He wasn’t to blame for what happened. He just wasn’t!
Dinka was the one at fault. That airhead distracted him with her kisses!
And don’t even get him started on the city workers. Those lousy utility guys— the darkness in that stinking neighborhood was pitch black. Couldn’t they install some decent streetlights?!
Then there were his parents. Mostly his mom, to be honest. While his dad at least tried to instill some discipline, his mom spoiled him rotten and even influenced his dad: everything for Dariy, no request too big, nothing denied, because he was their one and only precious, long-awaited child, deserving of the very best.
You want a car for your birthday? Of course, sweetheart, here’s your little gift. Who cares if you don’t have a license? You know how to drive, don’t you? Just don’t take it into the city where people might see, and heaven forbid you get caught by the cops. Other than that, go ahead, have fun.
You want to throw a party for your seventeenth birthday? No problem, your dad and I have been meaning to take a trip to Portugal for a vacation anyway. Enjoy yourself, son, seventeen only happens once in a lifetime. Just keep it decent, no consequences, no rumors afterward. We’ve got to protect your dad’s spotless reputation at all costs.
Reputation—that was the only thing his parents cared about. The only thing they demanded from Dariy. Go wild, do crazy stuff, party hard, but keep the family’s image intact. Protect the pristine name of Shargorodsky. You can rot on the inside for all they care, as long as you’re polished to a shine on the outside.
Maybe if his parents had cared about anything other than the perfect reputation of the Shargorodsky family, if they hadn’t indulged his every whim, if the city wasn’t such a dump, if it hadn’t been for Dinka… Maybe none of this would’ve happened.
And he wouldn’t be sitting here now, trembling with uncertainty, jumping at every little noise, every sideways glance.
This was starting to feel like full-blown paranoia! It seemed like everyone was staring at him, like they could see right through him, like they knew—absolutely knew—what he’d done on Saturday night. Like they were pointing fingers, whispering behind his back. It felt like any second now, right in the middle of class, a squad of cops would burst in, slap handcuffs on Dar, and haul him off to jail. And then it’d get worse. His dad would find out—and that’d be it, game over. His old man would chew him up and spit him out. He’d destroy him. What a disgrace, what an unforgivable screw-up—the perfect son of the perfect Mayor Shargorodsky had committed a CRIME!
Dar tried to calm himself down as best he could: it was night, dark as hell, a deserted spot—no one could’ve seen him. This was just nonsense, he was psyching himself out. Nobody was really looking, nobody knew a thing. It’d been three days since Saturday, and the neighborhood was quiet, no buzz, no rumors, no suspicions. Only on Monday did Zhenka Zubko casually mention that one of his buddies supposedly saw someone get hit near the garages, though he didn’t make out the car or the victim. Plus, the guy was high as a kite, so he could’ve just imagined the whole thing.
Dar had been so on edge when he heard that, he nearly threw up. It took everything in him not to start asking a million follow-up questions and give himself away completely. Like: Do you know what color the car was? Or: What about the person? Are they alive?
Today was Wednesday, and no one had brought up anything like that since. Everything was quiet, calm, like nothing had happened. Just a regular day, nothing out of the ordinary. Dinka was cool as a cucumber, clinging to his side as usual, chattering nonstop. She wasn’t worried, didn’t feel guilty at all. Right away, on Sunday, she’d told him not to bug her about it—she didn’t remember a thing. And who knows if that was true or if she was just playing dumb...
Dariy himself had spent all of Sunday trying to fend off the nauseating, intrusive flashbacks, running from them any way he could, brushing them off. It was easier that way: forget it, don’t remember a thing, just a memory lapse, happens to everyone. Total brain fart, what can you do?
But the self-deception didn’t help. Sure, he couldn’t recall the details in his panic, but he couldn’t deny the fact of what happened. That sound—the sickening thud of a body hitting the bumper—and the image of that body rolling over the hood, up to the windshield, then sliding down to the ground like a limp sack… it wouldn’t let him forget for a second. It haunted him, creeping into his mind, tormenting him in his sleep and when he was awake. Dar couldn’t eat properly, couldn’t sleep. He couldn’t focus at school either—yesterday he got a C on a test, something that had never happened before. Even Coach Makarich kicked him out of practice, saying Dar was too distracted...
This couldn’t go on. He had to pull himself together and stop obsessing. Maybe nothing too bad had happened to that person—they got up, dusted themselves off, and went on their way. And anyway, who’d be wandering around in the middle of nowhere after midnight? Only junkies hung out there. If one of them got hit, they’d be fine, heal up quick like a stray dog...
He kept telling himself that all day, and by the end, he even managed to tune into class. But during the last period, Tayecha—their homeroom teacher who also taught geography—suddenly decided to lay into them. Normally, she was pretty cool: young, progressive, on friendly terms with the students. But she had her moments. Sometimes, out of nowhere, she’d get worked up and chew everyone out for the whole class. And today was one of those days. PMS or something...
“Do you even realize you’re in your senior year?!” Tayecha fumed, glaring at the back rows. “Exams are right around the corner, and you can’t even be bothered to try on your tests! This is so irresponsible! I’m disappointed. Even you, Shargorodsky—” Tayecha waved a hand at Dar and fixed him with an openly displeased look, “—what’s with this sudden C in chemistry?”
Dariy shifted in his seat, sat up straighter, and shrugged.
“Oh, he was just sick after his birthday,” Zubko snickered, answering for Dar. But Tayecha shot him such a venomous look that he immediately dropped his gaze.
“I don’t even recognize you guys!” their teacher continued, her anger flaring. “Have your hormones gone to your heads or what? What’s with these Cs, the skipping, the sloppiness?!” In her righteous indignation, Tayecha shook her head and marched to her desk, grabbed the attendance book, scanned the list, then looked over the class. “Alright, where’s Vita Sandalenko?”
“She’s got bronchitis,” Zaytseva, a friend of the absent girl, piped up from the middle row.
Tayecha glanced at the book again.
“And Aurika? Where’s Gerasimova?” The teacher scanned the room, looking expectantly at Kravtsova, their class president and resident go-getter, but she just shrugged. She turned to Zubko, who widened his eyes and shook his head as if to say, ‘What do I know? That weirdo just sits at the next desk, I don’t keep tabs on her.’ Tayecha frowned, flipped through the book. “Okay, she wasn’t here yesterday either, or on Monday. Does anyone know where Aurika is?”
No one even reacted to the question.
“Some ‘friendliest class’ you are…” Tayecha muttered discontentedly, shaking her head.
Dar rolled his eyes. Definitely PMS with the teacher. As if she didn’t know no one talked to that freak. Honestly, no one even noticed she was gone. Whether she was here or not made no difference. Especially to Dariy. That weird outcast didn’t hang with anyone, didn’t talk to anyone, just glared like a feral wolf cub if someone dared approach her. And if she sensed a threat, she’d jump into a fight without hesitation, the psycho. Dar knew this firsthand—there’d been a little incident back in ninth grade. He still had a scar on his neck from that nutcase’s nails.
Ugh, just thinking about her weirdness made his teeth grind, Dar grimaced as he recalled his classmate. Crazy girl, a total loner and loser who didn’t even try to fit in, didn’t even try to look normal. She dressed like… like… like…
And then it hit Dar like a lightning bolt. His heart slammed and froze as the image of his classmate flashed before his eyes: a faded gray hoodie, the hood always pulled over her forehead, tattered jeans.
Then a sharp, fleeting flashback sliced through his mind. A body rolling over the hood. A hood. Blue jeans. Long, light brown hair fanning out in the air for a split second during the fall...
Damn.
Dar felt sick. A sticky fear crawled over his skin, sending shivers down his spine, tightening his throat into a painful knot, making it hard to breathe.
Damn. Damn. Damn.
He clenched his teeth. He felt his chest freeze and go cold, then a chill raced downward, hitting like ice under his knees and between his shoulder blades. It formed a frosty crust along his spine.
No, it couldn’t have been her. It couldn’t be her, Dar told himself frantically, his eyes darting around, but the suspicion was already hardening, turning almost to stone, scraping at his insides with its sharp edges.
It could totally have been her...
“Can someone go to Aurika’s place, check on her, see what’s up?” Tayecha’s voice cut into his thoughts like an electric shock. Dar flinched.
The teacher looked questioningly at Kravtsova, but she shook her head.
“I’m not going to that dump!” the class president huffed indignantly.
“Who’ll go?” Tayecha pressed, pursing her lips in frustration.
The class erupted in murmurs. “It’s not on my way.” “I’m busy.” “That place is like the Bermuda Triangle—go in, never come out.” “I don’t want to come back with a screwdriver in my eye.” The guys started cracking dumb jokes, the girls whispered and snorted. Then, out of nowhere...
“I’ll go,” came a quiet voice. And Dar was shocked to realize it was his own.