A backpack landed on my head. Boom! The bus shuddered and flipped over like a roller coaster. I held on, but all around me kids tumbled out of their seats, everybody piled on top of each other. “Help!” somebody yelled.

Then we stopped. The motor was still chugging, but the headlights must have been smashed. The bus filled with smoke. There wasn’t any time to be scared. I reached up, grabbing hold of a seat above my head. Stepping on the seats below me, I made my way forward. I could hear my friends crying, but I couldn’t see them. When I reached the front of the bus a man groaned, “Who’s there?” I knew his voice —Police Sgt. James Jennings, one of our chaperones. “It’s Kyle,” I said. “What happened?”

“Driver must have passed out.” “You think we can get a window open?” I asked. “Sure,” he said. “Let’s go.” He and I pulled ourselves into the seats above. We pressed our hands against the big window at the end of the row. “Give it all you got, Kyle,” grunted Sergeant Jennings. We pushed hard. Nothing happened. We pushed again. “Yes!” I shouted as the window opened, and I crawled out. A tree was smashed tight against the bus, and I climbed onto a branch and shinnied to the ground. Sergeant Jennings followed me down the tree. We

stood there, swallowed up by darkness. “I can hear you breathing, Kyle,” Sergeant Jennings said. “Otherwise I would not know you’re next to me.” God, if we could only see! — Beliefnet.com