I Was Clinically Dead For 90 Seconds Because My Teacher Thought My Epilepsy Was A “Trend.” My Friend Didn’t Survive, And The School Is Trying To Cover It Up. We Just Leaked The Security Footage. Is This Enough To Put Her In Jail?
Gaining Allies
The next day Orla called my mom with unexpected news. One of the paramedics who worked on me that day had reached out through her law office wanting to help. He couldn’t speak publicly because his employer had strict policies about discussing cases, but he said if formally subpoenaed he would provide a statement about what he saw. He remembered everything, including how long it took to revive me and the state of the classroom when they arrived. His testimony could prove how serious the situation really was.
Two days later we got the transcript from Mr. Peter’s deposition and it made everything worse. He claimed he saw nothing concerning when he looked through the door window that day, just Miss Blackwood giving him a thumbs up so he assumed everything was fine and kept walking. He said the shade was already down when he looked and he had no reason to think students were in distress. Reading that he could have saved us but didn’t even notice made me lose faith in every adult who was supposed to protect us. He was 20 feet away while we were dying and he just walked past.
That same afternoon Malik found something incredible online. Miss Blackwood had an old blog from five years ago that she’d forgotten to delete and he’d been searching for hours until he found it. Post after post ranting about neurodivergent kids being coddled and creating “victim culture” in schools. One entry said seizure disorders were overdiagnosed and most kids just wanted attention and special treatment. Another said parents enabled fake medical conditions to excuse poor behavior.
We screenshot everything before she could delete it and added it to our evidence folder that was getting thicker every day. Orla sent formal preservation letters to the district and the Smartboard manufacturer the next morning demanding they maintain all electronic logs from that classroom. The legal language made everything feel more real and serious than our group chat planning ever did.
Threats and Intimidation
The next morning a letter appeared in every student mailbox with the teachers’ union logo at the top. Dy Paxton had typed up three pages of legal threats about what would happen if any student posted Miss Blackwood’s name online. The words “defamation” and “libel” and “civil lawsuit” jumped out at me as I read it. In the hallway kids were passing copies around and some were already deleting their social media posts from the night before. I watched two freshmen actually crying as they read about personal liability and permanent records. Emily grabbed my copy and ripped it in half right there in front of everyone. The anger spread through the hallway like wildfire as more kids realized we were being threatened for telling the truth.
My mom had to pick me up early that day for a grocery run and I thought I’d be fine. The self-checkout machine started flashing red when the barcode wouldn’t scan and my whole body went rigid. The strobe pattern hit my brain like a hammer and suddenly I couldn’t remember where I was. My legs turned to jelly and I grabbed the counter to keep from falling. Mom dropped everything and wrapped her arms around me to guide me toward the exit. People stared as she basically carried me through the parking lot while I tried to remember how to walk. My hands were still shaking when we got to the car and I realized the triggers were getting worse, not better. Every flashing light felt like a threat now and I couldn’t make my brain understand the difference between danger and normal life.
Darren started showing up at my locker between every single class the next day. He’d walk me to each room with his hand on my back like I might collapse any second. At lunch he checked on me three times to make sure I was eating enough. After school he followed me to my car even though his was on the other side of the lot. By Wednesday I couldn’t take it anymore and told him I needed space to breathe. He looked at me like I’d slapped him and said he was just trying to protect me. We stood there in the parking lot yelling at each other for the first time since we’d started dating. He kept saying he couldn’t lose me too and I kept saying I wasn’t made of glass. Neither of us won that fight and we didn’t talk for two days after.
The Cover-Up Revealed
Someone leaked an email chain from the administration that Thursday and it spread through the school like poison. The subject line said “Managing the Paid Leave Situation” and every message talked about optics and liability and media response. Not one single email mentioned David’s name or asked how the rest of us were doing. They called it an “incident” and discussed damage control like we were a PR problem to solve. The corporate language about a dead kid made me run to the bathroom and throw up. My hands were shaking as I forwarded it to Orla who said it was exactly what we needed for the case.
The school board meeting that night was packed with parents and reporters. We each got two minutes to speak and I was third in line after Emily and Billy. My voice cracked when I said David’s name, but I kept reading from my notes about what really happened. Behind me I could hear parents whispering about “mass hysteria” and attention-seeking teenagers. One dad actually laughed when I described my seizure. I wanted to turn around and scream at them, but I kept going until my time ran out.
Ren quickly stood up during the public comment period with a thick folder of papers. He proposed mandatory training for all substitute teachers about medical conditions and emergency protocols. The board members nodded and took notes and said they’d implement it within the next academic year. I wanted to scream that David needed help six weeks ago, not next September. The timeline felt like another slap in the face to everyone who’d been in that room.
Orla helped us file a federal complaint with the Office for Civil Rights the following week. The woman on the phone was nice but explained the investigation could take 18 months to complete. She used words like “thorough” and “comprehensive” while I stared at the calendar thinking about David already in the ground. Justice delayed felt exactly like justice denied when the person who needed it most was gone. Every form we filled out felt pointless, but Orla said we needed the paper trail.
At the school kids started crossing the hallway when they saw me coming. Rumors spread that I wanted attention and got what I wanted even though David paid the price. Someone wrote “Drama Queen” on my locker in permanent marker. The whispers followed me everywhere about how I destroyed Miss Blackwood’s career for nothing. The physical symptoms hurt, but the social isolation hurt worse.
Emily showed up at my house Sunday night with red eyes and snot running down her face. Her parents had given her an ultimatum about choosing her future over my vendetta. They said she was ruining her college prospects by associating with me. She hugged me so tight I couldn’t breathe and promised she wasn’t abandoning me no matter what they threatened. We sat on my bed crying together until she had to go home.
Mr. Peter pulled me aside after school on Monday and asked if we could talk privately. His hands were shaking as he admitted he should have looked closer through that window. He said he was haunted by what he didn’t do and couldn’t sleep anymore. The guilt in his eyes seemed real, but his remorse didn’t bring David back. He asked what he could do to help and I told him to testify at the hearing if we ever got one.
Walsh getting slammed into lockers by Darren seems like a pretty direct message, but I wonder if Walsh actually understands why people are this angry or if he thinks he’s just reporting facts.
