I leaned closer to Lily. "Nothing alive? That's... oddly specific."
"Field trip to the pet store last year," she murmured. "Three escaped hamsters and one very traumatized bus driver. We don't talk about it."
The gift shop was a wonderland of marine-themed merchandise, shelves packed with plush sea creatures, plastic trinkets, and overpriced science kits. The children scattered like billiard balls after the break, diving into aisles with squeals of delight.
"Mr. Ryker!" Tommy appeared, clutching a snow globe containing a miniature shark. "This is actually a communication device. See how the water moves? Morse code from the deep."
"Fascinating theory," I replied, gently steering him away from a teetering display of shell necklaces.
For the next thirty minutes, I became a combination negotiator, mathematician, and therapist as children debatedlife-altering decisions between dolphin keychains and shark tooth necklaces. I helped count crumpled dollar bills, dried tears when the giant plush octopus proved too expensive, and explained patiently why the "real megalodon tooth" was probably not authentic.
"You're a natural," Lily said, appearing beside me as I helped a little girl named Emma calculate whether she could afford both a pencil and an eraser shaped like a pufferfish.
"I think Stockholm syndrome is setting in," I replied, with a chuckle. Despite the chaos, watching these kids' faces light up with wonder was... nice. Different from the cold and calculated murderer that I actually was.
As we finally loaded the last souvenir-laden child onto the bus, Lily handed me a small paper bag.
"What's this?" I asked.
"Open it."
Inside was a keychain with a small plastic starfish.
For some asinine reason, as I looked at it, I felt tears well in my eyes. No one had ever given me anything. I swallowed hard. “Thank you.”
She shrugged, the afternoon sunlight catching in her hair. "It’s the least I could do, considering most of the parental volunteers bailed on me last minute."
"I lost a child in the kelp forest exhibit."
"You found him in under two minutes."
"Only because I followed the trail of dropped Smarties."
"Resourceful," she countered, climbing onto the bus steps. "That's what makes a good volunteer."
I followed her up, ducking to avoid the low ceiling. "Is that what I am now? A good volunteer?"
The bus doors closed behind us as Lily took her seat at the front, turning to face me with that same smile that had greeted me over coffee this morning—a lifetime ago.
"Let's see how you handle the bus ride back before I answer that," she said, but her eyes told me she already knew.
The bus driver cranked the engine, and the vehicle lurched forward just as a chorus of "The Wheels on the Bus" erupted from twenty-seven sugar-fueled voices. I grabbed the nearest seat to keep from falling, only to discover I'd sat on someone's half-eaten peanut butter sandwich.
"Mr. Ryker!" A small hand yanked my sleeve. "Emma threw up!"
I whipped around to see a green-faced girl in the third row, her brand-new pufferfish eraser and pencil, clenched in each of her hands, was now decorated with something decidedly not gift shop material.
"Oh boy," Lily muttered, springing into action with a speed that would impress Olympic athletes. She produced an emergency kit from beneath her seat while simultaneously instructing the bus driver to pull over.
"SHARK!" screamed Tommy, pointing wildly at the city bus pulling alongside us.
Pandemonium erupted. Children dove under the seats. Two girls used their newly purchased dolphin puppets as shields. Aboy in the back row started throwing his souvenir seashells at the perceived threat.
"It's not a shark!" I yelled, lunging down the aisle as the bus driver slammed on the brakes, sending me sprawling face-first into the sticky floor, inches away from Emma’s puke.
I popped up off the floor, and through the windows, I saw three masked figures approaching our bus.
"Everyone down!" Lily commanded, her teacher's voice cutting through the chaos. Her eyes met mine, and I saw real fear there.