You sit there, listening as the popular girl gloats, her voice dripping with superiority. “I’m always doing nice things for people,” she boasts. “Unlike some people who just sit there, doing absolutely nothing. Seriously, when was the last time you did something nice?”

You glance at the shy kid sitting next to you, his gaze focused on the floor, his hands clenched in his lap. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even look up. He’s heard this before. The insults, the mocking, the cruel words. She doesn’t know. She doesn’t have a clue.

“You’ve probably never done anything worth mentioning,” she sneers, glancing over at him with a judgmental look. “You're always so quiet. It's like you don’t even exist. What do you even do to help anyone?”

It stings. It stings because it’s all a lie. She has no idea.

You remember the time he shoved you out of the way when you weren’t looking—when a car came barreling down the road, running a red light. He didn’t even think. He just pushed you, throwing his body in the car’s path instead. The car hit him, sending him flying across the pavement, but he took the impact, not you. He was unconscious for days, his ribs broken, his leg shattered. But all he cared about was making sure you were okay. He just kept asking, “You’re safe, right?”

And then there was the time a man came rushing at you with a knife—wild eyes, out of control. He saw you before you could react, and he sprinted toward you, tackling the man to the ground. The blade sliced into his arm as they struggled, but he didn’t stop until the guy was on the ground, unconscious, and you were safe. He just got up, blood dripping from his wound, and told you to “stay close.”

The times he’s saved others, too—like when that building collapsed. You were in the crowd, looking up at the site, when the structure started to crumble. People were running, screaming, but he was already running toward the debris. He didn’t hesitate. He pulled two people from the wreckage, saving their lives, even as the roof fell behind him, narrowly missing him. When they pulled him out, his body was bruised, his face covered in dirt, but all he asked was if the others were okay.

She doesn’t know about the night of the car accident when the road was icy, and your vehicle slid off the road, flipping over. He wasn’t in the car with you, but he was the one who ran down the dark, icy road, not caring that it was freezing, just so he could pull you from the wreckage. His hands were frostbitten, his face red from the cold, but he made sure you were okay, never once asking for thanks.

She doesn’t know any of it.

She doesn’t know about the time the fire started in the dormitory, and while everyone else was running out, he was the one rushing into the smoke, his body coughing, his vision blurry, to make sure you and others were safely out. He even carried one of the younger kids out of the building, despite the smoke choking him, the heat pushing against him. The firemen arrived just as he collapsed from the strain, but he saved lives that day.

She doesn’t see it. She doesn’t see him.

You stand up, unable to let this go on anymore. Her words echoing in your head—words so wrong, so cruel. You turn to her, your voice steady and firm, cutting through her self-importance. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” you say, glaring at her. “You have no idea what he’s done for people. He’s saved lives—my life—more times than you could even begin to understand.”

She raises an eyebrow, clearly confused, but you don’t let her speak. “He doesn’t brag. He doesn’t need to. He’s always there, always saving people without a second thought. He pushed me out of the way of a car. He saved a kid from a knife. He pulled people from a collapsed building. He rushed into a fire to save others, even when it nearly killed him. He’s done more in a single day than you’ll ever do in your life.”

You turn to him now, your voice softer, filled with reassurance. “You’re not what she says you are. You’ve done more for others than she’ll ever know. Don’t listen to her, Levi.”