Chapter One: Kiss
The coach's overhead speaker spat out the driver's low voice as if it were a chore. "We'll be arriving in South Station in about five minutes. For those of you departing, please remain seated until the bus has come to a stop. Once again, we thank you for riding with us today."
Kagome's English was better than her classmates' had been back at home, but deciphering the muffled jumbling and tumbling of words from outdated radio technology felt a bit like wrestling a bear. Luckily, this wasn't her first commute into Boston, and she was becoming more comfortable among the rows of swathed vinyl seats and the frantic rush that traveling always stirred within her chest.
She kept her dark eyes on her purse, which was sitting in her lap like a house cat. Running a polished finger over the zipper on her jacket, she bit her lips.
America was not what she had expected as a high schooler, dreaming of foreign, fantastical places; she had anticipated a country stuffed to the brim of people who made their houses homes, offered hands to those looking for a new start. She had instead plummeted in a cacophony of grumpy, smelly commuters, people who never had enough time, who bumped into her shoulders as they sprinted across streets. Tattooed teenagers dropped cigarette butts into alleyways, drank beer out of paper bags and then discarded the bottles on the sidewalks, and the homeless begged for cash at the red lights she frequented. Paradise is overrated, she'd say to herself.
When the vehicle made a hard left turn onto the highway's exit, Kagome's head lulled to the right, almost grazing the shoulder of the burly man sitting beside her. She straightened and stiffened, becoming stone.
She waited until the ding that alerted passengers they were free to move about sounded a few minutes later and then stood. Her luggage was in the overhead compartment; this time she hadn't brought too much back with her. After fiddling with the impossible latch attached to her seatbelt — Kagome always assumed she was the only rider who ever used such a safety precaution — she stood, grabbed her belongings, and squeezed between the rows of seats. Other passengers were barely getting to their feet, groaning in relief after remaining settled for so long, and she was one of the first to disembark.
When her feet touched the station's cemented floor, Kagome felt the breeze of welcoming air inside the cool, dark hanger. The chattering of passengers behind her, she entered the lobby.
Loved ones and commuters were milling about, some checking their watches, others looking up at the time tables, chatting on their cellphones. A group of children and an older woman were holding up a homemade sign: "Welcome Home, Dad!" the rainbow bubble letters proclaimed. Kagome wondered what it felt like to receive such an affectionate welcome.
She had turned her attention down at the ticket in her hands, a bit crumpled from the hours wedged in her pocket, when she felt a presence before her. Her head looked up in time for her brain to register two hands that were squeezing the sides of her shoulders. Who—?
The thought had not formed before a pair of lips were pressed against her own, and despite the situation, she did not move. Her legs felt like icicles, slippery and numb, and a thick fog rolled into her head, settling in between her eyes. When she gathered her wits and articulated that someone was kissing her, she pushed her hands forward, extending her arms. The figure took two steps back.
A young man, someone she knew she'd never seen before, with long, dark hair, dark eyes, and an undecipherable expression on his face, was looking at her, and then as if something had snapped, his face turned red, and he sputtered.
"Oh, my god!" he said.
Kagome agreed with the sentiment.
Notes: 653 words.