Kassandra Guymon

Usually I had to be at school by 7:30 am. Northridge High School was doing some testing in the lower grades that day, so seniors like me got to go in late. Mom offered me a ride when it was time to go. I sat beside her in our van, kicked off my sandals, and daydreamed about my future.

I’d be graduating from high school in the matter of a few months. This summer was going to be the best one yet. I’d leave high school behind and do whatever I wanted. What would I do? Go to college?

Turn my job coaching gymnastics into a full-time gig? Or get a job in an office where I could work my way up? And what about marriage, kids? I had plenty of time to figure all that out later. There were millions of things I could do with my life, and whatever I chose I was sure would turn out fine. Maybe I just had spring fever. Or senioritis. Or a little of both.

Mom interrupted my thoughts. “Kassandra, do you see that?” she asked just as we were crossing the railroad tracks. She stopped the van on the other side and pointed out the window.

“It looks like a child.” Sure enough, I saw a small boy walking by himself. A blue bicycle rested on its kickstand nearby, but there was no one else in sight.

“He looks too young to be out here alone,” I said. The road next to the main train tracks was pretty busy and the boy was awfully close to it. What if he tried to cross the street and got hurt? “I’ll see if I can find his parents.” — Beliefnet.com