8
I leave Vadim’s apartment in the early morning, eventually managing to tear myself from his arms. I could have stayed there my whole life, but the sun was rising, and real life returning in the form of a new day.
I’ve never felt anything like this. The way we became one, floating together on a kind of cloud—or rather, a whirlwind.
That deep kiss, that powerful desire… And this bubble so fragile it could have burst at any moment.
This guy is a magnet. A ticking time bomb.
He made me lose my mind, my control, all my bearings in the space of those few stolen hours.
And more than anything, he made me take the first step: I, Alma, kissed Vadim Arcadi.
Practically dancing down the street, I stop by Clémentine’s place before classes start.
I remember to call my parents, then take a shower, steal some clothes from my partner in crime, and tell her all about the surreal night I just spent.
I feel the urge to scream it out with her while we jump on her bed.
Is what happened too good to be true…? Did I dream it?
Strangely, in the harsh light of day, in my best friend’s poky little dorm room, my euphoria deflates like a soufflé. An uneasy sensation washes over me. My words aren’t enough to describe what happened, how I felt, and Clémentine’s open-mouthed reaction says it all.
I had almost forgotten that I had a boyfriend.
It’s not that I wanted to cheat on Tim. I just didn’t even think about him.
The idea of me being that kind of girl suddenly makes me panic.
I don’t know this Alma who kisses another boy, who stays up until dawn, who lies to her parents about where she’s spending the night.
Thoughts race through my head. My ears start to ring, and my legs shake.
“It’s going to be okay, Alma…”
“You think so?”
I’m scared. Scared that the whole campus will find out what I did. Scared that I’ll be sent back to France. Scared of never seeing Vadim again. Scared of myself. Scared of him.
I had been on cloud nine, and the fall back to earth is brutal.
I force myself to head to class, wearing Clémentine’s slightly-too-big jeans and a gray college hoodie of hers that I can hide away in.
After downing a matcha and polishing off a pack of cookies, my friend is her usual smiling and energetic self once again.
She links her arm through mine and repeats in my ear, like a cult leader, that everything is going to be okay.
That what happened to me is great. That I’m living the American dream… It’s just a little more Russian.
We join the others in front of Mr. Abrams’s classroom; he’s apparently running late.
I spot Vadim among the students, slightly taller, slightly apart from the group, so different. Our eyes meet, but nothing happens. Not a smile or wink—not any kind of sign. Not even a tiny nod in my direction. Nothing.
How can his lack of a reaction break my heart like this?
Vadim looks away and seems to scan the horizon, his face impassive, his gaze tense. His mysterious, brooding air, which was so seductive yesterday, hurts me this morning.
I continue to watch him discreetly, hiding behind Clem, who knows exactly what I’m up to and has the good sense not to stop me. She just watches me fidget like a nutcase with the sleeves of her hoodie, as if I’m about to poke holes in it.
I see someone approach and realize that’s who Vadim has been looking out for.
And I understand the expression on his face better when I realize this must be his caseworker.
Keith, I think. He’s a brawny guy, his muscles straining against his white tee.
Yet he has a gentle gaze, well-proportioned features, and a slow, steady gait.
He seems more reassuring than intimidating to me.
A faint smile appears on his face, but Vadim doesn’t look like he’s in the mood for jokes.
They greet each other without much warmth and immediately launch into a conversation.
Well, Keith is the one doing all the talking, while Vadim just nods.
At least a hundred times. Keith jots something down in a small notebook he’s fished out of his pocket, pats Vadim on the shoulder, and leaves.
“Check out that butt,” drools Clem, who can’t help turning around and staring.
She really doesn’t have a discreet bone in her body.
I’m not really listening, though. Vadim is walking straight toward me.
“What are you looking at?”
“Nothing. You.”
He half-smiles, eyes fixed on his shoes.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah. I missed a meeting with Mama Keith last night. He wasn’t happy at all. I just got scolded like a little kid.”
“Sorry. I didn’t know.”
“How could you have known?”
“You should have told me. We could have—”
“What for? It’s got nothing to do with you, Lancaster.”
Vadim shrugs, and his coldness pierces my heart.
I naively thought that last night had rocked his world the way it did mine, but now he’s acting as if it never happened.
It hits me that he must have done this dozens of times, with lots of other girls—and that I stepped right into the trap.
He just wanted to make me fall for him. I was his little challenge for the night.
How could I have been so stupid?
Clémentine sees the state I’m in and comes to my rescue. “And you didn’t think to introduce me to your… Mama Keith? I hope that’s not his real name, by the way.”
Vadim doesn’t answer her, but Mr. Abrams arrives then anyway, his rumpled jacket tucked under his arm, grumbling something about a parking spot.
“Inside! Quickly! You’d better not waste my time today. I need you to be brilliant!”
Mr. Abrams watches us sit down, tapping his foot impatiently. His eyes scan the room for his first victim. The ideal target.
No, not him. Not today…
“Arcadi, thank you for gracing us with your presence this morning. To what do we owe the pleasure? Did you have nothing better to do? Oh, don’t bother.
I don’t even want to know. How about you tell us about your short film project instead?
Come on up, and grab your partner while you’re at it.
She seems to think that if she hides her face and can’t see us, we can’t see her. ”
“Actually, there’s no point in us getting up,” Vadim cuts in. “We haven’t found a topic.”
“Nothing? Nothing at all? Not one single tiny flash of brilliance has emerged from your poor, juvenile brains?” Abrams says, raising his voice.
“Yes, I have my ideas. She has hers. But nothing we agree on.”
“Just listen to him, this poor young soul whose creativity is being stifled! He’s simply so unique that he can’t possibly live alongside others.
So proud of his ideas that he refuses to share them.
You’re not a tortured artist, Arcadi! You can get that idea out of your head.
You’re a walking, talking, narrow-minded cliché, convinced you’re right and incapable of questioning yourself!
You play the victim because you don’t have the courage to be anything else! ”
“What makes you think it’s okay to say that? Stop thinking you’re God!” Vadim fumes.
“I know one thing, Arcadi: you don’t have a subject because you have nothing to say.
Open yourself up to the world, goddammit!
Open yourself up to others! Lancaster has so much to teach you!
If only you’d let her. If you spent a little less time navel-gazing, you would see what she can offer you.
Her intelligence, her perspective, her subtlety!
So utterly different from the stereotypical persona you’re trapped in! ”
Cornered, my partner shoots me a desperate look, but I don’t know how to respond. I can see in his eyes that I’m letting him down.
“Go ahead, Alma, tell him your brilliant ideas,” Vadim snaps. A mocking smile plays on his lips.
“I… I don’t know, I, I, don’t think they were good.”
I’m annoyed with myself for stammering. For my lack of confidence.
“Why am I not surprised?” Mr. Abrams exclaims loudly. “You’re not working with her, Arcadi, you’re fighting against her! Draw inspiration from her talent, her perspective, and her innocence, instead of rejecting them all!”
Vadim’s eyes are still boring into me.
I’d like to react. To support him, stand up for him. And myself. To oppose Abrams, to crush his delusion. But I remain paralyzed, unable to speak or act.
“Yeah, the problem is me, right?” Vadim retorts.
He runs a hand through his hair, picks up his bag, and crosses the room with a proud, almost nonchalant stride, before leaving and slamming the door behind him.
A deadly silence falls over the class.
All eyes are fixed on me.
I spend the rest of the class staring at my feet and avoiding the teacher’s gaze.
He seems to feel both sorry for me and very pleased with himself.
His little theatrical performance has made everyone forget his tardiness, silenced the class, and raised him even higher in his students’ esteem.
While I admire his courage in standing up to the class’s unruly rebel, he humiliated me in the process with his exaggerated praise and poorly disguised favoritism.
For the rest of the year, I won’t just be Alma Lancaster, the half-French, rich kid, but also the submissive teacher’s pet with no personality—and worse, the pawn of a deranged man in his forties.
I don’t know how I’ll recover from this.
And I have no idea when Vadim Arcadi will speak to me again.
To try and cheer me up, Clem buys me a milkshake at the Sunset Café, but the very sight of it turns my stomach.
I don’t notice Timothy and three of his basketball teammates arriving until Clem jabs me hard in the ribs with her elbow.
I nearly fall off my stool, but just manage to catch myself, knocking my glass across the table in the process.
Clem’s hoodie is immediately soaked, and I can soon feel the cold drink seeping into my borrowed jeans, too.
All I want to do is go home and crawl into bed.
Tim comes to my rescue with a handful of paper napkins and a smile full of tenderness.
He’s so caring, so thoughtful… and I’m close to bursting into tears.
Because after what I’ve done, I can’t bear him touching me, comforting me, finding my clumsiness endearing.
Because he loves me for who I am, while someone else hates me for everything I am not.
Because I feel the bad boy’s trap closing around me.
And because my boyfriend tries to kiss me, but I can’t bring myself to kiss him back.
I jump off my stool and flee, leaving Tim, Clémentine, Cassius, and the others staring after me, bewildered. My frantic flight leads me to the one place I shouldn’t go. I’m aware of how wrong it is, but nothing can stop me.