Grace had taken the train to her aunt's house in Portland many times, but always with her mother. This time, at fourteen, she was going alone. "The train to Portland leaves from platform 2. Check the sign before you get on," her mother repeated three times at the station in Chicago. Grace rolled her eyes. "Mom, I know."
Two trains were standing at the platform. Grace jumped onto the nearest one, found a seat by the window and put on her headphones. She started a new series on her phone, and one episode followed another. Then she heard an announcement: "Next station: Charleston." Charleston was in the south. Portland was in the north.
Her heart began to pound. Her phone battery was at four percent. She thought about calling her mother, but she could already hear the words: "I told you three times." Instead, she took a deep breath and walked over to a woman in a train uniform.
The woman smiled. "It happens every day," she said. She explained that Grace should get off at Charleston, cross to the other platform and take the next train north. She even wrote the times on a piece of paper, because Grace's phone was about to die.
Grace arrived in Portland two hours late. Her aunt was waiting at the station, looking worried. That evening, Grace called her mother and told her the whole story. To her surprise, her mother laughed. "When I was your age," she said, "I once took the wrong bus and ended up in Washington, D.C.."