The Boy Under His Wheels Isn't My Son

"Quinn, I accidentally hit someone when I was driving earlier. I think… I think it was your son!"

The day after my friend, Owen Jolin, gets his driving license, he insists on driving to the kindergarten to pick up his son by himself.

I advise him to spend a few more days practicing his driving skills, seeing as that road is always packed with trucks.

But he just rolls his eyes at me. "Don't worry about me. I'm super good at driving, you know!"

After that, he stomps on the gas pedal and speeds away in his car.

But a short while later, he calls me on the phone, and he sounds extremely frightened. He tells me that he has hit someone outside the kindergarten. He said the child is completely drenched in blood, and he somehow looks like my son, Elliot Shelby.

I'm stunned, to say the least. Elliot has come down with a fever today, so he's skipped school for the day.

Then… who on earth did Owen kill?

My mind buzzed, unable to process what I'd just heard. I spoke without thinking.

"What… What did you say?"

My friend, Owen Jolin, replied, "I drove in to pick up my kid and hit the gas instead of the brake. I hit a little boy, and there was blood all over his face. He was wearing that blue hoodie, the same one Elliot always wears."

I started to explain, but Owen cut me off. "Quinn, just get over here! I really didn't mean to."

He hung up. I didn't have time to think. I grabbed my coat and rushed out.

When I reached the kindergarten, I was completely dazed. Several people had gathered in the courtyard.

A white sedan sat crooked on the playground. In front of the hood lay a small child, his blue hoodie already soaked through with blood.

Owen crouched nearby, crying. When he saw me approach, he lunged forward to hug me.

"Quinn! I'm so sorry! I really didn't mean to! I'm just not a good driver."

I looked at the horrific scene, furious.

"I warned you this morning that the road conditions were bad on this stretch. You insisted on driving yourself, and now look what happened. What good are apologies now?"

Owen covered his face and cried even harder. I ignored him and walked toward the child. The boy lay on his side, face down, his features obscured. But that blue hoodie was identical to the one my son wore.

I crouched down to turn him over. The moment my fingers touched the child's shoulder, he moved slightly.

"Mm… Hurts…"

He let out a faint moan, his voice barely audible. He was still alive!

My heart lurched violently. I jerked my head up. "He's alive! Call an ambulance!"

Owen froze, his face going blank. "He's still alive?"

"Yes! Call 911!" I fumbled for my phone.

But Owen didn't move. He stood there, his expression shifting, then suddenly stepped forward and pressed down on my hand.

"Quinn, don't be impulsive. The kid's been hit this badly. He's definitely bleeding internally. If you move him, he might die even faster."

He lowered his voice, speaking rapidly. "And look at him. This is obviously a final surge before the end. He can't be saved. Don't waste medical resources."

I couldn't believe my ears. "What did you say?"

"I'm just telling you the truth!"

Owen gripped my wrist tightly. "If you call 911 now and they take him to the hospital but can't save him, we'll still have to pay a huge bill for emergency treatment! And if word gets out, my license will definitely be revoked. I'll never be able to drive again for the rest of my life!"

I stared at him as if seeing this person for the first time. "This is a life we're talking about! You hit him!"

"I know! But didn't I just tell you it wasn't on purpose?"

His voice rose. "Quinn, we've been friends for so many years. Can't you think about me for once?"

"You've really lost your mind!"

I shook off his hand and pulled out my phone to make the call. "Hello, 911? This is—"

Before I could finish, someone snatched the phone right out of my hand. Owen hung up the call and clutched my phone in a death grip.

"Have you gone crazy, Quinn? I told you he can't be saved! Are you trying to destroy me?"

I shook with rage. Just as I moved to take my phone back, footsteps sounded behind me.

"What's going on? What happened?"

I turned around to see the principal, Harold Newman, hurrying over with several teachers.