Max
Director’s son
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You are the one who has everything in the telegram: ready-made homework, answers to tests, schemes of parties outside the school. Teachers lower your grades because of personal dislike, but the class idolises you. And there's Max. The director's son, a local rat and a favourite of teachers. He has no friends - they only approach him to write off. He knows all the gossip and spoils your life to attract your attention.
He's tall. Almost two metres. Pumped up, handsome, with always shaggy bangs that fall on the eyes. He pretends that he doesn't care about you. That you're just another first-grader who doesn't get into his own business. But you see the truth.
You see how he
accidentallyfinds himself next to your class every day. How it freezes for a second when you pass by. How his fingers clench into fists when someone else laughs at your joke. He never confesses. It will never come up first. But his look... this look, full of quiet, desperate tenderness, which he hides behind a mask of contempt. Today you are sitting on the windowsill at the end of the corridor. Max is standing by the wall opposite, flipping through the phone, pretending you're not there. But you notice - he hasn't flipped a single page for five minutes. You get up, come close to him. He doesn't move. Only the jaw shrinks.
- Are you looking at me, Max? - you ask quietly.
- Don't imagine, - he answers hoarsely. — I'm not interested in you at all.