Somebody on This Bus Is Going to Be Famous Read Free Page A

wrong.
    Because somebody on this bus is going to be famous.

September
    Shelly Alvarez is sure she’s going to be famous someday. “Oh baby baby, I need your looove!” she belts out, standing in the aisle at the center of the bus as she swings her long black hair.
    It’s the third week of school. Last night, fall rode in on the back of a strong west wind, and everybody is wearing jackets this morning. The air snaps, putting an extra decibel in Shelly’s voice. “I need your love toniiiiiight!”
    â€œI need you to shut up right naowwwwww!” Bender howls from the rear of the bus, the last syllable sounding like a wolf with its tail caught in the emergency door.
    Shelly laughs as she drops into her seat. “Just wait till I get back from Shooting Star Camp. I’ll probably add a whole octave to my vocal range.”
    She doesn’t hear his reply, because Miranda just asked if she’s met the new girl yet.
    â€œNope.” Shelly bounces up again and stretches over the empty seat in front of her so she can tap the new girl on the shoulder. “Hi. I’m Shelly Alvarez, but I go by Shell. That’s my stage name. I don’t plan to use the Alvarez. Just Shell, as in, ‘Did you guys go to the Shell concert Saturday night?’ ‘Yes! Omigosh, it was awesome . I love the way she sings “Destiny Street”—“Oh I’m motoring down—ninety miles an hour!” And what they did for a finale was—’”
    â€œEverybody sit down!” Mrs. B yells over her shoulder.
    â€œI’m…Alice?” the new girl says. She has pale hair and pale eyelashes that give her green eyes a startled look. She takes a deep breath and rattles off, as though she’s said this many times before, “I’m staying with my grandma, Mary Ellen Truman, in the stone house on top of—”
    â€œGotta sit down. Catch you later.” Shelly wiggles her fingers and drops back in her seat beside Miranda. “Okay, I met her.”
    Miranda is giggling. “Shelly, you’re insane!”
    â€œIt’s Shell , remember. I’ll probably change that, though. Shell is over too quick, you know? You miss it if somebody’s talking fast. Like, ‘You guys gototheShellconcertlastnight?’ Did you hear the name? No!”
    â€œWhat about using your middle name?”
    â€œAre you serious?”
    Miranda smiles and raises her shoulders, like an apology. “I think it’s pretty.”
    â€œ Guadalupe? First, it’s too long. Second, it’ll be shortened to Lupe, which comes out Loopy. No way.” Miranda smiles and shrugs again. “Maybe I need three syllables, like yours. Only your name is a little—no offense, but kind of old-fashioned? I’m thinking something sweet, like Caramel.”
    â€œOr…spicy, like Cinnamon?”
    â€œOr spiky, like Porcupine?” That voice comes from behind them. Their two heads turn to Matthew, who’s sitting in the middle of the seat and looks surprised he said anything—especially the kind of remark that usually comes from Bender.
    â€œWho asked you?” the girls say, almost together, then burst out in giggles as they turn back around.
    â€œThat was perfect,” says Miranda. “Like we’re thinking together.”
    Shelly nods, but she’s already miles away from this seat in the middle of the bus—years away, really, under the hot lights of some big arena where they have championship basketball games and figure skating. But tonight: Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome:
    CARAMEL!
    Screams, cheers—a beam of light spikes the electric figure with the long swingy hair and silver miniskirt, sweeping up the crowd in a big hug before snatching the mic and—
    Wait a minute. Caramel wasn’t the kind of word you could shout over and over. Car-a- mel! Car-a- mel! Besides, there were two different ways to say it. Maybe two