Follow the adventures of Calvin, an anxious but dutiful bus driver, and his sentient and safety-conscious school bus named Christina. The short story follows Calvin’s route adventures while highlighting very real circumstances that drivers face and underscoring the importance of student transportation safety. Find group discussion prompts at the end of each article. The story advisor is Fredrick Tottenham, student safety specialist with Irving ISD.
Sasha, I whisper.
Usually, Sasha is the one who steadies me when life takes a U-turn. Now she is the one in trouble, and every nerve in my body screams for me to get to her. But Townsend High is still waiting—rows of students depending on me to arrive. The thought presses against my chest like an ever-augmenting weight. How can I run toward Sasha without abandoning the students?
The radio crackles and for a few seconds, all I hear is static. The white noise reminds me that I am not alone, I have help.
Base to Route 7568, please give Dispatch a landline when you are parked in a safe location.
I take a right turn and pull into a quiet neighborhood where tall trees lean over the curb and pour cool shade across Christina’s windshield. Out of the sun’s glare, my phone screen sharpens. I squint, thumb through my contacts, and zoom in on the number for Ervens ISD Transportation Dispatch.
It seems like an eternity passes before Ms. Debbie clicks over and says, “Mr. Calvin, are you in a safe location..? Good, sir. I know you heard the emergency code over the radio, and you must be worried about Ms. Sasha. We have a plan for you and your students, please listen closely…”
A comforting warmth drives through me when I realize Ms. Debbie remembers. She remembers the day that I told her Sasha had become a pharmacy tech, and the smile on my face when I said Sasha had landed a job at the pharmacy just down the road from Transportation. Ms. Debbie smiled, too, when she suggested that I take the opportunity to steal lunch breaks with Sasha to keep the romance alive. I am a darn good bus driver, steady with my hands and sharp with my routes, but romance has no clear directions or traffic signs and so I avoid roads leading to affection like a bus driver avoids cul-de-sacs. Now, with the radio humming and fear sitting bitter in my stomach, I realize that Sasha may be in the kind of trouble that makes a man regret every unattempted romantic notion.
Palms sweaty, I clamp the phone tighter to my ear and listen as Ms. Debbie lays out the plan in that calm, steady voice dispatchers use even when panic is crowding the line. Another driver is on the way to Townsend High to take over my route. After that, someone in a district vehicle will bring me back to base, where I can follow the emergency without putting myself, or my students, in danger. I try to argue, but she cuts through my protest with gentle firmness. The police have already blocked the roads around the pharmacy, she tells me. I would not get within ten feet of Sasha if I tried. All I would find is flashing blue lights, hard barricades, and the feeling of helplessness. She added that I could also put Sasha in further danger—that was enough to win over my consent.
“Ok, Ms. Debbie. I’m headed to Townsend High right now.”
“Perfect, Mr. Calvin. I will keep you updated if anything changes.”
Christina gives a low, eager hum as I ease her back onto the road toward Townsend High.
The urge to call Sasha jerks me like a brake check. Maybe she will answer. Maybe I will hear her voice, shaky but safe, on the other end and finally be able to breathe again. I reach for my cellphone on the tray beneath the dash, but the moment my fingers touch it, it refuses to move. The phone sits there, stubborn and still, as if Christina has glued it to the tray herself. Then her odometer pings, bright and sharp against the dashboard, and one word flashes across the display:
FOCUS
Heat crawls up my neck. Sorry, girl. I pull my hand away from the phone and plant both hands on the wheel, left at nine, right at three. My fear for Sasha had shoved everything else out of my head, even the law I know by heart: no mobile device while operating a school bus.
Finally, I turn into the school driveway and ease Christina into place. Beyond the windshield, the students gather in loose, laughing clusters, backpacks slung low, cellphone postures, and faces bright and impatient to climb aboard. They have no idea that danger is unfolding only five miles away, or that my nerves are rattling beneath my skin like loose lug nuts. For their sake, I smooth my face, swallow the fear, and try to keep it that way.
I secure the bus, set my hand on the door switch, and flick it open so the students can climb aboard. Nothing happens. No hiss of air, no folding door, no rush of chatter spilling into the aisle. Frowning, I flip the switch again. The doors stay sealed tight.
What’s the matter now, girl?
A soft mechanical click answers me. I look down just in time to see the gearshift slide into Drive, and my forehead tightens in a roadmap of confusion.
I can’t leave the students standing out there, Christina. Come on, girl.
Christina stays in Drive. No matter how many times I flip the switch, the doors refuse to open. I let out a slow breath and ask her again what is wrong. In answer, the right crossover mirror dips downward, smooth and deliberate, until the front tire comes into view. That is when I see it: Christina has rolled past the yellow brick line. The line is there for a reason. When the bus stops behind it, the walkway stays clear and the students can board from the safety of the marked crosswalk. Past that line, they would have to step out of their protected path and crowd too close to the bus’s nose. Christina is not being stubborn. She is keeping them safe. I need to follow the safety rules of the yellow brick line.
Backing up a bus full of blind spots is never the safe choice, and Christina knows it. She is not asking me to reverse; she is telling me to move forward, circle the drive, and return to the loading zone the right way. This time, I need to stop with her nose behind the yellow line, where the students can step from the marked crosswalk into the open doors.
Got it, girl. I’m sorry, my mind is with Sasha.
I gesture to the students to wait, and they back up with grins and nods. I circle the driveway and come back to the pickup spot, stopping at the yellow line. I flip the switch to open the doors and, this time, they open wide. Just then, Nathan, one of the stand-by drivers, steps in front of the doorway, blocking the students from entering.
“Hey Cal! I heard the bad news, man, I’m so sorry! They sent me to finish your route!” Nathan yells while entering the bus.
Christina’s dash pings:
WHO?
I didn’t think she would be happy about having a sub-driver. I don’t think I am happy about Nathan being her sub-driver. Is it odd that I’m jealous when other men ride her? Wow, that’s weird.
I throw that thought into neutral before it can roll into the gutter. Nathan is an experienced driver; surely, he can safely drive Christina for one route. Sasha is the one in danger.
Just as I jump out of the driver’s seat Ms. Debbie comes on the radio and announces:
Base to all drivers. Base to all drivers. There is no longer a threat at Culter Road and Pits. This area is now clear and safe. Please proceed as normal on your routes.
The news hits me like clean air after inhaling exhaust. I sink back into the driver’s seat, let out a long, shaky breath, and drag my fingers through my hair. My chest still feels tight but loosens each second I realize Sasha is safe. Then my phone buzzes against the tray beneath the dash. I snatch it up, and Sasha’s name and image glow on the screen.
Heard the news, babe? Don’t worry, I’m safe. I’ve been home since noon, wrapped in a blanket and sipping ginger tea. I’ve felt queasy all morning. Everybody is ok. The police stopped the “gunman” outside—some kid with a realistic water gun. I’ll explain everything when you get home. I love you.
Relief washes through me first. Then my brain, apparently done surviving one emergency, highlights two words in Sasha’s message like hazard lights:
Queasy.
Morning.
Now, I am no doctor, I drive a bus for a living. But even I know those two words ride the same route.
Morning sickness?
“Did you hear that Cal! The coast is clear! I guess I don’t have to finish your route, after all!”
“Well, Nathan, I guess you’re off the hook.” I mutter, my voice still rough from the scare. Nathan grins, gives Christina’s handrail a quick slap, I wince, and he hops back down the steps.
Christina’s dash pings before I can settle myself in the driver’s seat:
Whew!
I pause with one hand on the wheel. Whew? Was Christina relieved because the threat was over or because Nathan would not be driving her after all? Sometimes I wonder if student safety is the only thing that truly stirs her metal heart.
I shake my head, let the question roll away like loose gravel under the tires, and turn toward the waiting students with my best bus driver’s smile.
Then two students climb aboard with their heads hanging low, their steps clumsy and uneven. When they pass me, a sour, yeasty stink rolls off them putting the pub in public school.
My smile disappears.
Surely not.
Before I can decide when to question them, Christina’s dash pings again:
UN-HAPPY HOUR?
Ask Your Team:
What can happen when students load outside of the loading area? And what can you do to keep students safely within loading zones?
Next Stop: Episode 3
Sip, Sip, No Way! – Student Monitoring: Prevent alcohol use and recognize impairment
Previous Stop: Episode 1
Roll, Roll, No Bus Bus! – Avoid Distractions During Pre-Trip Inspections
© 2026 Gabrielle Marie Kelley. Calvin & Christina: Where Safety Takes the Wheel and all associated characters, concepts, and illustrations are the intellectual property of Gabrielle Marie Kelley, office manager for the Irving Independent School District transportation department. Published with permission through School Transportation News.
The post Episode 2: “The Yellow Brick Line” appeared first on School Transportation News.
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