Before I could open the door, she turned on her heel and ran for the curb.

The folding doors of bus forty-two creaked shut behind her dark blue shoes, and the diesel engine roared as the driver pulled into the street.

I leaned across the front seat and picked up the paper with both hands.

I unfolded the two tight creases with my thumbs and read three words written in pencil.

Meet me at the park.

The pencil letters looped awkwardly across the torn school paper.