Free Playing Keira by Jennifer Castle Page A

He’s young, but older than me. Scruffy. Wet hair. As he leans forward to remove the leather jacket, he nods to me quickly and I nod back, then return to my window gaze.
    I wait. I’m assuming he’s looking at me more thoroughly now. His glance will sweep up and down, taking stock. Because that’s what usually happens. I’m not being egotistical here; it’s the facts. People find me attractive. I call this stock-taking action the Appraisal, usually followed by the Shift. Meaning the shift in someone’s attitude and body language and vibe. Suddenly I’m not merely part of the background. I have come into focus for this individual. The fun part is watching what he or she does next.
    Sometimes they say, “You look familiar. Do we know each other?”
    Yes, I know it’s a legitimate question when you live in a small town. It’s not unreasonable to ask, but I’ve gotten good at recognizing when it’s purely a line.
    Double Jacket Guy doesn’t say anything, though. When the bus starts moving, I glance over to see him leaning back, his eyes closed. Okay, good. It’ll be like this. I stuff my purse at my feet.
    Just so you don’t think I’m a complete criminal, I should say for the record that the purse is mine, even if several things inside it are not. As in, the two cell phones, wallet, and a set of car keys. I only took the car keys because I couldn’t figure out a safe place to leave them with the car parked back at the bus station, and because I know there’s a spare set. I’m responsible that way. When you’re lying awake all night figuring out how you’re going to do this, you think of everything. The only item that was on my mental checklist but I didn’t have time for was writing a note. I thought I didn’t want anyone to worry. But now that they’re most definitely worrying, I have to admit I like the thought of it.
    Worry about me. For once. Please, please, worry about me .
    I don’t know if I’m going to find what I’m looking for today, but the simple fact that I’m trying is more than good enough. The bus moves up Main Street on its way to the Thruway, where it will turn south to New York City. I take one more look out the window, but see nobody running after us. Nobody pulling into the lot mere seconds too late to catch me.
    The sign for the Thruway entrance is just up ahead now.
    I’m officially gone.
    Double Jacket Guy has been clutching his leather jacket on his lap for the last ten minutes, and now that the bus is moving more smoothly on the highway, he opens his eyes, stands up to remove the denim jacket and put it in the overhead bin, then puts the leather jacket back on.
    I’m trying to calculate why this would make sense. He sits down and notices my puzzled look.
    “Too hot with both of them on,” he says, but doesn’t explain why he chose the leather jacket to keep wearing.
    “Ah,” I say. “Yes.”
    “I’m Garrett,” he says. So much for the silent bus trip. And why do people assume you want to know their names?
    Of course, I’m expected to say my name too now. I almost do. But then I remember that I’m sort of committing a crime at the moment. I shouldn’t be me. I should be that nobody-girl buying a one-way bus ticket for some reason that’s none of your business.
    “Rayanne,” I say. The name I had picked out last night as I listened to the other girls sleep-breathing, the pillowcase of an unfamiliar bed scratchy on my cheek. I’m not even sure where this name comes from. I don’t think I even look like a Rayanne, but I’m committed now.
    Garrett shifts his eyes to the window for a second, brows raised, like he’s thinking hard about what to say next. Finally, he looks back at me.
    “Nice day for the city,” he says. For God’s sake. Really? The weather?
    “Hopefully,” I reply, and turn away, hoping that’ll do the trick.
    “I’m meeting my girlfriend,” adds Garrett. “I think we’re going to wander around Central Park, maybe go to the zoo.”
    I