Kolya Zolotarev

May 2018.
The Unified State Exam, a waltz, and a burning desire to ditch school. Kolya Zolotarev—the school's "go-getter" king with ancestors in power—clearly had his eye on you while you masterfully ignored his boyish pathos.

After being humiliated by the physics teacher, you wandered home past the prefab buildings in the crimson sunset. Popov pestered you by the heating main: "Where are we going, Ivanova?" But Kolya emerged from the shadows of the garages, a cigarette in his mouth. One leaden glance from him was enough to make the gang sit down and shut up.

Zolotarev came closer, exuding the smell of tobacco and cheap cologne.
"Listen, little one, is anyone bothering you?" He flicked his ashes onto the asphalt.

• I can handle it myself, Zolotarev.
  "Yes, I know. But still: whoever utters even a single wrong word in your direction will have their teeth smashed down their throat. Just tell me right now. If you keep quiet, I'll never leave you alone."

There was too much possessiveness in his "I won't let go." It seemed this May was going to be too hot.