I had no belongings with me. When I’d stormed out of the house (while the kid was still hurling curses from his room), I’d only managed to grab a gray flannel shirt from the trunk to throw over my shoulders—protection against sunburn, if nothing else.
Right then, I wished I had my headphones. Some music would’ve been good—something to drown out the tension of waiting.
I closed my eyes and started humming hoarsely, trying to recall a favorite song:
"I’m hundreds of miles away… And there’s no place I’d rather be…"
I got so lost in my imaginary concert that I didn’t notice the arrival of company.
"Did you always hate waiting, or is that an age thing?"
I startled, instinctively scooting away as I shot the kid a glare. There he was, perched beside me, adjusting a small hiking backpack on his shoulders and flashing that familiar gap-toothed grin.
"And are you always this annoying, like a mosquito?"
"Brought you water," he said, shrugging. "But if you don’t want it…" He stood up and began walking off.
"Where are you going?"
"Home. Since you’re clearly fine here alone."
A pang of guilt hit me. With still no sign of any bus in the distance, I sighed and called after him. "Kid—" I waved him back. "Just… hold up a second."
I grabbed the hem of his brown overalls, tugging lightly.
"What?" he grumbled.
"Sit down. Since you’re already here."
The boy grinned and hopped nimbly onto the bench, dropping his black backpack onto his lap.
"So what’s in there?" I asked, nodding at it.
"Some snacks. Buses only come once an hour here, so we might as well kill time…" The boy rummaged in his backpack and pulled out sandwiches. "With these, for example."
I took one from him and bit off a sizable chunk. Only then did I realize how hungry I'd been as the flavors hit me—thin slices of meat, fresh tomatoes, and crisp lettuce with what tasted like cheese sauce, all neatly stacked between two soft bread slices.
"Chicken. Just how I like it."
"Thought so," the kid nodded, taking a massive bite of his own.
His mouth was so full he could barely chew, cheeks bulging comically. I laughed and handed him a napkin sticking out from the backpack's side pocket.
"You eat like a wild animal, kid. Slow down before you choke."
"I bite exactly as much as I can handle," he mumbled through the food, wiping sauce from his chin with the napkin.
"I'll take your word for it."
Turns out waiting with this little pest is way less boring.
"What's your name, kid?" I asked, realizing I'd never bothered to find out earlier.
"Karl," he answered matter-of-factly, still chewing like a starved raccoon.
"Seriously?" I snorted.
"Well, if you really were a zombie, I'd definitely be Karl," he burst out laughing—then immediately started coughing.
"There we go! Told you you'd choke!" I scolded, thumping the wheezing brat on the back.
When the kid finally stopped making those disgusting choking sounds, he sighed and lightly punched me in the chest. I gave him a suspicious look, checking if he'd wiped his slobbery hand on me after coughing.
Well, can you blame me?
"My name's Oscar," the brat finally introduced himself.
"Then I'll call you Ozzy—like an itch in my crotch," I nodded.
"Hey!" he yelped and punched me again, this time harder, right in the shoulder. "Not funny."
"I think it's hilarious," I grinned, then pointed at his feet. "Hey, do you always wear those rubber boots?"
