Page 5 of Our Final Encore

It doesn’t help that sometimes, I do look at boys the same way I do girls. I get nervous around them, just the same way I would a girl, if I find them attractive. I’ve never had an actual crush on a guy, but I don’t think it would be that crazy if I did.

I toss my bookbag into one of the seats near the back of the bus and plop down next to it. The older guy in the seat across the aisle eyes me up and down, but doesn’t say anything.

“Can I sit here?” The same delicate voice from earlier pulls me from my inner monologue. My eyes move to the front of the bus and they land on a pair of ashy braids.Oh.Of course she’s on this bus, we live only a few doors down from each other, but for some reason I still wasn’t expecting to see her.

Every time I see her it feels like a surprise. A shock to my system. Something about her is so other-worldly, almost ethereal.

I hear some other girl giggling a few seats ahead of me. “Find somewhere else to sit.” The person lowers their voice to an almost-whisper, “Ugly.”

Ugly?I don’t understand, that’s the second time today that I’ve witnessed someone insulting her looks. Something about that doesn’t sit right with me.

Opal’s mouth twists into a frown, and those frosty blue eyes blink rapidly as she looks around the bus. She keeps walking forward, her anxiety seeming to grow with every step she takes.

I scoot towards the window, setting my backpack on my lap. “Sit here.”

She lets out a sigh of relief before softly perching herself on the very edge of the seat. “Thanks,” she says, one side of her lips pulling up slightly into a grin.

“You don’t have to do that.” I pat the space between us. “I don’t bite.”

Her eyes meet mine and I can see they’re still filled with anxiety. I wonder what her story is. Why is she so nervous? I know some people are just shy by nature, but she wasn’t afraid to tell that Mark asshole to shut up today. You have to be a little ballsy to stand up for a total stranger like that.

The bus finally cranks to life and slowly pulls out of the lot, the smell of diesel fills the air. Finally she slides an inch or two closer to me, so at least her legs are fully out of the aisle.

I keep waiting for her to say something, but she doesn’t. Maybe she really is just the quiet type. I’m on the quiet side myself, but for some reason I feel compelled to talk to her.

She’s mysterious, and I want to figure her out.

“What are you gonna do today?”

Her eyes volley over to me, and again she looks surprised. “Nothing,” she shrugs.

She reminds me of a bird, small and nervous, but also mesmerizing.

My mom always loved watching the birds from our porch back in Ridgewood. She’d record all the different species that passed through our yard, and would learn the different sounds they made. She loved teaching Ezra and I how to tell the birdsongs apart from one another. Her favorite was always cardinals, she swore that they brought good luck.

And ironically, they’re also a symbol of a deceased loved one visiting you from the afterlife.

Bluebirds were always my favorite.

“Maybe we could hang out. I mean, you know, if you want to.”

Her eyes meet mine and she silently glances at me for a few seconds, her eyes searching my face. Her fingers are picking at a hole in her blue jeans and her whole body appears tense and jittery.

“Really?” Her voice is weak and soft.

“Yeah?”

Finally she glances away from me and looks at the blue faux leather seat in front of us. “Okay…” Her eyes peek over at me again, and a barely-there smile forms on her thin lips.

When the bus stops at the end of our street she stands up and hurries to the door.

“I have to tell my grandma I’m going to a friend’s house first!” she yells over her shoulder as she runs towards the end ofour road. We live on a little dead end street with eight houses, four on each side. Mine is the first house on the left corner, and hers is the last house on the right. I figured that out when I noticed her riding home on her bike that day through my window.

I pull my keys out of the smallest compartment in my backpack and unlock my front door. Our house still feels empty and soulless. No pictures on the walls, despite having our family photos done every year ever since I was born. I know we have several boxes full of them, but Dad hasn’t hung a single one. It still smells like an empty, unfamiliar house. Nothing but the scent of lemon Pledge and lingering dust on the hard to reach surfaces. It doesn’t feel like home.

Dad has thrown himself into work at his new job. He’s always done that, to a degree, but now it’s like I don’t even exist. At least before everything changed he would act excited to come home.

A few minutes later I hear a light tap on my door. I open it and see Opal’s small form through the glass.

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