Free 121 Express by Monique Polak Page B

laughed.
    And yesterday, I insulted an old lady’s car when she pulled up next to the bus.“Your clunker’s got more rust than metal on it!” I yelled out the window. When the old lady turned her head, I realized it was Mrs. Gibbs, my old kindergarten teacher. I ducked so she wouldn’t notice me.
    Today, when the bell rang at three, the mood at the bus lineup was extra crazy. Kelly and her friends were dancing, and Pierre punched one of the nerds in the stomach. The kid was lying on the ground moaning, but he stopped when Mr. Adams walked by.
    â€œEverything okay?” Mr. Adams asked as he helped the kid up from the sidewalk. “You look a little winded.”
    â€œYup, everything’s fine.”
    When the bus doors opened, we stampeded past Mr. Adams, who was standing at the curb, shaking his head. This time Pierre couldn’t find his bus pass, so the two of us pushed our way in through the back doors.
    I saw the bus driver eyeing us in his rearview mirror. It was a cool September day, but his forehead was sweaty. “Hey,hey,” he called out, but nobody paid any attention.
    When Jake raised his lighter in the air, I took mine out too. We all had lighters, even if we didn’t smoke. We liked snapping them. The driver couldn’t take the sound—and he was probably afraid we were going to set fire to his precious bus.
    â€œLook!” someone called out from the front of the bus. “The driver’s cheek is twitching double-time!”
    Soon all of us at the back were snapping our lighters. Then Kelly and her friends started pulling on the yellow cord that makes the bell ring. Between the snapping and the ringing, it was like a bad concert. Everyone was laughing. Even old Sandeep Singh.
    Everyone, that is, except the bus driver. When he swerved around this Subaru wagon, so close he nearly took off the sideview mirror, I thought he was losing it.
    â€œHey, man, I think it’s time for some driving lessons!” Jake called out.
    â€œYeah, what are you trying to do—kill us?” Kelly shrieked.
    The driver’s back was straight as a stick. I could tell he was trying to focus on the road. Then, with no warning at all, he pulled over to the side of Côte-Vertu Boulevard and turned on the emergency lights. Their steady tick-tick echoed like a clock inside the bus.
    Other drivers honked for us to get out of their way. But instead the driver put the engine into neutral and rose from his seat.
    Except for the ticking, the bus was dead quiet.
    The driver ran his fingers through his gray hair. “You kids are in a big hurry to start your weekend, right?”
    â€œWe sure are,” Jake called out. “So you driving us to the metro, or what?”
    The driver just stood there, staring at us. His belly hung over his pants like a spare tire, and he was breathing hard. “I’m not driving you nowhere unless you cut out your nonsense. No lighters, no bells. No nothing. Got that?” He practically spit out the words.
    The nerds all nodded. But the driverknew their word wasn’t good enough. “What about you guys at the back?”
    Jake stood up and walked to the center of the bus so he was facing the driver. Everyone’s eyes were on Jake. A couple of girls at the front of the bus twittered.
    â€œSure thing,” Jake said.
    The driver waddled back to his seat. When Jake turned around, he gave us a wink. We all knew that meant Trouble. With a capital T.

chapter three
    If you’re looking for a soccer ball, chances are Pierre’s got one. Today the ball was between his knees. Pierre was using it to exercise his quads.
    All Jake had to do was point. Pierre released the ball. Then he tossed it up in the air and used the top of his head to butt it over to Jake.
    Jake yelped as he head-butted the ball halfway down the bus.
    â€œKeep it going!” voices shouted.
    â€œYou’d better watch it!” Jewel Chu said.
    Things