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“I know we don’t have to, but I would like it very much.” She bites her lip, clasping her hands together almost in prayer. Like she’s begging me to be her friend.
It’s rather pathetic, but I don’t have the energy to deal with this right now.
“Okay, fine. We can be friends. Can I go now?”
Her face lights up with a grin. “Yes! Thank you. Have a good day at school!”
“Uh, yeah. Thanks.”
She waves me off as I step out the door. Ivan is waiting for me at the curb like every other day, and he opens the car door for me to climb into the backseat.
What I like about Ivan is he doesn’t try to make me talk when I don’t want to. He just plays his Russian music and keeps his eyes on the road.
The closer we get to school, the more my stomach churns with a strange mixture of dread and excitement. I’m afraid of running into Alek, but I also want to see him more than anything.
I can’t stop reliving our encounter, like a song playing on repeat, but I can’t make any sense of it.
When I walked into the mirror maze, I was a stupid teenage girl. I was lost to fictional book boyfriends and obsessing over a childish feud with Johanna. This entire time, I was playing in the sandbox when I should have been more concerned about Alek burying my head in it.
I thought I was going to die in the house of mirrors. When I emerged, I was acquainted with true terror, and I’m a different person because of it.
Alek exists in a dark realm of nightmares and pain. But something tells me I’ve only seen a glimpse of what he’s capable of doing to me.
Part of me is gripped with fear, waiting for him to drag me to the black depths of his soul.
The other part of me is craving to go there. I’ll tie the anchor around my legs to drag myself down into oblivion.
When Ivan pulls up to the front gate of the school, it’s closed against the protesters marching along the road, waving signs and shouting.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
Ivan grips the steering wheel, examining the small crowd. “I should drive you home.”
Going home means not seeing Alek, and I don’t know how I feel about that. I know what I’m supposed to feel at the prospect of seeing a guy who attacked me with a knife.
And, yes, I am afraid. But I’m also desperate to see him, to breathe the same air as him.
“Wait,” I say, pointing at the gate. “Someone’s coming.”
One side of the gate swings open, and a pair of policemen exit through the gap. While the first man holds the protesters at bay, the second walks the gate open just enough to wave us through. Ivan tips his hat to him when we drive ahead.
I turn to look out the back window, and the policemen are closing the gate to block the entrance.
The police are outnumbered by the dozens of protesters. If they wanted to break in, they could.
“What were they protesting?” I ask Ivan.
“Their signs said Equal Education for All, Eat the Rich, The Next Generation is Doomed to Repeat the Mistakes of Their Fathers—things like that.”
“Oh, I see.” My hands twist the hem of my skirt into a tight ball. “Do you have any children, Ivan?”
In the rearview mirror, he breaks into a grin. “I do. A son. He was born last year.”
I gulp. “And where will he go to school?”
He glances at me in the mirror, but only for a second before returning his eyes to the road. “My wife and I are content with our life. Mr. Baker treats me well and pays a fair wage. My son will receive a decent education.”
Decent, but not the best.
