Philip had clearly taken the fall hard. He stayed down for several seconds without getting up.
I shot to my feet and rushed to his side.
"Philip, are you okay?"
He grimaced and leaned against me while the athletic trainer hurried over to check him.
As carefully as I could, I helped lift his shirt. His waist and arm were scraped raw, the skin torn bloody in angry patches.
His eyes had gone red, whether from pain or rage, I couldn't tell.
A second later, he glared at the boy who'd hit him.
"What the hell is wrong with you?"
If he hadn't been leaning against me, he probably would've lunged at him.
"This needs to be cleaned properly," the trainer said, ignoring the tension between them and focusing only on the injury. "He should go to the infirmary."
I looked at the wounds, my chest
