YANA. I don’t wanna.
ILYA. Attagirl.
MAYA. So they all take turns to buy Yana a beer, treat her to a cigarette, and sometimes candy, and also take turns to make out with her in the dark corners of flats. They don’t do those horrible things to her that she’s seen in porn. Maybe they’d love to, but either just don’t know how to, or are too afraid. So everything is quite fast and monotonous. And doesn’t get in the way of their friendship. Yana is still the only girl in the gang. They watch soccer together. Laugh. Drink. And Max is with them.
YANA. He was the only one who tried to act tender. Yuck, so disgusting. That caressing on my head. Like he’s comforting me. Pleasant and disgusting at the same time. So I tried to stay away from him.
MAYA. Yana lives with her Mom. Mom never asks her who she’s hanging out with, but often says…
MOM. Who do you want to be, girl?
MAYA. That question pisses Yana off. And she is happy the lads aren’t making fun of her like the other girls in the yard.
LADS. What’s that, cigarettes? And that, beer? Drop it right now, you’re a future mother! Hahaha.
YANA. That’s the last thing I need.
MAYA. She belongs. She feels needed.
11.
ANYA. Mark’s mom had another fight with his dad and ran off for a few days. This time she left them no food. Hungry, they had to go to a café and talk, for the first time in years. That was a real man’s talk.
YANA. The advice Evgeny Nikolaevich gave to his son could be summed up as one thing: Mark should find himself a girl that…
EVGENY NIKOLAEVICH. Doesn’t freak out.
ANYA. Mark suffered from his parents’ constant quarrels. He adored his mom, but wanted to be as strong as his dad. He held dear his attention and advice. And since he’d already found Yana, he decided to match her against that ideal.
YANA. I thought I was very wise. That I was not that breakup-makeup type of girl. I’d even read a few articles and a whole book on psychology and was doing my best to make sure our relationship worked. My biggest fear at the time was that Mark would break up with me. That would mean that I’d failed. That I’m just as stupid as other teens. I cited to Mark what they wrote in those articles, “We’ve got to work on our relationship.” Once, twice, for the tenth time. First calm, then with more and more anguish. I was trying to contain myself. I was trying to be a grown and well-tempered woman. And he…
MARK. Maybe we should take a break from each other? I need to focus on my studies.