Kirill Nikolaevich signed my pass, handed me the textbook, and didn't insist on having me introduce myself at the board, even though most of the faces in the classroom were strangers. I silently thanked myself for letting my hair fall freely on the way here. Bowing my head, letting the thick curtain of hair partly shield my face, I made my way to the only vacant seat.
Instinctively, I tried to shrink toward the far edge of the table, putting as much distance as possible between Eduard and myself. Awkwardly, I pulled my notebook and pencil case from my backpack and placed them on the table. Peeking through stray strands of hair, I caught Eduard's gaze lingering on me. His fingers tightened around the pen. My mere presence seemed to irritate him so much that I could almost imagine him jabbing the pen toward me in frustration. Then he leaned back, sliding to the edge of his chair, turning away as if he'd caught a foul smell. I glanced at myself nervously, sniffing my hair and sweater just to be sure—I still smelled of vanilla shower gel, chamomile shampoo, and lavender conditioner. Surely these calming scents shouldn't have provoked anyone.
The lesson dragged on over something I had already mastered in Rostov—the structure of the cell. To distract myself, I meticulously took notes, trying to ignore Eduard's abnormal attention. Occasionally, I stole glances at him, hoping it was my imagination. But no: he still looked hostile, perched on the edge of his seat like a predator. I noticed his hand clenched under the table, veins swelling on his tense forearm, the rolled-up sleeves revealing strength I could almost see carved in marble. Without his brothers flanking him, he seemed larger, less delicate, undeniably formidable.
Each second stretched endlessly. I had never waited for a bell with such desperate anticipation. What was wrong with him? Was he always like this? Had I somehow offended him already? I regretted judging Tanya so harshly; perhaps she had understood something I hadn't.
It couldn't be about me. It was only my first day, and I barely knew anyone. I hadn't spoken a word to provoke him.
When I glanced at Eduard one last time, I saw my reflection mirrored in his dark, fathomless eyes—black holes that seemed intent on swallowing me whole. His lips twitched with some grim distaste. I recoiled, clutching the edge of the table to stay upright, when the bell finally rang. Eduard rose smoothly and exited the room. The tension evaporated, and I exhaled shakily, a wave of relief washing over me.
So much anger… and for what? My arms moved almost mechanically as I shoved my belongings back into my backpack, leaving my pen scattered across the table. I felt wounded, furious, and unreasonably insulted. Hot tears pricked my eyes—tears that always came with my anger, humiliating as they were, making me feel both fierce and fragile.
"Are you Nastya Chernaya?"
The voice was soft, male, curious. I turned to see a tall boy with chestnut hair glowing in the sunlight streaming through the window. His innocent blue eyes, framed by thick lashes, watched me attentively. The short bangs fell carelessly across his forehead, and his smile was warm—easy, unjudging, the opposite of Smirnov's glare.
"Asya," I corrected him with a small, forced smile.
"I'm Nikita, but friends call me Nik," he said.
"Hi, Nik," I replied. I never understood why so many kids shortened their names, but I didn't want to ruin a first impression.
"Need help finding your next class?"
I waved my hand. "No, I have PE. I think I can manage."
"Oh, I'm heading there too!" Nik exclaimed, as though the coincidence were extraordinary. We walked together. Nik was talkative, full of energy, weaving stories around me as we moved. He had lived in Sochi until he was twelve and seemed to know exactly how much I missed the sun. It turned out we even shared the same English teacher. Of all the people I had met that day, Nik felt like sunlight piercing through clouds, warming my shadowed thoughts.
I nearly forgot Eduard—until Nik asked, "What did you do to Edik? He sat there with a scowl I've never seen before."
I shivered involuntarily. So it wasn't just me imagining it: Smirnov's behavior had been abnormal. And undeniably, it had something to do with me. But what? Tears pricked my eyes again, and I turned away, unwilling to add myself to his unspoken list of rejected classmates.
"You mean the guy I sat next to in biology?" I asked innocently, trying to sound oblivious.
"Yeah," Nikita said with a nervous chuckle. "He looked like he might jump up and tear you apart."
"I… don't know," I shrugged. "We barely exchanged words."
Nik whistled. "Of course he freaked out," he grinned. "If I'd been sitting next to you, I'd definitely have talked to you."
"Even in the front row, right in front of the teacher?"
"Even there," Nikita confirmed without hesitation, and I liked his certainty.