Young Writers Society

Sunday, 13:00, route 36

After Everett pulls into the station, his three passengers flee the bus quicker than he can say “have a nice day.” The shortest woman seems to wave at someone across the station before pulling her friend into the nearby parking lot, and the leopard print woman storms out the back door at the same time, nearly knocking into a group of kids hurrying to their next bus.

Everett is not surprised when these kids board his bus. He waves them through, barely registering their light blue bus passes. So many students use public transportation that he automatically assumes anyone younger than twenty and older than five has a pass. Besides, this group of kids looks familiar.

The four teenagers meander through the aisle, debating on which seats they ought to take, and who should sit next to who. For a while, they linger at the back door, but a woman pushing a stroller embarks soon after, and she asks them, with copious apologies inserted into her speech, if she can take up that area instead. The teenagers oblige without reluctance.

“See?” says the taller girl, sweeping her tangled black hair away from her face, “I told you we should have just headed straight for the back.” She falls into the back seat, and the cushion lets out a whoosh.

Wanting a window spot, Willow opts to sit in front of Divinity instead of beside her, deliberately leaning towards the frosted glass to avoid conversation. The boys file in a moment later, and the real chatter begins.

“So?” Divinity starts. “How did interrogations go with you two?”

Drake and Martin exchange guilty looks, and freckle-like red scales bloom on Drake’s cheeks. The two boys putter into a hum of excuses, shrugging and raising their hands in front of their faces for both placation and defense.

“I promise I tried,” Martin says.

“I at least brought it up with my mom,” adds Drake.

Groaning, Divinity only scrunches her nose. “Excuses,” she spits. “You two are worthless. I’m the brains, Willow is the brawn, and you two just sit there.”

Martin darkens. “If Willow is brawn, I can be brawn. I have enhanced physical abilities now.”

“Uh-huh, and Willow still schools you in dodgeball. Besides, the only things we’ve been fighting are spirits, if your stories are any indication.”

Still staring out the window, Willow sighs. She isn’t sure if being the muscle of this group is a compliment or a stab at her intelligence. Next to her, Drake coughs in indignation.

“Excuse me?” he says, his loud whisper sounding almost draconian. “I fought the lady who stole my chess set. Martin and I are not doing nothing. Besides, set roles are limiting.”

Willow's lips turn up at Drake’s words of defense, and her faint smile reflects in the window for a few moments. Then the bus starts moving, and she loses the black backdrop of the parking lot which makes reflections so much easier to see.

“If you fought her,” Divinity retorts, “why haven’t you gone to the police station and told the officers what she looks like?”

“My grandfather won’t let me!”

Martin scratches his head and gestures with his palms up. “Your grandfather lives halfway across the country. He can’t stop you.”

“My mom can,” Drake grumbles. “Besides, we just went to the police station on Friday, and it would be weird to go back now.”

Crossing her arms, Divinity nods, unconvinced. “Sure. Whatever you say.” The bus rolls over a sharp dip in the road, but Divinity somehow manages to stay stone still as she glares at Drake. When her look loses its force, she tosses her hair and reaches for Willow’s straight, black locks to start a haphazard braid. “You’re just a coward who never likes to take action. How long have you been crushing on-

“Divinity!”

Martin widens his eyes in comprehension, and Divinity makes a show of letting her gaze wander.

“You promised you wouldn’t talk about that,” Drake growls.

“And you promised you’d do something. You know our school doesn’t have the money for a Sadie Hawkins dance on top of homecoming and prom.”

In the silence that follows, Willow hears the baby near the back door begin to cry. Near the front, a large group of boys decked in matching purple jerseys and black shorts chant their team motto so softly they could be mistaken for a cult summoning spirits, if their arms weren't slung over each other’s shoulders.

She reaches behind her head, and Divinity’s tugs cease. Turning to face the rest of her friends, Willow combs out the braid and bites her lip. “Are you all okay?” she asks. “I thought we were going to talk about our investigations, not, um, whatever that was.”

The group tension flows out like the sigh of relief at the end of a test. Shaking her head, Divinity leans back in her seat, and Martin closes his eyes.

“Thanks, Willow,” Drake says. He looks up and takes a breath, likely to apologize to Divinity, but she jumps out of her seat before he can speak.

Martin tenses as well, and while Divinity checks her purse, he mutters about heightened senses and digs a hand into the crack between his and Divinity’s seat cushions.

“I could have sworn I set my phone to something other than vibrate,” Divinity mutters. “Martin, did you feel anything weird?” She twists her neck to look at him, and her jaw drops. In Martin’s hands is someone’s phone, buzzing like a furious bee. Its screen is lit up with a string of white numbers.

Drake and Willow blink, unsure of what just happened.

“Do we answer it?” Martin asks.

“Um, probably yes?” Divinity replies. “I bet it’s the owner trying to find their phone. Drake, you answer. You’re the least likely to say something stupid.”

“Wait, but don’t you always-

Divinity shoves Martin’s hand towards Drake. “Texting is entirely different from talking. Just do it.”

Taking the phone, Drake lets one hand hover over the buttons. “I’m going to put it on speaker.” Amid a chorus of “get on with it,” he accepts the call and pushes a button. “Hello?” he offers, cautious. “Is this the owner speaking? We found your phone, and-

“Mr. Talisman!” The voice, sharp and screechy and feminine, overpowers the phone’s speakers. “I’ve called you at least twenty times in the last half hour! I even left messages. Why weren’t you picking up?”

Drake’s already pale skin turns snow white, and he fumbles over his words, unsure of how to explain the situation. He pauses so long, listening to the voice on the other end and gawking and shivering that Martin leans forward and speaks instead.

“Excuse me, but this is not Mr. Talisman. The phone was left on the bus, and I picked up when you called, assuming you were the owner. Apologies for the confusion, ma’am.”

The woman screams in frustration, and the phone relays a burst of static instead, one that begins with a crack and ends with the interruption of a long, low beep. Whoever that was, she's hung up.

“That was kind of freaky,” Divinity says. She pries the phone out of Drake’s shaking hands and puts it to sleep. “I wonder what she wanted with Mr. Talisman though, of all people.”

Shrugging, Willow turns back to her window. Outside, shiny office buildings slide by, and the brown brick library sits a few blocks away. She twists back to the aisle to push the stop request button and purses her lips when she notices Drake still fretting.

“Drake? Are you okay?”

The stop button pings as he lifts his head. “I don’t know,” he admits. He looks everywhere except at Willow. “It’s just that, well, the woman on the phone sounded like…”

“Did she sound like your thief?”

Drake nods.