The Wrong Bus Read Free Page B

Jack.

    â€œOf every route I drove, for every day of the week.”
    Jack had been on all of Grandpa Nod’s routes, at least once. Even six-year-olds and seven-year-olds are old enough to travel on buses alone if their grandfather is the driver.
    â€œThank you.” He couldn’t think of anything else to say.
    His grandpa tapped the side of his backpack. “Keep them safe,” he said. “You never know when you might need them. Now, give us a hug.” He swung his legs around.
    Jack hugged his grandpa. He felt warm and light in his arms.
    â€œThis is your stop, Oh Henry!” Grandpa pulled away and sat facing the steering wheel again. He pushed the knob. The door wheezed open. “Can’t hold up this bus,” he said.
    Jack walked slowly down the stairs with his backpack tight on his shoulders.

    Down on the sidewalk, he looked back up and waved. He couldn’t see his grandfather’s face. “Bye, Grandpa,” said Jack.
    He thought he heard the words “Goodbye, Jawbreaker,” as the doors wheezed shut.
    But he couldn’t be sure.
    Jack stood on the sidewalk and watched the bus merge with the traffic and drive off.

Chapter Ten
    â€œHave you been here the whole time?” asked Katy. She was at the front of the line at the bus stop. Her coat was falling off one shoulder and her face was pink. “I thought you would have left already,” she said. “Were you afraid of taking the wrong bus?”
    Jack looked into the traffic. There was no sign of his grandpa’s bus now. He turned and looked the other way. The Number 26 was coming in their direction.
    â€œI’m not worried about taking the wrong bus,” Jack told Katy.
    He thought of his grandpa’s schedule safe in the pocket of his backpack.

    â€œYou going to sit next to me this time?” asked Katy.
    â€œSure,” Jack said. “On one condition.”
    â€œWhat condition?”
    â€œQuit telling everyone about my grandpa.”
    â€œThat he died?” said Katy. “I was just trying to be helpful.”
    â€œI know. But don’t do it. Okay? If I want anyone to know, I can tell them.”
    Katy shrugged. “Okay. Here’s our bus.”
    Jack let Katy go ahead of him. He looked at the driver as he came up the stairs. It was a woman. A long ponytail hung over her shoulder. “Hi, Sweet Pea,” she said. She checked his bus pass. “Had a long day at school?”
    â€œPretty long,” said Jack. “But good.”
    He sat down next to Katy. She turned to look out the window.
    Jack dug into the side pocket of his backpack. He found his grandpa’s thick bundle of bus schedules at the very bottom. They were held together by an elastic band.

    He thought about the Number 13 bus Grandpa Nod drove on weekends. He drove it over the big bridge that soared over the Fraser River. And the Number 17. It was always full of noisy university students carrying takeaway coffees. He remembered the stops on the Number 31’s route. It went right out to the ferry, where herons stood in the mud along the road.
    He tucked the bus schedules back where he found them. He zipped up his backpack.
    â€œThe driver’s new,” Katy said. “I hope she knows where she’s going.”
    Jack smiled. It didn’t matter if the driver got lost. He would always have Grandpa Nod’s bus schedules to help him find his way.