Page 12 of Finding Noah

“Do you think she forgot about you?”

“No. I mean, I-I don't think so.”

But now, I wasn't so sure as I glanced at the row of school buses and watched as they began to, one by one, leave the curb.

I looked at Jason and asked a question of my own. “Why aren't you on the bus?”

He blew out a deep breath and said, “My mom's a substitute teacher.”

“Here?”

“Yep,” he replied, nodding with pride. “She was teaching first grade today, so I'm waiting for her to be ready to go.”

“She's driving you home?”

“Yep,” he said again.

I dropped my gaze to the sidewalk, studying my new sneakers. Mom only got me new shoes at the beginning of every school year, and this time, I had picked white ones.

“Are you sure?” Mom had asked, and I could tell she didn't want me to get them. “Those are gonna get dirty so fast, Noah.”

“No, they won't,” I had argued, and without any more disagreement, she’d bought them.

But now, I realized she'd been right. It had only been a couple of weeks, and they were already getting smudged with dirt. They already looked old, and compared to Jason's spotless, brand-new black Nikes, they looked bad.

Mom can't afford to get me different ones, I reminded myself. It doesn't matter anyway. They're just shoes.

I swung my attention back to the open gate to watch as the last of the buses left the parking lot.

Mom was still nowhere to be found.

“Jay-Jay, you ready?”

Another voice came from behind me, and with a glance over my shoulder, I saw a lady I had seen a few times over the last year since moving to River Canyon. She was older than Mom, I thought, but not as old as Grandma. There was silver in her dark hair and lines around her mouth, but she dressed young, like Mom.

She looked nice.

“Who's this?” she asked, approaching with a welcoming smile.

“Noah's in my class,” Jason replied.

She nodded. “Very nice,” she said, then asked, “Did you miss your bus, sweetheart?”

I shook my head as Jason answered for me, “His mom is picking him up.”

She made a little humming noise and looked up to sweep her eyes over the parking lot. “Do you know when she'll be here?”

Mom had told me to never talk to grown-ups I didn't know unless they were police officers, but Jason's mom was a teacher at my school, so I guessed it would be okay to talk to her too.

“She was supposed to be here already,” I admitted, shuffling my feet.

Suddenly, my eyes hurt, and my nose felt stuffy, like I might cry, and I really didn't want to cry in front of Jason.

“I see,” she said. “Do you know her phone number? Do you know where I could reach her?”

I nodded as I quickly took off my backpack and unzipped the front pocket, where I found the index card Mom had put in there with the phone numbers for the house, her job at the library, and Grandma and Grandpa's house.

I handed it to Jason's mom.