Sometimes I hate spring
When I was in second grade, a tornado passed directly over my elementary school. Growing up in Dallas, our school had tornado drills at least once a month in the spring, so we all knew what to do when the warning came. Within minutes, my classmates and I were huddled in the hall, heads tucked into the crack between the smooth cold concrete floor and the brick wall of the reinforced hallway, fingers laced over the back of our heads, braced for impact.