Hi again! This idea came from a suggestion I do a longer story. Well, TECHNICALLY, this is sort of a lot of short stories, but whatever. It's a start. :D Remember, REVIEWREVIEWREVIEW!
This is, of course, the infamous School Bus Sam incident.
Sam sat on the plastic seat, his shirt sticking to his back with sweat. At nine thirty am, it was already unbearably hot, even for September in California. The sun beat down from the cloudless sky.
All Sam had on his mind was surfing. It was the perfect day for surfing. The water would be like heaven, clear and cool, and riding the waves would help him forget about the heat. His mom had the day off, so maybe she could come watch him and he'd feel like he made her proud.
Quinn, who was sitting next to him, seemed to be reading his mind. "Hey, brah, maybe we should cut school today. What a waste of perfect surfing time."
Sam smiled. "It's a field trip, brah. A free day. And besides, you can't afford another missed day, dude. Didn't Mr. Baker call your house last time and—"
His next words were drowned by the sound of screeching metal. The bus lurched violently to the side.
Kids looked up. Their eyes were wide, panicked. Kids were talking loudly, screaming, and then one girl in the front cried, "Oh, my God!"
Sam reacted without thinking. The bus was moving wildly now, going way too fast and swerving all over the road. Sam pulled himself through the aisle, grabbing onto the seats and using them to support himself. People were screaming now, some were crying, and it was chaos. Sam forced himself to focus.
He made it to the front. He was exhausted, his muscles worn out, his heart pounding. And then he saw the driver, passed out, one hand clutching at his chest.
"Heart attack," Sam said softly. There was no chance of him being heard over the discord of the bus.
Sam wondered, for a brief instant, why he was being so calm. Why he was able to remain so rational.
And then the bus tilted, nearly rolling over, and Sam came back to the present.
He at first tried lifting the bus driver out of the seat, wanting to be gentle, but speed was more important and he ended up half-pushing-half-pulling the man out. Sam sat quickly, trying to remember what he knew about driving. Not much, but he managed to find the right controls and pedals and, as steadily as he could, steered the bus to the side of the road and parked it.
Sam took a breath. Okay, okay. That was done, the hard part was over. What now?
An ambulance, for the bus driver. Sam looked around, but he saw no cell phone. He ignored the panic the welled inside him. Where else?
The glove compartment: bingo.
Sam dialed 911. He still heard the chaotic screams of kids behind him, and dully he wondered why there were still yelling.
The operator came on, and calmly Sam explained the situation.
Within minutes, police and an ambulance had arrived.
Two hours later, the kids were still standing around the bus. The bus driver had been taken away in an ambulance. It was unknown whether he would be okay or not. T About an hour ago, news crews had arrived. Several reporters had questioned Sam, but he'd modestly and humbly waved it all off.
Sam was uncomfortable with attention. He just wanted the whole thing to be over with. He wanted to fade back into the background. He wanted to go surfing.
"Brah!" Quinn jogged up to Sam. He'd been talking to a reporter for several minutes, and although Sam couldn't hear what he had been saying, the look on the woman's face was enough to tell him.
"Man, what was that? I mean, everyone's screaming and crying, and there you go, all superman, all cool and calm. Dude, you just saved all of us!"
Sam shook his head, wishing Quinn would just shut up. "Man, someone else would have done it. I just got there first."
Quinn laughed. "You need to cut all this modesty crap, Sam. You're on TV. You're totally famous, brah." Quinn thought for a moment, and then said, "You're a hero."
Sam was silent. Quinn was still talking, but everything around Sam was just a blur. That word, hero. That had struck a chord.
Hero. Sam wasn't a hero. He knew that. After all, the word hero conjured up images of Superman, images of comic book heroes and then real life heroes like Martin Luther King and Ghandi.
But he, a thirteen year old surfer, was not a hero.
But it felt nice, being called that. Sam liked it. Maybe he hated attention, maybe he hated being responsible for lives, but he liked the effects that came from it. He liked helping people. He even kind of liked that he was the one who was still calm and cool when disaster was all around him.
His mother had once called him a natural leader. Sam didn't know why, since he couldn't remember the last time he led someone. He was not in charge of his own group, didn't even have many friends.
But now, he could kind of see what she meant, a little.
Hero, Sam thought. I've been called worse.
He didn't mind it. He didn't really mind it at all.