The Silhouette (Alan Quinn and the Second Lifes)

by Thomas William Shaw

I slammed the door behind me and ran up the street. I shouted, “Wait,” as If that was going to help me slow the bus down enough.

  Lathon made some crack about how I was obviously not the star athlete of Dahlgreen, saying, “I imagine many chubby humans do not pine for your physique.” I responded by spitting into the bag. I figured I would pay for my crime later, but that was worth my satisfaction.

  To my horror, the bus started to drive away, but Jessica’s voice screamed out, “Mr. Joachim, STOP THE BUS.” She was such a great friend.

 

  “Who the devil was that?” Lathon snickered. “Sounded like a LeCarre.”

 

  I caught up with the bus and hopped up the tiny steps. Not realizing every one was watching me talk to my bag, I said, “How did you know that?”

  Mr. Joachim, a heavy set man who I learned was an army veteran, pointed towards the back of the bus, “I don’t have time for your hubba bubba. Sit down or I’ll crack your head into three quarters and half shell.”

  I responded, “Um, thanks sir. I promise no more—hubba bubba?”

 

  He gave me the universal look for “I mean business” while adding in a loud grunt for spice and I took the hint. Jessica motioned for me to hurry up. With all of the things I wanted to tell her, I obeyed.