I was driving home, my thoughts a tangled mess, when something out of the ordinary caught my eye. A school bus passed me, but it wasn’t just any bus. In the rear window, a young girl was desperately banging on the glass, her small fists pounding frantically.
Panic swept over me, and I could feel my heart freeze. There was something terribly wrong. But what kind of danger could a child possibly face on a school bus? I couldn’t shake the feeling that I needed to find out.
My hands tightened around the steering wheel as I followed the bus, my mind racing. The rain began to fall harder, splashing against the windshield, making it harder to see, but I pushed on. The weight on my chest felt heavier with every drop of rain.
Today had already been one of those days—my fiancé had called off our engagement last week, and now, to top it off, I’d just been fired from my job. Everything felt like it was falling apart, and all I could think about was the mess I was in.
“Stay calm, Mollie,” I muttered to myself, trying to keep my head in check. “One door closes, another opens, right?” But the words didn’t bring me any comfort. They just echoed emptily in my mind.
How was I supposed to face my mother with the truth? She’d been my rock since Dad passed away, and I didn’t want to be the one to add to her worries. My phone buzzed again—Mom, of course. It was the fifth time today. I pulled over, needing to take the call.
“Yes, Mom, I’ll be there in about ten minutes,” I said, trying to sound calm, though my voice cracked. “I’m just driving.”
“Mollie, sweetie, did you hear about the storm? It’s coming this way. Please be careful,” she urged, her voice full of concern.
I swallowed hard, feeling like I might choke. The storm outside was nothing compared to the storm inside me. “I’ll be fine, Mom. Don’t worry. I’ll see you soon.”
“Are you sure everything’s okay? You sound upset.”
“I’m fine, just tired. Love you,” I said, quickly ending the call before my voice gave me away. How could I tell her that I lost my job for standing up for what was right? They called it “poor performance,” but I knew better.
I sighed and muttered to myself, “What else could possibly go wrong today?” Little did I know, the worst was yet to come.
The yellow school bus sped past me, and for a moment, I didn’t think anything of it. But then, something in the rear window caught my eye. It was the little girl again, her face pressed against the glass. She was still pounding on it, her eyes wide with fear. I gasped, my heart racing in my chest. “Oh my God… What’s going on?” I muttered, my breath catching in my throat.
Without thinking, I slammed my foot on the gas, chasing the bus. I had to know what was happening. Why was this child so scared on what should have been a safe ride home?
“I’m coming, sweetheart. Hang on,” I said to myself, honking my horn to try and get the driver’s attention. But the bus kept going, as if nothing was wrong. Anxiety crept up inside me, and I made a snap decision. I zoomed ahead, pulling in front of the bus to force it to stop.
The driver—a large man with a thick mustache—stormed out of the bus, glaring at me. “What’s the big idea? You could’ve caused an accident!”
Ignoring his anger, I shoved past him and boarded the bus. The noise inside hit me like a wave—laughter, shouting, chattering kids, none of them paying any attention to the girl in distress. I made my way down the aisle to the back of the bus, where I found the little girl, her face streaked with tears, struggling to breathe.
I knelt beside her, my voice soft. “Are you having an asthma attack?” I asked, my heart hammering in my chest. She nodded, her tiny chest heaving as she gasped for air.
“What’s your name, honey?” I asked gently, looking for something—anything—that could help. She pointed to her ID badge, revealing her name: Chelsea.
“Alright, Chelsea, we’re going to get you help. Where’s your inhaler?” I asked, hoping she could point me in the right direction. But Chelsea shook her head, unable to speak, her face a pale shade of blue.
My eyes shot to the driver, who had followed me onto the bus. “Do you know where her inhaler is?” I asked urgently.
The driver looked horrified. “I didn’t know she was in trouble… it’s so loud back here…”
Frustration boiled over inside me, but I kept my cool. I began rummaging through Chelsea’s backpack, but it wasn’t there. Panic gripped me as I realized how serious this was. Chelsea’s lips were turning blue, and I knew every second counted.
“Help me search!” I snapped at the driver, my voice sharp. Together, we searched frantically, flipping over seats, checking every corner. But the kids around us were doing nothing. In fact, some of them were laughing, and a few were even pointing at Chelsea.
“Stop it!” I shouted, my patience running thin. “She needs help, right now!” I grabbed the nearest backpack and started rifling through it, ignoring the protests.
“Hey! You can’t just take our stuff!” a boy yelled.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, I found a small blue inhaler buried in the bottom of a backpack. I held it up, breathing a sigh of relief. “Why do you have this?” I demanded, glaring at the boy whose bag it was.
The boy looked down at his feet, mumbling, “It was a joke…”
“A joke?” I exclaimed, feeling my anger rise. “She could have died! It’s not funny!” Without wasting another second, I rushed back to Chelsea and used the inhaler. Slowly, her breathing steadied, and her color began to return. Tears filled my eyes as I held her hand, murmuring reassuring words.
The driver stammered, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize…”
“These kids are your responsibility,” I said, my voice firm. “You should’ve been paying attention.”
Chelsea tugged on my sleeve, her voice barely above a whisper. “Thank you…”
Those simple words cracked open the storm inside me, and I felt a wave of relief wash over me. I stayed by Chelsea’s side until we reached her stop, promising not to leave her alone.
When we finally got off the bus, her parents were there, waiting anxiously. After hearing what had happened, their gratitude was overwhelming. Her mother even insisted on driving me back to my car.
During the ride, we talked, and when I explained about losing my job, her eyes lit up. She told me her family owned a business and might have an opening. “Could you come in for an interview?” she asked, her voice warm and sincere.
The next morning, I called her, and we set up a meeting. For the first time in weeks, I felt a spark of hope. That stormy day, what had seemed like a disaster had turned into an unexpected opportunity—a chance to start fresh.
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