''Fuck off,'' I hiss between my clenched teeth, staring inside the eyes of the boy who came up from behind me and is still holding a supposedly-dead, plastic mouse in front of my face. I stare and stare into his eyes, my teeth grinding when I realize I'm hearing the voices of other boys: She's not scared... My stare-boy turns away when I pull the toy from his hand in full force. ''She's a witch,'' he shrieks, and in 20 seconds, there are no more boys in sight. I sigh as I throw the mouse into my coat pocket and check the time on my cell phone: I don't need bored-kid drama on a hunt night.

Hunting doesn't start until I cross the bridge to the other side of the city, so once I find a spot on the minibus, I sit down and open the book I've been trying to read for a week. The driver's deep, loud voice distracts me: You again? You don't have money again, do you? Why do you always pick MY vehicle? I sit up, thinking there'll be a fight and I'll have to spend the night with this leather seat grabbing my ass. As I think about how I'd rather have some cute guy do it, I turn to see who the money-less person is. The minibus starts moving again, and the driver is giggling: it's a 17-year-old boy with the biggest and warmest smile I've ever seen. He never could learn how to read ''all the confusing'' letters, but he's good at counting money when he has it. He has his dead mother's ability to shape unshapely things, so his father found him a job at a barbershop.

I know all this because I've been listening to his conversation with the driver, trying to catch his name. As I listen more, staring at my hands, I realize I really just want to pinch his cheeks and squeeze him to death. I laugh a satisfied laugh: the pre-hunting booze is already kicking in.

''Whatcha lauuuuuuuughiiiiin aaaaaaaaaat,'' says the barber-boy as he sits next to me. ''Nothing,'' I say and turn to him, which makes him jump out of the seat and get on his knees: ''Oh, please, the beautiful witch of the town,'' he says, ''please kiss me and make me immortal – I beg you.'' I catch the driver's eyes on his mirror, and I mouth WHAT THE FUCK? ''Never mind him,'' he says, ''he's fucked up in the head.''

Whenever the minibus stops to pick someone up, the driver threatens my barber-boy, saying he'll throw him out. He's joking, but barber-boy doesn't understand; he gets on his knees, trying to hold onto the side of the vehicle, ready to cry. This happens a few times, and I can't take it anymore. ''Quit it,'' I say to the driver as I walk up and throw him whatever change I have in my coat pocket. With the change flies out the supposedly-dead, plastic mouse and the lady sitting in the front starts screaming as if someone's putting it in her butt for the first time ever. The bus stops all of a sudden; I can't catch the railing on time and fall on the screaming lady. When I hear barber-boy laughing his ass off, I can't help but join in. ''GET THE HELL OUT," yells the driver, "BOTH OF YOU – NOW!" We jump off, still laughing, and the screaming lady throws the supposedly-dead, plastic mouse at me, but I catch it before it hits my face, which makes barber-boy go, "Woooooovvvhooooovvv!"

"Ai guezz youw gottaw gow naw," says barber-boy when we cool down. I motion him to get closer and give him a kiss on the corner of his lip. Holding my palm in front of his face, "You're immortal now," I whisper, and watch him dance into the night as he walks away. "What's your name," I yell after him, but he's already lost in the dark.