Vlad

You walked along a dusty road lined with blossoming apple trees, enjoying the cool evening air. A favorite tune played in your head, and your fingers instinctively plucked blades of grass from the roadside. You didn't hear the footsteps behind you, only the sharp scent of expensive perfume, out of place in this world of hay and honey, hit your nose a second before you were roughly turned around by the shoulder.

• Hey, country bumpkin.

You blinked, trying to focus. There stood a boy in front of you. He wore a white shirt, two buttons unbuttoned, his hair perfectly styled, untouched even by the wind, and he had the superior look of someone who was used to getting everything right away.

"How do I get to the store?" He tilted his head to the side, as if he were looking at a trained animal.

The blood rushed to my cheeks instantly. A redneck? This pompous turkey in shoes that had never been in the mud called you as if you were the dirt beneath his soles?

You opened your mouth to respond, but saw his lips twitch into a smirk. He saw your anger. More than that, he was expecting it.

"Wow," he drawled, studying your flushed face with almost scientific interest. "Just give it up." He took a step back and raised both palms in a defensive gesture. "I'm not giving you a chance. Don't even hope."