Her Seat by Kate Atkinson
We finish our Summer season of winning entries for the Sunday Star-Times Short Story Awards 2018, sponsored by Penguin Random House NZ, with two stories which won second and third places in the secondary schools category – Her Seat by Kate Atkinson of New
She had always been The Girl on the Bus. The one who got on my nerves just like someone who treads on the heel of your shoe. Not on purpose, just by accident. I never tried to listen to the whispered conversations about her. They just happened to catch on the breeze that came through the open window and float carelessly into my ears. ‘‘Dumb.’’
‘‘Ugly.’’
‘‘Anorexic.’’
Every time she got on the bus (which was everyday), people would stand up to let her sit in ‘‘her seat’’. ‘‘Her seat’’ was different every day. She kept her head bowed and just sat down when she saw a free seat. Oblivious to the fact that people were standing up for her. She was always last to get on and last to get off. She rode the route round and round, it did about 12 laps between four and seven at night. And she always wore long pants and a long sleeve top, even in the height of summer. She didn’t go to my school, or I just hadn’t noticed her, but she didn’t wear the uniform. She didn’t get on the bus by a school either. The girl just appeared and disappeared and rode the bus in between.
Between bus trips, I went to tennis, I mountainbiked, I surfed. She just disappeared. I trained, I played, I competed. She was just a fleeting thought. Floating past the top of my head every now and then, wisping just below the clouds, just above the part of me that cared.
Today she got on the bus again, paid her fare to the driver, and sat down in ‘‘her seat’’. I rode the bus home like any other day. She rode the bus round and round like any other day. Except today she sat beside me.
I had my school bag sitting on the ground, so when the girl came over, I picked up my bag and lumped it on my lap and pulled it slightly towards my chest. Inconspicuous? My friend stood up so the girl could sit down in ‘‘her seat’’, we glanced sympathetically at each other as she shuffled closer to stand at the back and hold onto the railings. I edged further away from ‘‘her seat’’, trying not to make it obvious. Closer to the window, to look out at the world go by. Anything better than looking at the girl in the long clothes and with the black backpack.
My friend yell-whispered my name, I turned my head and she was making funny faces at me. A smile inched up my cheeks and my eyes rolled a rollercoaster. I’m the girl next to The Girl on the Bus. The girl. The Girl on the Bus. No name. Well, that is her name, to me. To others, she’s . . . ‘‘Dumb.’’
‘‘Ugly.’’
‘‘Anorexic.’’
I squirmed in my seat and leaned further away from her. I shuffled my skirt down so the scratchy seat fabric couldn’t make me more uncomfortable than I already was. Others were drawing on the fogged up windows, drawing very inappropriate things. I laughed. She didn’t flinch.
The Girl on the Bus rode until the end. One time, I did too. We were the only two left on the bus that day. The driver said ‘‘last stop’’. When she got