THE BUS IS mostly full when I get on. But people still line up behind me with drinks and snacks in their hands. The driver’s at his seat talking on the microphone. “Folks, this bus will be full in a little while. If you have things in the seat beside you, set them in your lap, on the floor. I need room for other passengers.”

I look at the people behind me. “Don’t nobody sit beside me,” I say. “Or you’ll be sorry.” I walk a little ways, then stop, hoping to find the best seat. The man who liked my legs is on the sixth row with his finger pointed at the other side of the bus. He asks if that’s somebody I know knocking on the window.

Sure is—and she crying.

I look straight ahead. Try to fix my mind on something else. It’s hard though, ’cause all I can think about is home.

“Young lady!” The driver’s coming up the aisle. “Can you hear? Take a seat. Any seat.” He squeezes past me, pointing. “There’s one. Another one on the last row.”

“By the bathroom? No! I’m looking for an all-by-myself seat. ’Cause like I said. I don’t wanna be bothered with nobody.”

“And I told you—sit somewhere, anywhere. We’re packed. Everybody has to share.”

I walk some and stop. A woman with kids in a seat near my right elbow smiles. Her little girl is beside her turning pages in a book. A boy who look just like her is on the same row on the opposite side of the bus. He by the window—my favorite seat—sitting by hisself. He’s like maybe five years old. Too big to suck his thumb, but he is. My grandmother put hot sauce on my thumb to break the habit.

“Miguel, por favor.” Guess she’s that boy’s mom. Patting her lap, she smiles at me. Like I’m in a smiling mood. Miguel walks past me, then jumps on her lap.

“This is a full bus.” The driver looks down at me. “Next time take your limousine if you don’t wanna be bothered with people.”

Before anybody get any ideas, I drop my backpack in the empty seat, sit down by the window, cover my head with my jacket.

“What’s wrong with her, Mommy?” Miguel wants to know.

“Hush. She’s sad.”

When I bust out crying, it’s got nothing to do with the driver or my sister. It’s my mother and father. If they was alive, I’d be an A student, I bet. Still living at home—happy.