For a moment, I tried to explain it away.
Maybe he had gotten into trouble at school.
Maybe he had failed a quiz.
Maybe another child had said something cruel.
But then I noticed something else.
The bus hadn’t moved.
I turned toward it.
The driver’s window slowly rolled down.
His name was Jacob. He was in his early 40s, with tired eyes and a calm voice. He had driven Ethan’s route since the beginning of the school year and had always been friendly.
He waved every afternoon.
Sometimes he reminded Ethan not to drag his coat along the bus steps.
But that day, Jacob looked different.
He looked tense.
He glanced around as if making sure no one else was listening.
His eyes moved toward our house.
Then toward the parked cars along the street.
I stepped closer to the curb.
“Is something wrong?” I asked.
