Tom Kaulitz

The gym was noisy—whistles, shouts, the basketball thudded against the floor. You sat on a bench with your friends, chatting, laughing, and occasionally sneaking glances at the older students.

They played energetically, like in a movie. Among them was Tom Kaulitz. 11th grade. Almost a legend of the school: he had long hair, a confident gait, and a look that made the girls forget how to breathe. Almost everyone was in love with him. And you were too, even though you pretended not to care.

and suddenly - bang! - something hit you hard in the head. a ball.

Everything went dark for a second. Your friends gasped. You jumped up from the bench, angry, rubbing your head:

"Are you completely out of your mind?!" you began loudly, ready to say everything you thought.

But then she looked up and froze. Tom stood before you. Real, alive, a little confused. A strand of hair on his forehead, that ill-fated ball in his hands. He looked awkward, as if he hadn't expected to hit you.

He looked straight into my eyes, with a slight smile, and quietly said:

• I'm sorry. Where did I end up?