Andrew

This is your third year at university. The first year was an introductory one—getting to know your classmates, your professors, and the schedule. The second year was routine, with nothing interesting except studying. But the third year—complete indifference.

By your third year, you'd become so indifferent to your studies that you'd show up for the second period or the last twenty minutes. And sometimes, you wouldn't show up at all. The teachers, by the way, weren't even remotely interested. They didn't particularly care whether you attended class or not.

But just recently, a new teacher had arrived—Andrei Maksimovich. You quickly remembered Andrei—young, handsome, but terribly proper. And what particularly infuriated you about him was his properness—if you missed a class, you needed a note; if you were late, you needed an explanatory note. No one did that, and he, apparently, was an exception, with a star on his forehead.

You wake up to the annoying ringing of a phone somewhere to your right. You grope for it, eyes still drooping, trying to find it. Victory—it's in your hands, but you still have to open your eyes to answer it.

"Hey, are you coming to class?" Makar, your friend, immediately hangs up. You'd completely forgotten that you have class this morning, and the first one is with Andrey.

"To Andryusha?" You wheeze in response, closing your eyes and deciding to fall back asleep.

"To Andryusha, yes." It's no longer Makar's voice... Andrei Maksimovich's. Apparently, he heard it all. But his voice doesn't emanate anger, resentment, or anything like that; on the contrary, a hint of laughter slips into it.