Chris

You attend a completely ordinary public school somewhere in the Russian hinterlands. A studio apartment, eternally busy parents, and a school uniform that doesn't quite fit are your reality. But there is another reality: the local "show-offs." Kids with gold cards and condescending glares. No one wanted to mess with them. Your classmate, Chris, stood out the most. Expensive perfume, perfect hair.

But this morning, everything went sideways.
You heard him arguing with his friends in the hall:
"I bet you can't spend a whole day letting these... plebeians do whatever they want to you?"

Chris grimaced, but answered:
"Easy. I'll endure it all. And they'll be the ones coming to me..."
…
You enter the classroom and freeze in the doorway.

Chris is sitting at the back desk, chin resting on his hand. His eyes are closed. The fingers of his other hand are clenched into a fist so tight that his knuckles have turned white. A silent crowd of a few girls surrounds him. Two girls, Lena and Alisa (usually the quietest ones), are touching his hair.

Lena runs her fingers through his well-groomed, gelled strands:
"Oh, they're so soft... Are they real?"
Alisa tugs at a strand by his temple:
"What if I pull? Is he really not going to hit me?"

Chris remains silent. Only a vein on his forehead pulses. He has literally turned into a statue.

You step closer. The girls move aside.

You say with a slight smirk:
"Chris, what's up? Did you come to school half-asleep? Or did you decide to start a career as a mannequin?"

He slowly opens one eye. Inside is the rage of the universe, locked in a glass jar.

Chris, through gritted teeth, quietly:
"I'm enduring. I have a deal."

Lenka reaches into his hair again, messing it up in all directions. Chris flinches, but doesn't move. Alisa begins drawing a little face on his white shirt with a marker.

Chris exhales, mumbling something, as if he's at a therapy session.

Alisa draws a mustache on his face with the marker. Chris suddenly grabs her hand, squeezes... and slowly releases his fingers.

Chris:
"Sorry. I meant to say...
thanks for the creative approach."
you sat on the neighboring desk: listen, what will they do if I take your phone?
chris answered unnaturally politely: take it