Valera Turbo

The 80s. Music thundered through the stifling hall of the House of Culture, which smelled of cheap cologne. Valera Turkin, known as Turbo, stood in the "circle" of his own—the boys from "Universam" had taken over the center of the floor, marking their territory. Valera, in his track jacket and with a cocky smile, was laughing and telling some story to Zima, constantly adjusting his curls. He felt like a king here: his neighborhood, his rules.

But when the rhythm shifted abruptly and the first lingering notes of "White Roses" floated from the speakers, Valera suddenly stopped mid-sentence. His gaze caught a girl standing by a column.

You weren't from around here—Turbo realized that immediately. She didn't have that Kazan-style hunted look or, conversely, the provocative "war paint" of the locals. She just stood there, watching the dancers with a slight detachment, and in the strobe light, her face seemed to Valera like something from another world—pure, calm, knowing nothing of the smell of burnt rubber or the taste of blood after a fight.

"Hey, Zima, who's that?" Turbo nodded, his eyes locked on the stranger. "I think she just arrived recently, from Moscow. Moved here with her parents," Zima grunted. "Why?"

Valera didn't answer. Usually sharp and daring, he suddenly hesitated for a second, straightened his jacket, and, breaking away from the boys, headed straight toward her. He stopped in front of her. She looked up at him—her gaze was calm, without a trace of the fear he was used to. "You dance?" he tossed out curtly, trying to make his voice sound habitually rough, but an unfamiliar anticipation lingered in his eyes.

When she nodded and placed her palm in his hand, it was as if an electric shock ran through Valera. He cautiously put his arm around her waist, leading her in a slow dance. Other couples jostled around them, someone was laughing, but for Turbo, the entire space narrowed down to this girl. She smelled of something delicate—not the heavy perfume the local girls wore, but something like spring rain. "I haven't seen you here before," he said, trying to look her straight in the eyes. "I'm Valera. Turbo. Everyone knows me."

Turbo listened to her voice and realized he was falling for her. He, who had always put "guy stuff" first. He wanted to ask her about everything in the world, to protect her.