A 60-year-old bus driver saw a creepy sedan waiting for a teen on her route, so she begged the town’s most intimidating sanitation worker for help.
My stomach dropped into my shoes when I saw the shiny black sedan idling two doors down from Kinsley’s driveway. It didn’t belong in our quiet suburban neighborhood, and the man behind the tinted glass was staring intently at the exact house I was about to drop off a 14-year-old girl.
I’ve driven a school bus for 22 years. You get to know your kids. You get to know their routines, their moods, and most importantly, you get to know when something isn’t right.
Kinsley is a sweet, bright freshman, but like most kids her age, she lives with her nose buried in her smartphone. They don’t understand privacy. To them, the whole world is just an audience waiting to applaud.
