“Sure.” Libby went to switch the kettle on, then turned back to Hector. “Actually, how do you fancy going on a special adventure instead?”
“What is it?”
“I need to put up some posters, and you could help me by holding them. It will be our fun secret project—even your mum won’t know about it.” She tried to sound exciting, but Hector looked unconvinced. “We can go to the Lego shop when we’re finished.”
“Let’s do it!” he said, jumping up from the table.
They left the house at nine and walked up to the bus stop, Hector firing off his usual list of questions. “What killed the dinosaurs? Why do we have belly buttons? Would you rather be eaten by a lion or a shark?”
“Lion, definitely,” Libby said as they approached the bus stop.
“Why?”
“Because if a shark tried to eat you, then you’d also drown, and I hate the idea of drowning.”
“But a lion has really sharp claws as well as teeth, so it would hurt a lot.”
“Yes, but—” Libby stopped talking when she saw a man standing at the bus stop. A tall, cross-looking man with a Mohawk.
Dylan spotted her and she saw him blink, startled. For a moment, she thought he was going to turn around and pretend not to have seen her, but he must have realized that was impossible.
“All right?” he said.
“What are you doing here?” Libby realized how rude that sounded but she didn’t care.
“I’m on my way back from Frank’s.”
“Who’s this?” Hector had grabbed Libby’s hand and was looking up at Dylan, his eyes wide.
“This is Dylan,” Libby said with a sigh.
She saw a flicker of surprise on Dylan’s face when he looked down and saw the small boy.
“Hello. I’m Hector and I’m four and three-quarters,” Hector said, peering up at Dylan. “You’re tall.”
An 88 bus pulled up and Libby stood back to let Dylan get on first. The bus was packed this morning, every seat on the lower deck taken. Dylan headed toward the stairs, so Libby moved to stand in the wheelchair area downstairs. But Hector seemed to have other ideas.
“Hector, come back!” Libby called after him, but the boy had either not heard or pretended not to, as he was already climbing the stairs after Dylan. Libby followed him up. The top deck was a bit quieter, and she saw that Dylan had sathalfway down the bus and Hector had moved into the row directly behind him. Great.
Libby sat down next to Hector, conscious of Dylan’s tall, straight back in front of her, the tattoos crawling up his neck. She could sense he was as irritated by this proximity as she was. With any luck he’d be getting off soon, and until then they could ignore each other.
But Hector was having none of it. He gave Dylan a sharp poke on the shoulder.
“Why is your hair so strange?”
“Hector!” Libby said. “Don’t be so rude.”
She waited for Dylan to explode in anger, but to her surprise he glanced back.
“It’s called a Mohawk.”
Hector wrinkled his nose. “Why do you have it?”
“I’m a punk.”
“What does that mean?”
“Hey, stop being so nosy,” Libby pleaded, but Dylan was turning round in his seat to face the boy.
