In algebra class, we were taking a test, and for the thousandth time, I thanked myself for the sleepless night and for managing to catch up on the material. I wouldn't say it was easy, but having a clear understanding of the problem in front of me was far better than sitting there looking around for classmates willing to help. Cheating wouldn't have worked anyway: they handed out eight different versions. But at least glancing at a solution to a similar problem and trying to adapt it to my own version was better than nothing.
My brain was boiling as I worked through the equations, and the feeling when I filled the fourth page and finally put down my pen was incredibly sweet. All that remained was to hope that a stupid arithmetic error didn't jump out somewhere. I put the sheet at the edge of the desk and started observing my classmates. Every single one of them was hunched over their papers, writing diligently. It felt strange to finish the test before everyone else, though perhaps my advantage was the freshness of the material—or my own naïveté in thinking I had understood everything, who knows? The results would show.
When the bell rang, Dasha was still finishing her paper, so I had to wait for her near the classroom. Tatiana seemed to purposely bump me with her shoulder as we left the room, but I didn't say a word. We hadn't spoken since yesterday, and honestly, I had nothing to say. If she expected me to crawl on my knees and swear that I'd never talk to Stas again, she was mistaken. I'd wait a couple of days for Rostova to cool down, and then, maybe, she'd get her head straight. She couldn't control who talked to whom, and I had no desire to cater to her capricious whims. Let her get used to the idea that not everything happens according to her wishes.
Dasha walked out of the classroom and passed by, glancing briefly in my direction, and I thought maybe my friend had misjudged the situation and hurried to catch up.
"Seems like I got the easiest version. I spent all night catching up on the material, completely forgetting we had a test today, and yet I finished before everyone else."
Dasha looked embarrassed, staring at her feet and holding the edge of her backpack, biting her lip.
"By the way, did you manage to get out of the mall safely yesterday? I read in the news this morning that there wasn't even a fire—someone just messed around and pulled the fire safety lever."
"Yeah, we're fine," Dasha answered very quietly. As we walked across the passage on the third floor, she carefully stepped away from me, trying to keep her distance. I noticed her strange behavior and tried to recall what we had talked about yesterday. Maybe I had accidentally offended her? Nothing came to mind, but to be honest, I'd been a little off myself the last few days: I could have missed something.
"Dasha, what's wrong?"
She shook her head thoughtfully, as if weighing whether to tell the truth, and only muttered a short, sad "nothing." I had never liked silences and unspoken things, and considering recent events, you could say I had developed an allergy to them. Not waiting for her answer, I reached out and held her shoulder until she stepped far enough away.
"Come on, what happened?"
Dasha bit her lip even harder. Her eyes made it clear how much she wanted to explain, yet at the same time, she hesitated. Her head bowed slightly forward, as if carrying a heavy burden that no one could lift from her shoulders.
"Better… not talk for a while," she began uncertainly.
"Did I say something to upset you?" I ran through all my recent words in my head, trying to figure out where I had gone wrong. Being near Dasha was always easy. It didn't feel necessary to talk non-stop to feel even a little closer. She was smart yet simple, without pride. She explained things where others lacked knowledge. She cared through gentleness. Without Dasha, I would have never collected all the homework and notes from classmates. She methodically photographed her own notes for me by the end of the day and sent them via messenger.
"No, Asya, not me," she replied sadly, hugging herself as if searching for strength. "It's Tanya."
I blinked slowly, trying to understand how our relationship with Dasha was connected to Tanya, and the answer quickly became clear. That Rostova goat!
"She forbade you from talking to me? What a dictator in a skirt."
"Well… not just me," Dasha dragged out. "Yesterday she sent messages all over the school saying that you… how do I put it…" She trailed off and grimaced, as if the words were so filthy she didn't dare even speak them.
"What? Don't keep me in suspense."
Dasha glanced around to make sure no one else was in the passage, leaned close to my ear, and whispered a dirty insult usually used for women with promiscuous reputations. I was stunned. I stared at Dasha wide-eyed, shocked by what I heard. Tanya said that about me? To the whole school?