Gabby asked. “Anyone…I don’t know…unique?”
Carmen flipped through the book. “Rajit Jethani plays banjo. That’s unique. The Cody sisters’ grandmother just turned a hundred and two, which is very unique. Adelia Montrose
has a dog that won the Westminster Kennel Club’s Best in Show. Renee Vel—”
“Got it, thanks.” Gabby cut her off before Carmen went through each standout quirk of every single client in the book.
Carmen’s watch beeped and she shut the binder. “Time to go,” she said. “Bus arrives in three minutes, thirty-nine seconds.”
This, Carmen had calculated, was the exact amount of time it took for her and Gabby to put on their coats, gather their bookbags and Gabby’s instrument, and get to the stop at the corner.
Madison Murray, whose sense of timing was nowhere near as impeccable as Carmen’s, was already waiting when they arrived.
“Hi, Madison!”
Gabby said it brightly, but subtly narrowed her eyes, trying to peer through Madison’s skin for signs of alien sluginess.
“What are you doing with your face?” Carmen asked. “You look like you smell something bad.”
“Carmen! Cut it out. I don’t look like that at all.” Gabby turned to Madison. “Sorry about that. Don’t know what she was talking about.”
She offered Madison a chummy laugh. Madison didn’t join in. Instead she said, “I noticed the light in your bedroom window was out by ten last night. I was up playing my flute until
midnight, then listened to the concerto on headphones, so I’d get extra practice in my sleep. You should probably just go ahead and tell Maestro Jenkins you don’t want Friday’s
solo. It’ll save you the suspense of waiting until he gives it to me.”
The bus pulled up before Gabby could respond. When Madison turned around to board, Gabby studied her back for any signs of a hidden tail.
“Good morning, girls!” Ronnie the bus driver screamed unnecessarily as they climbed inside. Were her alien ears unable to gauge how loud she was?
Gabby turned down the aisle and stopped in her tracks. The seats were filled with elementary and middle schoolers laughing, shouting, throwing things, zoning out to headphones, bent over
homework, or staring out the window. Were they all human? Had she been riding the bus with aliens all her life? How would she know?
“Butts in seats, or I can’t move the bus!” Ronnie cried in her earsplitting bellow.
Gabby quickly slipped into an empty bench a short walk down the aisle, leaving Carmen the only bench she’d accept, the one right behind Ronnie’s chair. Gabby took a deep breath and
let it out slowly. She had to stop thinking about what happened last night. She couldn’t function like this.
Music would help. Gabby pulled out her phone and earbuds, scrolled to her recording of Friday afternoon’s concerto, hunkered down in her seat, closed her eyes, and let the notes fill her
head and take her away from everything.
Everything except a sharp pain in her shin. An alien attack?
“Wake up, Gabby,” Carmen said. She stood in the aisle next to Gabby’s bench. “You fell asleep. We’re at your school.”
“Oh,” Gabby said, rubbing the spot on her leg Carmen had kicked. “Thanks. I think.”
Carmen smirked slightly as she went back to her own bench, and Gabby limped herself, her purple knapsack, and her French horn case off the bus.
The minute she hit the curb, a streak of blue and yellow whizzed by, shouting her name.
“Zee!” Gabby happily replied. She raced after her, the knapsack and French horn galumphing against her body with each step.
Stephanie Ziebeck, a.k.a. Zee, rode to school on a motorized skateboard she’d tricked out herself. Hence the super-streak speeds. The super-streak colors came from her blue overalls, every
pair of which had a multitude of pockets for gadgets and devices, and her yellow-blond hair, with the almost-equally-multitudinous braids that whipped behind her as she rode.
Gabby caught up
Carmen flipped through the book. “Rajit Jethani plays banjo. That’s unique. The Cody sisters’ grandmother just turned a hundred and two, which is very unique. Adelia Montrose
has a dog that won the Westminster Kennel Club’s Best in Show. Renee Vel—”
“Got it, thanks.” Gabby cut her off before Carmen went through each standout quirk of every single client in the book.
Carmen’s watch beeped and she shut the binder. “Time to go,” she said. “Bus arrives in three minutes, thirty-nine seconds.”
This, Carmen had calculated, was the exact amount of time it took for her and Gabby to put on their coats, gather their bookbags and Gabby’s instrument, and get to the stop at the corner.
Madison Murray, whose sense of timing was nowhere near as impeccable as Carmen’s, was already waiting when they arrived.
“Hi, Madison!”
Gabby said it brightly, but subtly narrowed her eyes, trying to peer through Madison’s skin for signs of alien sluginess.
“What are you doing with your face?” Carmen asked. “You look like you smell something bad.”
“Carmen! Cut it out. I don’t look like that at all.” Gabby turned to Madison. “Sorry about that. Don’t know what she was talking about.”
She offered Madison a chummy laugh. Madison didn’t join in. Instead she said, “I noticed the light in your bedroom window was out by ten last night. I was up playing my flute until
midnight, then listened to the concerto on headphones, so I’d get extra practice in my sleep. You should probably just go ahead and tell Maestro Jenkins you don’t want Friday’s
solo. It’ll save you the suspense of waiting until he gives it to me.”
The bus pulled up before Gabby could respond. When Madison turned around to board, Gabby studied her back for any signs of a hidden tail.
“Good morning, girls!” Ronnie the bus driver screamed unnecessarily as they climbed inside. Were her alien ears unable to gauge how loud she was?
Gabby turned down the aisle and stopped in her tracks. The seats were filled with elementary and middle schoolers laughing, shouting, throwing things, zoning out to headphones, bent over
homework, or staring out the window. Were they all human? Had she been riding the bus with aliens all her life? How would she know?
“Butts in seats, or I can’t move the bus!” Ronnie cried in her earsplitting bellow.
Gabby quickly slipped into an empty bench a short walk down the aisle, leaving Carmen the only bench she’d accept, the one right behind Ronnie’s chair. Gabby took a deep breath and
let it out slowly. She had to stop thinking about what happened last night. She couldn’t function like this.
Music would help. Gabby pulled out her phone and earbuds, scrolled to her recording of Friday afternoon’s concerto, hunkered down in her seat, closed her eyes, and let the notes fill her
head and take her away from everything.
Everything except a sharp pain in her shin. An alien attack?
“Wake up, Gabby,” Carmen said. She stood in the aisle next to Gabby’s bench. “You fell asleep. We’re at your school.”
“Oh,” Gabby said, rubbing the spot on her leg Carmen had kicked. “Thanks. I think.”
Carmen smirked slightly as she went back to her own bench, and Gabby limped herself, her purple knapsack, and her French horn case off the bus.
The minute she hit the curb, a streak of blue and yellow whizzed by, shouting her name.
“Zee!” Gabby happily replied. She raced after her, the knapsack and French horn galumphing against her body with each step.
Stephanie Ziebeck, a.k.a. Zee, rode to school on a motorized skateboard she’d tricked out herself. Hence the super-streak speeds. The super-streak colors came from her blue overalls, every
pair of which had a multitude of pockets for gadgets and devices, and her yellow-blond hair, with the almost-equally-multitudinous braids that whipped behind her as she rode.
Gabby caught up
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