Chapter Text
Oliver Fitzgerald’s 2nd most prized possession was a black briefcase.
For one, it was an exact copy of his dad’s, tailored to fit his hand.
For another, it carried his other prized possessions: an extra pair of glasses, exactly two sharpened No. 2 pencils, and a file organizer.
But most importantly, he felt a little taller when carrying it.
Oliver went on his tiptoes to open the curtains of his bedroom window. That’s how someone could tell that he was being serious, because no one with dignity would ever go on their tiptoes for an ordinary occasion.
The round moon still glowed brightly against the pitch-black canvas, gazing curiously back at Oliver.
His rocket alarm read 4:22 AM. Oliver had set the alarm to 5:00 AM, but woke up in cold sweat after a horrifying nightmare where he’d brought one pencil instead of two, arrived late to class, and forgot to check on Sir Succulent.
Oliver opened his gray, grid notebook and flipped to the most recent page, a data table for the month of August.
Date: 8/21
Sir Succulent sat on the shelf under his bedroom window.
The suspense was almost unbearable.
Oliver stretched the measuring tape from the far left to the far right leaf, fingers trembling slightly. Its dimensions looked identical to yesterday, but he was worried his eyes would deceive him again.
Width: 8 cm.
His fingers relaxed slightly, but he couldn’t let his guard down just yet.
He then stretched the measuring tape from the soil to the tip of the tallest leaf.
Height: 5 cm.
The knot in his stomach instantly loosened.
Sir Succulent was still growing healthily.
Feeling reassured, Oliver wrote down the measurements and then returned the notebook back to where it belonged.
Now he had to worry about other things. He’d tried creating a To-Worry List to ensure that he would never forget anything, but the list was never-ending. Additionally, he’d sometimes finish worrying about something, check it off on the list, and then had the worry resurface a mere hour later.
He’d built a routine around the usual suspects, though.
Oliver walked over to the mirror.
He thought his new suit was slightly too big for him—sleeves falling an inch past his wrist, the fabric around his shoulders making them look broad in comparison to his head. He worried that the suit made him look small.
Oliver smoothed his suit.
He looked down. His pants were still on.
Oliver took off his glasses and wiped the lens. Placed them back.
He then opened his suitcase. Extra pair of glasses. File organizer.
Two No. 2 pencils.
Oliver closed the suitcase with a click.
He then shut the door behind him and turned on the lights before creeping down the stairs.
The house was quieter than usual today. Usually, his father would already be awake and downstairs, making coffee and doing important business on his computer or phone.
“… Important meeting in Washington,” his father had spoken over the phone last week. “They need to re-do the evaluation after Clark mismanaged the main control…”
Now, the only noise that could be heard was the incessant typing from his mom’s office down the hall.
He opened the fridge, where the avocado and cheese sandwich he’d wrapped from last night awaited him. Next to it sat a separate glass container of tangerine slices and assorted berries. He packed the sandwich in his lunchbox, and then carried his breakfast out the door.
Oliver sat on the porch steps and opened the container to eat.
And then he watched. And he waited.
The sun started to creep up behind the houses, a small orange orb that signaled the beginning of his neighborhood’s morning routine, and Oliver’s favorite part of the day. Mr. Carter, a friendly old man who lived across the street, watered his front lawn. Gray curtains were drawn inside the three-story beige house two houses down.
Oliver watched until the sun had fully cast its rays throughout the neighborhood. It was just enough time to thoroughly chew on his breakfast and avoid a stomach-ache, and for his nerves to calm.
Oliver checked his watch.
5:53 AM.
His nanny would arrive in a navy-blue Toyota soon. Although 6:00 AM was the agreed arrival time, Ms. Chan always arrived 5 minutes early. He liked that about her.
Which is why when the clock hand hit 5:55 AM and he still didn’t see her car, Oliver stood up on the porch and looked both ways.
No navy-blue Toyota.
Oliver walked closer to the sidewalk and looked both ways again.
5:58 AM.
Still no navy-blue Toyota.
Even stranger, he saw the flashing red lights of a yellow school bus just two streets down.
There has never been a school bus that went through his side of the neighborhood.
This was becoming seriously concerning.
6:00 AM.
The official time of arrival had passed, and there was no nanny.
Oliver froze on the sidewalk, feeling a wave of panic.
Should he tell his mother? But she’d told him not to bother her unless it was an emergency. Did this count as an emergency? What constitutes as an emergency?
A fire was an emergency, but a missing nanny?
The idea of bothering his mother brought a new wave of dread.
Oliver checked again. 6:01 AM.
The yellow bus slowly approached his street. His nanny had always driven him to school, but he knew that there were other kids who took the school bus. The school bus was a reliable method of transportation.
But what if his nanny arrived a bit later, not knowing where he went? He didn’t have a phone, and he was insistent on not bothering his mom.
Oliver had to decide fast. The bus was already at the stop sign a street down.
His little feet were frozen on the ground as he thought about the worst case scenario: walking in when the teacher was in the middle of teaching, all heads turning to him, and losing his Most Punctual award streak on the very first day of 3rd grade.
Oliver was very proud of that award. He even had it framed above his desk.
The bus came to a halt on the street, its doors swinging open.
Adrenaline pumped through him as he boarded the bus. Oliver felt like he was committing some sort of crime, like tax fraud. Or worse.
The bus driver, a middle-aged man, looked at him.
Oliver froze. He pressed his briefcase closer.
“Good morning, sir,” he squeaked.
The driver grunted and looked away.
But before Oliver could sit down, the bus suddenly lurched forward. Oliver nearly dropped his briefcase, scrambling to get to the nearest seat he could find that didn’t have crumbs or gum stuck to it.
Unfortunately, this was nowhere, so Oliver had to lean to the left in an attempt to avoid the crumbs on the right side of his seat.
As time passed, the familiar houses of his neighborhood disappeared. The bus made multiple stops, and each time, unfamiliar faces boarded.
That was strange. But maybe he was just unfamiliar with the other routes.
One of the unfamiliar faces was an older boy with a bright orange mohawk and CHICKEN NOODLE SOUP printed on his neon-colored T-shirt. He stopped to stare at Oliver, then stomped right up to him.
“Hey, what grade are you in!?”
Who was this? What did he want with him?
Oliver clutched his briefcase. “I’m in 3rd grade,” Oliver stated.
“I’m in 5th grade,” the boy sneered.
“… Okay.” A moment of silence fell, and Oliver stared at the seat in front of him, unsure of what was happening.
“You have to give your seat to me because I’m older,” the boy demanded.
“… Okay.”
Oliver didn’t want to give up his seat, but he was afraid the boy would keep bothering him and cause trouble.
“HEY WIMP, I GOT YOU A SEAT!” the boy yelled from across the bus.
Another boy that looked closer to Oliver’s age scampered through the packed bus. “I call the window!”
“Y’know him?” The older boy jabbed a thumb at Oliver. “He says he’s in your class!”
“What?” Oliver blurted. When did he say that? He’d never even seen this person before.
But his voice was buried under the loud chatter.
The younger boy looked at Oliver. He had facial features similar to the older one, but with brown hair and a dark green sweatshirt.
“I don’t know him,” he said.
“Yeah, you do.”
“No, I don’t!” he argued.
The mohawk boy turned to Oliver. “You’re in 3rd grade, right?”
Oliver started, “Yes, but—”
“—SEE, you know him!” interrupted the mohawk boy.
“I DON’T!”
“How can you not know him? He’s in your class!”
Looking at Oliver, the brown-haired boy asked, “You go to Abernathy Elementary?”
“No, I go to Amedeo Avogadro Elementary School,” Oliver replied.
Both boys stared at him.
“You mean the Avocado School?” asked the mohawk boy.
“I said, I go to the Amedeo Avogadro Elemen—”
“—Yeah, isn’t that the one with the giant avocado in the front?”
“Actually, it’s a molecule sculpture with creative liberties taken,” Oliver clarified.
“So an avocado molecule.”
“No…”
“Well this bus goes to Abernathy,” the mohawk boy said. “The Avocado School is like 6 or 7 miles away.”
IT’S WHAT—
Oliver’s face heated. “I know that. I was taking a detour.”
Oliver avoided looking at the boys’ expressions and quickly unfastened his seatbelt. “Excuse me—” he squeaked.
He needed to get off the bus immediately. Being on the wrong bus was bad, but the embarrassment was equally bad, if not worse. Mostly because he felt the perpetrators staring at him.
“Excuse me,” Oliver repeated, but this time at the driver.
The driver didn’t seem to hear him. His eyes stared straight ahead.
“Excuse me!” he tried to say louder.
Across the bus, the older boy yelled, barely holding back a laugh. “There’s no stop here!”
Oliver looked outside the glass doors.
His knees wobbled.
He was even feeling a bit light-headed.
Oliver didn’t know if it was his motion sickness, the feeling of hundreds of tiny spiders crawling inside his stomach, or a combination of both.
That’s when he spotted a girl right outside the doors.
Roller-skating at the same speed as the bus.
Oliver stared.
The first thing Oliver noticed was that she had no helmet and no knee pads.
The second thing he noticed was that her backpack was completely open. Water balloons of various colors jiggled inside, along with one pink pencil. It was a miracle that nothing had fallen out yet.
Almost immediately, the pink pencil bounced off the pavement and rolled down the street.
Oliver’s jaw dropped.
She’d just lost a pencil.
A pencil.
The girl didn’t even seem to notice. In fact, she had a burnt cookie hanging out of her mouth.
Oliver found this completely alarming.
His fists banged on the bus doors, trying to get her attention.
He needed to immediately tell her that her pink pencil had just rolled away.
The girl looked at him.
“Your pencil!” Oliver mouthed. He pointed in the direction it rolled away to, but when he turned back to her, she’d already looked away, completely ignoring him.
Increasingly distressed, Oliver pounded on the doors again.
The girl glanced at him.
He frantically pointed at the road. “Your pencil!” he repeated.
The girl’s eyes finally widened with understanding.
Oliver breathed out a sigh of relief. He wouldn’t know what he’d do if he lost his No. 2 pencil. Technically, he could use the one in his briefcase, but that was an emergency pencil meant to be used scarcely.
However, his relief was brief.
Instead of returning to retrieve her pencil, the girl suddenly whizzed past him and out of view.
And then—
SPLAT!
A pink water balloon exploded against the bus’s front window.