A/N: Kill me if you so truly desire, but I do not really care (much ;). I'm writing this fic because the idea haunts my thoughts (that, and the fact that my computer is totally dead). So, all I'm going to say is, this idea came about while I was sitting on a school bus, severely bored. The whole meaning and fat of the story came from listening to WAY too much Yellowcard (then again, you can never have TOO much YC!). I guarantee that at least four of their songs will appear in this (if you only have their 'Ocean Avenue' CD, you'll be lost on three of the songs :P. You non-die hard fans, feh!).

Well, I had this chapter written, and took a little break from writing. I read To Kill a Mockingbird (required for school) and was re-reading A Walk to Remember (just a damn good book, though I sicken myself because I never cried), when I realized they were both first person point of view stories. Stupid, you say? Yeah, maybe, but it was significant enough to make me re-think this story. It occurred to me that this was more Van's story, and even though Hitomi has a major role (go figure), this isn't about her. So I asked myself, should I write this story from Van's point of view? I mean, I've never written a story from someone else's aspect before. And then I'd have to be Van. Despite all this, the answer was still . . .

Yes. . . .

Last Stop

You may wonder why I sit here and write this to all of you, for everyone to enjoy. This is the story of my life, or at least the part where it got flipped upside down. Flipped upside down for the better, so it seemed. As for the reason I bother to write it, well, the answer will be revealed, in due time . . .

Chapter One: Have a Heart

The rain came down with a vengeance out of the dark gray clouds above, making everyone scramble to board the bus. Their clothes dripped onto the dry floor, making it hazardous for those who tread over it. A fortunate few had umbrellas, but that did not stop the water from turning into puddles and seeping into their shoes. Everyone's socks had to be soaked through, unless they had really good water proof foot ware. But was there honestly such a thing?

I had to be about the only one on this bus---my bus---who was dry. So what if it was because I'd sat in that drivers' seat for practically six hours straight, it sure as hell beat waiting for some bus driver (particularly me) to come pick you up. Especially in this weather; I've never seen rain come down so hard in my life. That may make driving hazardous for me, but I like the rain. It's dark and dreary, like myself. Why do people hate the rain so much, anyway?

Traffic whizzed by, slower than usual, but not by much. I was trying to merge the bus back with traffic after picking up another load of soaked passengers. If it's hard in a car, it's a million times harder in a bus. And, though I don't know why, people always seemed to put public buses off more than school or long travel ones. Okay, so what if we stop a little frequently and delay you about a minute? Oh wait, there are people out there who actually enjoy life. Sorry, I forgot.

You'd think I would say, 'I was one of them once, so I understand,' considering this was my first day on the job, but I never was. As if it isn't obvious that I'm a very pessimistic person, what with the rain and all. Hey, if you had a past like me and were a bus driver, you would be too.

Back to the traffic situation, it seems there are some kind citizens out there after all. Some lady stopped and waved me to go, I think, it was kind of hard to tell in this monsoon. I gave a two-fingered wave back, highly unenthused. All this time I thought turn signals were to warn people you were turning, but I swear they're just a blinking light that no one gives a damn about.

The windshield wipers zipped back and forth before you could blink, but somehow the rain was faster. As soon as the wiper made a sweep, it was covered with water again. For a millisecond everything was clear, and the next it was an artists pallet, just a mess of runny colors. Colors. Lots of meaningless colors that control our lives and brainwash us. Told you I was pessimistic.

Another stop, oh joy, I get to be trapped at the side of the road again. Let me tell you, being a bus driver is dull and repetitive, and the uniforms are pieces of crap. How dare they make me wear a blue collared shirt, navy blue pants, a black tie, and to top it all off, a golden name tag (as if people cared that my name was 'Van Fanel')? I like to think I'm pretty good looking, but this uniform was doing me no good, and it itched like a dog with fleas. Just one of the many perks of bus driving, right?

More people boarded, soaking wet, while others ran for their lives into the hurricane-like rain. Sorry for the boredom, but that's the gist of it. Bored myself, I look at my watch. According to its calculations, it's 6:45 PM. Thank god! Only five more stops to go!

It was the next stop that got me, though.

To my agitation, there was no room to pull to the side. Oh no, those life-loving, busy drivers were going to get me. Pushing the thought out of my mind, I reached for the lever to open the door. I began to notice that the rain was slowly letting up. In the distance I could actually make out the outline of a building that served as one of the only college's in the area. Makes you wonder why all the people who boarded were no older than twenty-five, my age, huh? If it weren't raining so hard, I swear they would have had a good gloating. Not that I cared one way or another, I glared at them all anyway.

About to close the doors, my hand halfway to the lever, a glimpse of a running figure caught my attention from the corner of my eye. It was running towards the bus, in a bright yellow poncho, bent on making it. Quickly I glanced in the rearview mirror, only to see a line of cars stuck behind the bus. I knew it would be wrong of me to just drive off and leave the person there, so I waited, impatiently.

When this being, a female, finally took her first step onto the bus, I heard a car horn sound. I pretended not to notice, and kept my focus on yellow poncho girl on the step. I could tell it was a girl, despite the fact that she had her hood up, with her head bent down, panting from running so hard. A few strands of shoulder length honey blond hair stuck to the dripping poncho, glistening with water. But what really gave away her femininity was the curves of her body . . .

After another moment or two of panting, she eventually lifted her head. I was instantly hit by swirling emerald eyes, staring intensely back at me. She stood up straight and smiled hesitantly at me (I guess it was the look on my face and the darkness of my auburn eyes that caused the hesitancy). I still watched her as she pulled down her hood, letting loose the rest of her hair, which curled slightly at the shoulders. Some of the dry hair began to stick to the still dripping poncho.

My arms crossed in front of my chest; I was waiting for the money, or token, or whatever she was going to use to board.

The hesitant smile still present, she lifted the right side of her poncho to dig into the pocket of her loose jeans. Her hand came up empty, and the smile was beginning to fade. She did the same with her left, and again came up empty; her smile turned into a worried frown. By now, I knew she had no money, but watched angrily as she kept patting her body, hoping to feel the lump that I assumed would be a wallet. But of course, she didn't find it.

This is what I get for being nice.

Again her emerald eyes locked with mine, but this time I knew my expression was much fiercer than my first. An apologetic smile replaced her worried frown, when I became aware of more car horns beeping.

"Off," I said in an even tone, though it still came out a bit gruff and harsh. I watched as a look of confusion crossed her innocent features, which then turned into a pleading one. In my mind I knew it wouldn't be that easy to get rid of her, as if she'd really just turn around and walk off after trying so hard to get there, but I wished that it would've been. It would've made my horrible life so much easier.

"No, please," she started, her eyes twinkling, "you don't understand . . ."

"Oh, I understand," I growled, fumbling with my seat belt buckle in an attempt to rise. "I understand that you have no money, therefore, you shall not be riding this bus. Now off!" I was now at full height, and though I racked in at six foot one, I was only about three or four inches taller than her.

"Please, listen to me first!" she cried, tilting her head slightly to look into my eyes. Those emerald eyes of hers, there was something about them that touched a sensitive spot inside me. But it only caused my features to harden as I listened to her plea. "I'm a volunteer at the orphanage at the end of your route. It's my first day, and they are expecting my help. I beg you, please let me ride?" She gave me puppy-dog eyes among honking horns now mixed with angry shouts.

Orphanage. She'd said that word. Orphanage. And not just any orphanage, the one at the end of my route. Oh, how I despised my route. But since it was my first day, what choice did I have but to take it? Yet I know a flash of sadness and anger crossed my features for a brief moment just then.

Still, I did not give in. "You have no money to pay for the ride, now get off."

"I'll pay you back tomorrow!" she cried. Yeah, that was so the oldest trick in the book. As if I'd trust her with that one. By now, though, everyone on the bus was listening to her pleading, and I became conscious of the whispers and constant horns that were spreading. What was I suppose to do now? It was against the rules to use physical force to remove her from the bus, wasn't it? And, she was doing something out of the kindness of her heart . . . Or so I was being led to believe; like I said, could I really trust her? Plus, the cute ones always turn out bad, right?

Closing my eyes and sighing deeply, I could barely recognize my own voice as I said, "Find a seat."

Wistfully she ran down the aisle to find a seat, a jubilant smile on her face as she exclaimed, "Thank you!" over her shoulder. I only snorted, running a hand through my tangled black locks, before sitting back down. Faster than before, since the rain was letting up, I drove away.

oOo

Go figure she'd be the only one going to the orphanage. I should have expected that though; there aren't enough kind people in the world. My only wish was that the orphanage wasn't so far out of my regular route. It was over in the south part of town, where all the gangs, rundown and spray painted houses are. And the orphanage. In this dirty part of town, there was an orphanage. The orphanage. Yeah, that's not depressing . . .

She was now sitting in the first seat, opposite of me. Unconsciously, I kept glancing at her. She seemed almost dry now, though I was sure whatever seat she'd sat in before was soaked. Her hands were neatly folded in her lap, her posture practically flawless. Although she wasn't smiling, her face radiated innocence. But the most unnerving thing was that she was staring at me.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Fanel," she said quietly, still staring at me. "I'm sorry for the scene I caused earlier." I slowed as a stoplight turned red, and turned to look at her, a look of pure surprise adorning my face. She was actually apologizing for the scene earlier! Saying thank you for allowing her to ride, I can see that, but an apology? Well, she is one of those kind people in the world, I thought.

But Mr. Fanel!

I only grunted in reply, as if everything were perfectly normal. "Don't call me Mr. Fanel," I growled hotly. I know I was a bus driver and all, but I wasn't that old! "Just call me Van."

"Okay, Van," she said, starting to smile again.

Silence ensued once more as the light changed and I began to drive again. I tried hard to just focus on the road ahead of me, and not on the girl beside me. This turned out to be a more difficult task than I thought, for she started to talk to me again at th next light.

"So Van, how old are you?"she asked.

It was a simple enough question, so I gave her a simple enough answer. "Twenty five." But then something compelled me to ask. "What's your name?" I mean, if she was going to talk to me, I might as well know her name, right?

"Hitomi Kanzaki," she replied, then she kept going, to my disgust. "I'm twenty-three. This is my last year of college. I'm going to be a social worker."

As if I care, ran through my mind. "That explains the orphanage thing," I replied through gritted teeth, wanting so badly for her to stop talking. Alas, she didn't have the almighty power to read my thoughts, and still continued to talk good-naturally as if I wanted to hear the story of her life.

"Yes," she said with a sad smile on her, "I feel sorry for those poor kids at the orphanage. My only wish was that there more kind people in the world to love them. . . ." Her voice trailed off, her eyes finally breaking away from me to revert to the ground. We'd finally crossed into the south side of town, when my muscles immediately went taut. Fences were topped with barbed wire, walls were coated with profanity, and on street corners, menacing gangs glared at vehicles as they passed by, despite the rain. I guess they had nothing better to do.

No conversation ensued. In the distance, through the rain and the mist that was developing, the outline of the orphanage came into view. Getting steadily closer, details started to fill in the whole picture. It was a brick building, though the red of the bricks was fading from constant washing, trying to rid it of spray paint. There were only two stories, but it made up for that in length and width. The "backyard" was surrounded by a picket fence, with the typical barbed wire at the top (as if anyone could climb a picket fence). The sign, "Fassa Foundation: Giving Children Lives", was clear, although a few letters were crooked or missing. There were few windows, though the doors were automatic glass ones. Few cars were in the parking lot. Overall, it was a dreary site.

Putting on the brakes, I waited for the bus to come to a complete stop before opening the door. Hitomi got up, putting her hood back up again for it was still raining slightly. At the top of the steps, she turned and gave me a smile, but I didn't really notice, my eyes clouded over as I stared beyond her at the orphanage.

For the second time that day I couldn't believe my own voice. "Hitomi . . ." she'd reached the sidewalk by now, and looked startled when she turned around. A lump formed in my throat. I couldn't speak anymore. I just wanted to leave, right then. Instead of finishing, I closed the doors

swiftly, and drove away, leaving her to stare after in wonder.

To Be Continued . . .

A/N: Ah, I finally finished it! WOOHOO, GO ME! Uh, yeah, um . . . Well, in case any of you are wondering, this story will be eleven chapters long (it was going to be ten, but I added one). I would like all of you to be considerate to me. This isn't the type of story I would normally write. As a matter of fact, I was going to give it to someone else to write! But I told a friend about the idea, and she told me to write it myself. Though I think it wold have been much better had someone else wrote it, I'm happy with this chapter. (Even if my tenses are out of wack. I'm sorry about that XX)

But I would be so much happier if you reviewed !

This story will probably be the one that I update the most. And when it's done, I already have another idea in progress! Eh, I'm in way over my head . . .

Please review!

-Spirit0