They looked out the window of the bus together, side by side, cheek to cheek.
The heat and humidity of the Brownsville morning and the air conditioning on the bus caused the windows to fog.
Hilcias pulled his sleeve over his hand and used it as a kind of window wiper, moving it back and forth until he and Taki could see clearly the Gulf of Mexico along the coastal road.
“Wow,” whistled Hilcias softly, “Maybe 52 Blue is there.”
“Maybe,” whispered Taki. “I sure hope so.”
People began to stir and stretch and reach for their bags above and around them, but Hilcias and Taki stayed as still and quiet as the leaves on the trees that lined the street beside the bus station.
- Trevor Scott Barton, stories for a brown eyed girl, 2019
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