Where You Go ― Jason Grace

i. amnesiacs visit the grand canyon

EVEN WITHOUT HER MEMORIES, Ophelia knew she didn't like school buses. Maybe it was the way they shook continuously as they went down the road, or the smell of stale body odor and junk food, or even the uncomfortable, squeaky seats that lacked any form of safety or cleanliness. 

Or maybe it was the fact that she had no earthly idea where this specific school bus had come from, where it was going, or even what school it belonged to.

Ophelia slowly opened her eyes, taking in her surroundings. She noted the cracks and rips in the back of the leather seat in front of her, the obnoxious laughter coming from the middle of the bus, the warm hand encompassing her own, the broad shoulder she was currently using as a pillow.

Wait, who—?

Ophelia blinked, her brows furrowing in confusion as she lifted her head, looking up at the owner of the shoulder she'd just been sleeping on. Her eyes met sky-blue ones, the confusion in them mirroring Ophelia's own. 

Unprompted, whispered into her mind, she heard what she knew instinctively was her own voice, soft and quiet. Jason. 

The blond-haired boy's eyebrows were furrowed in confusion, like her own, and his voice was no louder than a whisper as he asked, "Ophelia?" 

He knows me, she realized. I know him. She wracked her brain for a moment, searching for any scrap of a memory, anything to tell her where she was, who this boy was, who she was, but there was nothing. No memory except for the sound of his name and the knowledge of her own. 

"What—?" she asked, pulling her gaze away from him to glance around the bus they were on. A few dozen kids were sitting in the old bus seats, some sleeping, others talking or listening to music and moving with the beat of whatever song was playing. They all looked like high school students. Ophelia guessed juniors and seniors, which must have meant she was a junior or a senior too, though she couldn't remember for sure. A cold sliver of horror ran down her spine at the realization—how had she forgotten her own age?

The same way you've forgotten your last name, probably.

What the hell was happening?

The bus they were on drove down a bumpy road, moving through a desert blanketed by an endless blue sky, sunlight brightening everything it touched. She couldn't see any buildings or landmarks, not a single sign of civilization as the bus traveled down the road, alone in the desert.

"Where are we?" she asked, looking back at the blond boy. 

"I'm not sure," he answered. "I was hoping you'd know." 

Before an appropriate sense of panic could settle over her, an older man at the front of the bus shouted over the rumble of talk and laughter, "All right, cupcakes, listen up!"

The man looked like a baseball coach, a cap pulled low over his hair. A whistle hung from his neck and there was a megaphone clipped to his belt. Had it not been for the fact that he didn't look any taller than five foot zero, he would have looked fairly intimidating. 

A student jeered, "Stand up, Coach Hedge!" 

"I heard that!" The man scanned the bus for the culprit, his eyes stopping on Ophelia and Jason. His scowl deepened, and Ophelia realized the coach knew she and the boy next to her weren't supposed to be there. She wondered for a frightened moment if he would call them out and ask how they'd stowed away on the school bus. Ophelia wouldn't have a single clue what to say. 

The man looked away, clearing his throat. "We'll arrive in five minutes! Stay with your partner. Don't lose your worksheet. And if any of you precious little cupcakes causes any trouble on this trip, I will personally send you back to campus the hard way." He mimed hitting a home-run with a wooden baseball bat.