Free Somebody on This Bus Is Going to Be Famous by J. B. Cheaney

have any relevance here.
    â€œ Crap! ” the man says, making him jump. Doesn’t he have a blanket in his truck or something? The motor is thrumming briskly; bet it’s warm in the cab. “Don’t tell her you saw me. Don’t tell anybody. You’ve put me in a helluva moral quandary, you know that? No, you don’t. Listen—Man, what to do? I’m in kind of a hurry, but… Listen, what’s the story here? What are you doing out in the fog?”
    Funny he should ask. Bender feels like he’s been in the fog all his life; fog is his natural state. “W-w-w—”
    â€œYeah, that’s easy for you to say. Ha-ha, forget it. Let me try again—where do you need to go?”
    This one’s easy. “H-home.”
    â€œHome. Don’t we all? Well, okay, is it close? Just nod, yes or no.”
    Bender nods.
    â€œOkay, lost boy, into the truck. Point me in the right direction, but if I start to think this is a trick, I’m letting you out, no matter where we are. Got that?”
    If there’s a trick, it won’t be on his side of the equation. All his life, Bender has been told not to take rides from strangers. But somebody who’s shared a moral quandary with you (sort of) isn’t exactly a stranger, is he? The knife doesn’t give him a nice cozy feeling, but whether it’s smart or not, Bender knows he’s going to accept the offer.

November
    Miranda will never be famous for anything, except maybe for who she’s friends with.
    Last year, it was Penelope (“Don’t call me Penny!”) Gage, whose father is president of First Republic Bank and who lives in the biggest house in town. Back in fourth grade, before Miranda had even met Penelope, she and her mother would drive by the house while it was being built, watching it change from a cleared lot with a poured foundation to a proud stone and timber mansion. They would ask questions of each other as the house progressed: How big will it be? How tall? What style? Where would the windows go?
    The answers came over time: 1) Very. 2) Two and a half stories. 3) Rustic lodge. 4) Everywhere. The double doors in front opened to an entrance hall with cathedral roof and three chandeliers, but Miranda wouldn’t know all that until fifth grade, when she got to be friends with Penelope.
    It’s kind of interesting, how that happened.
    Two of the fifth-grade classes were in the library on a sleety afternoon last January when the fire alarm went off. The whole school groaned, as if the building had reared up on its foundations and exclaimed, “What the—?” They were only supposed to have drills on nice days.
    Except it wasn’t a drill. It was a real fire, started in the cafeteria kitchen after lunch when the staff was taking a break. When somebody finally noticed, things got a little confused and the alarm went off and the fire department got called. By the time three hundred kids were shivering on the sidewalk in a freezing rain, the fire was already out.
    How Miranda’s class got there was a little confusing too: they were in the library, and Mrs. Russell was in the restroom and Ms. Henderson was just outside sneaking a cigarette and Mrs. Jenks was under the checkout desk, trying to figure out where to plug in a computer cord. The kids lined themselves up in front of the outside door with no adult supervision. In the shuffle, Miranda found herself standing next to Penelope, who was holding a book. “I’ve read that!” she blurted.
    Penelope glanced at her then stared forward again. “Is it any good?”
    â€œIt’s kinda sad.” Miranda could have said that more people died than she expected, but it was a good book anyway. One of the best she’d ever read, in fact, if you went by how many Kleenexes it took to get to the end. But she didn’t say anything because Mrs. Russell, who had dashed back from the restroom, was directing the