Kaleidoscope by Tracy Campbell Read Free Book Online

that they knew and drawing their hoods around their faces, were a testament to the power of this uncontrollable force.
    As feeling began to return to my fingers, I glanced out the frosted window, clouded with the warm breath of dozens of passengers. I was looking for the unfamiliar form of the recreation center. Mom had enthusiastically looked up the cross streets for me when I'd finally decided on pursuing this adventure during dinner the night before. I had them written down on a small sheet of paper, tucked now in the palm of my numb hand, but it was difficult for me to see the signs. Instead, I relied as I always did on the churning motion of the machine's wheels beneath my feet. The fifth time that it stopped was where I was supposed to make my exit.
    I waited, my heart beating faster in anticipation at each stop. I sat quietly, like the others. Though there was an abundance of people here, the attitude was unchanged from my routine bus rides around town in the afternoon—I was surrounded by a bunch of zombies. Some spoke to each other, but only in hushed tones, as if raising their voice enough for others to hear them would expose that they indeed had a soul, and they'd fall prey to the other lifeless drones that surrounded them. The only consistent sounds were the hum of the bus's heater, the roar of its diesel engine, and the occasional halt that jolted everyone forward in a collective motion, allowing some to exit and others to take their place.
    I was beginning to feel like a zombie myself, when out of the corner of my eye, I spotted a familiar silhouette amongst the crowd of bundled coats and frozen faces somewhere behind me.
    It was the boy from last week, the one with the sketchbook. I stared with curiosity, noticing this time that he didn't carry a sketchbook, or anything that made him different from many of the other patrons of public transportation this morning. Yet, he stuck out against them all like a beacon of light against an evening storm. After all, it was his image that sparked up the idea for me to put a new set of paintbrushes to use and try to take up one of my favorite hobbies again.
    As I continued gazing furtively in his direction, I noticed that his eyes were a bright, piercing green—much like my own, to my surprise. His hair was a very dark chocolate color, styled in messy, yet organized locks around his face that reached to his ears and the nape of his neck. It paired nicely with his smooth skin, several shades darker than my own—which doesn't say much of course. The contrast made his eyes seem luminously mysterious. His own gaze was averted out the window, through a small circle of clarity that he'd wiped away from the frost. His eyes, however, didn't hold the lifeless still of a person going throughout their day with apathetic duty and obligation. They held a smile, quietly trapped in a bemused observation of the world around him.
    For a second, I felt jealous and ashamed that I couldn't hold this beautiful world in an equal regard.
    The diesel engine quieted its gruff voice as it prepared to come to the fifth stop of the trip. This is the one. As the bus came to a halt, several people stood up with me, waiting to move down the aisle like a herd of cattle. I trundled along with them, turning as I made my way down to the street just in time to see that the green-eyed boy had also gotten off on this stop.
    My heart was beating so fast that I felt light-headed. I glanced at the slip of paper in my palm to double check the streets, squinting to see them in the bright reflection of the snow. I looked straight ahead at a long sidewalk that led to a somewhat dome-shaped, brown brick building. It was clearly marked as the place that I needed to be, with a small separate sign providing direction to various places within it.
    I wonder if I'll run into him again?
    The boy was ahead of me, shouldering his green backpack that I now knew matched his eye color, walking purposefully to the building. He