YANA. Nothing. Mom.
MAYA. Ilya either stays quiet for long, or then starts bombarding her with texts. Weird ones, but who cares, he’s just joking. Yana is cool, two boyfriends at a time. Such a feeling, wow. She hopes Ilya will ask her out. But only Max does and she says yes. They have their routes, Yana’s home – his home, way to school and back, some small park in the neighborhood. It’s fall, the leaves are falling. Max keeps his hands in his pockets. Yana’s got a bag with nothing but her phone and headphones in it. The bag is just for looks. Max lights a cigarette like a noob. Yana laughs out loud, says…
YANA. Is that your first time?
MAX. Trying to quit.
MAYA. Max spits on the pavement, all fractured and cracked. They keep walking. Sit on the swing in the kids’ playground, start kissing with tongues. And next? It’s fall after all. It gets colder and Yana comes over to Max’s place. On some fifth or seventh date – she’d count them carefully – she lay in bed with him. He’s got a narrow bed. And those flower-printed sheets, like everyone has. She’s a good girl, for they claim in American movies that you should wait at least till the third date. “Or he’ll have no respect for you as a woman.”
MAYA. Also Max would enviously talk about Ilya’s girlfriend.
MAX. She’s not a girlfriend, just a friend, that’s what he says. Claims they’re in an open relationship. And they, well, you know. Some days she has time, and then she doesn’t, she’s already a student. But when she does, Ilya gets lost completely. Totally ignores us. But then comes back with a bunch of stories… Filthy ones.
MAYA. Yana was willing to be experienced and know about pleasure. And she also wanted that. She really did. She was already locking herself up in the bathroom at that time. You know?
ANYA. You want me to shoot that too?
MAYA. The girl quenches her moans in the bathroom, while her folks make the TV louder. And they would never ever tell her anything. Shoot whatever you want. I don’t believe in the lights at the end of the tunnel and pats on the head anymore.
5.
ANYA. Maya’s arrogance was freaking me out. Like she’d catch you when you were alone and off guard in the library, or in the hall, or in the toilet and start telling you this trash, and if you dared wince that meant you were only into vanilla movies and your life was all clear to her. Her hypocrisy was literally burning me from the inside. I didn’t believe her. And she just laughed and never answered my question about love and real feelings, about honesty and responsibility.
I said: Do you dream of someone? Have you loved? Have you been in love? Who was your first kiss? Just a kiss, or with feeling? And dreams? Are you dreaming? Of something special, of all that they’re laughing off in the movies? Would you fight for it? I can’t remember clearly, but I imagine that she would leave then, laughing. And I, in spite of my irritation, would proudly think I’d cracked her. That she just made up those crazy films. And like everyone else, watched Sherlock, or Game of Thrones, or whatever. And had dreams about someone like Cumberbatch. And smiled at how realistic those dreams are. I imagined that so clearly that I kind of started seeing them together in the university halls.