The Planet of Junior Brown by Virginia Hamilton Page A

the terminal Buddy strode to the cigarette machine and bought a pack of long filters, although he rarely smoked. Carefully he opened the pack and lit a cigarette. Calmly, without glancing around to see who might be watching, he walked over to study the board listing arrival and departure times of buses. When he seemed to have the schedule fixed in his mind, he nodded to himself. He sighed and hurried over to buy a newspaper. He glanced at the paper briefly while walking toward the restrooms.
    So far Buddy had acted his part to perfection. People noticed him—ticket agents, travelers—with that momentary interest people in cities reserve for one another. In one sidelong glance, they had discerned that Buddy was going someplace. He was black. He looked to be maybe eighteen or nineteen but maybe he was younger. He wore tennis shoes. He had a paper, he was smoking and he was sober. No trouble. Just a black kid going home after working in some kitchen somewhere.
    I am harmless, Buddy thought. I am nothing at all.
    Near the restroom Buddy found the locker where he kept his soap and washcloth. He lifted out the brightly woven knapsack in which he kept all his belongings. Any other time Buddy would have taken longer, the way he liked to. He would have touched the knapsack gently, feeling the bright threads with the tips of his fingers, the way some folks handle old photographs which represent the best of their lives. But tonight he had to hurry. The time was nearly midnight. The morning newspapers were thrown from the delivery trucks by two o’clock. Soon after he would have to be at work.
    One moment Buddy was standing in front of the locker, shoving his knapsack back in it, and the next moment he was gone. He might have melted into the stream of people heading for the subway or he might have gone to line up for a bus. So adept was he at taking on the mood and pace of any group of people, it was hard to tell where he had disappeared to. But he had cleared his mind of everything save the object of his intention. He made no mistakes because he allowed himself no anticipation of trouble. Even when Buddy was in the pay shower, he concentrated solely on the hot water beating down on him and the cleansing aroma of Fels Naphtha soap.
    Afterward Buddy changed into clean underwear, socks and a clean shirt, which he had taken from his knapsack. He rolled up the soiled clothing in the shirt he’d worn before the shower and stuffed it inside his jacket. The whole time he thought how good it was to be by himself. He was lucky he was strong, with no sickness anywhere in him.
    Outside of the Port Authority, Buddy dropped the new pack of long cigarettes at the feet of one of the old drifters and was gone before the man could mumble a thanks.
    Buddy strode eastward, allowing his tiredness to slow him down just a little. He was chilled now after the shower. The weather was quite cold this night and he would have to see about getting himself a warmer jacket, maybe a plaid job with a pile lining. Buddy grinned. He could almost feel the fake fur encasing his arms in warmth.
    Oh, man, that would feel so good!
    Buddy was glad that the night before this one, there had been nobody but himself on his planet in the abandoned building. He had gone to bed about ten and had slept until it was time to go to work. Tonight he would get no sleep.
    Between 59th Street and 102nd Street, Buddy dropped his clothing off at an all-night laundry and stopped at two more planets. Each of the planets had a full house but both Tomorrow Billys were broke. Buddy listened to the story of the second Tomorrow Billy, alert to the Billy’s calm sincerity.
    â€œThe work is drying up,” the young man was saying. “I can’t even pick up a bus boy job anymore. Students are moving in on us, man. I got to feed these kids so I guess I’m going to have to lift more food than I usually do.”
    There was danger in stealing too much, Buddy knew. “How