The Edge of Never by J. A. Redmerski Page B

later is when I’ll cave his face in with my fist.
    I reach into my bag and fish for the baggie of antibacterial wipes my mom packed.  Ripping one from the packet, I wipe the earbuds down and then reach over to her. “Like new,” I say, waiting for her to take them, but I know she won’t.
    “Really, I’m good. But thanks.”
    “You’re probably better off anyway,” I say, putting the MP3 player in my bag. “I don’t listen to Justin Bieber or that crazy meat-wearin’ bitch, so I guess you’ll just have to do without.”
    Judging by that irritated look on her face, I pissed her off. I laugh quietly to myself, turning my head at an angle so she doesn’t catch me grinning.
    “First off, I don’t listen to Justin Bieber.”
    Thank God.
    “And second, Gaga isn’t so bad. Playing the shock-value card a little too long, I admit, but I like some of her stuff.”
    “That’s shit-music and you know it,” I quote my father, shaking my head.
    I put my bag on the floor and lean back on the seat, propping up one foot on the seat in front of me. I wonder why she hasn’t told me to leave yet. And this also worries me. Would she have been ‘too nice’ to tell that man to leave right away if he had made it here before me? There’s no way someone like her would be in to someone like him, but face it, sometimes girls let that overly sympathetic gene get the best of them. And that few seconds is really all it takes.
    I look over at her again, letting my head fall sideways against the seat. “Classic Rock is where it’s at,” I say. “Zeppelin, the Stones, Journey, Foreigner—any of that ringing any bells?”
    She rolls her eyes at me. “I’m not stupid,” she says and a grin lifts one side of my mouth because there’s that spunky attitude again.
    “Name one song by Bad Company and I’ll leave you alone about it,” I challenge her.
    I can tell she’s nervous, how she gently bites down on her bottom lip, and like talking in her sleep and being watched by bad men, she probably doesn’t even know it.
    I wait patiently, unable to peel the grin from my face because it’s amusing watching her squirm, trying to sort through all of the times she was in the car with her folks listening to this stuff, searching for some memory that will help her in this critical moment.
    “ Ready For Love ,” she finally answers and I’m impressed.
    “ Are you?” I ask and something hits me in this moment. I don’t know what the hell ‘it’ is, but it’s there, waving at me from behind a wall, like when you know someone’s watching you, yet you don’t see anybody.
    “Huh?” she says, as caught off-guard by my question as I was afterwards.
    A smile creeps up on my face. “Nothing,” I say, looking away.
    The pervert from the restroom comes quietly back down the dark aisle and goes back to his seat, no doubt pissed off that I’m sitting where he wants to be sitting. I’m just glad she waited for him to pass by before finally asking me to move so she can have both of her seats back.
    After I crawl back behind her, I lean around the edge of her seat and say, “Where are you going, anyway?”
    She tells me Idaho, but I think there’s more to her answer than that. I can’t put my finger on it, but I get the feeling she’s either lying, which is probably a good thing because I’m a total stranger, or she’s hiding something else.
    I let it go for now and tell her where I’m heading and then duck back in my seat behind her.
    The man three seats up just looked at her again. I’m about ready to bash his fucking brains in right now, just for looking.
    Hours later, the bus pulls into a rest stop and the driver gives us all fifteen minutes to get out, stretch our legs and get something to eat. I watch the girl head inside toward the restrooms and I’m the first in line to order food. I get my food and head back outside, taking a seat on the grass next to the parking lot. The pervert walks past me, stepping back inside the