His shoulders were drawn inward. He held both straps of his backpack and stared at the ground as if he were counting every crack in the sidewalk.
« Ethan? » I called.
He did not answer.
Instead, he hurried inside without saying a word.
I watched the front door close behind him.
For a second, I wondered if he had gotten into trouble at school.
Maybe he had failed a quiz. Maybe another child had said something cruel.
Then I noticed the bus had not moved.
As I stood there, CONFUSED, the bus driver rolled down his window.
His name was Jacob. He looked to be in his early 40s, with tired eyes and a calm voice. He had driven Ethan’s route since the beginning of the school year.
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