Zach stood on the sidewalk with Mom two days later, taking in everything he could. She had brought him along on yet another exciting adventure—the Metro bus. Already they had dropped the car off at the mechanic's shop for a tune-up; traveled by bus to the library, where Mom had encouraged him to select his own books to check out; and journeyed from there to a department store, where Mom had done a little shopping and—with an odd grin—bought him a pair of winter gloves.
"Why did you buy me these?" he asked her, putting his fingers in and out of the gloves as they watched the traffic stream by. "It's summer."
"Oh, they're cheaper in the summer," she said with a sly grin. She checked her watch. "We're going to be late. I hope your dad thinks to put the chicken in the oven when he gets home."
They stood under a bus sign, as Mom had taught him that morning. In black it listed the bus routes that stopped there. "Why did you want me to get so many books?" he queried.
"Don't you like to read?"
"Yeah, but we have lots of books at home."
"For adults. I thought you might like to get some that were more interesting to you. Besides, you might need a few extras." She got that sly look again.
"When are you going to tell me what's going on, Mom? I know you're planning something."
"Later," she said simply. An orange and blue bus displaying route number thirty-six in electronic orange digits pulled around the corner and stopped almost at their feet, its door opening to them. "Beacon and South Graham?" Mom asked the driver.
"Yep, heading that way," she replied.
They boarded, Mom paid their fares, and the bus swung back into the street. She led Zach to a pair of seats near the middle of the bus and let him sit beside the window.
"Mom," Zach whispered, "that guy in the back of the bus has purple hair sticking straight up!" He twisted in his seat to look at the strange hairdo again.
With a hand on his shoulder, Mom pulled him back into a forward-facing position. "Don't stare, Zach," she told him. "And that's a girl."
A girl, with spiky purple hair! He barely resisted the urge to look again. Instead, he studied the buildings and people that slid by as the bus journeyed down the street, stopping every few blocks.
"Thanks for letting me go to Cayden's house yesterday," Zach said, still gazing out the window.
"I guess you had a good time," she replied.
"Yeah. We played games—in his room, mostly. Their yard is really small."
"Well, his mother seemed like a reasonable person. I was pretty nervous, though. Now that you're here with me and your dad, I don't want anything to happen to you. But he and I agreed that you've been kept inside your own home too long. You need to be able to visit a friend's house now and then."
"Awesome," he said happily. "I won't go all the time, though."
"Maybe you could invite him over to our place sometimes."
Zach lit up; he hadn't thought of that. He watched out the window for another minute, then spoke again. "Mr. Eddie came to see my game yesterday."
"I saw him. He was proud of your bunt," Mom said.
"Dad showed me how to do that." It had been Zach's third game, and he had reached base on a sneaky kind of short hit that Dad had taught him a few nights ago. "Mr. Eddie told me he used to play baseball when he was a kid, until he quit."
"Why did he quit?"
"He was mad at his dad."
"That's a shame," Mom said. "Speaking of dads, why don't you give yours a call and ask him to put the chicken in the oven?" She handed Zach her phone.
He stared at it, frowning self-consciously. "I don't know how."
Mom smiled; she wasn't surprised. "Do you remember his number?"
Zach nodded. They had been drilling him on their phone numbers and email addresses every night at dinner; he already knew their address.
"Push the number buttons to type it in."
He pressed the number four, and a four appeared on the screen. He punched the other six digits and looked up at Mom again.
"Now the green button," she said.
He pressed it, and the word "calling" appeared on the screen. He glanced at Mom again and put the phone to his ear the way he'd seen her do it.
He heard Dad's phone ringing. After a moment, Dad's voice came on the line. "Hey, beautiful."
Zach lifted his eyebrows in surprise. "Dad? It's me, Zach."
"Oh—hi, Zach," Dad chuckled. "Mom let you call, huh?"
"Yeah," he answered. "She wants you to put the chicken in the oven when you get home. We're going to be late…"
He was talking on the phone, talking with his dad. This was great. He was riding on a Metro bus with his real mom, talking on the phone with his real dad. Life could hardly get any better.
*****
The Boy Who Appeared from the Rain Page 50