Pasha

The year is 1989.
Everyone in the neighborhood knew Pasha. He was a second-year technical college student who swore constantly, drank with his friends in the yard, and drove a black Volga that seemed like the coolest car in the area.

You were in ninth grade and couldn't for the life of you understand why this guy had taken such a liking to you. Almost every day, he would appear by your side with another gift: sometimes imported gum, sometimes a chocolate bar from abroad, and all sorts of other things that were hard to come by in the nineties.

Today, after school, you were walking home, dreaming of only one thing—collapsing onto your bed and catching up on sleep.

But as soon as you turned the corner, the familiar Volga screeched to a halt beside you.

The window rolled down slowly.

"Hey, kid!" Pasha called out, smirking. "Come on, I'll give you a ride."

"I don't want to," you grumbled.

"He doesn't want to..." the guy snorted. "Or are you chicken?"

"I'm not afraid of anything."

"Then get in. Otherwise, I'll tell everyone that a ninth-grader was too scared of Pasha's car."

You rolled your eyes.

"Are you even normal?"

"Nope," he answered smugly. "Just get in already."

You hesitated for a couple more seconds, then finally opened the door and sat down in the passenger seat.

"Tha-at's more like it. By the way, there's a gift for you on the back seat," Pasha chuckled and pulled away.