Chapter 5
“The problem is that you fell right at Frolov’s feet, our local peacock. If he remembers your face, he might make fun of you. He’s a real half-baked moose, that one—a local big shot. No, I’m not saying he isn’t good-looking, and he knows exactly how much he’s worth. I had a crush on him for two years myself, until I grew up. But he doesn’t date anyone at school; he and his herd prefer to bet on girls. Like what happened with Lenka Polozova from 11-B today. Though I kept hoping the rumors weren’t true. Too bad.”
“Why?”
“Because someone needs to hurt Frolov for real someday. He should be the one who gets hurt, not everyone else. Like with Lenka, only the other way around. Though I don’t feel sorry for Polozova one bit—she got what she deserved. She knew who she was fooling around with in the bathroom and what to expect. She’s the queen of the eleventh grade, just like our Marina Voropaeva. She wears a crown, too, and thinks she’s priceless. Last year they chose her as queen of the winter ball, and suddenly all the girls around her were fat, ugly freaks, while Her Majesty had completely forgotten how to say hello.”
Dasha frowned and shook her head sternly.
“So be careful, Nastia. If Frolov starts hitting on you, play dead! You don’t need that pretty boy for anything! All he and his deer buddies want is entertainment. They’re bored out of their minds, and you’re the new girl. They’ll make some bet or do something even worse, and then you’ll have to run to another school to get away from them.”
I sighed and smoothed my hair with one hand. The tears had finally receded, and I wanted to reassure my new friend, who—fortunately for me—had turned out to be such a caring girl and my first real friend in this big city.
“Don’t worry, Dasha. He won’t. He doesn’t like me at all.”
Of course, that confession had come out too quickly, and I tried to cover it up with a clumsy correction:
“I-I guess. That’s how it feels.”
But Dasha just waved me off as if she knew better.
“I can feel it, too, believe me, and I know this school like the back of my hand. Frolov didn’t stare at you like he’d forgotten where he was going for no reason. I even thought he was going to hit Voropaev when he saw him standing next to you. Of course, maybe it all started because of Lenka Polozova—apparently Voropaev had been hitting on her, too—but just in case, Nastia, stay away from those two.”
That was almost exactly what I wanted, and I nodded in agreement.
“I’d be happy to.”
“Good,” Kuznetsova said with a smile. “Don’t worry—you’ll be fine with me around! I can even predict things before they happen! Try to guess what my mom does for a living.”
It was practically impossible, and Dasha giggled as she pulled me into the hallway by the elbow, marching confidently toward the students who parted at the sight of us.
“My mom is a well-known psychologist, and she works in a women’s prison. Believe me, Nastia, sometimes she paints such a clinical picture over dinner that I want to cover my ears and run! Dad and I especially want to sneak away when she asks us for an outside opinion on whatever situation she’s studying. That’s when it gets really brutal! I’d rather drown in a sack! And she won’t let up until she gets an answer!”
“Why? Why does she need your answer?” Dasha was such an interesting, lively person, and I liked listening to her.
“Because she’s been writing her doctoral dissertation in psychology for three years now. She wants to earn her degree. You know how smart she is? She can turn anyone inside out, remake them, scrub away all the dirt, and send them out into the world as a brand-new person. So our answers are extremely important to her! For working with students and writing textbooks, too! At least, that’s what she tells Dad and me!”
I don’t know if it was funny, but we laughed. By the time Dasha and I reached the door of the right classroom, I’d almost forgotten what had happened in the cafeteria.
“All right, let’s go to class, Matveyeva. And don’t hang your head! We don’t need you moping around to make Voropaeva and her friends happy! They’re probably waiting for you to walk into class looking like a beaten stray dog. Screw them! Queens aren’t the only ones who can hold their chins up! But we won’t antagonize our English teacher, Grumpy Ivanovna. We’ll sit quietly, hang on her every word, and diligently copy off Borya Bragin when we need to. Understand?”
The rest of the classes passed peacefully. I didn’t know what I’d done to offend pretty blond Marina Voropaeva, my stepmother’s friend’s daughter, but she really did seem upset to see me without tears. She sat there listless and displeased, turning away every time she caught me looking at her. Dasha, on the other hand, was one of those independent people who didn’t let the crowd influence her, so she held her own in class. We quickly became friends, and by the end of the school day we happily chatted about girl stuff at our desk, exchanging glances with Petka Zbruev. I even told her about Grandma and my father. About living with his new family and my stepmother. I kept quiet about my stepbrother again.
But then classes ended, and after saying goodbye to my new friends, I was alone. Stas was supposed to take me home and show me the way, and I’d already been standing at the bus stop for two hours, waiting for him.