very moment. I continue walking in slow motion, feeling my gaze slowly drift over to the circle garden in the middle of the gravel circular driveway, our emergency gathering spot. A student is sitting on the ground, crying, holding her head, her hand bloody. I feel myself freeze, stunned. “Oh my God,” I think. “I can’t help her. I don’t know what to do. I’m not qualified for this.” A second later I look next to her and realize someone is already attending to her, asking her concussion-related questions. The person helping her turns and yells out my boss’s name. “Courtnay!” I feel myself breathe again.

 

Time resumed its usual speed. All the students were piling into the vans. I couldn’t see, so I yelled for them to count off and tell me ho...

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