The Chronicles of a Public Bus (part 3.04)

Saturday, 18:30, route 40 westbound

Considering Divinity’s usual antics, the game plan for investigating the hit-and-run incidents is surprisingly straightforward. As Drake and Martin tap out lists of possible questions and conversation-starters into their phones, Willow leans back in her seat and watches, glad for her absence in the plans.

“You know, Divinity,” Martin says, “I’m not sure how many of these questions I can actually get answered. My dad is already against the idea of me investigating anything, and now that I’m directly involved with one of the victims, he’s even more worried.”

“Oh right. One of the victims was the vampire who turned you.” Groaning, Divinity slaps her forehead. “Just try your best, okay? Even if you only learn things you think are useless, they might end up being crucial later.”

Drake slouches, letting a sheepish smile cross his face. “I think I’m in a similar boat to Martin,” he admits. “My mom lost one of her hoard items when she was younger as well, and now she and my grandfather are getting a bit overprotective. I’m not even allowed to be in the same room as Mom when she’s on the phone.”

“Um, shouldn’t they be teaching you how to solve the problem instead?” Willow asks.

Chuckling, Drake lifts a hand to muss up Willow’s hair. “I wish. But at least they’re doing something instead of leaving me to solve the problem alone. I don’t think I’ll ever get over your mom’s method of swimming lessons.”

“Everyone’s parents operate differently,” Willow says. She pushes away Drake’s hand and looks out the window. In the blue-black of night, she can barely pick out the silhouettes of shrubbery and houses, and so many of the windows are already dark that it might as well be midnight. As the rest of the group returns to plotting, Willow continues staring, wondering if she’ll be able to see Martin’s house from the bus.

The route winds through the sprawling neighborhood, zigzagging across the main streets. As the bus drives further from the old uptown, the houses seem to shrink in size, and their lawns turn into postage stamp pictures, like something from a civil-rights-era suburb. Cars park on the street instead of in driveways or garages, and the coats of paint layered over each house become bright enough to see in the dark.

In her peripherals, Willow catches Martin pressing the stop request button.

“So I’m gathering general information from my dad about the hit-and-runs and that’s it?” Martin asks. “With the way you acted yesterday, I was worried you’d ask me to crawl around the neighborhood at midnight.”

“If you dig up something worthwhile, I just might,” Divinity says. Smirking, she lifts an elbow onto the seat back and cranes her neck to see out the window past Martin’s shoulders. “By the way, why are all the lights off in your neighborhood?”

“All my neighbors are elderly people who go to bed early. Most of them have lived in this neighborhood since Franklin City’s growth spurt in the seventies, since this batch of prefabs is well-built.”

Drake straightens and glances out the window. “Before you get off, Martin, do you know why there was a growth spurt in the seventies?”

Right on cue, the bus slows to a crawl, and Martin pushes himself up, bony joints jutting out even under his winter coat. As he squeezes past Divinity, he twists to face Drake, and somehow one of his feet collides with Divinity’s shins.

“Hey!”

“I did not do that on purpose,” Martin says. His tone is so dry that Willow can’t tell if he’s lying or not. “But in response to your question, Drake, I believe there was some fiftieth anniversary or something, which garnered national attention. What that thing was, I don’t remember, unfortunately.”

Martin pushes into the aisle, nailing Divinity’s shins again, and throws a glance over his shoulder at the rest of the group. “I’m sure the library has back issues from the seventies, so we can look it up tomorrow, if you’re still interested. One-fifteen, right? We’re all taking the one o’clock bus from the West-Side Station?”

Scowling, Divinity nods. “Yes, you’re exactly right. And you’d better not kick me tomorrow, or pull my hair, or punch my stomach, or bite one of my major arteries.”

The bus stops, and Martin stumbles, catching a handrail for support just in time to prevent a fall. He glowers back at Divinity, fangs showing, and stalks off the bus. When he’s gone, and the driver has let off on the brakes, Drake sighs.

“I think that last comment was a bit uncalled for.”

“He kicked me! On purpose!”

Willow gulps and raises her hands in a placating gesture. “He probably didn’t do it on purpose. Besides, think about how he feels now. You don’t like it when people accuse you of stealing jobs simply because you’re Latina, and I bet Martin doesn’t appreciate you accusing him of biting people out of spite.”

“That’s not the same thing,” Divinity mutters, shaking her head. Nonetheless, she looks away in contemplation for a moment before jumping back into plans for tomorrow. “So, Willow, just in case you were hoping to skip out on the library tomorrow, I have a job for you.”

Face falling, Willow slumps over and bonks her head against the window. “Do I have to?”

“Oh, it’s nothing awful. You’re just going to write the minutes, keep the notes, whatever. No interrogating of parents involved.”

The bus thuds onto the highway, and the engine roars for a few moments, still adjusting gears to match the new speed, and Willow takes that moment to half-smile in relief. She’s rather glad she doesn’t have to do any real investigating.