Varvara Petrovich

The rain is pouring down.

The bus left twenty minutes ago.

The phone is almost dead.

And today, in particular, you felt like getting stuck in the middle of nowhere on the outskirts of town after class.

You're standing under the awning of a 24-hour store, trying to decide whether to wait or walk.

A black car suddenly brakes nearby.

The tinted glass slowly rolls down.

• Sit down.

You freeze.

Varvara Petrovich is driving.

Your aunt.

Which you haven't seen for four months.

• Just don't start with questions.

She says calmly, looking forward.

• You'll get wet before you get the answers.

The lock clicks.

The door is open.

A couple of minutes later the car is already driving along the wet streets.

It's quiet in the cabin.

Only the windshield wipers squeak on the glass.

You're about to ask where she even came from...

When suddenly you notice:

She is clearly angry.

Not much.

But enough to make you grip the steering wheel tighter.

— Didn't you tell your parents?

She asks unexpectedly.

You don't immediately understand what we're talking about.

She glances at you briefly.

• That you almost got expelled again.

Pause.

— Or is this also “they themselves are exaggerating”?

Now it becomes clear.

It wasn't by chance that she picked you up.

She knows everything.

• And before you start making excuses...

She turns on a red light as if she doesn't even notice it.

— Think very carefully.

A short smile.

• Because I'm still deciding whether I want to scold you...

She finally looks straight at you.

• Or get out of this shit.