The Seat Beside the Window

Ada liked the third seat on the left. From there, she could see the river between the houses and the little shop with the crooked blue awning. She usually put her bag on the seat beside her until the bus filled up. On Tuesday, the windows were misted with rain, and the river had disappeared behind a row of umbrellas.

At the next stop, the driver waited while a boy climbed aboard with a red backpack. Kit was new at school. Ada knew that much. He paused halfway down the aisle, looking from one window to the other. “Is this taken?” he asked. Ada pulled her bag onto her knees. “No,” she said. “But you’ll get a better view on the other side.”

Kit sat down anyway. He wiped a small patch of glass with his sleeve and looked through it. “Do we go past a pharmacy?” he asked. “Two,” Ada said. “One before the bridge and one after.” Kit opened his backpack, took out a folded map and studied it without unfolding it completely. Ada looked back at the window. Apparently he preferred a worse view.

The bus turned away from the river. Kit sat up suddenly. “Wasn’t that our turn?” “The usual road’s closed this week,” Ada said. “We go round the back of the shops.” He looked at his folded map again. The corner shook a little in his hand. “Same school, though,” she added. “I know,” he said, but he did not sound entirely sure.

Ada could have pointed him towards the driver. Instead, she leaned closer to the map. “My aunt’s bakery is there,” Kit said, tapping a square. “Mum told me to look for it. Then I’d know I was nearly at school.” “We won’t pass it today.” “Oh.” Ada rubbed a larger patch clear on the window. “We do pass the clock tower. That’s just as close.”

They watched the wet streets slide by. Ada named the swimming pool and the shop that sold enormous rugs. Kit folded his map away. Then the clock tower appeared above the roofs. “There,” Ada said. “Two more corners.” Kit let out a breath and sat back. “I thought I’d got on the wrong bus.” “You’d have had a very long day,” she said.

At school, Kit waited while Ada wrestled her bag out from under her coat. “Do you always sit there?” he asked. “Mostly.” “Could I sit there tomorrow? Just until I know the other route.” Ada glanced at the fogged window. She had hardly seen the river at all. “You can sit beside me,” she said. “I’ll need someone to spot the tower if it rains again.”

The next morning, Ada put her bag under the seat. Kit arrived carrying a small paper bag as well as his backpack. “My aunt had these left over,” he said. “Cheese twists.” Ada took one. Outside, the blue awning flapped in the wind. “Wrong side for the bakery,” she said. “Right side for the river.” She moved her elbow so he could see past her, and the bus pulled away.