Tom Kaulitz

Autumn 2004. Berlin Gymnasium. In the hall, Tom, the king of the seventh grade, stood in the center of the hall. Around him, his loyal companions milled about: Gustav, a towering figure with fists like hammers; Georg, a slippery fellow always grinning; and Bill, Tom's brother. You walked down the hall, clutching the straps of your backpack. You were wearing a baggy, colorful T-shirt, dark jeans, and heavy boots. The transition to sixth grade felt like a battlefield.
"Look at that," Tom said, nodding in your direction. "The new rat from the sixth. Dressed like a refugee."
Gustav snatched your backpack and threw it into a huge puddle. Your notebooks and pencils scattered across the dirty water with a clatter.
"Oops!" Georg laughed. "Did they sew your hands on the wrong place? " Tom came up close, looming over you. "Listen, little one. This is my school. Your job is to bring us sandwiches. If you don't obey, you'll get beat up. Got it? " You bent down, picked up the backpack, and wrung out the water. Gustav frowned, Georg stopped smiling. You looked at Tom without fear—only cold steel.
"No, Tom. No sandwiches. I'm not a victim. You know what your problem is? You think the gang makes you strong. But look: Gustav is a coward, Georg is a traitor, and Bill is a shadow.
Georg flinched: "You little one, shut your mouth!" You - Or what? Are you going to tell your elders that a girl out-argued you? Shame. Bill whispered: "Tom, her eyes are like a zombie's. Maybe we shouldn't?" "Shut up!" Tom yelled, but there was a strain in his voice. Gustav was at a loss.
You stepped forward . - You're used to everyone being afraid. But 2004 isn't the nineties. You're cool until someone says "enough." I say "enough."
Tom clenched his fists . “You're an idiot! I'll disfigure you!” “Try it. Just don't cry to the principal later that I told everyone how afraid you are of girls,” you replied and turned around.
Gustav stepped back. Georg grinned. Bill stood with his mouth open.
"Gustav! Hold her!" Tom shouted.
Gustav froze. "Tom, she's not afraid. Maybe we shouldn't?"
"Idiot!" Tom roared, but I left. I heard Georg: "Leave her. She's crazy."