The first thingI notice is that the snow here looks cleaner. Which is stupid. It is still Moscow. Same city. Same frozen mess. But outside this school, the sidewalks are already scraped down to the stone. The piles of slush are pushed neatly to the edges. The cars parked out front are black, shiny, expensive. No rust. No dents. No taped-up bumpers.
They do not salt the steps. Someone must come out every hour and sweep. The gymnasium's name is carved into the stone above the entrance. The letters look serious. Final. Like this building has never seen a mistake.
I guess I am the first.
I hitch my bag higher on my shoulder and breathe into the cheap scarf around my neck. The air bites my nose, burns my lungs. It wakes me up in a way nothing else can.
“Go,” my brother had said that morning, fingers wrapped around my shoulder so tight you would think he was holding a rope over a cliff. “Do not waste this.”
Scholarship. One word. A door that opened two inches for a kid like me to squeeze through.
Through the heavy doors and step into a different world.
Warm air hits my face. It smells like polish, printer ink, and too much perfume. The hallway is wide, marble underfoot, walls lined with framed photos in thick golden frames. Former students. Medals. Awards. Smiling faces captured in perfect lighting.
None of them looks like they ever worried about where the next meal would come from or about bills that need to be paid in order to have light and heat.
A girl in a navy blazer walks past me with two friends. Her hair is smooth and shiny, pulled back with a ribbon. Her shoes click on the floor in a way mine never will. She looks me up and down, as if scanning a file.
Her gaze pauses on my jacket. Too thin. Wrong brand. Wrong everything.
Her mouth tightens. She says something to her friend in clipped, fast, too quiet to catch, French instead of Russian, I believe, and all three of them laugh.
There it is. Welcome to the new world, Aleks.
I tighten my grip on the bag strap and keep moving. It is not as if I don't know this look. The city has been training me for it my whole life.
I find the administration office by following the signs and the kids who look like they know where they are going. Everyone here has better backpacks. Cleaner hair. Ironed shirts. New footwear.
I tug my hoodie straight and step inside.
The secretary looks up from her screen. She is in her forties, hair curled, dark lipstick, a pair of reading glasses low on her nose.
“Yes?”
“Aleksandr Kilovac,” I say. “New student. Hockey program.”
Her eyes soften a fraction. “Ah. Scholarship.” She says it as if it were a classification. Not an insult, not exactly praise. Just a label.
She hands me a folder with my schedule, a campus map, and a smaller packet about the “code of conduct.” I have lived with worse than whatever is written in there.
“Locker assignment is in the back,” she says. “Ice facilities are in the north wing. You have team practice today after seventh period. Do not be late. Coach is very strict.”
“I will not be,” I say.
She eyes me again. Maybe she sees something in my face. Maybe she just sees the remnants of a bruise I could not completely hide under my sleeve. Either way, she does not ask.
I leave the office with the folder tucked under my arm and head down the hall, counting doors. Classrooms. Language labs. Library. Some kids greet each other with hugs. Others nod as if they have shared the same summer houses since birth.
I slide into my first class two minutes before the bell. Heads turn. The teacher introduces me. “We have a new student, part of the athletics program. Please make Aleks feel welcome.”
No one says anything. That is welcome enough.
I sit in the back. Take notes in a cheap notebook. Pretend I do not notice when the girl in the front row sends me a curious glance when she thinks I am not looking. Pretend I do nothear the whispered conversations about families, vacations, and travel.
Italy. France. Dubai. I have been as far as Saint Petersburg to Moscow.
By third period, the novelty of my presence wears off. They stop openly staring and start doing quiet side glances instead. That is fine. I am not here to make friends. I am here for the ice.
