Daughter, where does it hurt? Mom yelled as she ran up to us.

- Hand. I can't move her.

- Fracture! she gasped. - We need to call my father, let him take us to the emergency room. Only until he arrives will we have time to grow old.

I saw the panic on my mother's face, and I panicked.

“Aunt Nadia, I’ll ask dad to take you now,” Cyrus assured her.

Kirill, thank you. Excuse me, - my mother murmured, picking me up.

- Nothing, I already forgot.

With these words, Cyrus rushed to the next entrance.

“He’s not so hopeless,” Mom muttered, giving me a reassuring smile.

A couple of minutes later, Kirill and his father ran out of the entrance, and Uncle Zhenya hurried around the corner - to the garages located in the neighboring yard.

“Papa will drive up now,” Cyrus assured us.

“I don’t even know how to thank you,” hysteria was heard in my mother’s voice.

“Just don’t forbid Yara to be friends with me anymore.

Mom just chuckled as she looked at my face.

- All covered in blood. My poor daughter, she wailed softly.

Silver Deo Uncle Zhenya drove up to us in the blink of an eye. My mother carefully placed me in the back seat and sat next to me herself.

“Kirill, go home,” his father ordered Cyril sternly, which prevented his attempt to sit next to him.

He sighed and closed the door, but before that he winked at me reassuringly and said:

Don't be afraid, Yara. Then I'll draw something funny for you on plaster.

I smiled weakly, and this smile immediately responded with pain in my broken lip.

* * *

I scowled at the bowl of mashed potatoes, trying not to disturb my split lip, which hurt with every movement. The left arm was covered in plaster up to the elbow. From the open window came the laughter and voices of children. Envy has been eating away at my soul for hours. None of them tumbled over the handlebars of a bicycle yesterday or spent half the night in the emergency room listening to a lecture from a doctor about stupid children.

The doorbell distracted me from my sad thoughts. Mom was at work, so I had to open it myself.

Four of my friends showed up outside the door.

- Will you let go? - Cyrus, who was at the head of this company, asked timidly.

I nodded and stepped aside. All four modestly took off their shoes and stomped to the kitchen.

“I can offer tea, but one of you will have to make it. I can only turn on the kettle,” I said, to somehow defuse the situation.

Zhenya volunteered to make tea.

“We came to apologize, Yara,” Cyrus began, “for acting like idiots. You are our friend and we are your friends.

Misha and Oksana nodded in agreement. I looked at them doubtfully and smiled at the corners of my lips. The readiness with which Kir and Misha helped me yesterday made it clear that our story is not over yet. To be honest, I didn’t really like talking with Oksana, but where can I get away from her? We've known each other since we were kids, and we've played together since we were little. So we got used to each other.

“We were bored without you,” Cyril admitted.

– Really? Who was there to laugh at? Unable to remain silent, I sneered.

“I promise not to laugh at you again. Well, if only a little bit. In a good way, - Cyrus assured me, raising his hands in a conciliatory manner.

“I don’t really believe you,” I put on a serious look, not without difficulty.

True, it turned out to be serious for no more than a couple of seconds. A treacherous smile appeared on my lips, and I laughed despite the pain.

Yes, for a long time I will not forget the words of Cyril and the caustic laughter of Misha and Oksana, but since we are still friends, we need to try to forgive them. I appreciate Kira, and he appreciates me, even if it is not always visible.

His words gave me a magical kick. I will try to become better in order to prove to a friend how wrong he was!

The oven beeped briefly. Salmon steaks are ready. Stas will be pleased with dinner. Proper nutrition and all that. Katya would probably cook him another fat lasagna. I have already heard about her culinary talent and love for cooking. The logic of Mironova is clear to me: the fatter the husband, the less willing to take him away. I think Stas would have easily found a mistress with a belly hanging down to his knees. Status attracts girls stronger than physical form.

The hands of the clock were approaching eight. Stas usually left work at this time. Well, I still had about half an hour to finish putting myself in order.

I took out red lipstick from my makeup bag and went to a large mirror in a wooden frame - the only thing that rolls with me from apartment to apartment. Stas has always been delighted with scarlet lips. I didn't deny him a little joy this time either. Moreover, it went well with a black lace peignoir, bought the day before especially for tonight.

Yesterday I once again went to his wife's page to scroll through new photos. Ordinary women's occupation. A few photos from the “liberated” photo shoot, supported by warm words of gratitude to the photographer, made me laugh maliciously. White lace underwear, short legs, one of which Katya coquettishly put forward, blond hair styled in a complex hairstyle, and poisonously pink lips. Mironova with all diligence prepared for the photo shoot. I would say, connected heavy artillery. Laughter choked me for a very long time. The woman has so much money, and out of habit she looks like the best milkmaid of the Chervone Drawbar collective farm, dressed up for her wedding night! Katya is only thirty-five, but with all this paraphernalia, she looked like a middle-aged woman desperately clinging to her elusive sexuality. It should be noted there was nothing special to slip away. I don’t know how Stas managed to marry her. He is the son of a man who went through the dashing nineties and came out of them with a solid jackpot - he could win any girl, but he chose this. We never talked to him about how they met his wife and how she attracted him. Stas did not let me into such a personal space.

Having laughed enough at the recruiting photographs of Mironov's wife, I decided to go shopping for lingerie before today's meeting and show him what real beauty is.

I put on lipstick and looked at my reflection carefully. Perfect. I even wanted to blow myself a kiss. This was interrupted by a phone call. And here is Mironov.

“Yes, dear,” I cooed.

“Baby, I can’t come today.

- Why? – a wave of indignation rose in me, – I was waiting for you today. I cooked your favorite salmon for dinner and myself in new underwear.

"I'm sorry, I can't get out." A classmate flew in from Moscow, wants to meet. We haven't seen each other for five years.

“How long ago did you know he was coming?”

Stas sighed heavily and admitted:

To be honest, a week ago. I just forgot to tell you.

“Thank you for your honesty,” I said indifferently, suppressing the urge to swear loudly. – Where will you go?

- In Asfero, as usual.

- Well, it's good for you to rest.

With these words, I dropped the challenge. Let him feel my indignation. I wanted to throw the salmon in the bin, but changed my mind in time. During my poor childhood, my mother always taught me to treat food with respect. If she knew that I was going to throw away the red fish, she would hit me with a towel on the fifth point.

For the next ten minutes, I ran around the apartment like a caged animal. Just think about it! A classmate has arrived! Stas has never neglected our meetings! Postponed things, postponed meetings, dodged, just to spend a couple of hours with me! What happened today? Has a girl appeared, causing even more desire in Mironov ?!

Ownership seethed inside and overflowed. I wanted to come to this damn restaurant and splash Stas and his new mistress with something in the face, unless, of course, he lied about Asfero!

Stop! What or who is stopping me from doing this? I will go there and see what kind of classmate or classmate came to him from Moscow. And if I find that he is there with some girl, the walls of this restaurant will remember me for a long time!

I grabbed the phone from the kitchen table and dialed Zhenya's number. As far as I remember, she has a day off tomorrow, so today she can go to bed tomorrow.

The friend didn't have to wait long.

“Yes, Yasya,” she answered in a bored voice.

- What are you doing? - I decided not to pull the bull by the horns with the standard question “how are you?”.

- I'm stuck in the series. And what?

- Yes, I want to get out to Asfero. Are you with me?

- You can go ... Wait a minute ... You should be with Stas today, - interest appeared in Zhenya's voice.

- He pushed me. You see, his classmate flew in from Moscow, and it is vital for them to meet today. I hope that there is a classmate, and not a classmate, otherwise Mironov will not be in trouble!