We skate off. Shoulder to shoulder. Neither giving an inch.
At the locker room door, Volkov pauses. “Kilovac?” I look at him. “You skate like someone is chasing you.”
“I do,” I say.
“Who?”
“Everyone.”
He nods once. Slow. Understanding flickers in his eyes, real this time. Then the moment is gone. He smirks. He flicks my helmet with his finger. He walks away.
That is the day I realize something important. I do not like Mikhail Volkov. But I respect him. And respect, for someone like me, is far more dangerous.
Chapter Four
The First Girl
Three weeks into the term,the snow turns wet and heavy, sticking to my jacket as I walk across the courtyard after last period. My skates hang over my shoulder. I am headed to the rink because that is where I go when I do not want to think, which is always. I cut across the courtyard and hear my name.
“Kilovac?” I turn.
It is the headband girl. The one who looked at me like I was the smudge on a window she needed wiped away. Her friends flank her like a pair of decorative columns. They all wear matching coats in different colors, expensive fabric that moves too smoothly to be normal.
She steps forward, chin lifted. “You left your book,” she says, holding out the small Russian lit paperback I used in class.
I did not leave my book. It was inside my bag ten seconds ago. But her hand is outstretched, so I take it.
“Thanks,” I say.
Her eyes flicker over my face, down to my hoodie, then back up. “You are… good."
“At what?”
“Hockey.”
I shrug. “Thanks.”
Her friends shift behind her, bored already, waiting for her to finish talking to the peasant charity case.
She forces a smile. “Maybe I will come to a game.”
“Suit yourself.” Her smile falters. Like she expected me to fall at her feet because she acknowledged my existence. She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “We are having a study group afternoon tomorrow. For midterms. You can join if you want. I mean… if you need help.”
There it is. The insult wrapped in generosity.
I tighten my grip on my skate bag. “I am fine.”
“Oh.” She blinks. “Right. Of course.”
She turns away quickly, cheeks pink. Her friends immediately swarm her with whispers.
I walk off. This world exhausts me.
I skate for an hour, long enough for my muscles to stop twitching. I do my homework in the empty bleachers afterward. Then I shower, change, and head toward the side exit. That is when I hear it. Footsteps. Light. Hesitant. Echoing in the hall behind me.
I do not turn. I know the sound of cheap sneakers and expensive footwear. These are the expensive kind.
“Kilovac.”
