* * *

The eighth-grader looked shabby, clutched his papers to his chest, and looked down frightened through the thick lenses of his plastic glasses. A white, wrinkled shirt and short trousers, with socks and brown boots peeking out. Who dresses like that!? Not like me in blue-striped sneakers! I got rid of my brown boots yesterday.

"Your order," the boy was nudged in the back, forcing him to take a few small steps forward.

"Is he really an excellent student?" I looked doubtfully at the subject of the exchange.

The possessor of such valuable knowledge must inspire terror! Well, I'd certainly inspire terror, I'm already practicing.

"The diary," he commanded, taking the thick, grey-covered notebook from the boy's hands and unfolding it in front of me. "Look, all the quarters are A's."

"There's a C here," I huffed, peering into the ruled fields.

"It's PE."

I shook my head with a smart look.

"Thirty, as agreed," I handed him the plastic bag, studying my acquisition with interest. The acquisition was nervous.

The big bald guy opened the bag, took a cube out of the middle, licked the edge with an enigmatic look, and froze as if listening to something - he even closed his eyes.

"It's all right," he nodded, tucking the bag behind the lapel of his sports jacket. "If there's any more, find me."

He looked around fidgetily and stalked off towards the staircases with a businesslike look.

"I think I know what he will be when he grows up," the eighth-grader sighed after him.

"He won't be able to get away with it," I agreed wisely. "Then his teeth will fall out. His kidneys will deteriorate, and his skin will turn yellow."

"Yes..."

"It's a sad fate for a sweet tooth."

"W-what?"

"Let's follow me." I had already waved and headed towards the uncle's room.

Behind me, my new physics teacher walks uncertainly. But he was wild, like Laika, who used to run in our park. She was afraid of everyone, too, until they fed her. Yeah, that's right!

"Would you like a cutlet?" I held up a plate full of fried delicacy to him.

We settled on my bed - I was closer to the table and the cutlets, and he was at the very end, by the door.

"Th-thank you, no..." he looked at the meat with hungry eyes.

Well, Laika refused at first too.

"It's a yum-my cutlet, am-am! Here?" I held the plate out in his direction.

"I really don't want to, thank you." He looked wildly frightened now and moved further away.

He doesn't trust me! It's all right. It's a friendly voice that counts.

"Let's get acquainted then," I smiled peacefully, putting the cutlets back. "What's your name?"

"Saimon," He shook my outstretched hand gently.

"Maxim, Emperor of the World. What are you looking at? It's not my idea. It's in the book. Do you want me to show you?"

Before I could produce the proof I was right, a very, very angry man burst into the room.

"So, you're here, are you...?" He hissed, slamming the door loudly behind him.

I immediately shoved the plate of cutlets onto Simon's lap and defended myself with a pillow. I don't know why. That's what grown-ups call intuition.

"Help, I've been sold for thirty cubes of sugar!" A squeak came from the side.

"Shut up and chew!" I shoved half a cutlet into his mouth, figuring I'd rather be punished for just one thing.

"So it was you who stole the cutlets from the cafeteria," said Uncle Kolya grimly.

"The cook gave them to me!" I objected grudgingly.

"And the money and the watch?!" roared the man.

"It wasn't like that! I just stood there and watched!" I started to explain.

"Yeah?!"

"It's true! I came and asked for more. Well... in my Voice... She gave me a cutlet. And I'm standing there watching. She gave me another cutlet. I stand and watch..."

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

"Go on!"

"And then she ran out of cutlets and gave me a watch!"

"And you couldn't stop her?!" He grabs his hair.

"I was curious!"

While we were arguing, Simon was chewing on his third cutlet.

"Give back the plate, traitor!"

"So, who's that?" The man calmed down a little.

"I was ******." the bastard said indistinctly.

"He says: I was caught. Can you imagine? I walk in, and he's eating our cutlets!"

On the right, he coughed and clutched his throat.

"Don't mind him, he'll be dead soon anyway," I reassured the uncle.

"Heelp!" A squeak came from beside me.

The man stepped closer and tapped the lad on the back a couple of times.

"That's right, better finish him off."

But Simon had coughed for some reason and was now looking at me angrily.

"I was joking," I clarified and moved the pillow so as to protect myself from both.

"Where are the money and watch?"

"I didn't take them. I put them in a cupboard in the kitchen. You know, the big one with the stuff in it."

"Okay. Maybe it'll be all right." Uncle ran his hand over his face and sighed, calming down.

"It'll be fine," I agreed, wary as I watched the eighth-grader tuck his glasses into his pocket, and continued to stare in my direction.

That's not Laika at all!

"Simon, let's be friends! I have binoculars!"

"Yes?" The old tiger growled incredulously, frozen before jumping and squinting blindly.

"You don't have any binoculars," snorted the watchman.

"R-rah!" A body rushed towards me.

Something huge flew into the pillow, flipping me onto my back and pressing me against the bed. The sides of the pillow slammed together with frequent, soft thumps. Simon panted angrily on top of me without reaching for me.

"Freeze, now!" The watchman's voice barked in my ear. "Maxim, who is it?"

"That's my new physics teacher," I gasped, trying to free myself.

"Ah, well, go on then," stretched a distant voice.

"So it's okay, right?!"

"Hmm, not really. Boy hit it a bit lower."

"And me?!"

"And you, a month without sugar! Bloody slave-trader...As if I had nothing else to do, there's some jerk who flushed his shoes down the drain..." And the front door slammed.

The next blows hit me exactly in the ribs. I wrenched my arms around, trying to grab onto him and topple him to the floor, but he was too heavy, and I was pressed into the middle of the mattress, which had buckled under our weight. But then I got lucky!

"Don't make any sudden moves - I'm very serious!" I grabbed something very expensive with my hands Simon and yanked it slightly.

"Ouch! Let go!" the boy panicked.

"One more sudden movement, and I'll squeeze my hand! I'm not joking!" I added sternness to my voice.

"You wouldn't dare!" There's not much confidence in that voice!

"Shall we test it? I've had enough strength - no one will fix it later!"

"Don't do anything stupid," said Simon anxiously.

"Get up slowly! Slowly, I said!"

"I do, I do. See?" With his hands up, the boy sat down on the bed, still over my legs.

I dropped the pillow to the floor, continuing to hold him tightly by his precious.

"Foot on the floor! Get up very carefully!"

"Maxim, just don't be nervous. We'll work it out," he gulped, looking down.

"On the count of three, I let go." I moved to the table and grabbed the jar of water with my other hand. "You make a move. I'm going to soak you!"

Soak - slang for the kill. But the young hero does not yet understand the concept of the figurative meaning of words. Yet.

"I got it!" The eighth-grader nodded.

"One, two, three!"

Simon lowered his hand carefully and took his glasses out of his pocket.

"Ugh, intact," he said with great relief, wiping the lenses and clipping the plastic onto the bridge of his nose. "If you'd broken them, I don't know what I'd have done to you..."

"It's not too late to check," I moved in menacingly.

"Calm down! No complaints. Let's go peacefully!" He backed towards the door, keeping his hands visible.

"Wait. One question." There was something about what had happened that was unsettling.

"Okay."

"Why do you have a C in PE?"

"I fight in class," Simon said with a sigh. "Are you really the Emperor? Or... that..." he waved his hand strangely at his temple.

"No," I sniffed, rubbing my ribs. "But I will! I just need to learn physics... I can do it without you!"

"How does physics help you?" He shrugged his shoulders without understanding.

"Secret," I frowned back.

Simon shook his head incredulously but did not bother.

"Look, what about the binoculars?" he said with restrained curiosity, already grasping the door handle.

"There's one in that backpack, but he won't let me touch it," I grimaced, pointing under the bed. "But there's something much more interesting! A book! It's magic, by the way."

I dug out the very book the watchman had prevented me from looking at, and with a mysterious look, I opened it in front of Simon.

"Wow," he opened his mouth to look at the colorful pictures. "Oh, wow...!"

"Yeah, you don't see that anywhere else!" I nodded with an important look, flipped through two more pages, and slammed the book in front of him.

"Is there one in the library?" Simon hesitated, looking hopefully at the closed volume.

"There's definitely no such thing!" I pressed my palm against the cover.

"It's still worth a look."

"Well, well, hope so," I tucked the book back away from Simon's glowing eyes.

"I've got the name memorized. I'll check," he muttered.

"Good luck!" I turned away, saying goodbye to the last hope of something to interest the failed teacher.

"Look, Maxim..."

"Hmm?"

"Well, if I can't find it, will you show me the book again?" Simon asked timidly from the doorway.

"Only in exchange for lessons!" I smirked, standing with my back to him.

"Deal!" The boy rejoiced and closed the door carefully.

Gotcha! I pulled out that book again and gratefully ran it across the smooth surface.

"You really are magical," I confessed and called her by her name fondly, "Ka-maz. The ins-tru-c-ti-on ma-nu-al and re-pa-ir ma-nu-al."

I cleaned up, went to dinner, gazed again admiringly at the beautiful, bright images of the huge red car, and then the wet and very angry uncle came in. The book was already in its place, and I stared smartly into Physics, staring at the incomprehensible squiggles. The watchman drew in his lungs, evidently not to praise me, but I pushed the blanket gently up revealing the boots under the bed, next to my sneakers.

"All right," he breathed out. "Help me change."

"Can I go for a walk afterward?"

"Go," he slumped tiredly on the bed, warming his leg with his hand.

A little later, picking up my boots, I cautiously crept through the door, rummaging through the corridor until I noticed a calling hand movement under the stairs.

"Thanks, mate," I poured two lumps of sugar into Sasha's hand and returned the boots.

"You're welcome," the boy sniffed happily, drifting off to his room.

Hopefully, by morning the uncle would have forgotten about the shoes. He did, probably because the babysitter showed up at night, and they put me out in the corridor for half an hour. I walked under the door and the window and listened to the long moans, and at first, I thought that the uncle was torturing the enemy. But when I met the red-faced and satisfied babysitter in the corridor, I understood everything at once. They were eating my sugar.

* * *

Chapter 6

Loneliness and cats