Someone Like You

Chapter Three

Brea

Three hours on a stuffy, overcrowded bus with no air conditioning is not my ideal way to spend a Friday afternoon. My head jolts against the seat with each bump of the road. I close my eyes, trying to pretend I can't feel the sweat of the man beside me sweeping through his shirt onto mine.

I continue staring outside the window at the endless paddocks of nothing. No rushing people, no horns blaring, no bright lights from shop windows and neon signs. It's crazy to think that I grew up out here. I feel like that was a lifetime ago and a totally different person who lived that life. In a way, it was.

Pulling out my phone, I begin scrolling through Instagram. The reception drops in and out, but it gets service for long enough to load a few stories. I click on one from Jenna. A small gasp leaves me when I see my closest girlfriends sharing cocktails, clearly out for lunch somewhere. They hadn't even invited me. None of them even know about anything that has happened the last few days.

Bitches.

My best friend—the only true friend I have—is travelling around Europe currently. I hadn't wanted to dampen her trip with the chaos that is my life. Of course that's why she isn't at the lunch, but there is no reason for the entire group to be meeting without me kbnowing anything about it.

I re-watch the story, seeing that literally every one of our friends in the group, minus myself and my best friend, Chelsea, are there. Running my tongue across my teeth, I lock my phone and glare out the window.

When the man's elbow who is beside me digs into my side, I send him an irritated glance. He huffs, moving back to his original position as if I was the one who inconvenienced him.

A run-down petrol station appears in the horizon and I sit up a little straighter, having needed to go to the bathroom for over thirty minutes now. The breaks of the bus release an ear-wincing squeak as it shudders to a stop.

"Passengers travelling to Glendale please exit here."

My head jerks up and I blink at the tired-looking bus driver with a few grey strands of hair on the top of his head.

"Excuse me," I say, and the man sighs, barely moving his legs to the point I skim my ass across his lap to get past him.

Eyes glance in my direction when I stride down the aisle. I stand out as much a red flag would in a sea of white, with my bright blonde hair, bottle-tan skin, and tight-fitting outfit. I clearly didn't get the faded, unintentional ripped jeans, and flannel shirt memo.

"Why are Glendale travellers exiting here?" I question.

"The bus doesn't travel that far," the man says without looking up as he fiddles with a seatbelt that has trapped an elderly lady in her seat.

I blink at him. "What do you mean? How do people get there, then?"

"Loved ones, friends, whoever else they organise."

"You've got to be joking," I scoff. "What bus line only does half its damn job?"

He swivels to face me, his crowfeet-wrinkled eyes to mine, a frown on his face. "This one, apparently."

"Excuse me!" the lady behind me huffs impatiently, and I throw her a glare over my shoulder. I jump off from the step and wave a hand in front of my face as a dust cloud blows straight into me.

Great. It is already going to be awkward enough seeing my brother after all this time, let alone calling him for a favour. I don't even know where I am or how far it is to get to Glendale.