It had been a difficult move. I'd left my family and friends in Indiana, the beloved state where I'd lived most of my life. My new home in Florida was thousands of miles away from anything I knew. It was hot--all the time. Jobs were hard to come by, but I was up for almost any challenge. At last, I taught in a special school where students have severe learning and behavioral difficulties. Another teacher and I had spent weeks teaching the children appropriate behavior for public outings. Unexpectedly, only a few students, including Kyle, had not earned the privilege of going. He was determined to make his disappointment known. In the corridor  between classrooms, he began screaming, cursing, spitting, and swinging at anything within striking distance. Once his outburst died down, he did what he'd done when he was angry at all his other schools, at home, even once at a juvenile detention center. He ran. People watched in disbelief as Kyle dashed straight into the heavy morning traffic in front of the school. I heard someone shout, "Call the police!" But I ran after him. Kyle was at least a foot taller than me. And he was fast. His older brothers were track stars at the nearby high school. But I could run long distances without tiring. I would at least be able to keep him in my sight and know he was alive. After several blocks of running directly into oncoming traffic, Kyle slowed his pace. He took a sharp left. Standing next to a trash bin, Kyle bent over with his hands on his knees. I must have looked ridiculous. But his was not a look of fear. I saw his body relax. He did not attempt to run again. Kyle stood still and watched me approach. I had no idea what I was going to say or do, but I kept walking closer. He opened his mouth to speak when a police car pulled up, abruptly filling the space between Kyle and me. The school principal and an officer got out. They spoke calmly to Kyle, who willingly climbed into the back of the vehicle. I couldn't hear what was said, but I didn't take my eyes off Kyle's face, even as they drove away. I couldn't help but feel that I had failed him, that I should have done or said more, that I should have fixed the situation. I shared my feelings with a speech therapist who was familiar with Kyle's history. "No one ever ran after him before, Rachel," she said. "No one. They just let him go." Things changed the day he ran and I ran after him, even though I didn't have the right words, even though I wasn't able to save him from the mess he was in. It was the day I didn't throw my hands in the air and decide he was too fast, a waste of time and effort , a lost cause. It was the day my mere presence was enough to make a profound difference. What is the best title of the passage?
Kyle, a Boy with Learning and Behavior Difficulties. The Teacher Who Ran. A School with Special Students. A Terrible Conflict.