Free Prettiest Doll by Gina Willner-Pardo

didn’t know he was going to ask. The words just spilled out of my mouth, like a mistake, but even though I knew I could take them back, I said nothing and waited patiently for my change.
    Only when I turned around did I see Danny coming out of the men’s restroom, his hair wet and combed.
    â€œWhat?” he said when he realized it was me.
    His forehead was crinkled up with the irritation you feel when you’re surprised and it isn’t something like a present or a snow day. But I thought I saw something else, too: a little gladness in his eyes.
    â€œAre you still going to Chicago?” I asked. My heart was beating in my ears, and a voice in my head was keeping time with it, whispering,
Say yes, say yes.
    â€œYeah.” He hoisted his duffel bag higher on his shoulder. “I’m not sure about calling your uncle. I may just want to be on my own. I really appreciate your help, though,” he said. I could tell he thought I was going to be mad, was going to start arguing with him again about not knowing anyone, not having anywhere safe to stay.
    â€œWell, I’m going to Chicago, too,” I said.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œNot because of you. Because of other reasons.”
    â€œWhat reasons? You don’t have any reasons.”
    â€œHow do you know? You don’t know anything about me.” The old lady glanced over at me. “I have lots of reasons,” I whispered.
    â€œLike what?”
    I didn’t want to say. It was pushy, asking me like that, not even thinking that maybe it was too personal for me to talk about. “I don’t have to tell you anything.”
    A man in a gray uniform emerged from the bus and pushed open the door to the waiting room. “You folks on the six forty to Chicago?” he asked, not looking at any of us in particular. “Backpacks and luggage gotta go in the back.”
    We fell in line behind the old couple, who were hunched over but fast. You could tell they liked being first in every line they stood in. The old man turned and looked at us, probably thinking we were brother and sister and wondering where our parents were. “You youngsters have any breakfast?” he asked.
    â€œYeah, we did,” Danny said. “At home.”
    My heart flipped over when he said “we.”
    â€œYou like those Honey Clusters? I love those Honey Clusters. It’s a cereal,” he said.
    â€œYeah,” Danny said. “They’re good.”
    â€œNot too sweet,” the old man said. “Now my grandson, he’s a Cap’n Crunch man.”
    â€œCap’n Crunch is good,” Danny said.
    â€œHe’d eat it for breakfast, lunch, and dinner if my daughter’d let him,” the old man said. “I never seen a boy so attached to one food before. It ain’t normal.”
    â€œOh,
Ed,”
the old lady said.
    The old man looked at her and almost said something but seemed to change his mind. He turned back to us. “He’d eat it without milk. Just dry, right out of the box.”
    â€œI used to like Cap’n Crunch,” Danny said. “But it’s a little too sweet.”
    I let myself pretend that Danny and I were grown-ups—married and on our honeymoon—and Danny was doing all the talking because he knew I was shy about having to make conversation with strangers. Then it was like he was doing all this talking for me, like he was protecting me in a manly, husbandly way. So all this talk about cereal was almost sexy.
    â€œThe sweetness kind of gets to you after a while,” Danny said.
    The bus driver took my backpack and stowed it in the luggage compartment, which was already half-full of suitcases. I looked up and saw people staring out of the bus window. As if he could read my mind, he said, “We started out in Houston.” I thought how going somewhere on a bus is different from going on a plane, which is probably thrilling even if you’ve done it a