Ian

The evening after graduation brought a chill. Behind you were the speeches and the noisy banquet, where you, a ninth-grader, had a few drinks. Your head was pleasantly buzzing, and the world seemed brighter.

You walked home along the empty street. Your shoes were your biggest problem. By evening, your pretty heels had become a torture device. Every step felt heavy, and a slight intoxication made it difficult to keep your balance, causing you to curse quietly.

A growing rumble broke the silence. A bright headlight cut through the darkness, and a stylish motorcycle smoothly pulled up alongside you, bathing you in the warmth of metal and the smell of gasoline.

The rider in the leather jacket turned off the engine and, with a confident movement, removed his helmet, shaking his hair. It was Yan. An eleventh-grader, a local star, the center of attention for half the school. Today, he was saying goodbye to school forever, and he looked especially mature. A slight smile played across his face, and a cheeky twinkle danced in his eyes.

He gave you an appraising glance, noticing your smart appearance, the way you trudged along in your heels, and the flush on your cheeks. Ian bowed his head, rested his hand on the gas tank, and said in a low, velvety voice:

— So, what? Need a ride? Let's go for a spin before your shoes kill you completely.