A week before the exam goes by quickly. During this time, I hardly see Sviatyi, so I train to draw from life by myself. I can't help but remember how it was when he sat behind me, so I constantly feel a strange chill at my back. But I have to remind myself that my goal is different and it’s not Vlad.
However, I manage to talk to my father three times. I listen to him say that I’m clumsy and my mission is simple. A few times, Dad lets slip that Timur speaks highly of me as a fiancée, but he still doesn’t do what he wants. That pleases me. However, the complete misunderstanding of what is happening is irritating. It’s not that I want to get involved in the strange games of Sviatyi and Dobryi; after all, I need only one thing — their victory and freedom for me, my brother, and my mother. Yet… still, it’s all very strange.
The decision about the meeting and living with Timur was made in haste. Father hadn’t planned it, so something was clearly beyond his control. What exactly? Suddenly, this could be a weak spot that I could also exploit, not just Timur or Vlad?
At least, I want to find out and later use it against Dykyi.
***
The exam is soon. It’s now six in the morning. Vlad has hardly been home. And he didn’t spend the night again. I need him to be here. I need him to go to the exam with me. However, hour after hour passes, and at exactly eleven o'clock, I prepare and head to the academy alone. For the first time, I have to do something like this on my own, without my father’s influence or Sviatyi’s help, like when he brought me here for a conversation. Because of this, I’m nervous. I’m scared that I will mess everything up and fail. I’m scared that the dream will disappear like a soap bubble, colliding with something sharp.
The taxi stops in front of an ancient building. I pay for the ride with my card and get out. I press the sketches to my chest, honestly not understanding why I took them, and my sketching set. The daylight shines with sunbeams on the glass surfaces. I get distracted by this and force my bad thoughts to quiet down for a moment. I need this. I rush quickly to the academy and walk to the dean's office. It’s worth entering, as I catch the woman in conversation. Her eyes inspect me somewhat surprised, but then she nods. Her white hair is tied back in a tight ponytail, just like last time. The strict suit and heels add to her stern look. After finishing her conversation, she stops her gaze on my hands, and then on my face.
— What are you doing here? Yulianna Sviata, if I'm not mistaken? — she asks coldly.
— Exam, — I squeeze out, waving off the last name. My mouth goes dry with anxiety.
The woman raises an incredulous eyebrow:
— It’s not being held in the dean’s office. You’re in room thirty.
I eagerly nod. My nerves are at the limit. My heart races. I turn to exit, but the dean's voice stops me:
— Do you know where room thirty is?
I turn back:
— Unfortunately, no.
She sighs irritably.
— Come on, I’ll show you. You still have time before the exam.
As we exit, I read her name on the office plaque that I hadn’t noticed before: “Marina Ivanivna.”
— Marina Ivanivna, — I start, hurrying to follow her down the corridors, — I apologize for this. I didn’t know where to go.
The woman throws a glance over her shoulder that I don’t understand and continues walking briskly. Finally, after what feels like a thousand square meters of decorated walls and moldings on the ceilings, we reach the right classroom. I would never have found it on my own. To my disappointment and understanding, as soon as Marina Ivanivna unlocks the doors, the exam has already begun. At first glance, about twelve students are sitting at easels, and in front of them is a live model. Because of this, I freeze. A pendant and a person — two different things. Especially when that person is practically naked.
— Ineso, please welcome another of our future students. She couldn’t find the classroom.
— Of course, — the joyful and friendly voice of the instructor greets me warmly.
I quickly examine her — nice and sympathetic, quite young, around thirty. Her blue eyes and blond hair with purple tips add playfulness, while a flower-patterned dress, like a woman from Greenpeace, adds charm.
— Come in. Your easel is free. — she says cheerfully, gesturing toward the back of the classroom.
— Good day, — I greet and start making my way to my place, thanking the dean.
The woman, by the way, practically disappears immediately.
— So, let’s begin. Good thing I haven’t had the chance to tell you anything yet. But first, let’s get to know our model — a student from the ballet academy — Martin.
I sit at the easel and only then allow myself to glance at the guy, who is only wearing jeans. I can physically feel how the paint floods my face. He is tanned, I think of mixed blood. His warm, brown gaze warms like the sun in Africa. He has black hair — a short crew cut. There are earrings in his ears. His body is strong and fit. Martin sits on a stool, behind him is a white backdrop, and at his feet is an old tape recorder. His legs are widely spread, and his entire posture demonstrates self-confidence and complete awareness of his own beauty.
— You have three hours for the sketch. After that, I’ve decided to split it up, so one half you paint with watercolors, and the other half with oils. Any questions?
— I have one, — raises a girl with curly hair, — what if I need to step out?
— No problem, young lady, but remember, you’ll be wasting time this way. So, onward, I'm starting the timer.
I take my pencil and stare blankly at the canvas. I desperately want to feel Vlad’s chest behind me, his fingers on my hand, guiding me. But I’m alone.
I grip the pencil with my fingertips. Exhaling. I carefully examine Martin, recalling Sviatyi's words about the general: the body that must be correctly positioned on the canvas. Only then the texture and shadows. And he also said to draw as I see it.
Counting mentally up to five, I touch the canvas with the pencil tip. My gaze shifts between Martin and the canvas. This is repeated a thousand times. I sketch the outlines first, lightly, almost imperceptibly. Then I add lines that show the physique: arms, abs, the lightness of the pose, and the tape recorder at his feet. The hardest part is the face. Martin's face is special, atypical for our country. But I try. I sketch his nose, cheekbones, thick eyebrows, large eyes, trying to convey emotions in them. At some point, I notice that I’ve even bitten the inside of my cheek from concentration. I force myself to relax. I silently command, barely moving my lips, that no one will do this but me. I wanted to learn the art of drawing, wanted a chance. And now, it is in my hands, so I am obliged to draw perfectly.
Finishing with the foundation, I start to outline shadows and add light falling from the window on Martin’s right side. Once I finish with this, I take the watercolors. I conditionally divide his image in two and turn one half into a splash of colors. Simply… that is how I want it. The hair thanks to the watercolors becomes brown, but not black. The skin is tanned, but this color is soft and pleasant. The strokes are careful, as if caressing his figure. I make the sneakers and part of the jeans a bright blue. Then I take up the oils. It’s thicker and richer. So the other half of the hair is black; the skin and its imperfections are sharper, rougher, the color of the jeans bluer, like the night sky, as well as the sneakers. But the eyes… I make them warm like milk chocolate diluted with milk. I draw Martin’s lips fuller. And the expression on his face softens, from cocky to tender, as if he is in love…
Three hours fly by quickly. I immerse myself in the work so much that I only realize how heavy it is when Inesa loudly announces that time is up. The model and she begin to walk past the easels and look at the works. Insufferably slowly, to the point of irritation. They stop next to each potential student of the academy and carefully examine the paintings. Inesa writes something in her notebook and moves on, but Martin lingers, usually with the female artists. When it’s my turn, cold sweat seems to cover my entire body. I nervously tap my fingers on my knees, feeling the coarse fabric of the jeans beneath them.
— And here you are, — Inesa greets me with a smile and looks at the drawing.
I carefully examine her face during this time. I try to catch every emotion to understand: total failure or do I still have a chance?...
Next comes Martin. He greets me with a friendly smile at the corner of his lips and examines his image. His brown gaze darkens, and his smile becomes warmer.
— I like it, princess, — he hums contentedly. — I look like an angel in a modern interpretation.
Inesa stays silent as I shyly and quietly thank the model.
Finally, the woman turns her gaze to me and looks closely into my eyes.
— Where did you study?
I blink in confusion.
— Me?
— Yes. Where did you study before today’s exam? — she asks quite sternly.
I look at the instructor in surprise, then at Martin and back at her.
— As a marketer, — I mumble.
— Marketer? — she asks in disbelief. — Remind me of the last name!
I tense up and clench my fingers into fists. The nerves are on edge. It seems that it’s all over… I’ve failed, once and for all. Now, the path to the academy is barred and they won’t accept me.
— Yulianna…D, — I mumble, take a deep breath and repeat, — Yulianna Sviata.
Inesa narrows her gaze and looks closely into my eyes. Something else dances in her eyes; the friendliness and kindness have disappeared.
— Do you have any connection to Vlad Sviaty? — she asks sternly.
I blush. Instantly. The color floods my cheeks, so the woman doesn’t even need to hear my answer to understand — something indeed connects us.
— Hmm, well… he has a good student. Say hello, — she raises her eyebrows in a flattering manner. — Congratulations. You’ve passed. As for the rest, — she claps her hands and returns to the front of the class, — there will be additional interviews, possibly retakes if there are questions. You are all free. They will contact you within the week and inform you of the result.
Everyone quickly gathers their things and leaves the classroom, bidding farewell to Martin and Inesa. I am practically the first to exit. I quickly walk through the empty corridors of the academy and after a bit of wandering finally find the exit. The fresh summer air hits my face with warmth. It was quite cool in the classroom. I press the sketches tighter to my chest and step outside the building. I can’t understand — should I be happy or cry. Have I been accepted? Or… no? Inesa said that I’ve passed. But… is it thanks to Vlad and their obvious acquaintance or my talent?
— Hey! — an unfamiliar voice from behind stops me. A stranger’s hand lands on my shoulder. I turn sharply and look at a girl with short black hair. — Sorry, — she quickly says. — I didn’t mean to scare you.
— It’s fine, — I reply shortly.
— We were together at the exam, — she smiles.
She looks pleasant. Her gray eyes stand out against her pale face and dark strands. She is skinny, small, even shorter than me. Around her neck is a pendant of some stone, hidden beneath a black top. A black skirt hugs her hips. Behind her, a tote bag is clearly full of something necessary.
— Yes, — I nod. — We were.
— Where are you heading now? By the way, I’m Katrin.
I smile.
— Katrin?
Her gray eyes sparkle with joy.
— Katrin. And you?
— Yulianna.
— Hmm, we match each other.
— How’s that? — I ask in surprise, but Katrin has already linked her arm with mine and is leading me in an unknown direction.
— We have interesting names. Artistic, — she declares joyfully. — Let’s go.
— Where to? — I walk obediently behind her, not knowing how to react.
After all, online learning has never encouraged new acquaintances and having friends. I have been alone my whole life due to my father’s efforts.
— We’ll celebrate our admission. I also passed just like you! Isn’t that a reason? Or are you busy? — she quickly chatters.
I’m not used to this kind of thing and don’t even know how to respond. All in all, I’m not busy, but just to start making new acquaintances like this?... It feels absurd to me.
Meanwhile, Katrin leads us to one of the city’s cafes. She happily talks about her passion for drawing and shares a ton of unnecessary information. But I catch myself thinking that it is interesting. I listen to her without interrupting and even enjoy it.
We take a table outside and order iced lattes. Katrin suddenly falls silent and looks into my eyes critically:
— Are you always like this?
I smile.
— I’m not used to such pressure, — I candidly admit. — Friends aren’t my thing.
— Why? — she asks, intrigued.
— There are reasons, — I say slowly.
Katrin chuckles cheerfully and slurps her latte loudly. I feel strange from such behavior. My father would have scolded me for something like that and once again demonstrated that I am the worst in the world.
— Listen, — the girl says softly and leans closer to me, — that man who was with you… I saw you last week. I was at the academy. Who is he to you? A boyfriend? Husband? Father?
I tense up. I don’t know what to say. And I don’t understand her interest, to be honest.
— No one, — I squeeze out.
— No one? — she raises an eyebrow in surprise. — Just absolutely no one?
— An acquaintance. He helped me meet the dean, — I evade a direct answer.
— I see, — she quickly cuts in. — So, how do you feel about Martin? — Katrin instantly changes the subject; I can’t keep up with her fiery character.
I sigh. Martin more evoked feelings of shame in me than anything else, with his bare torso.
— Just… Martin.
Katrin laughs.
— What, didn’t he appeal to you at all?
— I… umm… didn’t think about that. It was an exam after all.
— Right, — she nods enthusiastically. The short black strands move with her to the rhythm. — Just a model. And that’s it! How long have you been drawing?
Her question puts me into a stupor. Do all people communicate like this? My conversations with children of my father’s acquaintances usually revolved around something standard and dry. Sometimes someone might share about studying abroad or boast about achievements. But always during those moments, the child’s gaze was directed at the parents. And we mostly talked because it was necessary, not out of our own desires.
— I don’t… A few years for sure. If that’s what you want to call it.
Katrin beams widely.
— Sorry, I may be too pushy. I just like you. Such a quiet mouse, but with kindness in your eyes. Opposites attract, don’t you know?
I nod at her.
— In a way, yes.
— Actually, I didn’t invite you just like that. And again, I apologize. The thing is, — she suddenly looks somewhat sad. The cheerful atmosphere vanishes. — I arrived this morning from another city. And the apartment didn’t work out. I didn’t manage to rent one. Can I stay with you for the night?
To be honest, I certainly didn’t expect something like that. Not that I feel sorry for her, just… I live in a stranger's apartment myself. But Vlad hardly ever stays at home, and who knows where he spends his days and nights. Plus… for the last week, he spent it outside of his own apartment. What will happen if I bring Katrin back with me?
— For one night? — I clarify.
She smiles again. Her gray eyes sparkle with joy. She must understand that she won’t be left out on the street today.
— One night.
— Then that’s fine.
— Thank you! Thank you! You just don’t realize how much you’re helping me. I’m a stranger to you, we just met… I won’t leave you at a loss! — she says eagerly.
— No need for anything, — I wave it off and timidly smile.
— Oh, I’m glad to see that smile. You instantly change, turning into a star that shines brightest among others.
I thoughtfully sip my latte. It’s the second time in my life someone compares me to a star. Only Vlad said something completely different. He saw nothing but loneliness in me, but Katrin noticed something new…
— Let’s go home. It’s been a long day, — I remark. In truth, I really am tired. I’m used to sitting at home constantly, so this amount of communicative interactions drains all my strength.
— Of course! — she exclaims. — To the bus stop?
I look at her in confusion.
— I don’t know which buses go to my place. Taxi.
Katrin shrugs, as if to say, taxi is fine. So after paying at the café, we call a car and within forty minutes enter Vlad’s apartment. The doors are, as always, unlocked. Only today I understand why, as I noticed the cameras in every corner, most likely on all floors, and the security system on the first. I don't know how quickly they respond, but judging by everything — quite quickly.
My new acquaintance examines the premises and the interior with wide-open eyes. For me, all this wealth feels familiar, just like the overwhelming white in Sviatyi’s home. For her, perhaps, it’s something fascinating.
— Do you live here alone? The spirit takes my breath away.
— No, — I cut in, but don’t continue explaining.
Katrin doesn't demand more. She walks through the corridor, stops in the living room, and smiles brightly.
— It’s cool here. Sorry for the immodest question, but how wealthy are you?
I don't know what to say… This isn’t my home. And I, practically, am not wealthy. My dad, Vlad — they are like that. But I’m not… That’s why I stay silent and invite the girl to the kitchen, hoping she’s better at cooking than I am.
As soon as I step into the kitchen, I stop in surprise. Vlad is sitting at the table. His laptop is open in front of him, next to a cup with a drink. A phone lies nearby, continuously blinking, alerting him to messages.
Sviatyi immediately tears his gaze away from the screen and examines me and Katrin. In his blue eyes, there are completely incomprehensible emotions, but the cold expression on his face is frightening.