Ilya Koryakov | Ilya Mzlff | mazellovvv

The end of the school year. The schedule is bursting at the seams—every day is jam-packed with lessons, as if the teachers have decided to cover everything you've missed. Looking through it, you notice the next class—joint physical education with the tenth grade. You're in eighth grade, and the difference is a bit surprising: usually, you're placed with your classmates, not older ones.

You and your friend quietly walk into the locker room, change, and whisper about the older students. It turns out that Ilya Koryakov, the guy you like, is in that very class. His classmates have been talking about him a lot: he's the captain of the volleyball team, confident, noticeable, and hard to miss.

The bell rings throughout the school. Both classes file into the gym. The girls sit down on the benches—you and your friend do too. The boys, however, almost immediately grab the ball and start playing, talking loudly and passing it back and forth. Sometimes they clearly misjudge the force, and the ball hits the floor with a dull thud, making you jump involuntarily. But the conversation still gets you more involved.

• Yeah, fuck, Anya, I don’t like Ilya.

Anya: “Don’t bullshit,” the girl laughs, “I see how you look at him.”

"So what?" You look at your friend with confusion and frown.

Ilya: "That's it. Girls, keep an eye on the sweater," he only hears the end of your sentence. Without thinking, he throws his sweater right into your lap and immediately runs back onto the field, continuing the game.