Chapter 2

2: 2

The day after Steve took the distress beacon away, three people came from the school.

The vice principal set a bunch of flowers by the window. My homeroom teacher, Ms. Dickerson, sat down beside my bed, her eyes badly reddened.

"Celine, I'm so sorry. When I counted heads, I only looked at the original seating chart."

"Is Mr. Norris awake?"

Mr. Norris, who had been in charge of the other bus, was hurt in the second rockfall and had been in the ICU ever since.

Ms. Dickerson shook her head.

"Not yet. But the doctor says he's stable."

Dad held out the written statement.

"My daughter admits she switched buses herself. The kid didn't know the rules, and none of you teachers caught it either. There's blame on both sides."

Ms. Dickerson didn't take it. She just looked at me.

"Celine, did you switch on your own?"

Mom pressed a peeled apple into my hand.

"You already told your dad everything yesterday, didn't you? Don't be scared. Just tell the truth."

The peel hadn't come off clean. A thin strip of red skin still clung to the flesh.

I held it, and thought of the photo of the license plate Dad had sent from the parking lot.

That photo was still on my phone-watch.

But the watch had gotten wet, and it hadn't turned on once since the accident.

"Dad told me to take Ryan to the other bus."

The room went quiet.

Dad shot to his feet.

"What is wrong with you, saying things like that? I was busy hauling supplies. Who had time to worry about which bus you got on?"

"You took a photo of the plate for me."

"I take dozens of photos on my phone every day. What does that prove?"

Mom took the apple back out of my hand and lowered her voice.

"Celine, honey, if the school pins this on your dad, he could lose his job over it. All you have to do is say one true thing. It's not like we're asking you to do anything wrong."

I didn't argue anymore.

Ms. Dickerson wrote a few lines in her notebook.

Before she left, she reminded Dad quietly: "Before the other bus pulled out, Mr. Norris posted a head count to the staff group chat. Two more than the original list."

Dad's face darkened.

"That group chat's a mess. Who can prove the two she counted were my kids?"

The vice principal quickly smoothed it over.

"Let's verify it once Mr. Norris wakes up. For now, let's just take care of your daughter."

After they left, Dad shut the door and spread the written statement out in front of me.

"Sign it."

"I didn't switch buses on my own."

"You just have to ruin me, don't you?"

He forced the pen down into my palm, and I flinched from the pain.

Mom grabbed his arm.

"She just woke up, don't be so hard on her. Celine, your dad's just anxious. He hasn't slept right in days, trying to save you."

I looked at the shadows under his eyes, and I wasn't so sure anymore.

While I was trapped, I really had heard his voice through the wall of the bus.

He told me to stay hidden, to look after Ryan.

Maybe later the rocks came down so loud he truly thought I'd made it out.

"Then why does the rescue log only list one child?"

Dad let go of my hand.

"They asked how many needed to be pulled out first. I put down Ryan. What's the problem with that?"

"And what about me?"

"You're three years older than him, and you know how to use the emergency gear. When it's dangerous, of course you save the little one first."

Mom stroked my hair and coaxed me the way she always did.

"Your uncle is gone. Ryan only has us now."

Ryan is my uncle's son.

The year Ryan was born, his mother died of a serious illness.

Five years ago, I ran a high fever, so bad I kept going into convulsions.

That day the rain came down in sheets, and the bridge from our town to the hospital had been washed out by a flash flood. The ambulance couldn't get through.

My uncle carried me out on his back.

The guardrail by the bridge was gone, and the water was already up to his waist.

He held me and inched forward, one step at a time.

When the rescue boat came close, my uncle lifted me up first.

The second surge came down and swept him away whole.

Three days later, Mom recognized his watch at a rescue station downstream.

Ryan was three that year, clutching a toy dinosaur, standing at the very back of the funeral hall.

After my uncle died, Mom brought Ryan into our home.

They said I owed my uncle a life.

Half of my desk had to go to Ryan. He got to pick first on my birthday cake. On school trips, I carried his water bottle.

But there was only one safety line in that tunnel, and I had already given it up.

I looked down at the written statement.

"Can I not sign it?"

Dad threw the pen down on the nightstand.

"Suit yourself. When the school dumps all the blame on us, you'll be happy then."

That night, Ryan had a nightmare.

He grabbed my sleeve and called for me in a small voice.

I pushed through the pain in my feet and sat on the edge of his bed, patting him for a long time the way I used to.

Just as he was drifting off, he mumbled: "Dad really did call your name."