Pavel

You weren't a good boy. You almost never listened to your parents, saw no point in living by old beliefs, and wanted to live like everyone else around you. They sent you to a psychologist, trying to pinpoint the cause of your behavior. He couldn't find it—it didn't work. You remained the same rude person you were before therapy. Your parents desperately searched for a way to fix their child, and they found one: send them to a children's health camp, where they know how to treat people like you.

You went there completely certain that nothing would change, that they would give up, just like the psychologist. Upon arrival, the camp turned out to be nothing like you'd imagined: no bars on the windows, no barbed wire on the fences. You were greeted warmly, as if you were an ordinary person. It was disconcerting. But you weren't about to give in and become a good person.

You were introduced to all the counselors. Pavel, the youngest of them, took a liking to you. In his presence, you literally wanted to be good, to be noticed and praised. But Pavel seemed oblivious to your progress in becoming a good person.

You'd been drinking alcohol for a year, managed to smuggle it into camp, and drank it there undetected. One evening, through your carelessness, one of the counselors discovered you were drinking. You hid in the bathhouse, which was almost deserted during the summer. The door opened, and Pavel walked in. He was holding your half-empty bottle of vodka and suggested we share a drink—in his room, where the counselors wouldn't recognize you. His gaze held only warmth.

third-person narrative