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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.
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“How come our Valendra has been fawning over us?” said Pashka Ostapchuk, loudly surprised.
“She is pouring oil onto the future troubled waters of human passions,” Lena Bokova said dramatically.
“It’s blubber she’s pouring and not oil,” grumbled the enlightened philatelist Zhorka Landys. “Where would an old bat like her get oil?”
“Stop that,” Iskra said sternly. “Don’t speak about your elders that way, and I don’t like the phrase ‘old bat’.”
“As an example.” Iskra peeked at Vika, noticed that she was smiling, and was disappointed. “We shouldn’t, guys. The whole class shouldn’t be gossipping like this.”
“Yes, yes, Iskra,” Valka Edison hastily agreed. “You’re right, we shouldn’t do it in class. At home is better.”
But Valentina Andronovna did not at all limit her goals to the scope of the class. True, she wanted to rule over the minds and souls of the obstinate 9’B’, but this was not the dream she treasured. She was entirely certain that the school – her school, which she had ruled absolutely for a whole half-year – had fallen into the hands of a gambler and opportunist. This was what tormented Valentina Andronovna, this was what forced her to write letters to all possible destinations, but those letters did not yet receive any response. Yet. She took this “yet” into account.
In her relentless struggle with the leadership of the school, she did not think about her career even secretly, even to herself. She thought of the party line, and she quite sincerely, to the point of tears and despair, thought the line that the new principal took to be mistaken. She was sincere in her fight for the common good, and not for personal benefit. Nothing personal existed in her ascetic life as a lonely and uncharming woman, and had not for a very long time.
On Sunday they partied, on Monday they thought about the party, and on Tuesday after school, Iskra was summoned by Valentina Andronovna.
“Sit down, Iskra,” she said, firmly closing the door of the classroom of 1’A’, where she always held private conversations.
Unlike Zinochka, Iskra was not afraid of summons, or private offices, or one-on-one meetings, because she never felt that she carried any guilt. Zinochka, on the other hand, always felt guilt – if not about the past, then about the future – and was desperately afraid of it all.
Iskra sat, tugged down her dress – it’s awful when your knees stick out, simply awful, and they do! – and prepared to listen.
“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?”