Iâm watching the bus-ticket girl and her friends in the corner.
THE FREEGANS
There are five of them hunkered down in the corner of the bus station, sitting on backpacks and rolled-up sleeping bags. In addition to the bus-ticket girl, thereâs another girl with long blonde dreadlocks facing away and lying across the lap of a kid wearing an army vest with an enormous anarchy symbol drawn on the back. An Asian-looking kid wearing a giant pair of headphones over his fauxhawk is talking too loudly to a tall guy with a short, scraggly beard as he makes peanut butter sandwiches.
My stomach growls as I watch him dip a pocket knife into this jar of peanut butter and then drip gobs of it onto the bread. Every once in a while he stops to lick the excess off the top of the knife where it swivels and folds in. I ignore the obvious hygienic problems here as I watch him distribute the sandwiches. Heâs sitting cross-legged as he does thisâa way Iâve only ever seen girls sit. Heâs also smiling so sweetlyâlike one of those naked babies that fly around in those giant Italian paintings. He just keeps smiling and handing out sandwiches. Iâm so busy watching him that I donât notice when the bus-ticket girl reappears at my side.
She slams herself down into the seat next to me, rockingthe entire row of interconnected plastic chairs. She has two sandwiches in her hands.
âYou want one?â Her voice is deeper and scratchier than before.
I shake my head. âNo, thanks, I just ate at home.â
âOkay,â she says, almost smirking. âSuit yourself. I just know that when I first ran away, I learned pretty quickly that you should take food whenever itâs offered. You donât know where your next meal is coming from.â
âI thought I wasnât supposed to take candy from strangers.â
She gives an appreciative chin nod and takes a bite of her sandwich. âGood one. How about a puppy?â
âAnyway,â I say, âIâm not running away.â
âSure, traveling alone on Thanksgiving is just more convenient and hassle-free because everyone else is sitting down and eating with their families. Plus thereâs nothing more pleasant than an empty bus station on a cold night. I get it.â
I ignore her sarcasm. âIt was a last-minute decision ⦠to go to my grandmotherâs house.â
âDoes anyone know where you are?â she lifts the softened paper American Airlines tag still looped around my backpack strap, left over from Momâs and my last trip to see Mima, and reads it. âAndrew?â
I shake my head again. What was the point in lying?
âThen you, my friend,â she says as she jerks the tag off the strap and crumples it in her hand, âare running away.â
She shoots the crumpled tag at the nearest waste can. âYouâre old enough that most people wonât bother you about being on your own. But until you get where youâre going, itâs better to avoid being identified if you donât want to be. If youdonât give the police or anyone your name, the worst they can do is throw you into state or foster care. And that sucks, but itâs not that hard to get out of.â
âYour area of expertise?â
âIt used to be.â Her voice hardens slightly. âIâm nineteen now, so Iâm pretty much free to go wherever I want and do whatever I want. Iâm G, by the way,â she says and sticks her hand out for me to shake.
âAndrew,â I say as I accept her firm handshake. Sheâs small but solid. And I canât decide if sheâs pretty or not. Sheâs not unattractive, but thereâs something about her looks thatâs kind of serious, almost severe. âJust G?â
âYeah, Maria Regina actually. Itâs terrible isnât it? Sounds like a nun or a pasta sauce. So Iâm just G. What about you? Do you go by Andrew?