Because of the Night by Unknown

Author:Unknown
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Muse Literary
Published: 2022-10-18T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 5

BUS. PARKING. ONLY.

Stirring up deeper layers of bubbles from below, the river’s roar is now angrier as it tosses a stronger ginger-jasmine scent into the air.

We sway and bob with erratic jerks as we zoom down the street. The Old Lady grips tighter to the boat’s side rails.

“Hang on,” she says. “Things will be getting a lot wilder from here on.”

Our speed increases. Clutching the rudder firm with his better arm, Gramp fights to point the bow toward a small wooden home. His knuckles turn pale as he struggles to maneuver the boat. It’s becoming too difficult to control the boat’s aim and we slam into the curb’s edge. With a hard thud, we ping-pong back into the bubbling river. Gramp wastes no time and with a one-arm throw, he lassos their mailbox. He yanks on the rope until the boat’s wooden side scrapes against the cement. I uncurl my fingers, releasing their grip from the side rails and look out at the mist as a home peeks-through the fog.

“Where are we?” I ask.

“Bus. Parking. Only,” Gramp says. It’s surprisingly clear over the loud sounds of the splashing waves. It’s a challenge understanding Gramp with his road sign words—but this time, his words aren’t making any sense.

“Gramp—this isn’t school,” I say.

Old Lady answers what Gramp cannot. “He knows that—he’s not dumb, you know?”

“Yeah—I know!” I’m far from dumb myself, lady.

One side of my lip twitches. It’s a true miracle my attention span is still holding on. I get that she’s mad this night isn’t going her way, but I’m right in the middle of an important mission here. If I can keep ignoring her bitterness—hold my focus a bit longer—I’ll be in a brand-new family by morning. Dealing with this cranky old lady should be easy for me. Let’s face it, I know my way around unhappy people—look at my family.

“Are you listening to me? You really don’t pay attention—” Old Lady cuts herself short while yanking on another layer of her blouse as she did earlier. Only this time, with a noticeable tick. Her mouth twists and turns like she’s silently counting while flattening a curled-up edge on the material.

Well, that seems familiar—is she copying me? Can it be that when she gets mad, she becomes super nervous? Or do I make her feel like this? If so, better get in line, lady—you’re not the first person to react this way to me.

With a tight squint, she scans me over, then points toward a small home. “This house belongs to your bus driver.”

Beyond the mist, I see a variety of home styles sitting on lots of different sizes—some big, some small. This means we can’t be in our evenly plotted Levitville any longer.

Thanks (not!) to another one of Kiffer’s info dumps, a distraction takes over again: “Ford’s assembly-line-built identical homes … blah, blah, completed every sixteen minutes ... blahhh …”

Good grief—why do I remember this junk?

I switch off the Kiffer lecture and try my hardest to refocus. “Oh—you mean my school bus driver, Mrs.

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