Reserved Seating

The bus groaned up to the stop, already stuffed with half the student body. Wyatt climbed aboard, clutching the strap of her bag and scanning for an open seat. It was standing room only—except, improbably, for one empty spot halfway down the aisle.

She frowned. Weird. There was space beside her on the seat, too—lots of it—but somehow, people preferred standing, packed shoulder to shoulder, swaying with every turn.

Unable to determine why it might have been left empty, no evidence of a spilled drink or gum squished into the vinyl, Wyatt slid into the seat and adjusted her tiny skirt. That morning the khakis and polo shirt she had chosen to wear had instantly transformed. She knew that she should have felt exposed, riding the bus in white thigh-high stockings, a tiny black skirt, and a leopard-print bikini-top, but the only thing she truly felt was energized. While the world might still see her as the same short, nerdy loser, she knew the truth.

She had been remade.

And she was incredible.

The hum of the engine filled the silence around her. A woman with a stroller stood in the aisle, but she didn't even consider taking the empty space next to Wyatt. It was like she had an invisible Do Not Disturb sign taped to her forehead.

"Okay," Wyatt muttered under her breath. "Apparently I bite now."

At the next stop, the doors hissed open—and there he was.

Gary stepped on, his blond hair catching the light from the window, his navy skirt brushing just above his knees. He looked nervous, scanning the bus. Then his eyes landed on her.

He smiled, that familiar, slightly crooked smile, and made his way down the aisle.

"This seat taken?"

Wyatt tilted her head, smirking. "Guess not. I'd say I was saving it for you, but nobody's wanted to sit here at all. Do I have, like, food in my teeth or something?"

Gary squinted and chuckled at her wide smile and shook his head.

"Your teeth pass the test. Must be word got around about that time you got sprayed by a skunk when we were eight. They probably think you still stink."

"Shut up, dork," Wyatt giggled, blushing.

Her best friend returned the grin, then slid in beside her, careful—very careful—not to touch. His knee hovered a polite inch from hers.

"So," she said, trying not to sound as pleased as she felt, "nice outfit."

He gave her a look. "Don't start."

"I wasn't," she said, still grinning. "I was complimenting you. You look… uh, coordinated."

Gary rolled his eyes but smiled anyway. "Thanks. I think. You too." He paused. "I mean your outfit. It's... um... really... uh..." He adjusted his skirt, fidgeting.

"I know, right?" Wyatt thrust her breasts out proudly. "But it's not like I have any choice. They just, like, happen, you know?"

"Hey, uh—so my parents, they, uh, won this radio contest thing? Some random trip to Banff. They're leaving tonight."

"Wow. That's random."

"Yeah, tell me about it. Anyway, I was wondering if it'd be okay if I stayed at your place until Monday. You know, while they're gone. It'd give me a chance to try to figure things out. Maybe rebuild part of the rig."

Wyatt perked up. "Oh! Yeah, of course! That sounds great."

"Cool." He nodded, trying to sound casual, but his relief was obvious.

There was a moment of quiet, the bus rattling around them, the smell of diesel and morning coffee hanging in the air.

Wyatt rested her chin on her hand and looked at him out of the corner of her eye. "So...just can't wait to get me alone in that basement again, can you?"

Gary's head snapped toward her, and she burst out laughing.

"I'm kidding! Relax!" she said, but her voice carried a lilt that didn't sound entirely joking.

The bus lurched suddenly around a sharp curve, and both of them pitched sideways.

"Whoa!" Gary flailed, grabbing the seat back. Wyatt made to grab for his arm on instinct—then froze.

They weren't touching. Not quite. There was a breath's width of air between her fingertips and his sleeve. They looked at each other, wide-eyed. Then they both laughed, too loudly, the kind of laugh that came more from nerves than humour.

"That was close," Gary said, smiling, trying to play it off.

"Yeah," Wyatt said softly. "Too close."

For the rest of the ride, they stayed hyper-aware of the space between them. A line they both pretended not to notice.

Wyatt watched the sunlight flicker across his face as the bus bumped along, her pulse quickening for reasons she didn't quite understand. Maybe it was the way he smiled. Or maybe it was just the absurdity of everything—the silk, the sparks, the impossible new world they were caught in. But as the bus rolled to a stop near the school, she caught herself thinking:

Would it really be so bad if they did touch? That spark had been weird, but would it happen again? And if it did, would it really be a big deal?

She shook the thought away, forcing a grin as she stood. "Come on, Banff Boy. Let's see what kind of trouble we can get into before lunch."

Gary groaned. "Please don't call me that."

Wyatt laughed, stepping into the sunlight. The morning air felt charged, like static waiting to jump.

Far away, in a space without distance, Lisa floated before the glowing lattice of probability.

The threads she had plucked shimmered more brightly now—two pulses, close enough to feel each other's gravity. She could sense it: the almost-touch, the spark that nearly was.

Closer. So close.

The lattice sang beneath her hands. She smiled, eyes burning with light.

She just needed to work a little harder.