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The school had been built not long ago, and the newspapers had written about its opening. Its windows were wide, its desks were not yet covered with cuts and scrapes, in the hallways there were potted ficus plants, and there was a gym on the first floor, a rare thing in those days.
“That’s a pity,” Valentina Andronovna sighed. “Why do you think I asked you specifically? I could have decided to talk to Ostapchyuk or Aleksandrov, Landys or Shefer, Bokova or Lyuberetskaya, but I want to talk to you, Iskra.”
Iskra instantly put together that everyone on that list had been at the birthday party, and that the only ones missing were Sasha and Zina. Sasha was no longer a student of 9’B’, but Zinochka…
“I am speaking to you not only as the deputy secretary of the komsomol committee. Not only as an A student and an activist. Not only as a principled and purposeful person.” Valentina Andronovna paused. “But also because I know your mom well as a wonderful Party worker. You will ask: why this introduction. Because enemies are today using any means to corrupt our youth, to tear them away from the Party, to drive a wedge between fathers and children. This is why it is your sacred duty to immediately tell me…”
“I have nothing to tell you,” Iskra said, feverishly trying to figure out what in the world they had done on Sunday.
“No? Are you not aware that Yesenin is a defeatist poet? You didn’t consider that you were gathered under the pretext of a birthday – I checked Shefer’s record, he was born on September second. On the second, but he only invited you three weeks later! Why? Was it not for the purpose of acquainting you with the drunken revelations of a kulak singer?”
“Lyuberetskaya?” Valentina Andronovna was clearly surprised, and Iskra did not allow her to recover.
“Yes, Vika. Zina Kovalenko’s intelligence was faulty.” This was a trial balloon. Iskra even turned away, understanding that she was being provocative. But she needed to check her suspicions.
“So, Vika?” Valentina Andronovna had completely lost her tone of passionate accusation. “Yes, yes, Kovalenko produced a lot of chatter. Someone left the house, someone fell in love with someone, someone read poetry. She is very, very disorganized, Kovalenko is! Well, then everything is clear, and… and nothing is wrong. Lyuberetskaya’s father is a prominent director, the pride of our city. And Vika is a very serious young woman.”
“What? Yes, of course. You see how simply everything gets resolved when everyone tells the truth. Your friend Kovalenko is a very, very unserious person.”
“I will think about that,” said Iskra, and left. She was in a hurry to go talk to this unserious person, knowing her curious friend was definitely waiting for her in the school yard. She needed to explain some things about gossip, a loose tongue, and a frivolous attitude towards disclosures.
Zinochka was happily chattering in the company of two tenth-graders, Yuriy and Sergey, with Artyom hovering in the distance. Iskra silently took her friend by the hand and led her away; Artyom started off after them, but came to his senses and disappeared.
“Where are you dragging me off to?”
Iskra took Zina around the corner of the school, squeezed her into the nook at the entrance to the boiler room, and asked without preamble:
“Which are you, an idiot, a gossip, or a traitor?”
Instead of answering, Zinochka immediately summoned tears. She always sought their help in difficult situations, but in this case, this was a mistake.
“Did I blab? She caught me in the bathroom in front of the mirror, and started telling me off for making faces and… flirting. That’s what she said, but I don’t flirt at all and don’t even know how it’s done. So I tried to explain. I tried to explain and she started asking me horrid questions, and I didn’t want to say anything, honest to goodness, but I… did. I didn’t tell her on purpose, Iskorka, it wasn’t on purpose.”
Carefully sniffling, Zinochka kept talking, but Iskra was no longer listening. She was thinking. Then she ordered,
“Wipe your face, we’re going to the Lyuberetskiys’.”
Vika was no less proud of her father than Iskra was of her mom. But where Iskra was proud quietly, Vika’s pride was open and triumphant. She was proud of his awards, of the Order of the Red Banner for civil war service and of the medal for significant achievement in peacetime construction. She was proud of his numerous personalized gifts from the Narkom, of the photo cameras and watches, radios and gramophones. She was proud of his papers and articles, his combat achievements in the past and his admirable actions in the present.