Pip sprinted through the glass doors of the station, chasing the rumble of a departing train. His sneakers slapped the wet tiles. 'Wait for me!' he called. He slid onto the nearest car just as the doors hissed shut behind him.
He pressed his nose to the window. The platform shrank — then vanished. Grandmother's voice still echoed: 'Wait for me, Pip!' The train lurch-er lurch-ed forward. He was alone.
Hours later, the train hissed to a stop at a station Pip had never seen. A conductor with silver whiskers leaned down. 'You're on the wrong line, little one. The next stop is Oakhaven.'
Pip's grip tightened on his backpack strap. The station smelled like wet wool and diesel. Oakhaven. He didn't know Oakhaven. He stared out at the unfamiliar platform.
Pip found a station map that stretched the length of the wall. Tiny train lines looped like tangled yarn. An elderly woman with a basket of apples pointed at one line.
'Take the blue line back to Central,' she said. Pip studied the map until the lines blurred. His shoes tapped against the tiled floor. Tap. Tap. Tap.
A man in a bright yellow vest kneelled beside Pip at a ticket window. He slid a return pass across the counter. 'This gets you home, son.'
Pip's shoulders dropped an inch. The machine whirred and spat out the pass with a satisfying cha-ching. He folded it carefully and tucked it into his pocket.
Pip boarded the blue train and watched the city blur past the window. A flash of red brick. A glint of water. A flock of pigeons taking off all at once.
When the train screeched to a halt at Central, Pip stepped onto the platform with his chin held high. The familiar clang of the crossing gates rang out.
His grandmother stood near the exit, her coat flapping in the wind. Pip ran to her and buried his face in her sleeve.
She wrapped her arms around him and squeezed tight. 'I'm here, my brave boy.' Pip's fingers clutched the return pass in his pocket, crumpled but still warm from his hand.