Young Writers Society

Wednesday, 11:30, route 36

Rick sighs in satisfaction as two well-dressed office workers step off the back exit of his bus. He has finally managed five waking hours without having to deal with any stressful situations regarding the powerful folk. As he pulls back onto the road, he soaks up the quiet bliss that comes of tranquility and relaxes in the seat.

His happiness is immediately ruined. Someone’s phone pings out a guitar riff from an old rock tune, and Rick scowls into his rearview mirror to see who disturbed his peace.

No one from the multitude of suit-wearing men and women even checks their pockets; they’re too professional for funky ringtones. In the very back, Mr. Pyus grins at nothing, acting as though he hasn’t even heard the cell phone ring. This leaves only a blonde woman in a leopard print coat, who, instead of checking her coat or digging through her purse (also leopard print), merely snaps her fingers, sending a phone sliding out from under her sleeves.

Rick grimaces and devotes his full attention to the road again. He’s had enough weird for a decade.

Ignorant of those who might watch, the woman presses the phone to her ear. She flinches a second later, faux fur shivering like it’s actually part of her.

“Oh, this is a surprise,” she says. “I wasn’t expecting you to call so soon, sir.”

She pauses.

“Wait, what? You can’t be serious. I invested money in this plan, and you’re telling me the deal is off? I already secured the first half!”

The people standing near the woman shuffle about to give her space. Her face scrunches as she listens to the man on the other end of the line, and her cheeks flush a dangerous, hot pink.

“The second half is set to finish shipping by the end of the week. I just have to be there when the package is delivered, and I’ve already got the mail routes memorized.”

By now, the woman has a circle of empty space around her. It’s a good thing too, because she starts waving her arms and swinging her purse.

“So you changed your plans and you’re not even telling me why,” she hisses. “Thanks a lot, sir. I really appreciate it. I suppose if you won’t take the chess set, I’ll just sell it to someone else. There are plenty of people in the world who’d kill for an antique like this.” She pauses again. “No, I will not tell you how I acquired the set. Good day to you, sir.” Then, hand still raised by her ear, the woman drops her phone into her coat sleeve and huffs. “I can’t believe I wasted two weeks on this job,” she mutters.

A moment later, Rick pulls the bus to a stop, and the majority of the office-workers disembark. Unlike the kids during the school rush, they exit single-file, their faces glum with the prospects of returning to work.

The leopard print woman takes advantage of the free seats right away, crossing her arms and collapsing onto the cushions. She glares out the windows, hardly noticing when all the business people have stepped off, and the bus begins rolling again. Even when Mr. Pyus staggers down the aisle and reseats himself across from from the woman, her stare doesn’t waver.

Leaning forward as far as he can, Mr. Pyus waves a hand in front of the woman’s face, and she jumps back, wrinkling her nose as soon as she sees him.

“What do you want?” she snaps.

“Oh, just wondering what’s gotten such a nice young lady so frustrated.”

The woman narrows her eyes for a moment before turning and glowering at the bus’s back window. She moves her purse to her lap and tilts up her chin, looking every bit like the haughty lady villains in old-fashioned spy movies.

“You know, ma’am,” Mr. Pyus says, ignorant of the fact that he has just been ignored, “sometimes the best way to get back at someone is to smile at them. Let them know that even though they tried to hurt you, you were too strong for them. That’s what the One God tells us to do.”

Mr. Pyus then pushes himself to his feet and stumbles to the back door, sliding a hand along the top handrail that circles the bus’s interior. “Driver!” he shouts. “Could I get off at the next stop?”

Rick groans. How Mr. Pyus has never grasped the concept of stop request buttons, no one will ever know. Nonetheless, Rick pulls over a few blocks later and watches Mr. Pyus stumble off the bus.

“May the One God bless you all!” he shouts, waving so that Rick has to wait before closing the door.

Two women in blazers and dress pants board at the front, chatting about the newest lunch places in the old part of town. Rick lets a smile rest on his face as their change clangs like a steel drum band in his fare bin. He’s had enough of listening to weird conversations and people.

“Oh, I heard that old Mr. Talisman opened up some kind of business in that area as well,” one of the women mentions.

Rick’s smile vanishes, and leopard print lady smirks. For him, this information is a surprise that can’t be passed off as coincidence.

For her, it’s the first step towards revenge.