the parking lot behind the school was packed.
The banner hung between two poles: “Happy Birthday, Mr. Walter.”
Then someone shouted, “Bus!” and everything went still.
The big yellow shape rolled slowly into the lot, just as it had done on a thousand afternoons before, and parked in its usual spot.
For one second, no one moved.
The engine shut off, and we all waited.
Through the windshield, I could see Mr. Walter gathering his things. He moved slowly and tiredly, like a man heading home to a very quiet
