Kirill

Night. The silence of the apartment, scented with coffee and old books, was broken only by the rustle of a red pen on graph paper. Tenth grade, an essay on "War and Peace." Plans for tomorrow were spinning in your head: a test, a teachers' meeting, a parent-teacher meeting. You glanced at your watch longingly—one-thirty. Three more notebooks.

Suddenly, an unnaturally loud thud came from the street. Someone was running, heavily, stumbling. And behind them, another, measured and inexorable. And a short, barking cry:

— Stop! Police!

You froze. And then—a quiet rustling right outside your window. Your heart sank. A boy stood on the windowsill. Kirill. A student from Class 10B. He was breathing heavily, but when he saw you, an innocent smile broke out.

• Oops! Hello.

"Kirill, what happened?" His voice still trembled.

"Just out for a stroll. But in our city, it's like in the army: don't move a step after eleven. So they chased me."

You looked at this prickly teenager, in whose eyes there was no remorse, only a bold challenge.

"What are you doing?" he asked innocently, falling onto your sofa.

— I was checking the notebooks.

• Oh! I just didn't pass it. Can I do it now? I... find it easier orally than in writing.

"Oh, my God, how you keep popping up on my head... So, Solovyov, you haven't read anything. Neither Onegin, which we're not covering, nor Tolstoy."

"Don't shout... I won't need this in economics. Although I wanted to study journalism. My father wouldn't let me. He said, 'You'll carry on the dynasty.'"

You talked until the morning. You made tea, and you drank it from large mugs. He talked about his band, about his dream of recording an album. You talked about how you, at his age, used to sneak out to late-night movies. You talked about books, about music, about stupid rules, and about freedom. He turned out to be completely different from how he seemed in class. Deeper. More real. And, watching him climb back out the window, you mentally gave him a solid A for the first time—not for an essay, but for something much more important.