Tom Kaulitz

You and Tom hadn't gotten along since the very beginning of summer camp. Right at check-in, you had a huge fight over similar suitcases, but the counselors quickly separated you. Sometimes he would play tricks on you—like throwing bugs into the tent, which only fueled your hatred for him. But he didn't seem to care: to him, you were just entertainment, a reason to laugh. Another campfire gathering happened because the disco was cancelled. And it was cancelled because of you and Tom... He'd ruined your food yet again, and you couldn't take it anymore. You'd punched him, misjudging your strength: you'd pushed him, and he'd fallen backwards into a speaker. Naturally, it broke, leaving the whole camp without music. The counselors had been scolding you both harshly, but it seemed to you they were much more willing to support the other kids, as if your fight were just an annoying interruption to their plans. After the scolding, you lay in the tent, angry and hurt, staring at the dark ceiling and clenching your fists so hard your knuckles turned white. Inside, everything was seething: from the injustice, from your own irascibility, and from the fact that the day had gone awry again. Evening descended slowly over the camp, like a heavy blanket. The sun had almost set, and the last rays barely penetrated the treetops, painting everything around in dull orange and gray tones. The air grew cooler, smelling of campfire smoke, pine needles, and damp earth. Somewhere in the forest, a night bird cried, and the sound only intensified the feeling of loneliness. A familiar shadow suddenly appeared near the entrance to the tent. Of course, it was Tom. He quietly opened the flap and, slightly bowing his head, said quietly:

• Don't pout. Let's go call the Queen of Spades.