Vera sat in the dining room. She'd given her parents a rushed excuse for her wounds and sat down for supper. Her father's eyes were fixed on the television. The news was on. Vera nearly choked on her food when she heard the female anchor say, "A school bus crashed on I-40 earlier this evening. It carried about thirty passengers, but there was one survivor ; a female estimated to be about ten or eleven years old."
Then, the paramedic from earlier appeared on the screen, her name appeared underneath her : 'Kaetyn F. Bridger'. "I had her in my arms," the woman nearly sobbed the words. "Then, she pushed me and ran." Then, the female anchor spoke again ; "We have a police sketch of the survivor-" And then, the sketch appeared on the screen. It hardly looked anything like Vera. Good. But, now, Vera couldn't go to school. They'd know her. Then, the media would be looking for her. Then, the details would get out about the wreck. Then, somehow she'd let it slip. Then, what would happen, Vera didn't want to think about.