“But we are only comrades.”

“Yes, unfortunately.” She shook her head. “It took me too long to figure the situation out, if you want to know. But for now, this is how it’ll be, all right? For now, you understand?”

“Mom liked you a lot,” Artyom said after a silence.

“Really?” Zinochka grinned, forgetting all about her misfortunes with a married man. “You have an amazing mom, and I fell in love with her. I fall in love really quickly for some reason. Bye!”

And then she ran off, trying to appear tragic even from the back, even though she really wanted to sing and skip. Artyom knew that she had lied off her head to him, but he was not angry. It was not important that she had lied, it was important that she did not need him. Artyom had, for the first time in his life, discovered where the heart is located, and morosely trudged home, without any desire to skip.

This was exactly the time when Valentina Andronovna walked into the principal’s office.

“Look at this,” she said, and laid onto his desk two scribbled-on pages torn out of a lined notebook.

Her voice held a solemn and portentous note, but Nikolay Grigorievich paid no attention to this note, because he was intrigued by the address: “Yura, my friend!” and “My friend Seryozha!” What followed was not particularly intelligible, but the principal read it all, and laughed merrily.

“What a goose! No, but what an adorable silly goose wrote this!”

“I see nothing to laugh at here. Excuse me, Nikolay Grigorievich, but this is all your mirrors.”

“Oh, don’t,” the principal waved away her concern. “The girls are playing at love, so let them play. Everything that is natural is reasonable. With your permission.”
He crumpled up the letter and stuck his hand in his pocket.

Valentina Andronovna threw herself at his desk.

“What are you doing?”

“Returning it isn’t practical, so the only thing to do is to sweep it under the rug. Or into the fire, as the case may be.”

“I utterly object. Do you hear me, utterly! This is a document…”

She was trying to reach the paper across the desk, but the principal’s arms were longer.

“It’s no document, Valentina Andronovna.”

“I know who wrote it. I know, you understand? Kovalenko wrote it, she forgot her reader…”

“That does not interest me. Or you either. It shouldn’t interest you, I mean… Sit!”

Once, at his command a squadron would charge into an attack. Hearing the metal in his voice, Valentina Andronovna hurriedly lowered herself onto the chair.

And the principal finally took out his matches and burned both letters.

“And remember: there were no letters. The most awful thing is suspicion. It cripples people, turning them into snakes and egotists.”

“I respect your battle honors, Nikolay Grigorievich, but I consider your methods of education to not only be oversimplified but corrupt. Yes, corrupt! I tell you openly that I will complain.”

The principal sighed, sadly shook his head, and pointed at the door:

“Go and write. Quickly, while your anger is still hot.”

Valentina Andronovna savagely slammed the door. Her patience had run out, and from this day forward, she was marching into open battle for that which was the meaning of her life: for the Soviet school. Bravely, she burned all her bridges behind herself.

If it hadn’t been for the night before, Iskra would have noticed Zinochka’s increased levels of friskiness. But the night before had happened, and the usual harmony was disturbed. Iskra was busy with herself, and let her friend escape her control.

After only a little while of working at the factory, Sashka Stameskin started noticeably changing. He acquired a kind of tired confidence in his voice, his own opinions, and a special sort of attitude towards Iskra, which caused her some concern. He still, as usual, nodded in response to everything she said, and as usual obeyed, as usual whistling through his broken teeth and as usual turned gloomy when receiving yet another reprimand. And yet, at times it would become apparent that the factory, a salary, his adult life and adult circle of acquaintances were having an effect, and Iskra did not know if she should be happy or fight it with all her might.

That evening, they didn’t go to the movies, because Iskra had taken it into her head to go for a walk. Going for a walk meant talking, because Iskra did not know how to just walk or how to talk nonsense. On walks, she either educated her Stameskin, or talked about what she had read in books or what she had thought of herself. Once, Sashka had argued with her desperately on every point, then he fell silent, and lately he started to smile, and Iskra decidedly disliked this smile.

“Why are you smiling if you disagree? Argue with me, fight for your point of view.”

“Your point suits me fine.”