I could use a little of that myself these days. Hope and Inspiration for the Single Soul. I leaned over and pretended to adjust the bow on my right shoe so I could make out the name of the book. The title was written in a tiny font at the top of the open book. I glanced over her shoulder and noticed the word love sprinkled across the page. Gingie-Locks’s eyes were trained on the book resting in her lap. I squeezed past a child barking into a cell phone and plopped into the empty seat beside the woman. The elderly man sitting next to her struggled to his feet and pushed his way toward the exit. She wore a silky Marc Jacobs blouse that I recognized from Macy’s, a dark twill skirt that covered her knees, and pantyhose. Tiny ringlets spilled onto her shoulders. Her red hair was swept back in a half-bun today. Two boys clinging to an overhead pole ogled her from above. Craning my neck, I caught sight of the ginger-haired woman reading in a seat next to the sealed window. I took a deep breath and squeezed myself through the maze of human heat machines to the rear of the bus. I had sixteen hours until I could meet the gown in person. She was probably just boarding the bus in New York’s Port Authority with her wedding gown wrapped in layers of tissue paper and nestled safely in the garment box.

I glanced down at my cell phone but there was still no word from my sister. Ian was the closest thing that I had to a friend in Toronto. I was just learning about Ian’s path to driver-dom when he broke the unfortunate news. I grasped a slimy pole next to the bus driver (nametag: Ian), where the air was only slightly less gloopy.

Which is what happens when you vacuum-pack the population of Giants Stadium into a space the size of a hot tub. But by my third morning in Toronto, I could have taught a class in Number 7 Studies. And if The Groomer is on the bus, get ready to duck at the first sign of the nail clippers. Do not sit downwind from the woman eating the industrial-grade tuna fish. Here’s some advice if you plan on taking the Number 7 down Bathurst Street at 7:36 a.m. Fay and Molly chapter 1 Hope and Inspiration for the Single Soul

Playing with Matches by Suri Rosen