I didn't miss the faint notes of disapproval in Tanya's voice. In a small town, it was probably scandalous enough when teenagers—raised under the same roof—didn't bother to hide their closeness. I could only imagine the whispers swirling through Kserton about the Smirnovs and Yakovlevs. A year from now, someone else might occupy my place, but everyone would still remember them. Within a week, I'd be forgotten; their family, never.
"Who are the Smirnovs?" I asked. "They don't look alike at all. I can't even tell the twins apart."
"They're not actually related. Not by blood," Tanya said. "Dr. Smirnov is fairly young, barely over thirty. All the kids are adopted. The Yakovlevs are easy—they're the blond ones. The twins are just living with him temporarily… Nephews, maybe? I think their parents went to work in Europe for a while."
I blinked. "But… aren't they under eighteen? Shouldn't they be in foster care? They seem… too grown-up."
"The twins are eighteen, and Edik will be soon. The Yakovlevs have lived with the Smirnovs since they were about ten. The doctor's wife is… their aunt, I think. Maybe. I could be wrong." Tanya paused thoughtfully.
"Maybe the Smirnovs are just… good people, taking so many kids under their wing. My mom always says raising one is hard enough—let alone five."
"Maybe," Tanya murmured, but I caught a flicker of something else, a trace of unease—or perhaps simple jealousy.
"They can't have children, you know," she added after a moment, almost as if that explained everything—their kindness, their unusual household.
I kept sneaking glances at the "fivesome." As usual, they were silent, staring in different directions, their trays untouched.
"Have they always lived in Kserton?" I asked, incredulous. How had I never heard of this strange family?
"Nope. They moved here from somewhere up north a couple of years ago. Murmansk, I think." Tanya's voice was quick, dismissive, as if it didn't matter.
I felt a curious mix of sadness and relief. Sadness that even after all this time, they remained strangers, unrecognized despite their kindness, despite their almost otherworldly presence. Relief that I didn't have to compete with them for attention. In a town like this, their gaze alone would make me vanish.
"Hey… what's the name of the red-haired guy?" I asked cautiously, but Tanya's knowing, almost condescending smile told me I'd already given myself away.
I watched him closely. He stared out the window, distant, disappointed—at what, I couldn't guess. Tanya's tale of the Smirnovs had softened my judgment, making me wonder how it must feel for them here, in this small town, far from the friends and places that mattered back home.
"His name's Eduard. He's… impressive," Tanya said, with a mock nonchalance. "But don't fool yourself if he gives you a look. He's already attached—someone stayed with him up north." She pretended to snort, but her eyes betrayed her, a hint of sadness there. Clearly, she had known rejection herself.
I bit my lip to suppress a smile, then turned back to Eduard. He had his back to me now, but a faint twitch in his cheek betrayed the ghost of a smile.
Minutes later, the four remaining at the table rose together, as if choreographed, and moved toward the tray line with the same effortless grace Diana had displayed earlier. I felt awkward, out of place—like a prop in a musical, dwarfed by the stars around me.
I had lingered longer with Rostova and her friends than I intended, and now panic nudged at me—biology class awaited. Dasha, the shy girl who had quietly reminded me of her name, was walking alongside me. Her quiet timidity mirrored my own, and for that, I liked her instantly.
We entered the lab in silence. Dasha found a seat behind one of the tall white metal tables that loomed over the floor like a small fortress. Unfortunately, her partner was already taken. The only available spot was in the first row, near the center, to the left of Eduard.
I handed the teacher my pass and received a textbook, sneaking a glance at Eduard as I walked past, hoping to confirm that the divine profile from the cafeteria was real.
The moment our eyes met, his gaze—darker than the night itself—cut through me. It was so intense, so sharp, that my spine tingled and my throat tightened. I felt exposed, as if he could peer straight into my soul and unravel it. Flustered, I turned to the teacher, cleared my throat, and shoved the pass under his arm with too much force. My cheeks burned. I wanted to disappear into the floor.