Read Online Everyday Hero by Kathleen Cherry - Free Book Online Page A

me.”
    She said the last three sentences so quickly it was hard to understand. She crossed
her arms. This is called body language. Or it could mean that she was mad or afraid.
    Or cold.
    Most likely cold, I thought.
    “Final boarding announcement for all passengers bound for Vancouver,” the disembodied
voice announced.
    Megan turned. “Stay here. There’s a bus back to Kitimat later. Your dad would meet
you.”
    I shook my head.
    Megan opened her mouth like she wanted to say something and then shut it, shaking
her head.
    “This is a first,” she finally said.
    “Huh?”
    Megan laughed. “No one’s ever wanted to keep me safe before. And it’s someone—”
    Her voice trailed into silence. For a brief moment we were both quiet. Then an engine
started.
    “Come on,” Megan said, “or we’ll both miss the bus.”
    ***
    The Vancouver bus’s number was 363. It was like the one from Kitimat except more
crowded. I sat beside Megan, which was better than sitting beside a stranger who
might smell. Plus, I am not supposed to talk to strangers.
    I did not mind sitting beside Megan because she did not smell. And I could talk to
her if I wanted because she was not a stranger. But usually she does not want to
talk, which is also good because I do not like chitchat.
    Outside, cows, horses and fields dotted the landscape. I don’t mind seeing cows and
horses from a car or bus window because I can’t smell them. I don’t like them up
close because they smell.
    Once, Mom and Dad took me to the petting zoo in Stanley Park in Vancouver. I screamed.
    When the bus came to the Fraser River Canyon, I couldn’t see cows or horses anymore.
Instead, the road twisted so close to the canyon’s edge that I looked straight down
into the foaming, frothing white rapids. Across the canyon, a railway line threaded
its way in a twisting line of silver. The road seemed carved from the mountains.
In some places, wire netting hung over bare rock to protect the road from falling
debris. In others, tunnels had been drilled into the mountain, gaping holes piercing
the solid rock.
    I counted seven.
    After the canyon, we stopped at a place called Hope. This is a small community where
hopeful miners stocked up before going through the Fraser Canyon to the goldfields
during British Columbia’s gold rush. I guess they hoped to find gold, although statistically
they were more likely to die.
    After Hope the highway got busier, and I closed my eyes. Everything was too much—too
many lanes of traffic, too many cars, too many buildings, too many stoplights, too
many people and too many buses. I counted my nine rocks and wished I was back in
my room with my music box and my twirling ballerinas.
    ***
    The Vancouver bus station was nicer than the one in Prince George. For one thing,
it didn’t smell. It had a high ceiling, a tile floor and a spacious, airy emptiness.
    “I like this place,” I said.
    Megan looked at me. “It’s a bus station.”
    We walked across the floor. It was smooth and shiny like marble.
    “Do you know your mom’s address?” Megan asked.
    “I know my grandparents’ address.”
    “If I get you a taxi, can you get there? Do you have enough money?”
    “How much money will I need?”
    Megan shrugged. “I don’t know.”
    “I have $111.00,” I said.
    “That’s enough.”
    “ Meeting an Internet acquaintance can be unsafe. It is best to avoid it entirely,
but if you must meet with an Internet acquaintance, always choose a public place,
and take a friend ,” I recited.
    “What? You’ve got that memorized?”
    I pulled out the pamphlet. Megan took it, scanned the page, then thrust it back at
me. “You can’t believe everything you read. This is so dumb. It’s meant for little
kids. I’m tough. I can look after myself.”
    Dad had said she was tough.
    I said nothing. Megan was silent. She picked at a piece of skin on her thumb with
a chipped, black nail.
    “Look,” she said at last. “We are meeting in a public