IT’S WILD ON this thing. People push and shove, ask for help with their bags—worry they might not make their connections on time. I got nowhere to be. I stay in my seat hoping I get to carry Cricket off.

“Charlese!” I get a big, juicy kiss on the cheek from WK. “I almost forgot.” He sits down beside me.

“What?”

“To tell you my real name. Weldon Kingston Kennedy. I got the same first two names as my mother’s first boyfriend. Long story. My dad plays the sax. He went on the road when mom was nine months pregnant. Missed my birth and everything. She got him back though. He never left town again when she was ready to give birth.”

I laugh. We hug like boyfriend and girlfriend. “Hold up,” I say once he stands up. “Did you sneak and kiss Blaine while I was asleep?” I’d ask Blaine, but he already gone. “You owe me ten dollars, if you did.”

He gives me air kisses. “Well—maybe a little one. Or three little ones.”

I stick my hand out. “Pay up.”

He’ll donate the money to the National Kidney Foundation in my name, he say. On the steps, when he’s almost off the bus, he tells the whole truth this time. “Okay. I kissed him a long, long time. No tongue. Just on the lips.”

“I woulda done the same thing!” I yell.

By the time April gets close to my row, I’m standing up with my arms out. She shake her head no. April got two bags on one shoulder, one in her hand, the baby in the carrier in her arms. She in a hurry to get ahold of her aunt, she tells me. “See you inside.”

Dag, she know how to use people. Mad for a little while, I sit down.

I’m the last one off. I try to ignore him, but he ain’t having it. “Thanks.” The driver reach in his jacket pocket. “But I can’t use it. I’m a diabetic.”

How he know I put the candy in?

“But thank you for thinking of me.” He shaking my hand.

“Okay. So, can I go now?”

“In a minute.” He unbuttons his uniform jacket and reaches into his shirt pocket. “I wanted you to have this.”

I look at the card in his hand. “Why?”

He does private bus trips. He leases minivans and custom buses and takes people wherever they want to go, he say. “This is a business card.” He asks if I ever heard of one.

No, why would I? But I lie and say, “Yeah. So?” And I take it ’cause otherwise he won’t give me no peace. It has his phone number on it, his name, and the name of his company. My lips twist up tighter than a pretzel. “Company? I thought you worked for Greyhound.”

“I have two daughters. They need things—college tuition for starters.” He laughs. “One job wasn’t gonna hit it.”

“Oh.” I take my suitcase by the handle and head for the terminal. He like tissue stuck on my shoe. I can’t get rid of him no matter what I do. So, I quit walking. Turn and face him. “Why you messing with me? You creep me out.”

He backs up so far you could sit a kitchen chair in between us. “I see girls … so many … kids … like you.” His eyes shoot left and right, then find me again. “The big bosses say drive. Keep your eyes on the road. Don’t get involved in people’s personal lives.” He smiles. “I did what they said … but, well … it’s my last ride so … I did what I wanted to do, finally.”

“Mike.” It’s another driver. Before I know it, he in between us, slapping Mr. Mike on the back, talking about the cake-and-punch party waiting for him in the locker room. He got mad jokes about Mr. Mike doing nothing all day after he retires. “Come on, man. Get yourself inside.” He go open the door.

Mr. Mike grabs my suitcase. “Coming?”

I look at his card, stick it in my back pocket. Inside, I get away from him fast as I can.