The 504-streetcar grated against the curve of the tracks as it entered the station. It pulled to a stop directly in front of Holly. The doors opened with such a clunk that she stepped back, treading on the toes of the person behind her. She was blocking the door. A crowd of restless Chinese grandmothers nudged her forward with sharp elbows.

“Does this car go south on Broadview?” she asked the driver. He adjusted his seat and the booklet of transfers clipped to the dash. He didn’t bother to look at her. “504 turns at Queen, 505 at Dundas,” he said.

“But does it go south?” she persisted, and he flicked a thumb to the back of the car, signaling for her to board.

She had never been to Broadview Station before. She rarely used public transit. Her high school was within walking distance of her house. And her mother was happy to drive her wherever she and her friends wanted to go. “I don’t like you girls alone on public transit,” she’d say, the slight wrinkle of her nose suggesting that the matter wasn’t so much about safety. “Besides, driving together gives us a little time to chat.” She would perch on the edge of Holly’s bed until the silence from Holly’s friends went on a little too long.

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