Stiles tapped the bus window restlessly, knee bouncing nonstop as buildings blurred past outside. He’d already finished complaining to Scott, then complained about complaining, and now he was back to staring dramatically into the distance.

“Ughhh, when are we arr—”

The bus lurched to a stop, cutting him off. Stiles sat up instantly, eyes wide. “Wait… are we—? Yes. Yes! We’re here!”

Before the teacher could even speak, he shot into the aisle with his backpack half-zipped and hanging off one shoulder. “Come on, Scott, the bus smells like feet and despair, let’s go!”

They filed out with the rest of the class, stepping down onto the sidewalk. A small, green park stretched out in front of them — trees, benches, a fountain, and the sound of traffic humming behind it.

Stiles inhaled dramatically. “Ahhh, fresh air. Freedom. Solid ground. I could kiss the pavement right now— but I won’t. Because dignity.”

He squinted around, already buzzing with curiosity, clapping his hands together and rubbing them. “Okay! Where do we start?”