The inside of the bus smelled like mud and wet shoes. The air stuck against the woman driving at the font, humidity from the pouring rain hovering around the cushioned seats filled with people wearing casts, elderly men and women gripping canes, and the one girl idly humming in her wheelchair far in the back.

The woman clicked her tongue and wiped rain drops off the windshield. She glanced down at the digital clock – 6:09 in the morning. She yawned as an afterthought, then blinked away the tears forming and focused on the road.

The early morning light illuminated the signs in front of her – Stop, One Way, Maxwell Drive. After a brief stop, she started down Maxwell Drive, drumming her fingers on the wheel.

The girl in the wheelchair at the back stopped humming. The driver peeked through the rearview mirror and watched some people in the seats around her sigh, shoulders relaxing, breath fogging up the windows. Someone sniffed, someone coughed. But other than that and the faint noise of some rock song through someone else’s earbuds, the inside of the bus was silent.  

The woman stepped on the gas. Her blue uniform rustled under the rev of the engine and the marching beat of the rain.

As the white bus made its way down the road, houses loomed through the dense fog from all sides. Between the branches of one tree with pink blossoms was a one storied brick house. Across the street, to the driver’s right, was an abode with cracked white shingles and neatly trimmed grass.

 The woman directed the vehicle further down the road, past a few bunchy trees, to the next homes; on the left a yellow one, two stories and with a small garden amidst the driveway full of indigo flowers. On the right a white one, also two stories, garage door painted sky blue, American flag at the door battered by wind.

A low hanging tree’s branches clawed at the roof, metal screech and clattering taps replacing the ambient sound of rain splattering and puddles being driven through. A man with a cast around his leg in the front jostled out of his sleep, adjusted his glasses that were falling off, and stared at the plated metal ceiling.

They were approaching the curve, where Maxwell Drive bent down to split into Maplecrest Court. The signs there hung from one steel pole that had been tilting slightly to the left for years, and although at first the driver had been irked by it at first the idiosyncrasy now soothed her – it confirmed that she was moving forward.

Through the haze she could already start to see the signs. Two of them, green plaques glowing in the headlights, indicating Maxwell Dr in front and Maplecrest Ct to the left. The driver would keep going forward, per usual, but she slowed down at the intersection.

The people of the bus fidgeted. This is not where they typically stopped, and they knew it.

The woman blinked, sleep crusted eyes attentively surveying the figure in the rain, standing at the sign. A short thing – only reaching halfway up the post and shivering.

The driver pulled to the side of the road, stopped by the person, and looked through the glass doors.

There was a girl, black hair up in a ponytail that stuck straight down in the rain. No umbrella, no cover, just her and a backpack and a pair of mud stained shoes.

The driver checked the clock. 6:12 in the morning.

Sighing, she flipped open the door with the lever. The sound of rain rushed louder, sound pushing through the bus and reaching the passengers. The girl in the wheelchair started humming again.

“Hey kid,” she said.

“N-ni hao.” The girl blinked. “Dui bu- soar-ee. Hai-hailo.”

“Why are you out in the rain?”

The girl stared, then adjusted her backpack. The straps were Dora themed. “Don-do not know, what you say-” her face twisted. “Say-ing.”

Some people in the bus started to mutter. The driver paid them no mind.

“What are you,” the woman pointed at the girl, “doing in the rain?” With the last word, she wiggled her fingers and dragged them down through the air.

“Oh,” said the girl. “Xue- me- I-” she grumbled.

“What’d you say?”

“I, me- bus, school. No walk, too long away.”

“Why’d we stop?” Asked an old man in the front.

“Mama said big huang se… bus, go take me. This bus…” the girl’s shoes squished in the mud, and then she walked out of the driver’s view.

“Hey-”

“This bus, not huang se. This bus bai se. I think… I do not think this the bus.” The girl walked back into view, and her shoes were completely covered in brown.

“Kid- where are your parents?”

The girl stared.

“Where are your,” the driver jabbed a finger at the girl, then paused to think. “Where is your-” another finger jab, “-mama?”

“Mama home.”

“Which home?”

“Huang se. Zi se lan se flowers, gar-garden. Mama plant pretty flowers.” The girl smiled with her teeth glinting, and rain dripped from her lips.

“Why aren’t we moving!” Shouted a woman – less a question than a scream.

“Kid- you should go home.”

“Home? But, mama said school. Through huang se bus.”

“It’s raining. Go get an umbrella.”

“Um-umbreh-umbrehlah,” The girl stuttered. “Funny word. But I school, I wait in the rain.” She wiggled her fingers and dragged them down through the air.

“Alright.” Said the driver, and she shut the door.

In the rearview mirror, she saw the girl standing in the rain, head halfway up the street post, Dora print backpack soaked. Ponytail pointing at her mud stained shoes, she stood there, and then she disappeared down the bend.