Chapter 34

Dr. Patricia Ramirez stood at the back of the Capitol Hill Community Center’s main room, watching with professional curiosity as nearly seventy high school students settled into their Saturday morning session. As president of Everett Community College, she’d observed hundreds of classrooms over her twenty-five-year career in education. This was already different.

Her daughter Ann, seventeen and typically cynical about anything her mother dragged her to, leaned over and whispered, “Mom, can Bethany and me go sit with the other kids instead of standing back here with the parents?”

Patricia looked at her daughter’s eager face, then at her friend Bethany’s similar expression. Both girls were supposed to be doing college tours this weekend, but Patricia had convinced them to attend this session first, promising it would be “relevant to their futures.” She’d expected eye-rolling compliance, not genuine interest.

“Go ahead. But pay attention—I want to discuss this later.”

As the girls found seats among the other teenagers, Patricia surveyed the room more carefully. The demographic mix was striking—kids from obviously wealthy families sitting next to kids in worn clothes, jocks mixing with band kids, and different races and ethnicities represented proportionally. The parents lining the walls were equally diverse.

Jason Stone was standing casually in front of the group. Patricia’s first impression was that Richard Albright had undersold him. Stone commanded attention. It wasn’t just that he was tall and fit; he projected an unconscious sense of competence.

“Okay, everybody, let’s get started,” he said. “Last week we talked about rules of engagement for physical conflicts. Today, we’re going to talk about something more fundamental—how to develop your own personal code that helps you handle any crisis effectively.”

Patricia pulled out her phone and opened her notes app. This was already interesting.

Stone wrote a single word on the board: “PREPARATION.”

“The Boy Scouts have a motto: ‘Be Prepared.’ Most people think that means having the right equipment or knowing basic skills. But real preparation is mental—it’s having thought through how you’ll respond to problems before those problems occur.”

“Who can tell me what a code of behavior is?”

A Black girl raised her hand. “Like, rules for how you act?”

“Close, but not quite. A code of behavior is a systematic approach to decision-making that you’ve developed in advance. It’s not just rules—it’s a way of thinking that helps you make good choices when you’re under pressure.”

Patricia found herself making rapid notes. This wasn’t pedagogy she recognized from traditional teacher training. Stone was teaching metacognition—thinking about thinking—but in language accessible to teenagers. They were all attentive in ways they didn’t show during regular school hours. The voluntary nature of these sessions meant everyone in the room had chosen to be there.

“People whose jobs involve handling crises have systematic approaches that help them think clearly when everyone else is panicking. This morning, we’re going to help you develop personal codes for the kinds of crises you’ll actually face.”

He gestured to three adults sitting in the front row. “Dr. Emery is back with us, along with Captain Martinez from the Seattle Fire Department, and Tony Castellano, who runs an auto shop.”

Dr. Emery stood first. “In emergency medicine, we use what’s called the Primary Survey approach. It’s a systematic way of evaluating any medical emergency, from a heart attack to a car accident. The sequence is always the same: Airway, Breathing, Circulation, Disability, Exposure.”

He wrote the letters A-B-C-D-E on the board. “This code exists because when someone is dying in front of you, your natural human instinct is to panic. The code overrides panic with systematic thinking.”

“But here’s what’s important for you to understand,” Dr. Emery continued. “The medical code isn’t just about saving lives. It’s about being effective under pressure. And you can apply the same principle to non-medical problems.”

Jason nodded. “Dr. Emery, walk them through how this works with a non-medical crisis.”

“Sure. Let’s say you’re driving, and your car breaks down on the freeway at night. Your instinct is to panic—you’re scared, it’s dark, traffic is flying by. But if you apply systematic thinking: First, ensure safety—get the car off the road if possible. Second, assess the situation—what exactly is wrong? Third, stabilize—turn on hazard lights, call for help. Fourth, plan your next steps—who to call, how to get home safely.”

Captain Martinez stepped forward. He was a compact man in his fifties with the calm presence that came from twenty years of running into burning buildings while everyone else was running out.

“Firefighters use the acronym RECEO-VS,” he said, writing it on the board. “Rescue, Exposures, Confinement, Extinguishment, Overhaul, Ventilation, Salvage. Every fire, no matter how big or small, gets approached the same way.”

A boy in the front raised his hand. “Captain, what if there’s no time to go through all those steps?”

“Good question. You might think so, but using the code doesn’t slow you down—it speeds you up. When you have a systematic approach, you don’t waste time figuring out what to do next. You just execute the next step in the sequence. When I was in the Marines, we had a saying: ‘slow is smooth and smooth is fast.’”

Captain Martinez continued. “But like Dr. Emery said, this applies to non-fire problems too. Let’s say you come home and find your house has been burglarized. Your emotional response is shock, anger, violation. But if you apply systematic thinking: First, ensure safety—make sure the burglar isn’t still there. Second, preserve evidence—don’t touch anything. Third, document everything—take photos, make lists. Fourth, notify authorities and insurance. Fifth, secure the scene—change locks, repair damage.”