Page 3 of Only One Tour Bus

“Who doesn’t know that?” I ask with my snootiest English accent. Then I laugh. “Look at me. Now I’m one keeping some gates.”

“No one has ever taken to gatekeeping with such…perkiness.”

“If you’re going to do something, might as well have fun doing it.” I smile at him even more, to see that scowl deepen, and I’m not disappointed. Unfortunately for him, that makes the smile wider. Which makes his scowl deeper, and…well. It’s a vicious cycle.

“Why are you so happy to be gatekept? Damn it, I mean in response to my gatekeeping. Feck, I mean your perceived gatekeeping.”

“Because I know I killed it at school. Fantastic insights, organized and concise essays with a hint of flair, brilliant recall for facts. And my favorite era of art is the Roman period, but especially that time right when the Roman Republic became the Roman Empire, and how that turmoil and transformation was represented in the art of that time. Like how in the Republic everything was focused on wisdom and experience, so people would emphasize wrinkles and hyper-realism in their sculpture busts, but in the Empire, it became more about propaganda that idealized and promoted a youthful figure that had divine authority and ruled by strength. Fascinating stuff, to see what gets called beautiful in different times.”

“Fine. We’ll alternate.”

He looks harassed by the gatekeeping conversation, so I’m sure he only gave in to change the subject rather than in the spirit of cooperation. But I’ll take it. “Sounds good. Plus, apparently, I need to work on making my tours more boring. Or sorry, more ‘filled with knowledge.’”

He ignores the dig. “But we should be at each other’s tours. To make sure the group is getting adequate information.”

I’ve lost count of the insults I’ve gotten during this meeting. But I’m determined not to let him spoil a job that I love. “And I’ll make sure that they’re having fun on your walking tours.”

He quirks an eyebrow at me, dismissing me with a quick flick of his forehead muscles. “Grand.”

This should be a fun tour.

CHAPTER 2

CALLUM

I stop at the Pret A Manger by our offices and order the largest coffee they’re legally allowed to sell me. I don’t usually rely so heavily on chemical stimulants, but I’m going to need it today.

Not only is it the first day of me going on one of our longest tours, but I also have to do it with the human equivalent of the Energizer bunny. If the Energizer bunny took uppers.

There’s no other explanation for why the woman is always so enthusiastic. It was like that on our training trip: our fake group (the trainers) got lost, she laughed with a shake of her head before finding them. When they pretended to get lost on me, I found them and then stared at them sternly until they said sorry for being careless.

A museum she was supposed to go to was closed, she found an ice cream place nearby that was also historic, and no one complained. When I ran into that same problem, I stood outside the museum and gave my lecture anyway, bringing up relevant pictures on my tablet so people understood what I was talking about. Then I made them go to the closest historic site and lectured there, too. The trainers asked inane questions, and she gave them consideration they were not due by actually answering them with a smile. I answered their questions with a polite face, but they got no extraneous smiles out of me.

And her attitude has not mellowed in a job that is meant to wear down even the most dedicated person. Taking the masses across Europe sounds like an ideal job until you get a few tours under your belt and realize that tragically, no one in the group will ever care about medieval ecclesiastical architecture the way you do. And that corralling a group of people with their own agendas, on time, is harder than herding cats. Cats also on uppers.

It’s not right that she still enjoys this job as much as she does. Of course there are parts of it I like too, mainly the teaching of history, but I am appropriately annoyed at the rest of the nonsense.

And her shirt yesterday had a giant bow around the neck. What grown adult wears a bow?

“Hey, partner!” a cheery voice yells from behind me. “Great minds, thinking alike, etcetera, etcetera.”

I cringe. I sincerely doubt there’s anything similar in the way that Asha Kapoor and I think. Case in point, no one should be this cheerful this early in the day. Or so loud.

“Morning,” I say in a reasonable volume and cheeriness level, leading by example. One that is perfectly cordial without offering any extras.

“Are you ready for the best trip ever?” she asks as she stops next to me in the line.

Now that, I can’t let go. I’m sucked into her nonsense despite my determination not to be. “How do you know this trip is going to be the best trip ever?”

“Every trip is the best trip ever.” She makes a face that is probably meant to convey “obviously,” but that still doesn’t convince me.

“That can’t be true. There can only be one best trip. Linguistically speaking.”

“Best trip ever is a state of mind, not a linguistic construct!”

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Doesn’t it?”