The Wrong Bus Read Free Page A

place. Me singing to the birds and the birds singing to me.” He got up. Jack stood up too. “Now you know there’s a quiet place you can come visit me anytime. That suit you, Tootsie Roll?”
    â€œMom said eight-year-olds are too young for hospitals, funeral homes and cemeteries.”
    â€œSo I hear,” said Grandpa. “But perhaps you can change her mind.”
    They stood together looking down at the graves. Then they walked back down the slope to the wrong bus.
    â€œBesides,” said Grandpa, “you’re nine soon. Your birthday is just around the corner, if I recall.”
    In all the sadness and worry of Grandpa getting sick and then dying, Jack had forgotten all about his own birthday.
    Thinking about it now, a bubble of happiness started to grow in his chest. He felt it melt the lump that had been there for days while his mother was visiting his grandfather in hospital. The lump had got bigger as she made plans at the funeral home. It had grown as hard as a stone when she left him home alone while she watched them bury his grandpa in the shiny brown coffin.
    â€œMy birthday is in two weeks,” Jack said. He should start planning. Would he invite Katy over for cake? Maybe Mom would take them all out to a movie.
    â€œI hope you didn’t think I’d forgotten,” said Grandpa, “just because I won’t be there to help make a fuss of the birthday boy. I have something for you.”
    â€œWhat is it?” asked Jack.
    â€œAll will be revealed,” said Grandpa. “In the fullness of time.”

Chapter Nine
    Back in the bus, Grandpa Nod let Jack pull the knob to close the bus’s doors. Jack sat on the long seat where he could watch his grandfather and the road at the same time.
    This time, Grandpa stopped at the cemetery gates. He looked both ways before he pulled into traffic. At the bottom of the hill, he waited for the red light to change to green. Farther along, he hummed happily as he waited for the lady holding a Stop sign to let them go around a hole in the road.
    He went the right way down one-way streets. He yielded to traffic when the sign told him to.
    He stopped at a crosswalk while a man with a yellow Lab crossed the street. He stopped at another one while two ladies pushing shopping carts crossed.
    But he didn’t pull up to any bus stops. He just waved at the waiting passengers. He called out, “This is the wrong bus. Another will be along soon.”
    No one waved back.
    Jack sat across from his grandfather and held on tight to the shiny pole. He studied Grandpa Nod’s rosy cheeks. His eyes followed the creases down his face. He looked at the line across his forehead where his driver’s cap had made a mark.
    Over and over again Jack whispered the words on the gravestone at the top of the hill.
    â€œBeloved grandfather of Jack Finch.”
    â€œLast stop,” said Grandpa. He pulled up in front of Jack’s school. “This is as far as this bus goes.”
    Jack could see three people waiting at the bus stop outside his school. But no one knocked on the door to get on. He felt the vibrations of the bus engine under his feet.
    Jack knew it was time to get off. But something kept him in his seat, holding the silver pole. He studied his beloved grandfather in his blue uniform.
    Grandpa Nod turned toward Jack. “Time’s a-wasting, Milky Way.”
    â€œYou said you had a present for me.”
    â€œSo I did.” Jack’s grandpa rustled around in an untidy heap of papers on the dashboard. He slapped his forehead. “You have it already. In the side pocket of your backpack. You’ll see.”
    Jack let go of the silver pole. He stood next to the driver’s seat and leaned against his grandfather.
    â€œI’m passing on my route schedules to you, Jelly Bean,” said Grandpa Nod. “Everything I know that matters to anyone is in there.”
    â€œEverything?” asked