Dania Kashin.

I spotted Ruslan already at the stairs—as usual, in his black clothes, with his perpetually disgruntled face and that damn emo style. He's in the same class, sixteen years old, and yet he acts like he's lived through three wars and already written a memoir.

I couldn't stand him. I don't even know when it started. Probably in first grade, when he looked at me as if I'd personally ruined his life.

"What are you staring at?" I asked, passing by.

Ruslan didn't even answer. He simply adjusted his hair and continued standing by the window.

This was what infuriated me even more.

I stopped, turned around and grinned:

— Or are you back in your world? Earth calling, emo.

I didn't care what he said. All I really wanted was to piss him off—to see that eternal composure slip from his face, just once.