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?
"I've never—" I started to defend myself but stopped when I heard approaching footsteps. A tenth-grade boy met my gaze, winked at me playfully, then scanned me from head to toe and whistled. My face flushed instantly, and I wanted to throw my hood over my head, but of course, I had come to class in a turtleneck with a narrow collar, not a plain hoodie.
Well, Rostova, thanks. I didn't think I could hurt your pride and self-confidence so much.
"Dasha, I've never… with anyone. Not like that. Honestly," I pleaded, realizing that even if Dasha was reacting to Tanya's gossip, what could I expect from people who had never talked to me?
"I believe you," she tried to reassure me, still unable to look me in the eyes properly. "It's just that now everyone is talking about it. One rumor builds on another. The boys are already bragging about who's with you, when, where, and how."
She nodded, hinting at actions that no one had the courage to name out loud.
"I understand that they're only lying and showing off to each other, but Asya, any girl who walks with you will inevitably be seen in their eyes," she pressed her lips together and raised her eyebrows, avoiding the shameful word, "the same way."
The meaning of Dasha's words hit me like snow sliding off a roof on a cold day.
"I see," I said dryly, realizing I could burst into tears in the hallway from hurt and anger. "I won't keep you."
I hurriedly turned on my toes and walked to the girls' restroom, feeling tears well up in my eyes. People passing by caught my gaze, and I heard their cutting comments, tossed back and forth. Nasty, dirty remarks about what they supposedly did with me, in what positions, and when. I didn't understand some of the words, but I guessed that the funnier the word sounded from the outside, the worse the act it was meant to imply.
The last few meters to the door, I ran, just to hide from the predatory eyes of hyenas who had been given fresh prey to savor.
How can people be so cruel? Why do they say all of this? Build new lies, fully knowing they've never even spoken two words with me? Why do people try to elevate themselves in their friends' eyes by humiliating someone else?
I ran into the first available stall, threw my backpack against the wall, and lowered the toilet seat. I pulled my legs to my chest and sobbed bitterly from hurt, even though I hadn't done anything wrong. I was just friends with Stas. And, in my own way, I liked him. Truly liked him, the way a girl can like a boy, but I would never, ever try to take him away, fearing I would turn into one of those drama-show heroines I despised. You can't build your happiness on someone else's misfortune. And besides, isn't being close to someone important to you more valuable than doing something stupid and losing a friendship forever? I knew the line I shouldn't cross and stayed right at the edge, but it didn't help.
Everything fell apart. The normal life I had imagined drifted further away, and despair inside me shattered the last hope for better days. Fear whispered that my father might not wake up today or even next week, leaving me in months of endless waiting. My heart kept reopening the wound left by Nick's betrayal, and then a new, gleaming blade was thrust into my back from where I least expected it. Tanya must have realized I wouldn't play by her rules and decided to do something vile just to distance me from Stas, or better yet — to make me run from school with my tail between my legs, since no protection would come from anywhere.
It was amazing how perfectly my classmate had timed it. What happened with my father wasn't public knowledge, but the coincidence worked perfectly in Tanya's favor. I wondered if she even considered the consequences of spreading such a rumor about the daughter of a respected local figure. Probably not. After all, with the money the Rostova family supposedly had, she could have come out unscathed even from worse situations.
I spent the rest of the break in the girls' restroom, crying and reflecting on the situation. Waiting for the bell, I carefully opened the door, made sure no one was around, and went to the sink. Cold water stung my skin as I washed the remnants of tears from my face. Raising my eyes to the mirror, I stared at my reflection and felt pity for the girl looking back with red, swollen eyes. No matter how many times I rinsed my face, the redness wouldn't go away. People would still notice the mark left by the cruel tongues, and I would have to live with it.
How I wished I could just leave. Pack my things and never return. For them to forget me like last year's snow. But I already knew from the hospital incident that the people of Xerton were insatiable: give them a new rumor to savor, and they'd devour it while waiting for the next. I had become a supplier of juicy stories for local entertainment: one day a stranger's mother had fled from a respected police officer, the next a girl used connections to get into a prestigious school, then got into trouble near school, and now this. In three months, more had happened to me in this small town than most Xertonians experienced in a lifetime. And that's just the tip of the iceberg of what actually happened.
The temptation to go home was strong, but I knew that if I went back, I'd lose to Tanya, who would revel in my suffering. Crying and leaving would be the best proof to support her failed narrative. People only abandon ship when the secret is out and the lifeboat is already in the water. That won't do.
Hoping all my tears had been shed, I gathered my courage and went to biology class, prepared to endure the nasty gossip. I needed to control myself and not react in front of others; then, perhaps, the vicious gossips would quiet down. That had worked well in my previous school, where even the laziest person would point out that I wasn't like them. Most girls found my interests and tastes strange, and I had no passion for shopping trips or testing makeup samples in the mall: who knew how many hands had touched that tube before mine, or how many had touched the escalator? That's where true evil and germs hide — in the cosmetics department.
The classroom was buzzing. Teacher Bobylev was writing new terms on the board, and classmates barely lifted their heads from their notebooks, trying to keep up. The seat next to Stas was empty, waiting for me. I quietly slipped through the classroom, muttering a short "sorry" to the teacher, and sat down.
"Slut…" started the boy at the next desk, but his neighbor hissed at him. I didn't remember her name, but decided to find out later, feeling grateful. After all, even Dasha wasn't ready to defend me, yet here was a girl I had once helped with a missed word. Maybe she just didn't want her neighbor in trouble and shushed him before the teacher heard.