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Rezensionen

This is the English edition of the German book Himmelsstürmer.

The German version can be found here →

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Friends, School, and One Terrible Teacher…
Welcome to Ben’s life!

Ben dreams of becoming a pilot, but his daily reality is anything but soaring. Between his chemistry teacher’s relentless cruelty, the pressure of school exams, and his family’s expectations, he’s struggling to find his own path.

Luckily, he’s got friends to help him through the rough days. But in the middle of all this chaos, how is he supposed to figure out who he really wants to be?

A story about dreams, friendship, and the courage to stand up for yourself—because sometimes, you have to land before you can truly take off!

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… Nine Weeks Left

 The school bell shrieks through the hallways of the high school. Ben pushes his way through the crowd of students. Everyone is heading to class, moving in different directions. His backpack drags him down like a rock. Absolutely no motivation for this lesson.

“Wait up, Ben! Hold on a second!” Philip calls, maneuvering through the sea of students just like Ben.

“Did you do the chemistry homework? I didn’t get all of it. Not that it’s surprising with him as a teacher.”

“Dude, you can’t be punished for something you didn’t do. That’s the law.”

“So… you didn’t do it?”

Ben pulls a face and shakes his head. “Nope. Didn’t feel like it. That worm’s gonna tear into me anyway, whether I did the work or not. Might as well save myself the effort. Just a few more tests, then it’s vacation time. After that, he can kiss my ass.”

Philip smirks and pats him on the shoulder. “He can’t single you out every time. Maybe he’s in a good mood today—maybe the sun’s shining, or who knows what makes an asshole like that happy.”

“He always has a bad day,” Ben mutters.

They reach the chemistry classroom, home turf of the dreaded Mehlwurm—the Flour Worm. The door is open, and Meving is already seated at his desk. His thick glasses perch on his nose, a few wispy hairs circling his half-bald head, glistening in the light as if oiled. His scrawny body is lost inside a baggy, ill-fitted jacket. In front of him, a stack of papers. Tap tap tap—his bony fingers drum impatiently on the pile, as if nailing them all to their desks in advance.

Philip and Ben sigh in unison—this is not a good sign. Meving has a reputation.

“Sit down, Ben!” Meving barks without looking up. “Late again. Not that I expected any different. Comes and goes as he pleases, this good-for-nothing.”

The bell rings, signaling the start of class.

“But it just rang,” Ben says. Philip nods in agreement.

“Don’t get smart with me. Sit down and shut up. And wipe that dumb look off your face, Berger. I see everything.”

Ben swallows hard and reluctantly trudges to his seat, shooting Philip a look. Philip gives him an encouraging nod.

“Always at your service, leş herif[1],” Ben mumbles under his breath as he slides into his chair. This is going to be a long lesson.

“Now, let’s see how much this class actually knows. I can only hope it’s more than you, Bariss. But honestly, I doubt it.”

“It’s Bariş—you pronounce it ‚Bah-rish,’” Ben corrects him.

“Oh really? Bariss…” Meving sneers. “The crumb thinks he’s smarter than the cake. Adorable.”

He smirks. “Notebooks out. We’re having a test. Time to see if anything has made it into your thick skulls these past weeks. Well? Hurry up! I don’t have all day.”

A collective groan rises from the class. Meving’s tests are legendary—and brutal. The questions never match the material they’ve studied. Everyone knows: Meving doesn’t test knowledge, he tests survival.

“And here’s a nice, simple question for anyone who actually knows anything about chemistry… so basically, none of you. Honestly, I don’t know why I even bother. A room full of hollow nuts, and I’m supposed to fill them with knowledge? What a waste of my time.”

Meving hands out a worksheet. Everyone looks down at it and immediately rolls their eyes. Confused glances shoot around the room. What is this? No one has a clue. None of this has ever been covered in class.

“Just as I expected. All I see are blank faces. This is actually quite simple—any elementary school student could solve it. Calculate the equilibrium constant of a reaction as a function of pressure and temperature. Explain, using the concept of free energy, why a particular reaction occurs spontaneously,” he reads aloud from the page. “What’s with the grumbling? Quiet in the back. And so you don’t think I’m being unfair, here’s a little free hint: the keyword is Gibbs free energy.”

Meving looks into about twenty pairs of stunned eyes. Only Kazumi Shindo seems to have the faintest idea what any of this means.

“Ah, I see—you love the question. You have thirty minutes. And of course, the results will count toward your final grade,” Meving sneers, clearly enjoying himself. He knows no one can solve it. He paces the front of the classroom, basking in his own superiority.

Kazumi raises her hand. “Dr. Meving, this is far beyond the level of a tenth-grade class. This is more like something from a second-year university chemistry course. Would you like a general explanation or exact formulas and calculations with an example? That might take longer than thirty minutes. I don’t think most students here will be able to complete this.”

“Well, well, the wisdom of the East,” Meving mocks. “If you can do it, then go ahead, Miss Know-It-All. Looks like you’ve been stuffing yourself with knowledge using chopsticks.”

“Thank you. Yes, I’ll do my best, Dr. Meving. Also, my parents are from London.”

“Oh really? Would never have guessed. And yes, I highly recommend you do your best. Five minutes down already. The rest of you, get to work. Chop chop, you empty-headed walnuts, unless you want another F.” He’s clearly having fun. The class groans.



[1] leş herif: turkish: asshole (very rude).