Perfect Girl - Weebly

twenty minutes, then twenty-five. I search the street for the
bus but don’t see it.
“This bus is never on time,” the lady next to me says.
Panic distorts my voice. “I told my mom I’d be home at
seven. It’s almost seven!”
“What are ya gonna do?” she asks the air.
Perry looks at me and shrugs. Then he walks out in the
street and peers down the road. He doesn’t see anything, but
he says, “It’ll be here any minute.”
The lady beside us just chuckles.
Between flashes of panic, I’m furious. We make it all the
way back to Wilmington on time, and now we’re going to
be late?
Suddenly, Aunt Marty’s cell rings from inside my backpack.
I freeze.
“Should I get that?” I ask Perry, my stomach in spasm.
“How should I know?”
It rings again.
“Quick! Help me think of an excuse,” I say. “Why am I
late?”
Perry blinks. “The bus hasn’t come yet.”
I glare at him. He frowns at me. The phone rings again.
Steeling myself, I fish it out of my backpack, press the SEND
button, and say, “Hello?”
“Where are you?” Aunt Marty’s voice is flat. Emotionless.
“The bus is late. I’m in Wilm—”
“Get home as soon as you can, Ruth.”
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