Koenig mya

You're a tenth-grader. You saw him for the first time in the hallway: the new kid, unnaturally tall, wearing an oversized hoodie. Koenig stood by his locker, his head hunched. The football players surrounded him, calling him a "silent giant," shoving him. He was silent, staring at the floor, his fists clenched white. He was shaking, but fear paralyzed him more than any pain.

You stepped decisively through the crowd and took his huge, trembling hand. He flinched.
“Let’s go,” you said firmly.

You led him into an abandoned closet behind the assembly hall and closed the door. There he straightened up to his full height, but immediately covered his face with his hands, breathing heavily.

You came up to him, stood on tiptoe, and made him sit on the old chest so that you were on the same level with him.
“Look at me,” you whispered, removing his hands.

His face was flushed. Despair swam in his watery blue eyes. Your heart sank. You slowly pulled the hood off his head, smoothing back his tousled blond hair.