Chapter 3 - Two Buses
Jordan woke at 5:40 the next morning to the sound of rain against his bedroom window.
For several seconds, he forgot everything.
Then he saw his backpack on the floor.
The CAR envelope rested on top.
His chest tightened.
He had an opening shift at the auto-parts store.
Alicia offered to drive him.
Jordan said no.
“Why?”
“Because I can still take the bus.”
“Jordan.”
“I’m not changing my whole life because Dad bought somebody else a car.”
Alicia leaned against the doorway.
“You’re allowed to accept help.”
“That sentence feels dangerous lately.”
Her expression softened.
“This isn’t about proving something.”
“Exactly.”
He slung the backpack over his shoulder.
“I’m done proving things to people who already decided what I’m worth.”
The rain had become steady by the time Jordan reached the first bus stop.
His work hoodie darkened across the shoulders.
He stood beneath the narrow shelter roof and watched cars move through the intersection.
For months, each passing vehicle had represented a goal.
Now every set of headlights felt like a reminder.
At 6:34, his phone buzzed.
Darius.
Jordan almost ignored it.
Then he answered.
“Yeah?”
“Hey.”
Darius sounded uncomfortable.
“What do you want?”
“I wanted to say I’m sorry.”
“You didn’t buy the car.”
“I know, but—”
“But what?”
A pause.
“I didn’t take it.”
Jordan blinked.
“What?”
“The car. I left the keys on the kitchen counter.”
“That’s between you and Marcus.”
“I know.”
Jordan watched the rain drip from the shelter roof.
Darius continued.
“I swear I didn’t know you asked him.”
“I believe you.”
“You do?”
“I saw your face.”
Darius exhaled.
“Okay.”
Jordan expected the call to end.
Instead Darius said, “He told me you had a Civic.”
Jordan’s stomach turned.
“What?”
“He said your mom bought you some older Civic and you kept having problems with it.”
Jordan laughed once.
“Never owned a Civic.”
“I figured that out.”
“Anything else?”
Another silence.
Darius hesitated.
“He said you didn’t like coming over because you thought the neighborhood was fake.”
Jordan closed his eyes.
“I never said that.”
“I know.”
“How?”
“Because you barely talk to me.”
Despite himself, Jordan almost smiled.
Darius went on.
“Look, Jordan, I’m not trying to get in the middle.”
“You already are.”
“I know. I just didn’t choose it.”
Jordan looked down the street for the bus.
“You want advice?”
“Sure.”
“Don’t let him make you feel guilty for returning the keys.”
“What do you mean?”
“He’s going to.”
Darius was quiet.
“You know him that well?”
Jordan watched the bus round the corner.
“I thought I did.”
He ended the call.
At work, Jordan tried to disappear into inventory.
He stacked oil filters.
Checked alternator shipments.
Helped a woman replace a dead battery.
By noon, his manager, Vernon Bell, called him into the back office.
Vernon was a heavyset man in his fifties with a graying beard and the habit of noticing things Jordan wished people would ignore.
“You’re moving like somebody owes you money.”
Jordan looked up.
“What?”
“Slow, angry, and checking your phone every two minutes.”
Jordan sighed.
“Family stuff.”
Vernon nodded.
“Worst kind.”
Jordan smiled despite himself.
Vernon leaned back.
“You still looking for a car?”
“Yeah.”
“My nephew’s selling his 2012 Camry. Hundred forty thousand miles, ugly scratch on the passenger side, but I’ve serviced it myself.”
“How much?”
“Fifty-eight hundred.”
Jordan’s heart moved.
“That’s fair.”
“It is.”
“I only have three.”
“I know.”
Jordan looked at him.
Vernon shrugged.
“You’ve talked about this every shift since February.”
Jordan swallowed.
“Can he wait?”
“Maybe two weeks.”
Jordan’s phone buzzed again.
This time Marcus.
Jordan declined.
Vernon studied him.
“That family stuff connected to the car?”
Jordan said nothing.
“That means yes.”
Vernon pulled a form from a drawer.
“I can give you more hours.”
Jordan shook his head.
“I already work twenty-eight.”
“You can handle thirty-five short-term if school applications don’t suffer.”
Jordan had been accepted to the local community college beginning in January.
He planned to study automotive technology while working.
“How much would that get me in two weeks?”
“After taxes? Maybe six hundred extra.”
Still short.
But closer.
Jordan nodded.
“I’ll do it.”
Vernon handed him the schedule form.
“Don’t destroy yourself trying to prove you don’t need anybody.”
Jordan froze.
The words sounded too close to Marcus.
Vernon noticed.
“Difference,” he said, “between independence and isolation.”
Jordan signed.
At 3:11, Alicia texted him.
Call me when you’re alone.
Jordan stepped behind the loading bay.
“What happened?”
“I spoke with the bank.”
His stomach tightened.
“And?”
“They’re sending copies of the authorization records.”
“Okay.”
“But the representative told me something before she stopped herself.”
Jordan pressed the phone closer.
“What?”
“One of the withdrawals wasn’t transferred to your father’s regular account.”
“Where did it go?”
“A cashier’s check.”
“For what?”
“She wouldn’t tell me over the phone.”
Jordan looked through the loading-bay doors at the rain.
“When?”
“Yesterday morning.”
His mouth went dry.
“Yesterday?”
“Yes.”
“The day he bought the car.”
Alicia paused.
“I don’t want to jump ahead.”
Jordan did.
“How much?”
“Six thousand dollars.”
The Camry Vernon had mentioned suddenly seemed very far away.
Jordan gripped the phone.
Marcus had told him money was tight.
Marcus had told Keisha Jordan already owned transportation.
Marcus had told Jordan independence mattered.
Yesterday, six thousand dollars had left an account Jordan never knew existed.
Yesterday, a sedan had appeared in Marcus’s driveway.
Jordan asked the question even though he already feared the answer.
“Mom.”
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“Yes?”
“What dealership did Dad buy Darius’s car from?”
