V.K.M.
Now, I regret giving him a high-quality handkerchief.
“Vaughn Kirillovich Morozov.” He stares at me as he reads out what the initials stand for, then lifts the handkerchief and blows his nose in it.
My jaw grinds, but I force myself to remain calm and not allow his antics to get to me. My eye twitches, though, when he wipes at the blood in the corner of his lip.
“My name is Yulian. Dad told me you and I need to get along.” He speaks in perfect Russian.
When I say nothing, mostly preoccupied with the view of my ruined handkerchief, he snaps his fingers. “Oh! Do you prefer to speak in English? Heard New York kids barely know any Russian.”
“I know enough to call you a rabid dog,” I say in Russian.
“Rabid wolf?” he asks in English.
“Dog.”
“Wolf. You said???? (volk), not??? (pyos).”
“I said dog.”
“Hmm. If you say so.”
His grin has grown wider, stretching his cheeks as he tilts his head to watch me closely. “You have a bit of an accent when you speak Russian.”
“I do not.”
“Then your tongue prefers wolves?”
“I said it correctly the first time. Not my problem you have hearing issues.”
He just continues to grin like an idiot, savoring his correction.
Fire blossoms at the center of my chest and tightens my muscles.
“By the way.” He steps closer, and since I refuse to give up any ground to the pest, we’re standing nose to nose when he speaks.
He smells of cigarettes. Nauseating.
A headache is pounding at the back of my head due to interacting with him.
Everything about this prick makes my eyes twitch.
“Let’s fight!” he shouts, bouncing in place like a hyperactive toddler.
I get distracted by a strand of dark-brown hair the wind has shoved into his eye.
The blue one.
The strand is damp, like his whole head of hair is, falling in long, haphazard locks past his nape and right above his shoulders, as if he dunked his head in a bucket of water.
He blows it away, his eyes gleaming, his grin widening as he shifts back and forth in place, almost as if he’s an idling engine ready to go.
“What do you say?” He jumps up and punches the air. “It’s a yes, right? Right?”
I just stare him down and say nothing.
“Come on! We have to know who’s the top dog around here. Or wolf. See what I did there?” He bends down, clutching his stomach as he laughs at his own distasteful joke.
