Chapter 2

Six months later...

"Alice Yuryevna, are you finished? Let me remind you, the children's program closes in five minutes! I have a class with the adult group."

"Yes, Maria Borisovna! Give us one more minute and we'll clear the room! We're just filling out the homework cards!"

"Well, Little Shoe? Ready to pack up?" I say to my smallest student, helping her glue picture cards into the notebook we had named together: Little Shoe's Adventure in Why-Why Land. "Time to go home."

This is a private school that specializes in foreign languages, and a few days a week I earn extra money here teaching English to six-year-olds. I fit this job in after my main university classes, and right now I'm wrapping up another lesson with a student who invented that sweet little nickname for herself.

I leave the classroom, and the girl, whose real name is Katya, runs happily to her father, waving her notebook. When she reaches him, she turns around to look at me.

I cross into the lobby and set my backpack on the small sofa, then put my puffer coat and hat beside it, noticing that the man is coming closer.

"So how did Katya do today?" he asks, as attentively as any parent would.

We've already said hello today, and I smile as I answer:

"Well. Your daughter is very bright and works so hard. You can be proud of her!"

The little girl hears this and bounces beside her father's hand.

"Daddy, now I know what your favorite vegetables are called! And why you have to eat them! They have little vitamins living inside them, and each one has its own letter!"

The man looks surprised and shakes his head.

"Well, Alice Yuryevna. You must have a special way with children. My daughter and I go to kindergarten like we're marching into battle, but she runs here to you like it's a holiday."

It's flattering to hear, and I admit honestly:

"Thank you. I try to be as useful to your child as I can. Trust in the teacher is one of the main factors in learning. Your little girl and I like each other. That's the whole secret. Right, Little Shoe?" I smile at the child, and she nods.

"Yes!"

"Sweetheart, wait for me by the window," her father asks his daughter gently. "Alice Yuryevna and I need to talk."

"I'm listening..." I reply when the child runs off and the man turns to face me.

"Maksim. Please, just my first name!"

The man is a little over thirty, twice my size, and calling him by his first name is awkward at the very least. He gives me an inviting smile, holds the pause, and studies me as if he's about to offer me something.

Did I do something wrong, and now he wants to cancel my lessons?

I don't know the answer yet, but an unpleasant feeling is already making my back tense.

"Alice, I know you're a student, and from what I understand, you really need the work," he says at last. "Or, to put it plainly, money is tight for you."

A strange way to start a conversation. I dislike it immediately, but I try to answer politely and with restraint:

"Not exactly. I don't need it so much as I want to provide myself with the essentials. I have a home and food, but I don't have financial freedom, which is exactly why I work here and try to do my job well. Ask anyone you like."

"I don't doubt it. But that isn't what I mean."

"Then what do you mean?"

"You spend all your evenings here, and that's unfair to such a young, attractive girl. What I'm saying is, I could give you freedom."

"Meaning? What do you mean, 'give'?" I don't understand.

"Let's say, partially cover your needs and wants, if you..."

"If I what?"

Incredibly, the man keeps smiling politely, with a trace of condescension, as if the conversation gives him pleasure.

"Alice, why are you so tense? I'm simply suggesting you have dinner with me... for starters. We'll get to know each other better and talk."

For starters?

And as for what would come after the talk, I don't even want to hear it. I go pale in an instant at the offer. As if I were the one who had just said something obscene, not him!

I can imagine what I look like from the outside!

"No."

"Alice?"

"I have a boyfriend, and you almost certainly have a wife. Please, Maksim, don't continue." I turn away to the small sofa and pick up my puffer coat. Pulling my hat out of the hood, I get dressed, trying not to look at the man. "I'm not interested."

I don't see him, but I hear the tone of his voice change, turning from pleasant to acidic and hard. As if only now the real person has shown through the fake mask.

"Better just admit you're the same cold little icicle you look like. Young and frigid! You don't have anyone, or at least your cheeks would've turned pink!"

I'm nineteen years old. Old enough not to be shocked by an offer like that or scared by how blunt it is. But not old enough to answer an adult man's insult with dignity.

That's why I simply leave, grabbing my backpack. If only he knew I'm used to being an icicle.

"Goodbye. Bye, Little Shoe!" I smile at the child, who is waiting hopefully to hear what good thing her teacher will say to her beloved daddy. "You were very smart today. See you in Why-Why Land!"

"See you, Alice Yuryevna!"

It's early December in the city. Winter already, but there's no snow in sight. The streets are still gray and misty, full of fine drizzle. The kind you want to escape as quickly as possible for somewhere cozy and warm. Somewhere with a plush blanket and a cup of hot tea. Instead, I head for the cold subway.

I can't stand slush and cold. I'm always freezing, which is probably why I'm used to dressing warmly and walking fast. I have a day of classes, a library session, and lessons behind me. I'm thoroughly tired, and in this evening hour I merge with the stream of pedestrians, dreaming of getting home as soon as possible.

After going down into the metro, I ride the train to my station and head for the exit when I suddenly hear a familiar voice:

"Alice! Hey, Snowy, I'm here! Stop, where are you flying off to, jaybird?!"

Vlad. I slow down and smile back at the nickname my uncle made up for me when I was little, and that my boyfriend later heard and never forgot. Funny, and I like it much more than the cold "Snow." Not that there's any way to explain why to Ruslan.

I spot a tall, solidly built guy in the crowd, with dark blond hair under his hat, and go over to him. He immediately wraps an arm around my shoulders and kisses me on the lips:

"Hi."

"Hi, Vlad. Have you been waiting long?"

"No, only three minutes. Snowy, I love your punctuality!"

Yes, I live by schedules and plans. It's easier for me that way, but he's always collected and punctual himself, like clockwork. That's how we met two years ago, when we were both traveling to university prep courses. Without ever arranging it, we ran into each other at the metro entrance at the same time, then got into the same train car.

He noticed me first and approached me first. For a long time we were only friends, until we decided to take our relationship to another level.

"That's not punctuality." I smile at him and pull back. We walk toward the exit. "That's precise train traffic and class schedules. The rest is just my legs and my watch. Why are you here?" I ask, surprised. "Don't you have a workout?"