Michele read the posting again, which she had snipped from the newspaper nearly a week ago:

"Looking for a young lady to perform maid services for a well-to-do lady and her two daughters. This is a live-in position for the summer, perhaps longer. Being able to follow simple commands is a must. -Ms. Merrick."

Everyone knew who Ms. Merrick was. She was practically a legend. "The lady on the hill," as she was sometimes referred to, as she rarely strayed from her monolithic estate at the edge of town, her mansion built on the hilly area of the property.

But what fascinated everyone wasn't her apparent wealth. Of course, when people hear about a woman with money, they look for the great man she's attached to. Not so with Ms. Merrick. She never allowed a man to call himself her husband. Never gave up her family name. The fact that she had two daughters always raised some eyebrows, but Ms. Merrick seemed immune to media penetration. Very little was known about her history other than she was something of a brilliant scientist who used to partner with an Egyptian archeologist, but after he disappeared and Ms. Merrick wouldn't talk about him, the media got bored. All that ever made it into papers these days was a shot of the lady of the manor jogging, as she did often.

Michele carefully folded the ad up and put it in her jacket pocket. She needed this job, she really did. It was hard trying to get through college when "dad" meant whoever her mother was sleeping with that week and "mom" was more of an abstract concept. The woman who drank heavily, tended to scream more than talk, and humiliated Michele as much as she could was a poor replacement for what Michele imagined a mother must really be. And then there was...

...Well, something Michele didn't even want to think about.

She realized her hands were balled into fists and that she was staring hard at the floor. She looked around briefly, her mouth open slightly in surprise, and then composed herself. She was sitting at the back of a bus, taking it all the way to the end of the line. As close as public transport could get her. She didn't have the money for a cab, and she hadn't seen her mother nor their only car for nearly two days. After that, it was about a three mile walk to the edge of Ms. Merrick's estate.

Michele wiped sweat from her brow and looked out the windows of the bus, the buildings getting smaller and smaller it seemed the farther they got to outlying areas of town. She watched things slow down, feeling the bus apply it's brakes. One more stop, she thought, her hands fidgeting nervously in her lap.

"Hello, Ms. Bianca." The old bus driver said amiably up front. "Need help with your bike?"

"Oh, no thank you Henry. I'll just sit in the back."

Michele bit her lower lip and peeked over the seats at the woman who just boarded the bus. She looked to be about Michele's age, in her early 20s, though when she smiled at the driver her face took on a younger charm. Bianca had full, wavy brown hair which spilled down a bit past her shoulders, wearing a yellow sleeveless shirt with a print on it that only hung off one shoulder and a jean micro-skirt that really showed off her long, long legs. Her flip-flops slapped against her soles as she guided her bike down the narrow aisle, and Michele tucked her lower lip between her teeth at the sound.

Bianca's eyes drifted over the seats and locked onto Michele's, causing the timid girl to gasp and shrink back into her seat, looking out the window. She felt a little bead of sweat form on her forehead and quickly wiped it off as she listened to the clicking wheels and slapping sandals coming all the way back to her row. She bit her lip a little harder and closed her eyes as she heard Bianca sink into the seat across the aisle from her with a little sigh.

Michele snuck a look at the woman. She was so gorgeous! Darker eyebrows and a cute, rounded nose, and a smile that was long and slim. Her skin was tan, though it was a light one, and she lifted her bag off her shoulder and put it on the seat next to her.

Bianca saw Michele looking at her and smiled once again, her face transforming into a charming, youthful grin. "Sorry about the bike. I get off at the next stop."

"Oh, n-no worries, me too..."

Bianca tilted her head, her smile widening. "Really?"

Michele felt her face turned red. She felt as if she was literally two inches tall before this gorgeous girl's casual attention... her mind wandered, imagining those feet slapping against those sandals, Bianca laughing as she felt Michele's little body trapped under her feet, warmed from biking, trapped and helpless... Michele blinked and shook her head.

Bianca put one hand on her bike seat as if to reach over to the other girl. "Well, I didn't mean anything by it, just, it's rare..."

Michele glanced around and noticed that Bianca and herself seemed to be the last two people on the bus. The elegant girl waved her hand. "Well, no matter, I'm sorry to bug you." And she smiled before turning to look into her bag.

"Oh... It's..." ...no bother, Michele wanted to say. Bianca was stunning, but not in a silver screen kind of way. She was so alive, so carefree. Michele felt like she could tell her anything and Bianca would just shake her head with a giggle and tell her it wasn't weird at all. That she would love for Michele to give her a foot rub.

Michele hugged herself and leaned into the back of her seat, staring down into the darkness between her knees, toward the bus floor. No, she reminded herself, it is weird, and that's why mom...

She was jarred from her thoughts as she heard a swiping sound next to her. Bianca had slipped her sandals off and was wiping the dirt from the soles of her feet, exposing the long, wide soles and shorter, expressive toes that flexed and her sole wrinkled as Bianca swiped at it. Michele licked her lips.

"I'm Bianca, by the way." Michele nearly shot threw the roof, Bianca was looking right at her. Bianca coughed into one hand and blushed slightly. "Sorry, I've been... I've been out biking all day."

Michele felt herself glow with embarrassment. She wanted to tell her it was fine, that she knew she was Bianca and to please be her best friend. She felt as if she might melt right there, offering her liquid body for Bianca to wash her feet with.

"Michele." Was all she could manage.

Mercifully, the bus came to a stop not much later. "End of the line!" Henry called from the front. Bianca motioned with a sweep of her arm that she could go first, and Michele scurried away quickly to hide her blush from such a goddess. She awkwardly waited at the stop, pretending to read signs, just so she could watch Bianca mount her bike and ride off.

Michele watched until Bianca was almost a speck in the distance and then began walking, realizing they were going the same way.