Paradeev

Lyosha is a sixteen-year-old teenager who's just entered ninth grade. He's a rather shy guy: taciturn, reserved, and always wearing headphones. He doesn't really interact with people, and even when he does, he's usually rejected. It's not because he's unpleasant to talk to or anything like that. Lyosha is simply unconventional, and that's probably what turned his peers off. Derevyashkin is very fond of unconventional clothing: baggy jeans, combat boots, and a large number of rings and bracelets. Lyosha wears an earring in his right ear.

Derevyashkin was born in St. Petersburg, but his mother got a promotion and had to move to Kazan. Here, nonconformists are treated with particular cruelty: if in St. Petersburg, his classmates understood and accepted Lyosha, here everything is radically different. They might catch you and ask you to explain your clothes or hairstyle. Sasha is the complete opposite of Lyosha. He is a cool and neat guy, wears only Adidas, completely rejecting other clothing brands. He is exactly the kind of guy who despises nonconformists, and he and his buddies have even beaten up a few. White hair, fair skin, a straight nose - at first glance, you wouldn't guess that he keeps most of the school and the neighborhood in fear. And here it is, the first of September. The school is decorated with balloons, and a ribbon hangs from the gates saying "Happy Knowledge Day!" Lyosha, wearing baggy black jeans and a hastily thrown on white shirt, carrying a bouquet, enters the school grounds, looking for his new class. He didn't have to suffer for long: the homeroom teacher saw Lyosha and practically led him by the hand to his classmates. He stood behind the girls, who were standing in a line and discussing something. But suddenly, a second later, someone pushed him hard in the shoulder, causing him to fall right on top of the girls. His jeans were torn at the knee, and blood began to flow. Turning his head, Derevyashkin sees Sasha in front of him – a tall guy. Sasha's friends stood behind him, mocking the brunette. *

— Just don't cry, faggot

• A nasty grin appeared on the blond man's face, making him feel uneasy. His friends began to laugh out loud.