The Chronicles of a Public Bus (part 4.00, fin)

Monday, 14:30, route 31

Willow’s cast is baby blue and smothered in black and silver sharpie. A number of fellow passengers stare at her in awe when she takes a seat, and as the bus eases into motion, and Divinity slides in next to her, applause surges through the air. A few people whistle, and a lot more shout ‘thank-you’s. Someone tries to start up stomping, but the intercom screeches, and the cheering subsides.

“I’m just as grateful as the rest of you,” the driver drawls, his voice scratched and broken by his microphone, “but the noise is distracting me from driving. Please tone it down.” The intercom disengages with a giant click, and the bus explodes into yelling once again.

Behind the girls sit Drake and Martin, chuckling at the commotion. Feeling a spark of spontaneity, Martin reaches forward and pokes Willow’s shoulder, a fang-revealing grin splitting his face. She jumps to face him, cheeks cherry red from embarrassment.

“Someone’s the new hometown hero,” Martin teases.

Drake smiles too, and Willow’s entire face turns pink. “I-I didn’t do much,” she stammers. “You two actually saved someone.”

Eyes rolling, Divinity elbows her friend and loops an arm around Willow’s shoulder. “Please. Everyone saw you beat up that ghost woman. Those two were like the halftime show.”

Willow refrains from mentioning that she only watches football games for the halftime shows. People watch national league games just for the halftime shows. Still, Divinity’s comment gives Willow the warm fuzzies, and her blush lasts a few seconds longer. The cheering ebbs away to be replaced by excited chatter and tale-telling. When the bus is only a little louder than normal, Willow straightens and lifts her head to look around.

It’s a new bus, one of the latest retirees from a fleet in a big city hours away. A few posters line the curve between wall and ceiling, explaining the solar panels and other green tech. All the plastic is clean and white, and the seat cushions are a fashionable cobalt. The floor doesn’t even have scuff marks yet.

The crowd seems different too. A few more blonde heads poke out than Willow remembers, and it seems a number of people have bleached their hair, even some of the middle school girls currently fawning over Martin because he’s a vampire. As she faces forward again to converse with Marie and Divinity, Willow wonders if the younger girls’ parents actually let them bleach their hair.

When the girls move on to squealing over a picture of an actor who portrayed a vampire, Drake lets his smile grow wider and pokes Martin’s cheek. The taller boy wipes away his frazzled frown and narrows his eyes in playful annoyance.

“Looks like you have a fanclub,” Drake says.

“Only because vampires are popular with middle school girls. Why doesn’t anyone write about dragons hiding in the bodies of attractive men?” Martin crosses his arms over his backpack and raises an eyebrow.

“I’m sure someone’s written that,” Drake counters, “but it just didn’t end up being a bestseller. Besides, I’m not tall, dark, and handsome like you.” He gestures to himself and shrugs. “Girls aren’t interested in this.”

Martin’s unimpressed stare is emphasized by a huge collective squeal as the middle school girls coo over the latest actor gossip.

“Shut up,” Martin says. “You look like every white action movie hero ever.” He leans in close and cups a hand around his mouth, pointing at the seat in front of them. “Besides, we all know there’s a girl interested in” —Martin gestures at Drake— “this.”

“She is not!” Drake splutters. Another chorus of fangirling covers his embarrassment so no one apart from Martin can hear him. “Maybe before, when she didn’t know I was a dragon, but she was so mad at me for not telling her!”

Taking a leaf from Divinity’s book, Martin looks away, palms up, and acts like explaining this is offensive. “Well, I don’t know. You were mad at her for not telling you she was also a powerful folk, but you still like her.”

“Because she’s amazing!” Drake argues. “She does all this cool fighting stuff and takes charge when spirits terrorize people. Willow probably doesn’t think I’m that cool anymore.”

Martin is very glad to be a vampire. He’ll never have to deal with hormones and dating like other teenagers. Shooting Drake an exasperated glare, he rubs his temples and starts another counterargument. “You saved Marie from your weird grandpa’s secretary” Martin says, gesturing again at the girls in front of them. “That in itself is pretty cool. You also make a very handsome dragon, like the ones in movies.”

Drake blushes a shiny ruby red, cheeks dotted with scales. “She’s never seen my dragon form.”

It’s amazing how hopeless Drake is, Martin decides. He throws up his hands and almost whacks Willow’s head. “Oh my god,” he groans. “Take her flying on a date or something. She’s not going to ask you. We don’t have money for a girl-ask-guy dance.”

“That’s exactly what Divinity said.”

Divinity whips around at the sound of her name, black curls flying and eyes gleaming with mischief. Martin hates that look.

“You were talking about me?” she asks.

“We were talking about Willow,” Martin deadpans.

Fluttering her eyelashes, Divinity places a hand over her heart and pretends to swoon. “Oh, but who wouldn’t? She’s such a hero, sacrificing her arm to keep us all safe. What courage!” Then Divinity resumes smirking and gives Drake a long, appraising look.

“All I did was break my wrist and dislocate my arm,” Willow says, not turning around. She’s still speaking with Marie, after all, and only paused to correct Divinity’s theatrics. “I didn’t sacrifice anything.”

Divinity rolls her eyes. “Humility. Such a drag.” She poses for a moment, a tableau of the ever teasing friend, before turning on Martin with a bright grin. “So? Did you hear back from the hospital about donating your weird blood clotting spit? How are the police coming along with evidence for a trial?”

“Slow down,” Martin says. “I did hear back. The hospital staff have to undergo some training first before I can get certified, but I’m set to be donating by June. The preliminary hearing to decide on whether or not there’s enough evidence to make Mr. Talisman’s case a criminal case is next week.”

“My grandfather and his secretary will be tried in a higher court,” Drake adds, “since this isn’t exactly limited to our county. And the police still aren’t sure what to make of the leopard print woman. They haven’t even figured out her name, since her documents for the apartment were fake.”

Divinity sighs, disappointed with the results. But she at least has information, so she only slouches half as much as usual. “I guess that’s that. Proceedings are so slow that even our public transport administration seems to run faster. I expected to be stuck in one of the old substitute buses for at least a month.” She inhales, probably to continue with some odd fact about the old buses, but the bus quiets, and Divinity never breaks awkward silence.

Someone at the front of the bus stands up, gripping the handrail as he does a dramatic, hand-twirling bow. A few people clap and giggle.

“Thank you, thank you,” the stranger bellows. He runs a hand through his short, black hair and straightens the collar of his jacket, even though it is only a wrinkly blue windbreaker. “Now, I know we already applauded our dear rabbit-ey hero, but I think she deserves another round, don’t you?”

The bus swells with clapping and hooting for a few moments, and the stranger boy looks to the bus driver to make sure the noise doesn’t last too long. When it seems the driver is reaching for his microphone, the boy raises his hands, and the bus falls quiet again.

“We don’t want to get in trouble for causing a ruckus again, so maybe we’ll just stick with a theater clap from here on out. That’s one clap, people, and only one clap.”

Marie, in her crystal clear voice shouts, “one, two, three!” And then everyone claps, all at once.

“Yes, yes,” the boy at the front says, nodding. “Just like that. Thank you, Marie! Now, let’s move on. They aren’t with us at the moment, but I think the police deserve some love for being on the scene before we got there and for their quick arrest of the invisible car driver.” He pauses, and the single clap ensues.

“I’d also like to thank the exorcists who showed up afterwards. We had quite the mix of cultures there, from Buddhist priests to our local Father Avila, and we even had help from the reservation!”

This time, a few people are late to the clap, and in the awkward echo that follows, a low chuckle accompanies the purring bus engine.

The stranger boy laughs as well in a grand, baritone bellow, and he clutches his stomach for dramatic effect. “We get that even in musical theater,” he says. “Let’s not feel embarrassed quite yet. Next on the list are our two powerful heroes, the vampire and the dragon! Thank you both for saving our beloved lead actress, Marie!” He pauses for the clap before continuing his praise. “You put your anonymity as powerful folk at risk for the safety of another, a very brave thing to do.”

Then Marie stands, and the boy at the front bows out. She smiles and waves while a few people clap for her before gesturing to the front of the bus. “And last but not least,” she says, “we thank our bus driver, Mr. Rick Bartram. Despite the chaos and the danger, you stayed on schedule to the best of your abilities. You have kept our secret identities and watched our streets. And when the safety of your passengers was threatened, you helped us escape to the street.

“We have never been the best of passengers, and I doubt any of us knew your name until today, but we overheard your interview with the police as a witness, and it is undoubtedly true that you, Mr. Bartram, are one of today’s heroes as well. Thank you.”

While everyone claps, Mr. Bartram unhooks his microphone and grumbles about flattery. He taps the brakes and pulls to the curb, face flushed, and waits for the noise to die down. “Thanks to all of you too,” he mutters over the intercom. “Stay safe.”

Then the doors open, almost silent in their newness, and the crowd disembarks. Rick puts away his mic, a subtle smile curling his lips, and hopes this bus will last a good long time.

fin