Chapter 9:the storm inside

Julian woke one morning feeling… strange. His body ached in ways it hadn’t before. His voice cracked when he whispered to himself, his mood swung like a pendulum, and he noticed new impulses bubbling up that he didn’t understand. Puberty had arrived, and with it came a storm he couldn’t control.

He felt embarrassed by every small thing — his face breaking out, his chest feeling tight, and his energy flaring unpredictably. Some days he wanted to lash out at anyone nearby. Other days, he wanted to vanish completely, hiding under blankets and ignoring the world. It was exhausting, and he didn’t know how to manage it.

At school, the chaos inside him made interactions unpredictable. A kind word from a classmate might suddenly irritate him, while a small insult could sting far deeper than it should. He felt like a balloon inflating unevenly, ready to pop at any moment. But he remembered Mr. Kellan’s lesson — the dinosaur wasn’t perfect, it just believed in its power.

In the library, Julian tried to focus, but his thoughts kept jumping from one worry to another: the acne on his forehead, the sudden crush on a girl he barely knew, the fight with a teacher earlier, and the bullying he endured every day. He scribbled furiously in his notebook, letting the chaos pour out onto paper.

Mr. Kellan noticed. “You’re riding the storm,” he said softly. “Hormones are part of it. You’ll feel big and small in the same breath. But don’t mistake the storm for who you are. You’re still the dinosaur, even if it feels like a chicken right now.” Julian stared, trying to understand how someone so calm could see the hurricane inside him so clearly.

Julian began experimenting with small routines to manage the chaos. He started walking for a few minutes each morning, writing in his notebook, and practicing noticing his impulses without acting on every one. It didn’t stop the hormonal swings, but it gave him tiny islands of control. And for a boy who had spent years believing he was powerless, even small control felt like victory.

The changes didn’t go unnoticed. Classmates whispered when he laughed too loudly or stared too long. He blushed, sometimes angry at them, sometimes ashamed of himself. But slowly, Julian realized he could observe their reactions without letting them define his self-worth. He was learning to separate his feelings from their judgments — a subtle, yet powerful, dinosaur move.

Evenings were the hardest. His thoughts looped over and over, switching between shame, desire, and curiosity about his own body. He wanted guidance but had no one to ask. Instead, he returned to Mr. Kellan’s metaphor again and again: the dinosaur believes it can rise. And though Julian’s body felt out of control, his mind could start practicing rising.

One night, staring at his reflection in the mirror, Julian whispered, “I’m not a chicken. I’m… learning to be a dinosaur.” His voice cracked, his face flushed, but the words felt honest. For the first time, he didn’t recoil from his own reflection. The storm inside wasn’t gone, but he was learning to weather it.

By the end of the week, Julian noticed something new: small pockets of confidence amidst the chaos. He answered a teacher without fear, defended his notebook from a curious classmate, and even smiled at a friend he hadn’t spoken to before. Puberty was a storm, yes, but the dinosaur inside him was starting to stretch its wings, claws ready, not perfect yet, but alive and moving forward.,