I lean over and say, “It’s just Burton.”
Of course, Connie would make sure they have my first name on there.
“You’re good. Take a seat on the bus.”
I walk up the steps and down the aisle, feelinglike I’m back in school and we’re taking a field trip. Those were never my favorite days because we always had to sit in pairs, and my knees always jammed into the back of the seats.
Now I’m at least five inches taller, so this might be interesting. As a distraction, I open my phone to the text messages and click on Laney’s name.
What are you up to today?
I probably shouldn’t send it now, but I’m curious what she’s doing. Probably sleeping, like a normal human.
There isn’t a response for a while, but that’s probably a good thing.
I sit on the bus, having taken the last seat at the back. At least there’s no one else in line.
Except when I turn to look, I see a few people running from the parking lot, getting in line to be checked in. They weren’t kidding when they said they didn’t have a ton of room.
There’s a teenage boy who walks toward me. My bench has the only seat open.
I stand up and point for him to take the window side, hoping to have the space to leave my legs out in the aisle.
He waves his hand in the same direction and says, “I get sick if I’mnext to the window.”
I frown, trying to understand what he means.
He frowns back and says, “I forgot my carsick glasses, and if I sit close enough that the road is passing next to me, I’ll puke.”
Nodding, I sigh and slide in, doing my best to bend myself like a pretzel. Better to have bodily pain for a few minutes than to smell like throw up for the rest of the day.
This is how I felt when I was in the backseat of Jessa’s car, so maybe that was an excellent lesson in tight spaces.
The woman who crossed off our names stands at the front of the bus. “Welcome, everyone. We’re excited to work on three different projects today. I’ll let you know which group you’re in and which drop-off point you’ll be on. If one group finishes early, we’ll have the bus bring them to one of the other spots to help and so on until we’re done.”
Someone up front raises their hand and asks, “How long is the drive?”
“Forty-five minutes to an hour, depending on traffic.”
I take slow breaths, hoping to calm my mind so I’m not actively counting down each second. Can I sit like this for that long?
She goes through the list, and I’m named on the third drop-off. I put in my earbuds and lean my headagainst the window. It doesn’t help a ton, but enough that I can survive the trip.
Forty-five minutes was to the first drop off, which helps at least make room on the bus. I scoot by my seatmate and take a bench up closer to the front, turning so I can stretch my legs out completely on the bench.
Drop off two is another five minutes away, and the last stop is about ten more.
The woman gets up and directs us as she has the previous groups.
“Okay, helpers, today we’re going to be doing some spring cleaning for an older couple.”
I raise my eyebrows at the idea of spring cleaning. It makes me think of the crazy weekend my mom would set aside every few months to wipe down every visible surface.
“The older man asked for this to be a birthday present for his wife, which is today. We’ve got a list of tasks, and a dumpster will come in a few minutes to drop stuff into.”
A dumpster? Does that mean they’re hoarders?
She divvies out the assignments, and I’m tasked with using a chainsaw to trim the trees. At least I’ll be outside.
