Young Writers Society

Saturday, 18:00, route 47

As Drake herds his friends to a pair of seats, he swallows back an oncoming grimace and tries to smile. “Relax, guys,” he says, “We all warned our parents beforehand that we were starting a movie at three-thirty. I doubt anyone will be in trouble.”

Willow wrings her hands as she sits, and she scoots to the window in silence. “My mom is inviting the local exorcist family over for dinner. She’s going to be very mad if I’m late.”

The bus eases into motion, and Martin slides into the seat in front of Willow, squishing himself to the window and inching forward so his back can’t touch the cushions. He twists around slightly, his face more hollow than its now normal dead look. “My parents are going to throw a fit. First they had ‘everyone thinks black teenagers are up to no good’ talk, and I’m guessing they were planning the vampire talk for tonight.”

Drake opens his mouth to offer a word of reassurance, but Divinity beats him. She plops down next to Martin and swings an elbow over the seat-back, eyebrows raised in cocky disinterest. “My mom’s on night shift at the hospital, and my grandparents are having a date night,” she brags. “I have nothing to worry about.”

“I don’t think that was the best thing to say,” Drake replies. He shrugs at Willow and Martin, both of whom cringe and hunch their shoulders.

“Tact is not my specialty.”

Frowning at the obvious lie, Drake sits next to Willow and pushes away thoughts of how his own parents will react. He texted them the moment the movie ended, but he has yet to receive a reply. An awkward moment of quiet stretches on as Drake decides on a retort to Divinity’s falsehood.

“Ugh. You three are so straight-laced.” Twisting her face in mock agony, Divinity sighs so long her face reddens from the lack of air. “Perfect grades, advanced classes, magical powers that must be kept in check. It’s like you aren’t even real teenagers.”

Drake’s frown deepens. “Divinity,” he warns.

“I was literally about to change topics. Let’s talk about something fun, like a study meeting at the library tomorrow, or our favorite parts of the movie, or murders, or Marie’s performance last night.”

“As much as I would like to discuss our plans for secret investigations, I don’t think we’ll be able to right now” Martin says. He shifts around to face the rest of the group, still squeezing away from everyone, and juts his thumb towards the window. “We’re about to have company.”

Willow presses her face to the glass, aiming her foggy breath to a spot outside her view, and is immediately disappointed. Despite the ominous connotation of Martin’s words, the company is just a group of shoppers standing under a street light and clutching their purses and giant shopping bags. They all face each other, standing with their feet turned in just enough to show nervousness. As the bus pulls to the curb, Willow spots worry lines carved into their faces, only for the creases to vanish as the shoppers put on brave faces and line up at the door.

Biting her lip, Willow rests a hand on Drake’s shoulder to get his attention. “Drake,” she says, voice low, “Look at the people coming on. I think something’s wrong.”

The shoppers are quiet as they board, and the rustling of their bags seems muffled. They walk in pairs, heads together, whispering in short, frantic bursts.

“Do you think she’s okay?” someone hisses. “I mean, she’s so sensible that we’ve never had to worry, but…”

“I told her she should have dyed her hair,” says someone else. The comment is met with murmurs of regretful agreement, and one by one, the shoppers drop into seats. When the bus jolts to a start, they all sway with the movement, too downtrodden to try countering.

The heavy atmosphere is enough to make even Divinity turn away in respect. Ears still pricked for any concrete evidence for her suspicions, she leans back to peer past Martin’s shoulders. Outside, the cream colored cement of one of the major department stores glows against an opaque, black sky, and a mother and her daughter skip across the sidewalk in lavender coats that almost match.

As the bus rolls through the parking lot and back onto the streets, Divinity decides that the shoppers won’t unknowingly divulge any more information and twists around to look at Willow and Drake.

“Hey, are you two available tomorrow afternoon?”

Willow nods, pulling her gaze from the twinkling city lights outside. She turns to Drake, wrinkling her eyebrows in worry, since she doesn’t want to brave a planning session with Divinity alone, and he scratches his head.

“I think I’m free. Dad usually takes me to the early service for church.”

As Willow breathes a sigh of relief, Divinity crosses her arms and sends Martin a questioning look. “And what about you?”

“I will join you, I suppose, My parents have excused me from church for the time being, since they want to confer with the pastor and aren’t sure how much effect new-age liberal Protestantism will have on me.”

“It’s so weird that you go to church even though the belief theory basically says there are no gods,” Willow says.

Martin plasters on his ‘obnoxious aloof know-it-all’ face and raises his index finger to point at nothing. “Actually, the belief theory only says we can’t scientifically prove the existence of specific legends, not that there is no—wait. I smell blood.”

A chorus of gasps rings out from the group of shoppers at the front of the bus, and they fling down their bags, the paper and plastic crashing against the hard floor and tearing under a stampede of thick winter boot soles. One girl runs to the front window and pastes her face to the glass.

“Oh my god,” she says. Her friends join her, clustering and whimpering and standing on tip-toe.

“Oh god, oh god, oh god.” The words repeat until the bus is filled with the wailing cacophony of grief.

“Martin,” Willow asks, “what’s wrong? What are they saying?”The wailing turns to quiet sobbing, and Martin shoots a glance to the front of the bus, purses his lips and takes a deep breath. “Their friend—the one they were talking about earlier—well, she’s blonde, apparently. I don’t know if it was one of the freak accidents, but my dad says some of them were messy, and this... This smells very messy.”

Drake’s cheeks turn somewhat green, and Divinity blinks.

“Oh,” she breathes. “Oh gosh. That’s scary. I mean, I’ve never seen… Imagine being part of that group. I didn’t think this far.” She pauses, lips quivering, eyes glued to the shoppers and the play of red and blue strobe lights on the windows. “Is that how we’d react if this happened to Marie?”