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Prisha leads me to a nondescript closet under the stairs, which is full of janitorial supplies. “We can leave our bags here while we explore. I hide in here all the time, and never once have I been found.”
“Wow, that’s… sad.”
“If you bring a reading light, it’s actually not bad,” she says. “The toilet paper bundles make good pillows.”
I shake my head and drop my bag, and Prisha shuts the closet behind us.
“Okay, now the real fun begins.”
Prisha might as well be the official welcome committee for the school. She knows everything about the history of the building, its architecture, and which areas were burned and restored with dates. She also explains how Grigor Kurochkin opened the school in the early 90s after his father won the country’s first election. It was established as an elite academy for former Soviet oligarchs to send their children to, and it helped the Kurochkins curry favor with the fledgling nation’s most influential and wealthy families.
I’m starting to understand the pattern of Russian influence in this country’s politics. The Kurochkins have managed to win every presidential election since 1991, and I don’t think it’s because they’re great leaders.
“How do you know so much about Andarusia?” I ask.
“Well, I don’t just read smut. I love history, too. That’s what I want to go to university for.”
“You’d make a great tour guide.”
She giggles, and a hint of a blush blooms across her face.
We continue our tour, and it takes us a good hour to walk through all the different wings. There’s a massive library on the second floor, which is apparently where Prisha spends most of her time outside the classroom. There’s a private chapel, an auditorium converted from a throne room, and a conservatory room for the gardening club.
Prisha paints a picture of the last royals to live here in the castle before World War I, when it became a part of the Weimar Republic, and it’s easy to imagine their daily lives as we explore each room.
All this talk of kings and princesses makes my thoughts circle back to Alek. He isn’t royalty, but I understand why they call him a prince. The authority he wields over everyone around him is powerful and frightening.
At the end of the tour, we arrive back at the entrance hall and grab our bookbags. I text Ivan to come pick me up, and while we wait, Prisha leads me out to the soccer field—or football field, as she keeps reminding me. The team is practicing on the green, and we settle in to watch the scrimmage match.
It’s freezing, and I wrap my coat tighter around myself. But no one else seems bothered by the weather.
“Oh, I finished that book,” Prisha says, reaching into her bag. “I had a free period today. Here.”
She passes it to me, and I flip it over to read the summary. “Thanks.”
The coach’s whistle sounds, and the team stops the game to go on a water break. I recognize some of the players from my class, but when one of them turns his face up to me, I freeze.
Alek is standing in the middle of the field, and he looks like a pro player in his red uniform. His skin glistens with sweat as his hair clings to his forehead, which he brushes back with his fingers. Even at this distance, his eyes are piercing my soul, and my body grows hot beneath his stare.
But a moment later, he looks away and runs over to meet his friend, the tall one from lunch.
A shiver rolls down my spine, and I turn my attention to his friend.
“What’s his deal?” I ask, nodding in his direction.
“Oh, that’s Konstantin. He’s captain of the team. He and Alek went to boarding school together in the UK, so that’s why they’re so close.”
“The UK? That explains why they sound like native English speakers.”
Prisha tightens her scarf. “Yeah, it’s considered fashionable in Andarusia to send children to boarding school abroad up until high school. It’s a status symbol for the wealthy. Konstantin’s father is in real estate and basically owns half the property in the country. Oh, and he’s dating Irina.”
“Irina?”
“Johanna’s friend. The one who’s always on her phone. She only goes along with Johanna’s antics because she’s bored. Her father owns a Russian oil company.”
I’m in school with the kids of real estate moguls and oil tycoons, which explains the entitlement and privilege.
“And what’s Johanna’s story?” I ask.
