Chapter 7

“Dasha's right, Matveyeva. You two will do fine. It's not like you're competing with American cheerleading squads. No big deal. Marina Voropaeva probably won't like you being with us, though. Neither will her friends. I don't even know why they hate you so much. If anything happens, just ignore them, okay? Besides, you've got Dashka. None of them can handle her!”

That was true, and we laughed.

“Okay.”

It turned out not to be hard to ignore them. I was already used to the pretty blonde's sidelong looks and the giggles behind my back. It was as if she were telling me: I know what you're really like. I know who you are: a pitiful poor relation in an old, ridiculous coat and your grandmother's cardigan. I had nothing to counter those taunts with but indifference, and I wouldn't let the classmate who disliked me break through my protective mask.

Dashka and I really were doing well. By the third day of practice, every muscle in my body ached, and my legs trembled from the countless jumps. Sweat poured off Dashka, but we had learned all the dance moves and diligently repeated them after the coach—a student choreographer hired by the school—seriously upsetting Voropaeva with our progress. I would have kept doing leg swings, bends, and jumps and, as the most flexible of us, pushing up from a bridge into a handstand if the upperclassmen's team hadn't burst noisily into the gym. My stepbrother's watchful gray eyes easily picked me out of the crowd of girls.

“Well, look at that—the deer and the peacock have arrived. The only thing missing was Frolov!”

I stumbled and shrank back. I lost the rhythm, begging Stas not to look at me. Didn't he have enough other girls to look at? Marina, for instance, was smiling at him now, greeting the tall, dark-haired boy with shining eyes. Or her friends, who were also making the most of the boys' arrival, putting themselves on display as they danced.

“Matveyeva, what's wrong? Are you feeling sick?”

“No, Albina Pavlovna, I'm just tired. Can I sit down?”

“Okay. Rest for five minutes, then we'll all practice the entrance along the opposite diagonal! We have twenty minutes left in practice. Girls, I want everyone to pull it together and get the most out of practice!”

I had to cross the entire gym to reach the bench, and it was almost unbearable. I was ten meters from my stepbrother, but I felt him as if he were one step away. As if Stas were holding my hand again, looking into my eyes.

Don't look at me. Please, don't look.

“I hate you.”

I remember.

“Hi, Nastia! What a coincidence!” It was his friend, Marina's brother Sergey, and as he ran across the gym, the boy easily caught me by the waist and spun me around.

“Let me go!”

“I won't!” he laughed openly, loudly announcing to his best friend:

“Frol, look, I won! Like I promised, I caught the prettiest girl! What do you say now?”

The upperclassmen responded with a chorus of laughter, but one of them was definitely silent, and I felt panic as my heart turned to ice.

“Please, don't, Sergey! Let me go! Stas won't like it!” I tried to break free from his strong arms, but it was useless. The blond was much stronger than me.

“Why wouldn't he, Nastia? It's fair and square! I told Frol I was going to hug the prettiest girl—and I kept my word! Or maybe I like you?”

“No!”

“Yes!”

“Let me go.”

“You're impossible to catch. I can never get near you in the school hallways; you're always running away. By the way, I didn't think you'd be so skinny and light. You know, Matveyeva, you're easy to carry.”

He was having fun, and he actually scooped me up, sliding a hand beneath my bare knees. I closed my eyes, not knowing what he might do next. Somewhere, Dashka cried out in outrage, but Sergey was already lowering me onto the bench. Before he left, he suddenly grew serious:

“And remember, Nastia: Stas isn't my boss, and Marina's an idiot for being jealous.”

“What?”

But he was already walking away toward his friends, leaving me staring after him in astonishment.

Jealous? Marina? Why?

I slowly shifted my gaze toward my classmates, who stood surrounded by the boys, and suddenly felt my heart jolt in my chest, as if scorched from within. It pounded against my throat, wounded and aching so badly that it cut off my breath. It was the first time I'd ever felt anything like it, and it came so unexpectedly that I couldn't stay seated on the bench. I jumped to my feet, clutching my neck with both hands.

There was no fury or anger in my stepbrother's eyes. On the contrary, they glittered with unchecked amusement, and he wasn't looking at me at all. Stas had Marina Voropaeva, a beautiful girl, in his arms, with one arm wrapped around her shoulders. They were both smiling happily.

Apparently I wasn't the only one frozen in astonishment, but the choreographer, still a student herself, pulled herself together much sooner than her students.

“Hey, you eleventh graders—what's going on? Have you lost your minds? You're ruining my rehearsal! Clear out of the gym right now, or I'll call the principal! Your practice doesn't start for another half hour!”

“Oh, come on, Albinochka, calm down,” Stas said, pulling his friend's sister closer to him, and the girl's mouth fell open in surprise.

“What?!”

“You heard me. Don't worry, Albina Pavlovna,” he said, reluctantly changing his tone. “We're just saying hi to the girls and heading out. Right, guys? How could we walk past when things look so interesting in here? Mmm. And those costumes are going to be something, huh? Short skirts, crop tops, and all that…”

The boys roared with laughter, and some of the girls joined in. I stared at my stepbrother, wide-eyed, not understanding what was happening to me. What was tormenting me?

He met my gaze for an instant no one else noticed, wiped the smile from his face, and pressed his lips into a hard line. He lowered his eyes, turned away, smiled again… and kissed Marina.

Briefly, on the lips, in front of everyone.

“Let's get out of here, Nastia,” loyal Dashka said, appearing beside me just in time to pull me toward the exit before I could see what would happen next. “I told you: deer are deer everywhere—even in Africa. Shameless, antlerless baboons with peacock feathers up their asses! Practice is already ruined anyway.”

***

A poem by Nastia. A lyrical digression. Notebook.

A city of dim lights. Rain

Drizzles against November windows.

In this city, I got soaked,

This city seeped right through me

Through a web of faceless streets,

Through the gray mold of frozen roads.

Why did we come back here?

Couldn't it get lost somewhere?

Somewhere among a thousand similar,

Unfamiliar, alien towns?

Where the muffled footsteps of passersby

Trample the gloomy shadows of houses.

Why didn't it disappear? Die?

Why wasn't it forgotten, scattered by sleep?..

…Silence. The soft creak of stairs.

I open the door. Hello, home.