**Monday, 10th October**
I was late for school again. My rucksack thumped against my back as I dashed through the Tesco car park, hoping to cut through and make up lost time. Mrs. Thompson had already warned meone more tardy mark, and shed ring my parents.
But as I hurried past a silver Ford Fiesta parked under the morning sun, I froze. Inside, a baby was strapped into a car seat, its little face flushed and slick with tears. The cries were muffled by the sealed windows, and sweat glistened on its forehead. The doors were locked, and there wasnt an adult in sight.
My heart pounded. I knocked on the window, hoping someone would appear, but no one came. I ran around the car, yanking at each door handlenothing. Panic clawed at me as the babys cries weakened into tired, broken whimpers.
I glanced around. The car park was empty. My school was just down the road, but the thought of leaving the baby twisted my stomach. Every second mattered.
Hands shaking, I grabbed a heavy stone from the kerb. My skinny arms strained as I lifted it overhead. Sorry, Mr. Car, I whispered, then hurled it at the window. The glass cracked, spiderwebbing with each hit until it finally shattered.
Reaching in, I unbuckled the straps and carefully pulled the baby out, cradling it against my chest. Its clammy skin stuck to my jumper as I rocked it gently. Its alright, youre safe now, I murmured.
Then a scream tore through the air: What are you doing to my car?!
A woman sprinted over, her shopping bags tumbling to the ground. At first, her eyes widened at the broken glass and me holding her child. Then, realisation hither anger melted into horror. Oh my God I only popped in for ten minutes she stammered, snatching the baby back and kissing its sweaty face. Tears streaked her cheeks as she whispered, Thank you, thank you.
Before I could speak, the school bell rang in the distance. My stomach dropped. Without a word, I turned and ran.
I burst into class a few minutes later, my hair stuck to my forehead, hands scratched from the glass. Mrs. Thompson stood at the front, arms crossed. Oliver Bennett, she said sharply, late again.
The whole class turned to stare. I opened my mouth but hesitated. How could I explain without sounding like I was making excuses? My throat tightened. I Im sorry, Miss.
Enough, she said firmly. Ill be calling your parents this afternoon. You need to take responsibility.
I slumped into my seat, cheeks burning. No one clapped. No one said thank you. I just stared at the cuts on my hands, wondering if Id done the wrong thing.
At break, some kids teased me for always being late; others ignored me completely. I stayed quiet, the image of the babys red face flashing in my mind. Id do it again, even if no one believed me.
What I didnt know was that the woman from the car park had followed me to schooland was about to walk into our classroom.
That afternoon, just before home time, the door creaked open. In came the headteacher, followed by the woman Id helped, her baby now calm and asleep in her arms.
Mrs. Thompson, the head said, weve something important to share.
The woman stepped forward, voice trembling. This boy saved my babys life today. Id left him in the car for what I thought was just a few minutesa terrible mistake. When I came back, Oliver had already smashed the window and pulled him out. If it werent for him She trailed off, clutching the baby tighter.
The class fell dead silent. Everyone stared at me. My face burned again, but this time for a different reason.
Mrs. Thompsons expression softened. Oliver why didnt you say anything?
I thought no one would believe me, I whispered.
For the first time all year, she knelt beside me and put a hand on my shoulder. You didnt just save a child. You reminded us what real courage looks like.
The class erupted in applause. A few kids even shouted, Hero! My eyes welled up, but I managed a small smile, gripping the edge of my desk.
The woman leaned down and kissed my forehead. Youll always be part of our familys story. Well never forget what you did.
That evening, when the phone rangnot with scolding, but with prideMum and Dad hugged me tight, saying how proud they were.
As I lay in bed, one thing felt certain: sometimes doing the right thing means facing misunderstanding first. But in the end, the truth always comes out.
And for a boy who thought he was always late, Id learned that when it really mattered, Id been right on time.
