There’s a rush to get on the bus.
Jostling and laughing, a few shouts. The bus rumbles to life. Diesel perfumes the air.
Amanda’s sweater is blush pink. It matches her cheeks. Cheeks made rosy by youth not cosmetics.
She sits on the slippery vinyl bench in the row with the “hump” to rest her feet on. Primly she folds her hands in her lap and waits. Will he sit by her? She watches the door eagerly.
He appears in the doorway. He looks her way. Smiles.
She blushes prettily. Her heart races.
He strides toward her.
Walks past her.
Sits on the last row with the jocks.
Her smiles falters. She pales. Embarrassed, she looks around. Could anyone tell how high her hopes had been? No one sees. Everyone is talking and laughing and joking while she sits alone on a bus full of people.
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