Fear Fighter, Stand Tall ✊🏾✨

Fourteen-year-old Malik Rivers tugged at the straps of his navy backpack as he walked through the crowded hallways of Jefferson Middle School. It felt like his bag was carrying a mountain, but in truth, it only held his binder, history book, lunchbox, and a basketball tucked between his gym clothes.

Malik loved basketball. On the court, he felt strong, fast, and unstoppable. But in the classroom, whenever he had to stand up and speak, he froze like a statue. His hands would sweat, his stomach twisted, and his chest felt like a hundred drummers were pounding on it at once.

“Why can’t I just be normal when it comes to speaking in class?” Malik thought.

That morning, his history teacher, Mr. Ramirez, greeted everyone with his usual big smile. “Alright, class. Today, we’ll start with introductions. Tell us your name and one cool thing you did over the summer.”

Malik’s stomach dropped. His worst nightmare.

He slid lower in his seat, hoping maybe Mr. Ramirez would forget him. But no such luck. “Let’s switch things up,” the teacher said cheerfully. “We’ll start from the back today. Malik, why don’t you kick us off?”

Malik’s body tensed. His throat went dry. He stood slowly, eyes glued to the floor. “Uh… my name is Malik Rivers. Over the summer I—” His voice cracked. His heart pounded harder. His vision blurred.

He swayed on his feet, trying not to faint. That’s when he heard a calm voice:

“Hey, it’s okay. I’ve got you.”

The words came from Jordan Carter, a college sophomore volunteering as a classroom assistant. Jordan stepped beside Malik just in time to steady him.

“Mr. Ramirez,” Jordan said gently, “maybe Malik could use a quick break.”

Mr. Ramirez nodded, concerned. “Good idea. Take him to the nurse’s office.”

At the Nurse’s Office

Nurse Anderson welcomed them in with her warm, steady presence. She guided Malik to a cot and asked what happened.

“I—I don’t know,” Malik stammered, embarrassed. “I was just… supposed to introduce myself. But then my chest felt tight, and I couldn’t breathe right.”

The nurse checked his vitals. “Sounds like a panic attack,” she explained. “It’s your body reacting to stress. Scary, but not dangerous. You’ll feel better in a few minutes.”

Jordan sat beside Malik, leaning on the chair. “You know, man… I used to go through the same thing.”

Malik’s eyes widened. “You? But you always sound confident.”

Jordan chuckled. “Not always. When I was your age, I’d break into a sweat just answering a question in class. My hands would shake so bad, I couldn’t hold a pencil steady. People told me it was all in my head, but I knew it was real.”

Malik relaxed a little. “So… how’d you get over it?”

Jordan unzipped his backpack and pulled out a small object. It was a simple black stress ball—but it had eyes drawn on it with a marker, plus a crooked smile.

“This,” Jordan grinned. “Her name’s Gloria. Don’t laugh. Whenever I felt like I was about to panic, I squeezed her. Sounds silly, but it worked. It gave me something to focus on, something to ground me.”

Malik laughed softly despite himself. “Gloria, huh?”

“Yep,” Jordan said. “She’s been through a lot with me. And now she’s yours.”

He pressed the stress ball into Malik’s palm.

A Symbol of Strength

Then Jordan did something unexpected. He reached under his T-shirt and unhooked a silver chain necklace. Dangling from it was a small pendant shaped like a shield.

“My grandfather gave this to me,” Jordan said, voice low with respect. “He was a firefighter. Every time I felt afraid, he’d remind me: ‘You’ve got a shield. God’s protection. No flame, no fear, can break you when you carry that.’”

Malik held the necklace, awestruck. “You’re giving this to me?”

Jordan nodded. “Yeah. My grandpa told me to pass it on when I met someone who needed it more. And right now, that’s you. This shield isn’t just jewelry—it’s a reminder. You’re protected. You’re stronger than you think.”

Malik felt a lump rise in his throat. “Thank you… I don’t even know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything,” Jordan replied. “Just remember: when fear tries to push you down, you stand tall. You’ve got your faith, you’ve got Gloria, and you’ve got this shield. That panic monster doesn’t stand a chance.”

Back to Class

By the time Nurse Anderson returned, Malik felt calmer. He squeezed Gloria once more, then touched the shield necklace around his neck. His chest no longer felt like a battlefield—it felt steady, like he was ready to try again.

When Malik walked back into history class, Mr. Ramirez gave him an encouraging nod.

Malik took a breath, squeezed Gloria in his pocket, and stood tall. “My name is Malik Rivers. Over the summer, I went to a basketball camp, and—” This time his voice didn’t shake. He even smiled.

For the first time, Malik felt like he wasn’t fighting alone.

Moral: With faith, the right support, and symbols of strength to hold onto, fear can be faced and conquered. Panic doesn’t define you—courage does.