Upside Down(30)

The bus went around the corner at the intersection and I totally didn’t use that as an excuse to lean in a little. “They are jerks.”

He met my eyes and bit his lip. “So, um… do you have a question for me?”

“I do. And if this one sucks, I’m not to blame. It’s totally Angus’ fault.” I took a breath as the bus pulled in to his stop. “Okay, if you were arrested without any explanation, what would your friends think you’d done?”

He chuckled and looked to the open bus door and the people getting off. “That’s a good question. Um. I’d like to think it was something amazing like breaking into an animal kill shelter and letting all the animals out.” He stood up and I turned my legs to the side so he could get past me. He turned and smiled at me. “But it’d probably be for breaching some cyber security law by releasing all financial sponsorship information of politicians, or maybe just the racist, bigoted politicians. Or maybe I’d transfer a whole lotta money from corrupted corporations’ accounts and drop it into Greenpeace’s account.”

I looked up at him. “So, maybe saving defenceless animals, but more than likely toppling governments, saving the world, that kind of thing.”

He nodded. “Yeah.”

“Good. Because that’s not perfect or anything.”

He grinned and hopped off the bus, and I sat there for the rest of my bus ride smiling like I was already falling in love.

Which was utterly ridiculous.

So ridiculous.

Unreservedly absurd.

Goddammit.

Motherfucker.





The third day wasn’t much better. There was more pressure now. We’d started some kind of milestone, where the next question had to be better than the last, and the answers even more so. There were more people on the bus on Wednesday and some funky wet wool smell that I ignored when I saw Hennessy waiting for me with an empty seat beside him.

“Good afternoon,” he said, grinning as I walked up to take my seat.

“Top of the day to you, kind sir,” I replied, for no other reason than I’m an idiot.

“How was work today?”

“Great. We had the early learning kids in today. That’s always fun, if not rather loud, but I like reading to them. I make it exciting and interactive so they all think books and reading time is amazing, so I’m like a superhero to them. And being a superhero to a bunch of three-year-olds is a civic responsibility I take very seriously.” God, what was up with the nonsensical babbling when I was near him? “Sorry. Nervous blathering. It’s a chronic illness.”

He was still grinning. “I like that blue on you,” he said quietly. “It matches your eyes. Some days they’re more blue than grey.”

I blushed so hard I almost had a stroke.

“And just so you know,” he added, “the fact you read to little kids actually does make you a superhero.”

“I tried to tell them I needed a cape,” I said. “My boss, that is. The kids already know I need one. My boss isn’t convinced.”

“If you were a superhero, what would your name be?”

“Is that my question for the day?” I asked.

“It could be.”

“Well, my superhero name would be something completely awesome. Like Super Book Man but in Latin.”

“Super is Latin,” he replied casually. “Etymologically, the Latin word for super is super.”

I gasped loud enough the woman in front of us turned around, but I ignored her. “You can’t say that kind of stuff to me. Word porn in public could get embarrassing.”

“Word porn?”

“The only kind I’m into,” I said, then turned a dozen shades of red. “I mean, not physically into it. I’m not really into anything like that. You know why.” I cleared my throat. “I think I’ve embarrassed myself enough for one day, so never mind.” God, I almost considered getting up and finding another seat, and I probably would have if I could’ve got my legs to work.

But then he took my hand and gave it a squeeze, not letting it go. “I’m glad you’re not,” he said quietly. “Into anything like that. Word porn is fine, I can appreciate that.”

I was stuck staring at his perfect face, with his perfect hand still holding mine. I couldn’t form words.

“Do you have a question for me?” he asked, almost smiling.

It took a second for his words to compute in my brain, and I realised we were almost at his stop. “Uh, sure. It’s another one of Angus’ questions. And it is in itself somewhat questionable, but then again, so is he. But he genuinely wants to know the answer to this.”

“Who’s Angus?”

“My flatmate and one of my best mates.”

Hennessy smiled. “And his question…”

“Well, at first he wanted to know why everyone hated Nickelback so much. I told him that wasn’t a valid question. He said it started with why and ended with a question mark and that made it a valid question, but the thing about Angus is, he… well, he’s just Angus. And his other question. God. He wants to know why cereal isn’t considered to be or called a soup.”

Hennessy stared at me for a full few seconds, then he laughed. “I really don’t know. Some actual soups are made from just one ingredient and some are served cold, so I don’t think there’s any reason it couldn’t be called a soup. Maybe there’s a gastronomical reason. Maybe soups have some qualifying factor that takes them from a drink to a meal.”