Inside the bus, the windows had fogged, then streaked clear from small hands. Ms. Patel held her position like a lighthouse—steady even with fear knocking in her throat. “We’ll go row by row,” she told June. “Last count, five still seated. One on the floor? We had a napper—Eli—he likes to curl up by the aisle.”
“We’ll sweep for him,” June said. “No one leaves until we check the floor.”
A girl with glitter on her sweatshirt scooted out next, cheeks pinstriped with rain. “Name?” Ms. Patel prompted, breath a little choppy but voice warm.
“Harper,” she whispered.
“Harper is safe,” Ms. Patel called, and the woman with the pizza box wrote it down in capital letters that bled and held.
On the bank, Liam and Zoe tucked under the moving blanket like two birds in a nest. The knit cap had slipped sideways, giving Liam a lopsided halo. “Can we help?” Zoe asked, looking up at me, no tremor in it.
