The boy wrenched away from Patrick.
Ceiling tiles had been shot off and a fine grey dust coated the broken bodies that lay twisted on the floor. Patrick ignored all of this, going against most of his training — running past doors that might hide a perp, disregarding rooms that should have been searched — instead driving toward the direction of the noise and the shrieks with his weapon drawn and his heart beating through every inch of his skin. Turning a corner, Patrick slipped on blood and heard another gunshot — this one loud enough to ring in his ears like a nightmare. Gesturing to the two cops beside him, they swept into the open double doors of the gymnasium.
Patrick scanned the space — the handful of sprawled bodies, the basketball cart overturned and the globes resting against the far wall — and no shooter. Patrick spun around to the entrance again, to see if that was the case, and then heard another shot.
It was a locker room, tiled white on the walls and the floor. He glanced down, saw the fanned spray of blood at his feet, and edged his gun around the corner wall. Two bodies lay unmoving at one end of the locker room. At the other, closer to Patrick, a slight boy crouched beside a bank of lockers. He wore a t-shirt that read Have a Whale of a Time!
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He held a pistol up to his head with one shaking hand. A new rush of blood surged through Patrick. Patrick let his forefinger brush gently against the trigger just as the boy opened his fingers wide as a starfish. The pistol fell to the floor, skittering across the tile.
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His head was spinning and his nose was running and his pulse was a military tattoo, but he could vaguely hear one of the other officers calling this in over the radio: Sterling, we have one in custody. Just as seamlessly as it had started, it was over — at least as much as something like this could be considered over, anytime soon. He sank down to his knees, mostly because his legs simply gave out from underneath them, and pretended that this was intentional; that he wanted to check out the two bodies lying just feet away from the shooter.
He was vaguely aware of the shooter being pushed out of the locker room by one of the officers, to a waiting cruiser downstairs. A boy, dressed in a hockey jersey. There was a puddle of blood underneath his side, and a gunshot wound through his forehead. He turned the brim around in his hands, an imperfect circle. The girl lying next to him was face down, blood spreading out from beneath her temple. She was barefoot, and on her toenails was bright pink polish — just like the stuff Tara had put on Patrick.
It made his heart catch. This girl, just like his goddaughter and her brother and a million other kids in this country, had gotten up today and gone to school never imagining she would be in danger. She trusted all the grownups and teachers and principals to keep her safe. Stunned, Patrick knelt beside her. She touched her hand to her forehead, and when it came away oily with blood, she panicked.
He should have stayed there, and waited for the medics to come get her. He should have radioed for help. But should hardly seemed to apply anymore; and so Patrick lifted Josie into his arms.
Have a roundtable discussion on the nonfiction aspects raised in the book, such as the role of defense attorneys, peer pressure and the quest for popularity, victimization and bullying, and how school shootings are portrayed in the media. View a timeline of worldwide school shootings since In , I had the opportunity to witness a leadership conference in Connecticut, where seventy-five high school students from the greater Hartford, CT area all came together to discuss Improving School Climates, using 19 Minutes as a springboard for discussion.
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It was an amazing event to witness - to see kids committed to being the change they want to see in the world. Visit teenadvice. It is simple to use and can be implemented in a variety of settings to solicit thoughtful and reflective information. It is an especially effective tool to use with middle and high school aged students. Physical set-up: Arrange a circle of chairs in the center of the room. The number of chairs should range from approximately a minimum of eight to a maximum of fifteen. The chairs should be filled with those who will be in the discussion except for one empty chair.
So, for example, if twelve individuals will be part of the discussion, then thirteen chairs should be arranged in the circle. All of those not participating in the discussion surround the center circle either sitting or standing. An identified moderator teacher facilitates the conversation. The empty chair thus allows any number of individuals not placed in the center circle to join the discussion as the conversation proceeds.
It is important that those sitting in the empty chair only make statements and not ask questions.
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The reason for this is to insure that the evolving conversation is not redirected by asking the participants in the center circle a question that would change the essential content of the existing discussion. If the fish bowl model is going to be used during a class period lasting approximately an hour, in general, about four to five questions can be posed. Thus, four to five different core groups of discussants can be accommodated, always allowing for the inclusion of other individuals from the audience as they wish to join, and then leave the center circle.
She expected the teacher to talk about a time-out chair, or some retributive punishment that would be handed out if Peter was again taunted by the in crowd.
Lacy blinked at her. When his food gets knocked on the floor, he should reciprocate? I can tell you what you want to hear. I can say that Peter is a wonderful child, which he is. He was staring in a way that cut her to the quick. Josie shivered. Can high school ever break down the barriers so that each and every student feels a part of the school? Peter leaned against a floor mat that had been strung on the wall, like the inside of an insane asylum. A rubber room, where all hell could break loose.
I wonder if anyone works any harder at anything than kids do at being popular. So how do you crack that inner sanctum? Selena sat down with the principal of Sterling High in his modified elementary school office. He reminded Selena of one of those freaky talking bears that had come onto the market when she was a kid — Teddy Ruxpin — which made it all the more strange when he started answering her questions about anti-bullying policies at the high school. McAllister stood up and pulled a file out of a cabinet. He began to leaf through it, and then stopped at a page.
He was put into detention for fighting in the halls. Josie already knew the answer. You were safe only as long as you hid your trust — at any moment someone might make you the laughingstock, because then they knew no one was laughing at them. Patrick felt his hands curl into fists.
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He knew, from interviewing hundreds of kids, that Drew Girard had stuffed Peter Houghton into lockers; had tripped him while he was walking down the stairs; had thrown spitballs into his hair. None of that condoned what Peter had done…but still. There was a kid rotting in jail; there were ten people decomposing in graves; there were dozens in rehab and corrective surgery; there were hundreds — like Josie — who still could not get through the day without bursting into tears; there were parents — like Alex — who trusted Diana to get justices done on their behalf.
And this little asshole was lying through his teeth. Diana looked up from her notes and stared at Drew. Drew glanced at Patrick and swallowed. Then he opened his mouth and started to speak.
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