Somebody on This Bus Is Going to Be Famous

by J. B. Cheaney

  One good thing about living with her other grandma: she missed most of the fights.

  • • •

  Kaitlynn couldn’t make up her mind about how to rescue Albert. Or rather, she had lots of ideas but couldn’t settle on just one. Maybe his sometimes-crazy uncle could go all the way crazy, like poor Mr. Pasternak Senior, and be sent away to a nursing home—asylum, that is—but of course that wouldn’t leave much room for a heroic rescue. The brave girl on the bus could train a commando team to overpower the bus driver and storm the underground lair. Or she could outwit the bus driver, castle guards, sorcerers, dragons, snakes, and whatever else stood in her way to reach the prisoner and fetch him out. “What do you think?” she asked Alice. “Strong or sneaky?”

  “I think sneaky is better. It’s more interesting.”

  Alice never thought of herself as sneaky, but eight whole months of keeping a huge secret was making her think again. GeeGee found out through her own investigations, but Grandma still didn’t have a clue that her son was hiding out within five miles of her house. As to exactly why he was hiding, that’s what Alice can’t figure out. True, he was breaking GeeGee’s one condition for helping Mama and Ricardo and herself, but she has an idea there’s more to it. GeeGee never liked Daddy, but you’d think his own mother would. And you’d think he would want to see her, if only to say “Hi, I’m okay, but I’m not supposed to be here and I know you can keep a secret.”

  Grandma had arranged her life pretty much the way she wanted it—which probably didn’t include having a granddaughter move in with her. But she’d agreed it was best the girl go to school and have a normal, routine life for a change.

  And that’s what Alice had, if “normal” meant the meals came on time and the floors were swept and dishes didn’t stack up until you had to wash a few or else eat out of the box.

  As for “routine”—it sounds good until you have to get up at 6:30 just because Grandma volunteers at the hospital from eight to noon Monday through Thursday and needs that time to get her chores done so she can golf in the afternoon if the weather’s nice or play bridge with the gals if it’s not.

  “I lead an active lifestyle,” says Grandma. “I’m not one to sit around watching the tube and griping about the world.” This was often said after dinner, while watching the tube and griping—about food prices, politicians, nice linen slacks that shrink in the wash, shoes that don’t fit right after you buy them, greenskeepers, TV quiz show contestants who don’t know enough to pass eighth grade, bread that goes stale, and fish that tastes fishy. And sons who never take advice because they think they know better, and daughters-in-law who just let things happen to them and may not be all that bright.

  And what about neighbors who don’t let you borrow stuff because they say they might need it again? As if they thought you’d never return it! When old Mr. Pasternak turned down Grandma’s request to borrow their wheelchair for poor little Ricardo, Alice had heard her complaining about it to one of the gals on the phone. “This is all about what happened twenty years ago, mark my words. As if I had anything to do with it! I haven’t been able to control Jason since he was nine, so what could I do with a high school senior?”

  That was the first Alice had ever heard about something happening twenty years ago. Grandma seemed to think it served the Pasternaks right when the item was stolen. Nor did she put two and two together when Mama told her they’d found a wheelchair for Ricardo anyway.

  Grandma wasn’t speaking to GeeGee—from both her grandmothers’ random comments, Alice gathered it was because each blamed the other for how their kids turned out. One thing they agreed on was that Ricardo should go to school where there were qualified teachers and assistants who could help him. But Mama turned out to be more stubborn about that than anyone expected. Nobody knew that Daddy was right there, backing her up.

  Nobody knew that Ricardo was smarter than he let on.

  Nobody knew how long Alice’s parents could keep their secret, but surely not forever.

  • • •

  By May, Daddy is becoming very edgy after too many nights spent outside in the rain because of nosy county officials and mothers-in-law. “It sounds like something in a book,” Alice tells him. “Like a fugitive hiding from the law.” Grandma has just dropped her off for the weekend, and she’s got two brand-new books from the library to read.

  “It belongs in a book,” he sniffs. “The Count of Monte Cristo meets the great outdoors.” He sneezes twice in a row. A damp, chilly spring is hanging on and so is his cold. “But wait’ll you hear my escape plan. Got a surprise for you, Lissa. Let’s take a walk.”

  It’s a beautiful sunny day, with more in the forecast. As they hike a threadlike path that leads up from the house, Daddy seems to expand, like one of those sponge creatures that swell up when you drop them in water. Except in his case, he’s finally drying out.

  The path leads to the top of a limestone bluff overlooking a little valley. The view opens up like a postcard: branches clothed in fuzzy green, white blossoms blowing like wedding veils, a deep cleft in the ground where Drybed Creek runs—when it’s running, which it only does in rainy seasons. A red-tailed hawk circles at eye-level, wings spread like he’s hanging on invisible strings.

  “How about that?” Daddy asks.

  “It’s beautiful.”

  “You like it? It’s yours.” Daddy opens his hand and sweeps it over the view, like one of those girls in evening dresses showing off a prize in a game show. “Slip it in your pocket to take with you when we go.”

  “What?” She’s not sure she heard those last few words correctly.

  “It’s time to say adios, Lissa-girl.”

  Her voice seems to fall off the bluff. “Say wha-a-a-a-t?”

  “It’s time to go. Don’t you think?”

  She realizes, of course, that they’ve seldom stayed in one place even this long, but the when-where-why questions are coming so fast, she can hardly hear his explanation.

  They are starting a new life (again!) up north—way up north. Daddy is going first, hitching a ride with a friend of a friend who drives a truck and has a regular run from Tulsa to International Falls, Minnesota. The truck driver will pick him up just outside Centerview and (after a little money changes hands) keep on truckin’ north, while Daddy takes it easy in the bunk. The following weekend, Mama will borrow the pickup and fail to return it.

  “But that’s GeeGee’s truck! And it’s stealing.”

  “No, it’s borrowing. We’ll get it back, uh, sooner or later.”

  “When will all this happen?”

  “Next week.”

  Alice can’t speak for a few minutes, during which Daddy lays out a time line: the trucker picks him up on Wednesday morning and gets to International Falls on Thursday night. Daddy has a prepaid cell phone and a calling card so he can be in touch with the family, and as soon as he finds a place, he’ll let them know—maybe by Friday night. Then Mama will hit the road with Alice and Ricardo.

  “But…” Alice begins.

  Daddy isn’t listening. “That was my mistake all along, coming back here. To make a new start, you need a totally new place where nobody’s ever heard of you and you can make your own reality out of whole new material. After a year or so, we’ll be settled. I’ll have a job and start working Ricardo’s therapy again, and we’ll be taking care of ourselves, just like we were before—”

  “But I don’t want to go.”

  Now it’s his turn to be dumbfounded and speechless.

  “I—like it here,” she goes on. “I like my teacher and my school and…and I have a best friend and our story’s not finished yet and—”

  “What story?”

  “The…the one I’m writing with Kaitlynn. My friend.”

  “You’re not spilling any beans to Kaitlynn, are you?”

  “Of course not! It’s just a stor
y.”

  “Lissa, you want stories? You’ve already got more’n you know what to do with. Stick with me, kid, and you’ll never lack for stories.”

  “But, Daddy, that’s not it. It’s just—”

  “Just what? You’re family’s not enough for you anymore?”

  “No!”

  “You want your old man to be a loser all his life?”

  “No!”

  “What’s it going to be then? We stick around so you can go to some government school where they stuff your head with crap and you can have some cookie-cutter friend who’ll probably drop you like a brick next semester or—”

  “Daddy!” She throws herself at him, but he’s already backed away.

  “Or you can go with your mom and brother and me. Unless you’d rather stay behind. If that’s the case, we may just have to do what’s best for us.”

  That little word goes right through her. Until now, she was always part of us, but he said it like she wasn’t—like she was cut off, a lonely arm waving futile fingers.

  He starts down the skinny path she can barely make out in the fading light. “Daddy!” she sobs as he disappears. Running after him, she cries again, “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean it!” Patches of his red plaid shirt flicker through the brush. “Don’t leave me! Please!”

  He stops long enough for her to catch up but doesn’t say another word as they wind down the path toward home. And barely speaks to her all weekend.

  • • •

  So this week will probably be her last at school.

  Alice feels her wheels slowing down, crawling to a stop. Now they’ve begun to turn—very slowly—in reverse. After settling down in one direction and feeling pretty confident about it, now she has to change back. Forward or reverse? It’s hard to say. And it’s harder to do, especially since she can’t tell anybody.

  Her family is going to just disappear, like always.

  But this time, it’s different. This time it’s going to be hard. Never before has she walked through her remaining days in a particular place with thoughts like, This is my last spelling test, my last book report, my last game of kickball. I hope Kaitlynn won’t think I don’t like her—maybe I should give her some kind of going-away present on Friday? Without telling her I’m going away?

  On Tuesday night, she goes to bed but can’t sleep. Daddy’s leaving tomorrow is the main thought that crowds out her other thoughts. She won’t have a chance to tell him good-bye, but if all goes according to plan, she’ll see him next week, in a brand-new place that has no place in her mind yet. Mama’s been packing, sorting out the essentials and deciding how much will fit in the pickup. The wheelchair is essential, of course. Daddy only intended to borrow it from Mr. Pasternak Senior and return it as soon as Ricardo could walk again, but his plans didn’t quite work out. So that will be one of the first things to pack.

  Alice sits up in bed and looks out the window. A round steely moon spreads light like butter on a white-bread landscape. She has to pack soon—just what she can carry in her gym bag and her backpack, because she’s only supposed to be going home for the weekend. What about the coat Grandma bought for her, the only new coat she’s ever had? Probably no room for it.

  She’s never had so much to leave behind.

  Toward dawn, lightning flickers on her eyelids. She remembers the weather report last night: morning thunderstorms likely. But the constant light pulsing nervously in the sky comes with no thunder and no wind.

  “Feels like tornado weather,” says Grandma as she locks the front door on their way out. Pausing by the calla lilies near the garage, she adds, “Look at their droopy heads, when they usually stand up straight. Everything’s too still. I don’t like it.”

  Fat drops are spattering the windshield by the time they reach the bus stop. “I’ll wait,” Grandma says. “Terry won’t be long.” Grandma hardly ever refers to GeeGee by her real name—usually avoids referring to her at all. What does that mean? Within two minutes, the sprinkle has become a shower, then a cloudburst, slicking the cars and setting windshield wipers a-swish.

  Igor and Little Al streak across the common to the gazebo, where Bender, Matthew, and Jay are already waiting. Shelly runs from the opposite direction. On the east side of the loop, Mrs. Haggerty stops to pick up Miranda, who’s hurrying along in an oversize yellow rain slicker.

  “There she is,” Grandma says as the bus curves over the hill and rolls toward them. “May as well wait till she stops. No hurry.” The bus pulls into the Y and backs up by the gazebo. Grandma taps the steering wheel fretfully. “I’d almost drive you to school myself, except I’ve got to go the other way this morning.”

  “It’s okay.” Alice pops open the door. “Bye, Grandma.”

  She slams the door and runs toward the bus, thinking, My next-to-next-to-last morning bus ride…

  As she squeezes in line, Kaitlynn’s first words to her are, “I got a great idea last night! I figured out how to get our hero out of the dungeon—”

  “Move it!” Spencer calls behind them. “We’re getting soaked!”

  “Quack-quack,” GeeGee is saying to hurry up the littles. She smiles briefly at Alice, then glares out the rearview mirror. “Just hold your horses, lady,” she mutters to Mrs. Thompson, who’s fuming behind the STOP sign again.

  “It’s too wet to go to school!” Igor complains as he climbs aboard.

  “You’re not sweet enough to melt,” GeeGee says. “Move along, folks! Find a seat and let’s get this show on the road!”

  I may never hear her say that again, Alice thinks.

  Shelly shakes her head as she starts down the aisle, showering the littles with raindrops from her hair. (“Hey!” “Hey!” they protest.) Spencer unwraps his guitar case from his jacket, and Miranda slides into the seat across from Igor, sneezing. Matthew and Bender are the last to board, dashing from the gazebo and leaping the steps, one after the other. GeeGee slams the door and puts the bus in gear as the two boys head for the back. She forgets to pull in the STOP sign; behind them, Mrs. Thompson lays on her horn.

  “Cool it, Mom.” At the back window, Bender makes a calming motion with both hands, which probably just irritates her more. GeeGee belatedly closes the sign, but a van is coming toward them on the road and Mrs. Thompson is still stuck behind the bus. There won’t be any more places to pass until they reach the highway. Bender laughs. “You learn patience by being patient. That’s what my mama always told me.”

  He and Matthew have been in fine spirits ever since the state science fair—in which they didn’t win the chance to go to nationals but were ranked third from the top, so they “go out in a blaze of glory,” as Bender says.

  I wonder if he’ll be a math professor? Or a comedy writer?

  “Let me tell you my idea,” Kaitlynn begins eagerly. Alice listens, though she can’t keep her eyes from roaming. Directly behind them, Spencer has taken his guitar out of the case to check for water damage. Once it’s out, he strums a few chords.

  “This land is your land!” Jay sings, clapping off-rhythm. “This land is my land!”

  “Can it, dork!” Spencer laughs.

  Is Jay going to be an Olympic runner some day? And Spencer a musician, like his dad?

  Two rows ahead, Miranda scoots toward the center aisle. Igor is waiting on the opposite seat. She takes an envelope out of her backpack and passes it over. His eyes are big as quarters as he takes it.

  I hope Miranda writes more poems. I hope Igor graduates.

  Shelly turns around halfway in her seat. “I have an announcement! Only sixty-three days, seven hours, and two minutes until I leave for camp!”

  “You mean five hours, one minute, and thirty-two seconds,” Bender corrects her.

  Only two more days of Shelly’s announcements.

  “So how about this,” Kaitlynn is saying. “Instead of knocking the guard out
with a rock from a slingshot, what if she gets Blackie to slip the keys from his pocket while he’s sleeping?”

  “Umm…” Alice hasn’t been paying attention.

  Behind them, Jay says, “Holy cow.”

  The cloudburst has become a gully washer. The rain is pouring down in sheets, torrents, buckets. They’ve started down the hill toward Drybed Creek, and GeeGee has slowed almost to a crawl. The windshield wipers barely make a dent in visibility, even going full speed.

  From the back, Bender says, “Oh no.” And he’s not kidding.

  “No!” he says again. “Don’t try—Mom, NO!”

  Bender is moving up the aisle, yelling out the left-side windows. “Sit down!” GeeGee calls sharply, but not loud because she’s focused on keeping the bus on the road. Alice catches a glimpse of an SUV passing them in a wedge of water, its roof gleaming like a seal’s back.

  Bender stops in the aisle, five rows from the driver, and stares out the front window. All talk, all eyes are frozen as Mrs. Thompson’s SUV slides across the yellow lines into the lane in front of them—and keeps sliding, across the line, onto the shoulder, and completely off the road.

  One little girl screams. Bender drops like a rock, right there in the aisle, gripping the seat backs on either side.

  GeeGee is struggling with the bus. All at once, everyone realizes it’s floating, caught in a strong current that’s about to carry them away. The back end swings dramatically to the right until they’re almost sideways.

  “Oh my goodness!” Kaitlynn gasps, clutching Alice’s hand.

  “Everybody hold on!” GeeGee yells. “Move to the right!” The screams begin: high yelps from the littles, shrieks from the girls, startled shouts from the boys. Alice sees Bender grab two kids and disappear between seats on the right side; seizing Kaitlynn’s other hand, she ducks to the floor.

  Get down, get down! somebody—or everybody—is saying. On the right!

  She pushes Kaitlynn in that direction, but the bus is already tipping. As it goes over, the two girls slide between seats like pinballs, bouncing as the bus slams on its side in the churning ground, sliding fast and then slow until it shudders to a stop. And everything is quiet.