13 Years Ago
Nadia
I head to school earlier than usual so Damian has time to copy my homework. It’s pretty chilly out, and I tug at the sleeves of my sweater to warm up, only to be reminded once again that it’s way too small for me. Of course, I won’t mention it to my parents. They don’t have the money for new clothes anyway. Mom’s next paycheck is already accounted for down to the last penny, and Dad’s disability pension goes straight to utility bills. I overheard them talking about it in the kitchen… I hate being poor. Sometimes, I even hate my parents for ignoring the basic needs of their own child. Why did they even have me? Responsible people don’t even adopt a stray cat without thinking about how they’ll care for it. And here I am, a whole human being…
Spotting the school up ahead, I roll my sleeves up to my elbows instead, hoping no one notices they’re too short. I’ll spend the rest of the day lying to everyone, saying I’m too hot. I’m ashamed that I look worse than my classmates. Ashamed that I don’t own any makeup, that I’m stuck wearing hand-me-downs from my cousin, ashamed that I can’t afford to go on class trips and have to pretend I’m just not interested. Maybe it’s for the best… no one would sit next to me on the bus anyway. Hanging out with someone like me is a reputation killer.
I walk into the classroom.
“Morning!” I say to whoever’s there.
A few heads turn my way, glance at me, then go back to whatever they were doing. The only one who responds is Damian. He’s sitting at the back, as usual, looking brooding with his hoodie pulled over his head. Against the backdrop of my classmates’ bright outfits, he looks like a crow in a flock of parrots. I’m sure he feels just as out of place.
“Hey, Nadia. I saved you a seat,” he says, patting the chair next to him.
I can’t help but smile. Not that anyone else would’ve sat with him anyway. He’s just as much of an outcast as I am.
“You’ve got time to copy,” I say, sliding my notebooks over to him. “Just make sure to throw in a few mistakes so the teachers don’t get suspicious.”
Damian raises an eyebrow in mock surprise.
“Are you saying I’m too dumb to get it right, and a perfect assignment would give me away?”
“Oh… No…” I feel my face flush with embarrassment. “I didn’t mean—”
“Relax!” he laughs. “You should’ve seen your face!”
“Honestly, I’m sure if you had the right conditions to do your homework, you could be a straight-A student.”
“I don’t want to be a straight-A student.”
“Why not?”
“What’s the point? Why bother with all that effort?”
“For a better future,” I reply without hesitation. “To get into college, land a good job, make decent money.”
“You sound like your mom.”
“But she’s right.”
“You’re such a bore… You don’t need good grades to make a living. You just need luck and guts,” he snorts, though he keeps copying my homework anyway.
“I’ve got neither luck nor guts… So all I’ve got left is studying.”
“How can you say you’re not lucky? Isn’t being friends with me the greatest stroke of luck anyone could have?”
“Sure…” There’s a bit more sarcasm in my tone than I intended.
Suddenly, the classroom door swings open, and the class president bursts in.
“Guys! There are a bunch of teachers from other schools here for some professional development thing,” she announces with the kind of tone you’d use to report a summit of world leaders, not a teacher training. “Ms. Marina said algebra will be an open lesson, and we’ll have guests sitting in.”
Damian closes one notebook and grabs another. He couldn’t care less. He wouldn’t answer a question in class even if Jesus Christ Himself were in the audience. I sometimes think he only shows up to school to sit somewhere warm and safe for a few hours.
At that moment, Artem walks past us—the boy I had a crush on back in elementary school. In other words, back when bullying wasn’t yet the cool thing to do. Now, he’s turned into my personal nightmare. Most of the rumors and nasty comments about me come straight from his mouth.
“Hey, Vinnitska,” he says, shifting his gum from one cheek to the other. My eyes widen involuntarily. I can’t even remember the last time I heard my last name pronounced correctly. Usually, he calls me ‘Trashnitska’ because my mom works as a janitor for the local utility company. Her job has become the perfect ammo for destroying my self-esteem at school. “Let me copy your algebra. I didn’t have time to do it last night,” he says, throwing a knowing look at his buddies, who he was probably messing around with until late. I saw them in the park on my way back from church, where my parents make me help the priest.
Damian leans in close to my ear.
“Now’s your chance to show you’ve got some guts,” he whispers.
I nod.
“No,” I say, lifting my chin. “I’m not giving you my notebook.”
For a brief moment, I’m filled with pride. I managed to say no to him, and maybe even get a little revenge. It feels good.
But Artem isn’t fazed by my refusal. He reaches out and snatches my notebook without permission, then heads back to his desk with a smug grin.
“Hey!” Damian calls after him. “Are you deaf? She said no. Give it back!”
“Yeah, I didn’t say you could take it!” I add, emboldened by a confidence I’m not used to feeling.
Artem turns around.
“Give it back?” he repeats. “You sure?”
I nod.
“Alright…”
Then he spits his gum right onto the page with my homework and slams the notebook shut, pressing the cover down to make sure the pages stick together. The classroom erupts in laughter. Only a couple of people don’t join in, but none of them even think about standing up for me. That’s not cool. The most they’ll do is stay quiet.
My eyes fill with tears. I’ve had to pick gum out of my hair and scrape it off my desk before. But my notebook, on the very day it’s supposed to be checked… This is too much.
“Now you’re out of homework too,” Artem shrugs, tossing the notebook back onto my desk.
I don’t see it, but I can feel Damian tense up beside me. The air around him crackles with electricity, practically vibrating. He stands up so abruptly that his chair topples over and crashes against the wall.
“What the hell did you do that for, you jerk?!” he yells, advancing on Artem.
And just like that, everyone knows things are about to get ugly.
Damian lunges at Artem, grabs him by the hair at the back of his head, and slams his face into the desk. I’m so shocked I don’t even blink. I realize this is worse than it looks at first glance. He’s not just defending me. No… Usually, Damian tells me to ignore the taunts from our classmates. Sometimes he tells them off, not caring who hears him curse, but he tries to avoid fights. The fact that he couldn’t hold back now means one thing—things must be really bad for him. His patience has run out, his nerves are shot, and Artem’s stunt was just the final straw that pushed him over the edge.
“Stop it!” the class president screams while others pull out their phones to record the fight. None of the boys dare step in to break it up. Most of them probably think Artem can handle himself.
But from where I’m sitting, it looks different. Drops of blood smear across the desk, streaming from Artem’s nose. He struggles to break free, spitting and flailing his arms, but he keeps missing.
“Apologize, you piece of trash!” Damian growls, pinning him against the wall.
“Screw you…”
Damian lands another punch to Artem’s face.
I want to step in and stop this, but my body won’t move. I’m frozen in place. All I can do is scream through my tears. I’m not scared for Artem—he deserves a worse beating—but this is definitely going to come back to bite Damian. As if he doesn’t have enough problems already…
“What’s going on here?!” a teacher’s voice cuts through the chaos. She storms into the classroom, followed by a few unfamiliar faces—probably the guests who were supposed to observe the open lesson. Damn, this is the worst possible timing. “Levitt, stop it! LEVITT!”
Damian lets go of Artem and steps back.
“You’ve crossed the line! To the principal’s office! Now!”
“Don’t you want to ask what happened?” he mutters, glaring at the teacher from under his brow. “This piece of—”
“Shut your mouth! Not another word!” she shrieks, forgetting all about etiquette and making a good impression on her colleagues. “I hope the police deal with you now!”
I knew this would happen. Damian’s had a bad reputation for a while. He’s always skipping class, showing up in the wrong place at the wrong time, getting mixed up in petty thefts, and hanging out with people you wouldn’t normally go near.
And now he’s turned a classmate’s face into a bloody mess. Great job, really.
“Artem provoked him,” I start to say. “Look at what he did—”
The teacher raises a hand to silence me.
“No one called for a lawyer.”
“But—”
“Get ready for class, Ms. Vinnitska.”
I glance at Damian.
“It’s fine,” he says with a dismissive wave. “I’ve been wanting to do this for a long time.”
He pulls his hoodie back over his head, covering his dark, wavy hair that’s grown too long for school rules, grabs his backpack—knowing he won’t be coming back to class today—and leaves.
Artem is escorted to the nurse’s office by the class president. Judging by the way he’s covering his mouth with his hand, Damian might’ve knocked out a tooth. Hopefully a front one…
The rest of the school day is filled with chatter and gossip about what happened. Some claim the police came for Damian. Others say he’s been expelled. And a few even have the imagination to spin a story that Levitt beat up the principal too.
I know I won’t hear the real story until late tonight. I just hope Damian shows up. I won’t be able to sleep until I’m sure he’s okay.
“How’s it going?” Dad asks when I get home. He’s sitting in his wheelchair on the porch, carving another wooden figurine with a knife. He makes beautiful pieces. If only they were useful. If only we could sell them… But in our town, you’d be hard-pressed to find anyone who appreciates art or handmade crafts enough to pay for a wooden deer or owl.
“Fine,” I lie, sitting down beside him for a moment. I feel obligated to spend some time with him since, aside from Mom, me, and the social worker, Dad doesn’t talk to anyone. “What’s this going to be?” I ask, looking at the shapeless piece of wood in his hands.
“I’m thinking of making a chess set.”
“Oh, cool idea! You can teach me how to play while you’re at it.”
“Deal,” he smiles. I’m glad he’s too distracted to notice how anxious I am. Or maybe he’s just pretending not to notice. Either way, I’m fine with it.
We sit and chat about nothing in particular until Mom gets home from work. She’s always good at hiding her exhaustion, coming in with a smile every time. Damian says that’s her superpower… Maybe. I think differently. To me, it seems like she’s just accepted her life, adapted to it, and no longer entertains the idea that things could be better. She thinks our struggle to get by is normal, so why be sad about it?
After dinner, I head to my room and sit down to do my homework. Another lousy day is almost over. How many more are ahead?