Burya polov

Or, an effeminate Russian boy's story

Chapter Five: From lanky to lethargic

…And study they did. For the most part, anyway—after ten minutes of Zhenya explaining the theory of electrolytic dissociation, and another ten of Dina showing Zhenya how to solve quadratic equations, together they used twenty-ish minutes of their break time to watch anime. Although not of the Japanese kind, it certainly drew some inspiration from cartoons made in the land of the rising sun. Dina’s room had one drawer with a modest DVD collection of such shows, and another with Japanese comics. Both were placed alongside her orange couch that could be easily transformed into a bed, and of which she spoke quite boastfully: “You just lay on it, and you’re done! Not even a choir of dinosaurs can wake you up.” Naturally, Zhenya appreciated the reference to the “fight” they had a few minutes ago.

Next to the bed was her desk and her desktop computer, a sturdy-looking machine. It also had to be a serious powerhouse, thought he, unlike his, which was not only smaller, but also more purple (a colour his father did not either like or hate). Across the bed, toward the door leading downstairs, was an intriguing poster which portrayed a woman wearing a suit, and a man wearing typical female clothing and accessories. The text below it said, in old Russian: “In the near future”.

The anime in question had a simple, yet simultaneously a complex title—Nasekomova*. It raised many questions:

“What does it mean? Is it the name of the main character? If so, does that mean it features a female protagonist? What is the asterisk for?“

“You’ll find out shortly, krasivy malchik,” Dina answered, as she tossed the DVD into the player, connected to her small television.

The introduction theme played, followed by the show in which the main character was, indeed, a nameless woman only known by her family name, Nasekomova[1], who, as Dina explained, worked in a bakery by day, and as a nightclub attendant by night, when one day, she lost both jobs due to government intervention and decided to take up another job—an undercover agent. When the first episode, in which she tasked herself to bake a batch of cupcakes using ketamine instead of simply wheat flour, and to rewrite state slogans in her other pastries, ended on a cliffhanger when Nasekomova had come head to head with a government official at her own house, Zhenya had his eyes glued to the television and praised the visuals and the whimsical plot.

Then, it was back to twenty more minutes of studying. However, once they were up, Dina instead lay on the couch, dropping the pencil to the ground.

“Don’t tell me I’m a bad teacher…” Zhenya said, worried about his friend.

“No, not at all… I just… I could use a little nap.”

A nap, she said! They had barely studied for an hour! But Zhenya’s head was extremely light, and he could imagine that Dina’s was, too.

“Hey,” she called to him, “let’s both nap.”

“But there’s no spa—”

Before he could finish his sentence, Dina stood up and transformed her couch into a bed, capable of comfortably accommodating two people, in just under five seconds.

“How about now?” Dina said, smirking at him and tapping the mattress before face-planting on it.

“Oh, what the heck,” Zhenya replied.

He took off his slippers, and followed her steps, hoping the nap would only last for an hour, maybe half an hour longer. He closed his eyes, although he opened them again to see Dina on the other side of the bed. Not even in his wildest dreams did he expect to find himself in this situation.

“Hey, why aren’tcha sleeping?” Dina said, teasing him.

“Sorry!” Zhenya replied and turned away.

“Don’t sweat it. Rest well, now.”

Dina fell asleep first, and Zhenya did the same after finding what position felt the most comfortable for him.

---

They ended up sleeping the daytime away. It was almost six o’clock when they woke up, and it was quite dark outside. Dina, despite being restful, was in no mood to study at nighttime, while Zhenya began to worry that his father would cause him trouble. Thus, it was time for him to return home.

Outside, Dina’s father was in his car, ready to drive him to the bus stop. Dina and Zhenya looked at one another one more time.

“Sorry for letting us nap for so long,” Dina said, slightly bowing her head towards him.

“It’s alright,” Zhenya replied, “you could say I compensated for my lack of rest last night…”

“Oh? How come? Were you that excited to hang out with me today?”

There was silence, as Zhenya looked to the sky.

“My eyes are here!” she warned. “You totally thought about me, did you not?”

“Don’t wanna pollute this beautiful forest, you two!” Dina’s father shouted after he opened his car window.

“Well, I better get going,” Zhenya said to her. “See you at school!”

Dina nodded and initiated another brief embrace with Zhenya, after which she escorted him into the car while holding the door open for him. He smiled at her and entered the vehicle. As the door was closed, Dina’s father reversed onto the road and drove away, as Dina waved at them from the entryway. Once he drove onto the asphalt, they swiftly reached the designated bus stop, where Zhenya shook the man’s hand and exited onto the pavement. Zhenya’s return home was hardly eventful, and his father did not ask him any provocative questions.

On Monday, Zhenya noticed that Filat was absent. Zhenya knew that Filat would always greet him first thing in the morning, even if the greeting was too heavy-handed for his liking. Filat was his only friend, or rather, his classmate with whom he talked between classes. He liked not being bothered over every little thing Filat said, but he still missed that feeling of companionship. He missed Filat the following day, and even the day after that. But, when Thursday came, Zhenya felt a rough tap on the shoulder, and immediately turned around, having recognised the signature greeting.

“Filat! I’m glad you’re he—”

But then he noticed that Filat’s right arm was wrapped in plaster, and he held it at a right angle.

“Filat… What on earth happened to you?”

“Long story, Zhena,” he replied, “and what did you bring to school this time?”

“This?” Zhenya said, shaking a cylindrical bottle. “I woke up pretty late this morning and didn’t have enough time to apply my face cream, so I brought it here.”

“Well, okay,” Filat said, “but you probably shouldn’t have it out in public.”

“You’re right, I’ll put it away.”

Zhenya placed the bottle inside his bag.

“Anyway, will you tell me what happened?” he then asked. “Maybe at lunchtime?”

“Not like I have anything better to do.”

“Besides eat lunch?”

“Yup, read my mind.”

“Please?” Zhenya asked, clasping his hands.

After hesitating, Filat replied, “Fine. I’ll make it short.”

Just then, the professor walked in and began lecturing on Probability and Statistics, and Filat returned to his seat.

After one class of Geometry and another of Geography, Filat and Zhenya met outside after ordering lunch at the canteen. Once they sat down on a hay bale shaped like a bench, Filat began to relate his story:

“So last Friday after school, a few students, myself included, volunteered to clean the mess in the school’s gym, given that shit would take weeks to clean! Thankfully, it had a roof window, but we needed some kind of ladder to reach it. For whatever reason, the principal hooked us up with a state-owned helicopter. So—”

“Did you just say you drove a helicopter to the gym’s rooftop?” Zhenya interrupted.

“Yes, now let me finish.”

Filat first bit into his sandwich. Then, he carried on:

“Anyway, we climb onto the rooftop, open the window, and begin excavating. We’re not worried about where the candy will go, our goal was just to free up all interior space. Two hours pass, barely any progress, but the students are tired. So, we go home. Here comes Saturday, I’m supposed to be studying for Geography, but I promised I’d help. They take me to the rooftop again, and we continue to excavate the area. I must’ve blinked, because as soon as I did”—Filat tried to replicate the sound of bones breaking using his tongue—“I’m on the ground, writhing in pain. All of that candy below me ceased to exist. I say to myself, did I really spend three hours total shovelling away a bunch of candy that disappeared at the snap of a finger!?”

“Ooh, that really sucks,” Zhenya said, patting Filat on the back.

“Wait, that’s not all! Because, of all the volunteers, I’m the only one who was seriously injured! They call the ambulance, and I’m taken away. I get in queue, and I wait. I waited day and night, the waiting goes on and on, Sunday, Monday, Tuesday pass and I’m still in queue! Finally—”

“Surely that can’t be legal, can it?” Zhenya interrupted him again.

“Be quiet,” Filat said, poking Zhenya’s right cheek, “and you’re right. I’m gonna give them a piece of my mind by pressing charges against the Hippocratic hypocrites!”

“Well, good luck with that,” said Zhenya, half supportively, half sarcastically, “but you should focus on recovery first. I mean, how are you going to do PE?”

“Easy, I’m gonna do it anyway, ‘cuz I’m a real man. Not like some wasp-waisted crybabies I know. Not you, though. You’re just wasp-waisted.”

“But how are you going to change your clothes?”

“Easy, I… wait, you’ve a good point,” Filat realised, “’cuz the professor is very strict when it comes to clothes. You should know, he made fun of you for wearing skin-tight shorts once.”

“I didn’t have anything else at the time. I’m sure he’ll give you a pass…”

While talking, a random boy walked up and slapped Filat across his right shoulder.

“Yo Fila—”

“Yodel-lay-ee-dee, yoh-lay-dee-lay-dee-lay-dee-lay-dee-yoh!”

Zhenya nearly jumped out of his seat.

“Filat,” he asked, “did you just…?”

“Whoa, this guy yodels when you tap him on the shoulder?” said the other guy. “Awesome!”

And he slapped him again.

“Yode-lay-hee-hoo yode-lay-hee-hoo, yodel-ohh!”

And he tried to slap him once more, but Zhenya, as entertained as he was, knew this was not right, and proceeded to grab the boy’s arm.

“Hey! Can’t you see a giant gypsum enveloping his arm? He’s clearly in pain, leave him alone!”

Zhenya then let go.

“Man, what a spoilsport…”

The boy turned around and left. Filat let out a sigh.

“Appreciate it, Zhena,” he said, moved by Zhenya’s gesture.

“Don’t mention it,” he replied.

---

Physical education class. Rather, two of those classes. To make them more interesting, and to make the gym a smidgeon more crowded, class 9 “B” was joined by 9 “D”. The boys and girls had all changed clothes (except Filat) and were waiting for the professor to come, doing minor stretching exercises. Once he did, they formed a straight line, ordered by height, tallest to shortest boy, followed by tallest to shortest girl. This predicament led to Zhenya standing against Dina, as they smiled at each other. Meanwhile, the professor hastily interrogated Filat:

“Where’s your white T-shirt with zero imagery on it? Why are you wearing striped socks? Haven’t we talked about dress code, boy?”

“Good luck taking off my shirt, with this thing on,” Filat said to him.

“What thing? Ohhhhh, you mean the… messenger bag?”

Filat looked below, to his left, and saw he had not taken it off.

“Oops, forgot about that.”

With his left arm, he reached over his head, took the strap, slowly removed the bag and set it on the professor’s desk.

“That’s better,” the professor said. “Now, you still doing PE?”

“Yes, sir!” he replied, saluting with his left arm. “I’m sure nothing will go wrong if I take part.”

“I like your determination. More people should look to you as an example. Alright, class!” he exclaimed, blowing his whistle. “Three laps around the field! Go, go, go!”

Soon, everyone was on the move. Zhenya was in decent shape, and Filat was as well, but his arm was causing him some discomfort and he let out a few brief yodels on occasion. Thankfully for him, they were quiet, and only the guy in front of him heard them proper, although he cared very little about it. Probably because he was from the other class.

“Alright, now walk! And don’t forget to breathe correctly! Inhale via nose, exhale via mouth! Hey, Oleg Stamenkovich, fix your posture! Anna Petrovna, quit chitchatting!”

“This prof doesn’t discriminate, does he?” Dina whispered to Zhenya.

“Mhm,” he replied.

“Quiet, Yevgeniy Dmitrievich! Now, another three laps, class! Be fast or be cast… away!”

Run some more, they did. Two boys were not in shape at all, and stopped for a walk before the professor warned them not to dillydally. Three laps later, the professor ordered everyone to round up. It was time for some stretching activities. They stretched their arms, on one side then the other, as well as their head and legs. They did some jumping jacks, lunges, ninety-nineties, sit-ups, push-ups, side bends and, for the first time, pretzels. This last one needed further elaboration from the professor, but most students did a swell job, including Filat and Dina, and Zhenya to some extent.

“Now we’re ready!” the professor announced. “Form a straight line again. Good, now today…”

The professor took out a large red notebook from his purse.

“We’ll be grading your sprinting! Yes yes, it’s a very important life skill for both men, who are trying to hurry to work, and women, who are trying to hurry to get away from a creepy stalker…”

“Are you saying there are no female stalkers?” asked a random student.

The professor let out an audible sigh, before continuing:

“I swear, some people have this incredible ability to completely misinterpret one’s sentence. I say I like pizza, and they’ll say, ‘so you hate pasta?’ Like no, brother in Christ, that is an entirely different sentence. What on earth are you talking about?”
He stopped to look at all the students being quiet like mice. He cleared his throat.

“Sorry. Sometimes I forget I’m teaching Physical Education, not Psychological Education…”

As quickly as he could, the professor drew a line using a large satin ribbon near one side of the gym, then measured a hundred metres forward where he placed the other ribbon.

“Your goal will be to try and beat your score from last year. Regardless of whether you do that or not, you will be graded according to this chart…”

He then showed each student his notebook where he wrote the following table:

Hover for translation/explanation! TL;DR Girls and boys aren't physically equal, so different scores for different bores

“You got that? Good! I’ll reference it on occasion, anyway.”

The professor set the notebook down, and took out his stopwatch.

“Let us start with the boys. First up, Filat Andreevich… Oh, you. Are you absolutely positive you can run with that thing on?”

“Yessir,” Filat replied, “I’m sure nothing will go awry, I can assure you.”

“You don’t sound very sure to me. Plus, it must be quite difficult to get into position…”

“I’ll be fine!” he raised his tone. “If something does happen, I know who to blame…”

“The track?” Zhenya teased from the distance.

“Joke so great, I forgot how to laugh.”

“Fine, do your best,” the professor said looking at his stopwatch. “On your mark… Get set…”

After the whistle, Filat sprung into a sprint, wailing both his arms around (one less freely than the other), and suppressing the urge to whine. Once he crossed the finish line, he broke down into a song, performing Auf und auf voll Lebenslust by Franzl Lang—but only the yodelling bit. Zhenya watched in awe, but most, except Dina, were snickering at him, including the professor, who just finished checking his time:

“14.31, not as good as last year, but not bad either, especially considering your circumstance. But that did NOT feel good, did it?”

All Filat could do is nod.

“Anyway, I’ll give you a five, now go sit somewhere and relax! But, very impressive yodelling. The King would be proud.”

Filat nodded but decided to stay up. After a plethora of non-awe-striking performances, it was Zhenya’s turn to shine.

“On your mark… Get set…”

He blew the whistle, and Zhenya ran toward the goal, but after reaching the halfway mark, which was conveniently beside Filat, he tripped and fell flat on his face. The boys laughed a bit, girls, not so much. And Dina was especially not having it. She had seen Filat’s foot forward right before Zhenya’s fall, so she walked over to Filat, still being berated by the professor, and ever so slightly karate-chopped his plaster cast.

“Yodel-lay-dee-yoh-oh-oh, yodel-lay-de-ooh!”

After the yodelling stopped, Dina returned to her spot.

“You’ll get a turn soon, Dina Anatolevna. And Filat Andreevich, don’t go sabotaging other people again, capiche? Now go sit up there. Seriously!”

This time, Filat obliged and found a seat in the stand.

“Yevgeniy Dmitrievich, will you try again right away or not?”

“I will,” said Zhenya, returning to the starting position.

After the professor blew the whistle the second time, Zhenya finished the sprint with the time of 14.74. The professor noted:

“This… this is exactly the same time as your previous! How do you retain such an average score throughout the years!? Ah, that was a rhetorical question. Good, four. Okay, let’s move onto the ladies now!”

As one might have assumed, the female sprint chart was a lot more forgiving. First up was Dina.

“Ah, Dina Anatolevna… it’s always a joy to see you sprint! You’re holding an impressive record among females, 12.09. Do you think you can break it again?”

“I dunno,” she said, shrugging. “I did bring a firework my father built in case it happens.”

“Oh, did you now? Where is it?”

“On your table.”

He turned around to see a modest little firework attached to a stick.

“He made sure it can be lit inside, and it won’t cause any property damage. He’s still a rusty firework manufacturer, though, and is far better at making dynamite.”

“Damn,” the professor remarked, “then I better hope you don’t break your record… Anyway! On your mark…”

Dina placed her hands before the ribbon, and quickly breathed in and out.

“Get set…”

She rose a little, leaning forward, and waiting for the whistle. Immediately upon hearing it, Dina sprung upward and dashed to the goal, passing by Zhenya who gazed at her deeply and played an orchestra in his mind. As soon as her left foot touched the ribbon at the finish, the professor stopped the watch with an averted gaze. He then slowly looked at Dina’s time, and read it even more slowly:

“Eleven seconds… ninety-six…”

The professor raised his head and exclaimed:

“It’s done… A brand-new record! A record which will stay unscathed for years to come, even… But uh… do we actually have to set off this firework?”

“Nope,” said Dina, shaking her head, “but it’s perfectly safe to use inside.”

“Well, does anyone here have a lighter? Any smokers in here?”

Natalya offered to pick it up from the changing room. With the lighter in his right hand, and the firework in his left, he set the fuse aflame and pointed the rocket to the roof, where it exploded with a few blue particles and, as Dina mentioned, no damage dealt to the surrounding area.

“Wow,” the professor let out, “did you say this was your father’s first firework?”

“He’s made them before,” Dina replied, “but they were all busts.”

“This one has potential, however… I think he and this school would greatly benefit from a partnership! He can sell what he makes, and we finally stop buying overpriced pyrotechnics from shady street corners to use during special events! What does your father think of this, I wonder…”

“Ahaha,” Dina said nervously, “I’ll have to ask him sometime…”

After this exchange, the professor, obviously, marked her with a five, and proceeded to put the remaining girls through their paces. Ten minutes passed when the professor marked the last girl, who was even shorter than Zhenya. He set the notebook down and said:

“This concludes the main event of this class! I’ve seen loads of improvements from you people, and I believe it’s appropriate that I let you have an hour of free time. I’ll be in my room if you need… Huh, strange. I don’t remember having hay as my seat here. I must be hallucinating…”

“You’re not,” said a male student, “I see it too.”

“And me!” said a female student.

“Me as well!” said a few more students.

“Oh, no matter. What are you standing here for? Go play ball!”

One of the boys ran to the storage room to grab a football, and a girl, Natalya in particular, went for the volleyball. The rest occupied their respected playgrounds, while Zhenya was standing between them.

“Hey, you!” a boy addressed him. “Are you playing with us?”

“Thanks,” Zhenya replied, “but I don’t want to play Mesopotamian testicle tickle today…”

“Did you just say… ‘Mesopotamian testicle tickle’?”

“Was that ‘Mesopotamian testicle tickle’ I just heard?” another boy asked.

“Yo, girlie! Tickle me this!” a boy shouted before releasing the ball he was holding and kicking it in his direction.

But Zhenya was prepared this time around. Before this, he would take the hit in hopes that the rowdy boys would leave him alone (but did not). Now, as the ball approached him at lightning speeds, he did his best to kick it back—which he did, but not at the same velocity. It did softly land by another boy’s legs, after which he picked up the ball and gently poked the area between his legs, saying:

“Ooh, my testicles tickle!”

The boys all shared a laugh, except Filat, who would have probably laughed too, and Zhenya, who just stared at them.

“Have fun tickling each other’s testicles, then,” he said, walking away.

“Go on, join the girls!” shouted one of the boys from his class, does not matter which at this point. “You play like one anyway!”

…Whatever that meant.

While the girls were deciding what team they wanted to join, Zhenya asked one of them if he could join them, despite being a boy.

“Bored of Mesopotamian testicle tickle, eh, krasivy malchik?” Dina asked. “Tell ya what, I’m bored of Egyptian ball fondling myself. I’m totally up for a switch.”

“Didn’t you say you loved volleyball?” Natalya asked her.

“In your dreams, maybe. Got nothin’ against the sport, just wanna play something rougher for a change, y’know?”

“Then,” Zhenya said to Dina, “would you like to switch…?”

“Already did!” Dina said, having incredibly hastily joined the boys for a game of football. “And I’ll kick some of their asses for you!”

Zhenya smiled at her before turning away to the opposite side of the net, where he saw Natalya.

“Looks like I’ll be playing you, Yevgeniy,” she said, smirking at him. “Don’t hold back, because I sure won’t!”

Thus, the teams have been decided. But, they still did not know which team would serve the ball first.

“Klim and Yevgeniy should play rock paper scissors to decide this,” Natalya suggested.

It appeared that Zhenya was not the only boy to take up a “girly” sport. Another boy whom she and many other girls from her class nicknamed Klim was playing along as well, in the opposite team. After shouting “rock paper scissors” and a subsequent draw, the two boys went at it again, and Zhenya got scissors while Klim got paper.

Zhenya was told to serve first, so he did. Over the net, one girl passed the ball to another, and she to Klim, who tried for a spike. But Zhenya awaited the ball, which he passed to one of the girls on his team, and another returned to the other team. Natalya was there to catch it, but she failed, and the first point went to Zhenya’s team. Zhenya served the ball again, but as the ball was no longer obscuring his vision, he noticed a symmetrical die of hay sitting on the edge of the court. How had it got there? Was it sentient? Why did the opposing team not show a reaction to it? He got back into the game briefly before he saw that it moved into the court. Still no reaction. But he missed the ball the next time and the score was one-all. Klim was serving the ball next, and he stood right alongside the hay bale. How could he just ignore it? It was a moving box of hay! Zhenya was feeling a little tilted, so much so that when the ball was passed to him, he attacked not the opposite team per se, but the bale. As the ball bounced upward, the hay bale began to shape-shift. Into what did it turn? When Zhenya looked again after the transmogrification, there was a clownfish, with legs and arms sturdier than that tuna can’s. Now, everyone in his team and the opposing one looked intrigued.

“What’s that thing doing here?”

“It kinda looks like it wants to play…”

“Girls, we found Memo!” Natalya said, pointing at it. “Now, what do ya want from us, tough guy?”

Zhenya approached the net, and the fish did the same. It started speaking in a weird language. But, the boy understood:

“This game of ball tossing you’re playing looks quite fun… I think I’m going to jump in… If you can get at least one point playing me, boy… Oh, he’s talking about me! Wait… then I’ll leave you be… Otherwise, I’ll take one of your people away…”

“I don’t know if I wanna play on those terms,” said a girl.

“Well, I do,” said Natalya.

“Not like we have a choice,” Zhenya replied, “but I have to say, you are at a serious advantage, Natalya…”

“DIS-advantage, you mean. What’s the point of winning if it means this monster will steal one of our students!?”

The clownfish honked.

“It said,” Zhenya translated, “you better not sabotage my inevitable victory, or else… Oh… Well, I wouldn’t worry too much about the potential consequences. I have a backup plan…”

“You’re gonna beat it to a pulp?” Natalya replied. “You don’t strike me as someone who’d even beat an orange to a pulp.”

“Oh, you’ll see… Let’s go fish![2]”

Not wanting to shed more precious time, Zhenya graciously offered the opposing team to serve the ball. Grave error. The clownfish served, without jumping an inch, and the ball immediately hit the opposing team’s field. That was their first point. Then, the fish served again, and it was again unpassable. Two-nil. First to fifteen wins, or a single point for Zhenya’s team. On the third serve, Zhenya was able to pass the ball to a girl, but he fervently shook both his hands, as they got hurt from the fortitude of the serve. The girl on his team was about to return the ball when the clownfish blocked her, and slammed the ball to the ground. Three-nil?

“Doesn’t count!” said the girl whose ball was blocked. “Memo crossed the net!”

A girl in the opposite team tried to admit fault, but was swiftly shushed by the clownfish. Just then, the professor emerged again.

“We got a new student in class, huh?”

“S-sure,” said Zhenya, “we’re playing against Memo the Clownfish right now. Natalya came up with that name.”

“Cool, do you need someone to keep the score?”

“That would be appreciated! And please keep an eye on the clownfish, as we believe it might be cheating.”

“Hah, one does not simply cheat in volleyball! But, alright! What’s the score now?”

“Three-zero for the clownfish team,” said a girl.

After the professor nodded, he stepped back and let the game continue. The clownfish served again, and Zhenya was not the one to accept the ball, but he received it on the third pass. He was about to try for a campfire, as there was ample open space between the players in the other team.

“Here it comes!” he shouted as he hit the ball as hard as he could.

Unfortunately for him, he forgot that he was playing a fish, which deflected the ball upward with its fins, and the game carried on for five more seconds, when the ball dropped into Zhenya’s field for a score of four-nil. Then the score went to five-nil because of another spike from the opposite team. And a six-nil because the fish gained so much momentum that after it tried for a spike, the ball made a dent on the ground. Seven, eight, nine-nil.

“This match is hardly winnable!” a girl in Zhenya’s team complained.

“You think I’m happy because we’re ‘winning’!?” Natalya shouted from the other side of the net, using air quotes.

Meanwhile, Klim approached the fish and asked:

“Mr Memo, can one of us serve this next ball—”

“Slurp!” was its reply. In other words, “no way, Jacquet!”

The fish was a wise one. Nine-nil soon became ten-nil, ten-nil turned into twelve-nil, and twelve-nil led to fourteen-nil. What this meant was that the opposite team was one point away from victory. Or was it technically a loss? Natalya clearly expressed such a view. Zhenya’s team played fair and square, but it was just not enough—some tricks needed to be played out. The clownfish served the ball. Zhenya, now used to the pain, received the ball, passed it to a blonde, who returned the back to him. This was his chance to mess around with the clownfish. He punched the ball towards the beast. Startled, it barely bounced the ball back, but it let out a hissing sound as it did that. When the ball was passed to Zhenya again, he aimed at the beast and fired away. It might have sensed a greater velocity, so it actually dodged the ball. This would have been a winning point for Zhenya’s team—if it had not been for Klim who naively continued the game by passing it to Natalya. But the real fun began once the ball was in Zhenya’s court, and he was about to receive the third pass. He raised his hand and slapped the ball into the beast, which immediately returned the ball to him. Then, Zhenya returned the ball to the beast with even more vigour, and the ball went right back at him. In the meantime, both were drawing closer and closer to the net. Once they could no longer do that, the ball seemed to have stopped moving altogether. However, it did not—the sound it was making was reminiscent of a car engine, and the scenario looked like a glitch from a video game. They were not even hitting the ball at that point. Zhenya thought this would tire him too easily, but it did not. All that had to happen now was for one of the girls to hit the ball and finish the game, either in his favour, or Natalya’s. So he shouted:

“Can somebody help me?”

A girl with black hair, who was also the shortest person in the class, came up to him from the left, jumped in the air and hit the ball with the palm of her left hand, ending the perpetual volleyball exchange between Zhenya and the clownfish and sending the ball towards the opposite team. Nobody bothered to catch the ball, but the outcome was ambiguous; the ball landed on, or close to, the edge of the court. While the beast was eyeing its potential prey, the professor came down from his chair, took out an electric torch, and pointed at the spot where the ball fell. There, a fluorescent blue patch became visible. From a distance, it looked like the girl managed to score their first and only needed point for a victory. When the professor bent over, he noticed that the patch was, alas, out of the court by a few millimetres.

“Fifteen… nil…” said the professor. “Well, I suppose it doesn’t matter if you win grandly or lose… miserably… For the real victory is the fun you had along the wa—YEEEEEEEE!!!”

He was not the only one who let out a primal scream. Several people did, mostly the poor girls. The other boys did not show much courage, either, but it was easy to see why. The clownfish, which was barely taller than the shortest girl in class, had suddenly evolved into a clown-shark, taking up about as much space as the school gym they were in. But the beast was so much more than that. Between its jaws, it held what it thought (no other word to describe it) to be the most vulnerable prey hostage—Klim.

While Zhenya was frozen stiff, Dina arrived beside him and tapped him on the shoulder.

“Are you seeing what I’m seeing…?” Zhenya asked her.

“Yep… I sure am… But I can’t do a thing about it because… I forgot my helmet at home.”

She stuck her tongue out and winked at the boy.

“Good grief… Then, I’ll get my supplies.”

“You do that, and I’ll entertain this clown… fish!”

Nodding, Zhenya attempted to get to the door leading into the boys’ changing room, but the beast threw a log out of its mouth to knock him out, which he dodged just barely and made it inside. The boys were not changing their clothes, just sitting and playing mobile phone games (except Filat). Zhenya picked up his can of paint and paintbrush and fled. Before making himself visible to the clownfish, he took some time to transform into Pretty Pink. Once he finished, Dina appeared behind the corner, panting.

“C’mon, krasivy malchik! I’m tarnished from all this artful dodgin’!”

“Coming!”

As Dina disappeared into the girls’ changing room, at least temporarily, Zhenya took her place on the court where he greeted the beast:

“You’re not the first ‘sore winner’ I’ve come across… Well, get ready to lose! Let’s dance!”

Drawing his wand, Zhenya created a sun in the air before he exclaimed:

“Yaponskiy tanets[3]!”

Even though he followed the only step, which was to make a gesture and exclaim the magic words, nothing happened. This was intentional, actually—the spell simply made him far more athletic than he needed to be, because, when he needed to dodge a log which the beast hurled at him, he sprung up too high and hit the ceiling with his head. Under normal circumstances, Zhenya would have an awkward landing. But at the present moment, he even managed to do a split as he came to the ground. Students were slowly gathering at the hallway, some even peeked beyond the corner to see the monster. Zhenya continued to exploit the spell to its maximum potential. Despite the little incident, he became well-seasoned in dodging everything that came his way. But he could not dodge forever. He drew his wand again, sprinted toward the beast while jumping from log to log (which was not as easy as the spell made it seem), and was about to cast his second spell, one that would allow him to pierce through the monster like an arrow being shot. But then…

POP!

It happened again. This time, it was a direct hit. While Zhenya was approaching the beast, the beast was getting larger by the minute, but it grew toward his magic wand, which pricked it gently with its sharp edge, causing it to explode into straws of hay which slowly floated down. Zhenya did not, however, for he quickly lost his artificial athleticism and returned to the state of being affected by gravity. Alongside him fell Klim, freed from its clutches, and was caught by Natalya, of all people. Luckily for Zhenya, his fall, too, was softened thanks to Dina catching him gracefully.

“You okay?” Dina asked.

“Yeah,” Zhenya replied, “I was just caught off-guard, that’s all.”

Once his feet were back on the ground, he turned around and saw every girl from Dina’s class embracing Klim at the same time. It had to be nice being Klim, being hugged like that, Zhenya thought. Dina, as if she read his mind, placed her arm around his shoulders.

“Eh, don’t be too jealous of Kliment now,” she said, “they’re comforting him because his girlfriend… I think it was Sonya… dumped him for a physically more capable boy. But I can’t tell you if he’s mentally capable, which is what matters to me, personally…”

“Over here, Yevgeniy Dmitrievich!”

The professor called to him, and asked him once he was closer to him:

“Did you… really beat up that giant monster in this here gym…?”

“Beat up? I didn’t do a whole lot, prof—”

“Oh, but you did! You blew that savage beast to bits AND made it look effortless! If only you could put as much effort toward improving your 100 m sprint time…”

The professor opened his notebook and turned to the page with the results of class 9 “B”.

“Still, your bravery shall not be in vain,” the professor continued. “Just this once, I’ll correct the four you got into a five. What do you say?”

“Oh! Uh, that’s, well… not necessary, I think,” Zhenya said, or struggled to say.

“I think it’s very necessary,” the professor replied, “to motivate students to continue seeking improvement, and what’s a better motivator than an excellent grade, eh?”

“I guess so… Thank you,” Zhenya said before he bowed his head.

“Don’t worry ‘bout it. Now go change. You have five minutes before the bell rings. And you girls! Are you done hugging that boy!?”

Dina was also one of those girls, but she did not stay long before she went to the changing room. Meanwhile, in the boys’ room, Zhenya said to Filat:

“Your arm hurts a lot, doesn’t it?”

“No shit, it does! But one does not simply skip PE, either…”

“That does make you even braver than me, in my opinion,” Zhenya said with a smile, “but we gotta do something about your arm…”

“What exactly? I’m all out of ideas, and I never had one in the first place!”

“Meet me behind the gymnasium after class.”

“Why? So you can wave that magic wand of yours around and pretend that I’ll be better once you do?”

“Please,” Zhenya said before he opened his eyes a little wider, raised both eyebrows, and frowned at Filat.

“Fine, fine,” Filat conceded, “but you’ll owe me a sandwich if nothing happens.”

After school meant after Literature class, Zhenya’s middle favourite. He and Filat first met at the school entrance, and Zhenya led the way to the backyard. In relative privacy, Zhenya pulled out his transformation utensils and went under another change into Pretty Pink.

“You had to dress yourself in pin—”

“Shh,” Zhenya whispered to Filat, “I need to concentrate. Plus, this is my last spell for the day.”

He then turned to his book and made sure he would cast the right spell. Even then, Zhenya felt anxious. He could easily cast a regular healing spell, but instead opted for a time-travel spell. In particular, a spell that returned a person’s state, physical or emotional, to a specific point in time. As much as six days, in fact. Just to see if it would have the same effect as the other spell. He waved the wand, drew a fifteen-past-twelve in the air, then whispered, “Ssora zhizni[4],” before he gently touched Filat’s broken arm. Time began to tick backwards for the bandaged boy, and it was clear to Zhenya, who watched him running in place, lying on the ground, then standing back up and walking in place, flailing his intact arm in the air, speaking backwards, incoherently and as fast as sound, sitting in air, reading an imaginary book, writing in an imaginary notebook, drinking from an imaginary bottle—all this, and more, in less than a second! Once the other five and a half seconds of similar movement elapsed, Filat was heard saying:

“—only that emasculated boy in my class was willing to—”

A tiny bit of the sentence was cut off by the spell, while Filat himself did not finish it once he noticed that something was off.

“Huh? Where the fuck am I? Zhena!? What’s with the clothes!? Wasn’t only your shirt pink? And… don’t tell me you actually heard what I’d said to the prof… Professor!? He’s gone! Huh!? What’s this cast doing around my right arm!? It doesn’t even hurt! Wait! Did I… Did I travel back in time? Step on a teleport pad that took me outside? Break the space-time continuum itself? Vote for the LDPR[5] while underage? I gotta get my shit sorted out! Professor!!!”

With one last cry, Filat ran away from Zhenya, who was no chronic laugher, or a laugher at all, but who could not help but giggle at the outcome. Was this spell too much? Possibly. Had he been offended by Filat’s crude remark of him? Not as much. But, was it worth it? Zhenya seemed to think it was:

“That was kind of fun. But I probably won’t do it again…”

He ceased to exist as Pretty Pink for the day by falling into a nearby puddle of water on purpose.

END OF CHAPTER

Footnotes:

[1] Насекомова, it does not have a meaning but is derived from насекомое which means “insect”.
[2] Comma NOT missing.
[3] Японский танец, meaning “Japanese Dance”.
[4] Ссора жизни, meaning “Quarrel of a Lifetime”.
[5] The Liberal Democratic Party of Russia, a right-wing political party that is neither liberal nor democratic (or even a party, really).