got claimed. Might as well take it. If the stress ball’s owner wanted her to hand it over, she would. Willow’s mom would never buy her a stress ball, anyway. She’d probably say something along the lines of “It’s a waste of money and a waste of time” then start “Y’know, when I was your age…”. 

Practically snatching the ball, Arbor squeezed it repeatedly, breathing heavily. 

Just then, an abrupt stop sent Willow and Arbor slamming into the bus wall. 

“HOLY CRAPOLI!” Arbor yelped, rubbing their shoulder. “Sorry,” they said to Willow. “I swear I’m going to have this bus pulverized one day.”

Children on the bus were yelling louder than ever, and the sirens nearby certainly didn’t help calm everyone down. 

Willow stood up from her seat and squinted. Two cars were on the side of the road, both destroyed. Well, maybe “pulverized” was a better word.

“What’s going on?” 

“Why the hell did we stop?”

“I have a freaking tournament today, goddamnit!”

“Ow, my head…”

“Guys, calm down!”

“What is happening?”

A sharp whistle pierced Willow’s ears as everyone froze in place. 

“Listen up,” the bus driver in the front boomed. Willow didn’t actually know their name, which was weird since she was usually good at remembering names. 

“There has been a car accident, as y’all can see,” they continued, gesturing to the two pulverized cars. “So Imma need y’all to stay calm. You will get home,” they added once everyone began to complain, “I can assure that. For now, please sit tight and–”

No one was listening. Over the bus driver’s loud instructions, everyone talked and screeched, craning their necks out of windows to get a better look at the scene. Willow saw the bus driver sigh and plug earphones in, sinking into their seat. She couldn’t blame them.  

Arbor, meanwhile, was scrolling through their phone. “Oh my god,” they said. Willow swore they were practically shaking. The stress ball in their left hand looked like it was about to burst. She didn’t know how to tell them–without causing them even more distress–to please, please be careful with her stress ball. 

The screen showed a news article that came out an hour ago–about Butterfly. Well, specifically, it was Butterfly’s dad talking about Butterfly. 

Missing kid causes collision between two cars…

“Butterfly was always a troublemaker,” says one of the drivers, who is also his father. “Never liked to be told what to do, that kid.”...

…ran in between the cars…

…the first sighting in six months…

“Well goddamn,” Willow whispered. She felt a hand on her arm, then realized she was shaking. They both were. 

Someone behind kicked their seat; Willow flinched. Arbor tucked their phone into their pocket, released their hand pressure from the stress ball. Willow let out a breath she hadn’t noticed she’d been holding. 

Her hand retreated into her sleeve, her fingers finding a loose thread. She wrapped it around her finger, then unwrapped it.

The bus was louder than ever.