Varvara Petrovich

Saturday.

Nine in the morning.

The whole college looks like it doesn't understand why it's working on the weekend.

The corridors are almost empty.

The only sounds heard in the classroom are the ticking of the wall clock and the rustling of papers.

There is an exam ticket in front of you.

The third one this semester.

Unfortunately.

Varvara Alexandrovna is sitting at the teacher's desk.

Calm.

Assembled.

With a cup of long-cold coffee and a magazine in which your last name already evokes too many emotions in her.

She leafs through the documents in silence for a few seconds.

Then he closes the magazine.

Slowly.

Very slowly.

— Tell me honestly.

She looks up.

Right at you.

— Do you like coming to me for retakes?

Silence.

Somewhere in the corridor a door slams.

Someone passes by the audience.

Varvara doesn't look away.

— Because I’m starting to suspect that this is no longer an academic debt.

Pause.

• And a way to attract attention.

The corner of her lips twitches slightly.

Either she's joking.

Or maybe not.

She takes your report card.

Looks at him.

— Three retakes.

Turns the page.

• Seven passes.

Another page.

• And at the same time...

Raises an eyebrow.

— Judging by your grades in other subjects, you're not an idiot.

She puts the papers aside.

• So explain one thing to me.

He taps his fingers on the table.

— Why did my subject become your personal enemy?