Eleventh grade. Early September.

I had just turned sixteen a few days ago.

It was an ordinary and yet unordinary morning in the classroom that had practically become my second home. If anyone were to ask me when it all started, I would undoubtedly point to this very day. I could even tell them the exact moment it all began, and a small event that happened to me played a significant role in it.

"She's definitely looking at you. I swear. I can clearly see it from here."

Yes, that was the event. I could confidently say that problems often started with the words "I'm telling you." I didn't know why I had this opinion, but my confidence in it was unwavering. Perhaps it was all about the word "swear," which every other person stretched out like chewing gum, so the interlocutor could feel just how ready they were to stand by their words. And how wrong they would turn out to be later.

Nevertheless, being a guy, I won't lie and say that I wasn't flattered by female attention, and curiosity is never a bad thing. So, tearing my eyes away from the book, I looked at my friend.

"And who is looking at me?" I asked with a hint of interest.

He merely grinned slyly and pointed in the right direction with his eyes. There, in the corner of the class, stood our class representative's assistant, who, noticing my gaze on her, immediately blushed, lowered her eyes, and turned away.

"See! What did I tell you, huh?" He elbowed me in the side. "I'm telling you, she likes you."

"Just because a girl blushes when you look at her doesn't mean anything," I shrugged and was about to go back to reading when my friend slammed my book shut.

"Enough with reading already! Look around! It's fall, summer uniform, girls!" He seemed ready to hit the ceiling at the mere thought of summer.

"Heat, mosquitoes, broken air conditioners," I continued.

"Wet t-shirts and blouses on female bodies!" He seemed not to have heard my input. "Just think of what you could achieve!"

"Arrhythmia and heavy sweating," my response came without hesitation. "Maybe even a heart attack, who knows."

I was right; in the Free Manchurian Republic, especially in the south where I lived, September was always warm, and it only started to cool down in the second half of the month. So, we were looking at warm days, no different from summer, until mid-September.

"Oh, forget you," he dismissed with a wave of his hand. "All you ever do is whine. Do you enjoy being a stubborn pessimist?"

"It's also called realism," I shrugged and opened the book, looking for where I had left off.

"Is a book really more interesting than girls?"

"Yes. Much more."

"And you're going to ignore all her hints?" He squinted. "Really?"

"What hints?" This time, I looked up at him myself, intrigued by his words. Hints? From a girl? To me? Now, I was curious.

"Yeah! She was winking at you," he crooked his index finger. "Brought you an eraser from the other side of the classroom," he crooked his middle finger. "Always helps you out and pairs up with you," he crooked his ring finger and pinky.

"And that's it?" I skeptically eyed his hand. To be honest, I was expecting more - my skepticism seeping through every word, unapologetically.

"Isn't that enough?"

"Not enough for someone like me."

"And how exactly do you differ from us, oh great one, that you require far more signs?" he asked with a smirk.

"Because I'm... fat?" I spread my hands, stating the obvious.

But I'm flattering myself a bit. It would be more accurate to say that I'm not just fat.

I'm obese.

I'm very obese.

At my recently turned sixteen years old, with a height of one hundred and seventy-six centimeters, I weighed a whole hundred kilograms, which was not good. A quick calculation of my body mass index indicated that I truly had a weight problem - the first stage of obesity. That's how fat I was.

And yet, it never bothered me. I never felt deficient, insecure, or, especially, victimized. The class treated me well, no one pestered, bothered, or humiliated me. Of course, there were occasional incidents, because idiots are ubiquitous, but nothing serious. You could say it was an ideal school experience, where all the students were genuinely normal, except for a few exceptions.

My mild aloofness, which others might perceive as being oppressed, was due to my lack of interest in my surroundings. I preferred quiet solitude and books over noisy groups. Short walks or sitting in the shade with ice cream over sports. Libraries over any events. Simply put... how should I phrase it... they just weren't very interesting to me.

That didn't mean I was some sort of a recluse. If I found something interesting, I would immediately take part in it. It just didn't happen often. Hence, everyone knew me as a very quiet, introverted person who loved to read, and I didn't bother to correct them.

The only person who could really get me talking was Alex. A seventeen-year-old guy of regular build with short hair, whom I've known since elementary school.

Always cheerful, always smiling, even when he got into trouble with the teachers. I never saw him be downcast, nor did I ever see the joyful smile slip from his lips. It was like he drew his energy and mood from the air itself.

Once, I helped him and his friends in... a rather unconventional situation, and we started hanging out after that. At the very least, I could call him my friend, whom I could trust, if not with my back, then at least with my money.

And now Alex was assuring me that the girl, Alina, was flirting with me. I noticed it many times too, and he didn't open my eyes to anything new. However… the winks, the constant glances, her willingness to help, pairing up with me… could he be right?

I didn’t really want to fuss over it, but having a girlfriend could be quite interesting. It's a new experience, after all. And my self-esteem would certainly rise, although I wouldn't say it was low to begin with.

"Just because you're fat doesn't mean you need twice as much attention as others," he dismissed. "Or are you not interested in girls at all?"

"I am interested," I looked carefully at Alina, the class representative's assistant. Though, I didn't understand what her assistance consisted of. Doing nothing, perhaps? "I just don't know if I'll have time for a girlfriend."

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"You're that busy?"

"I work, you know."

"Well, you'll find time for her then," he smiled.

"Maybe you're right," I muttered. But really, why think about it? I can always back off if necessary. And time... time is always there if you want it. "Alright, no use guessing..."

I started to slowly get up from my desk. No, it wasn't hard for me to stand up, I could be quite nimble when necessary. I just didn't see the need to strain myself right now. Alex slapped me on the back, encouraging:

"That's right, go for it with her. Persistence breaks down mountains."

Or stubborn heads. I wanted to respond that I wasn't going to sleep with her, to call it "go for it," but I kept silent. Not the place.

And I came back as quickly as I left, receiving an obvious answer. Honestly, subconsciously, that was exactly what I expected.

"No. She said no," I informed him, settling on a chair that groaned pitifully under me.

"No? What do you mean?" It seemed that such an answer was not what he wanted to hear from me. "No, you didn't approach her, or no..."

"No, means she refused me," I answered calmly.

"But... you... Wait, you didn't outright ask her if she liked you or not in front of everyone?" Alex suspiciously looked me in the eye.

"No, I just went up and suggested we take a walk after class. And no, there was no one around," I anticipated his question. "But she said that I'm just a good friend, and she didn't mean anything like that," I shrugged.

"But... she... she was winking at you and..."

I stopped listening to him after that. There was no point, as I was unlikely to learn anything new from him. No offense to Alex, but he couldn't tell me anything new besides gossip. And here, my mood was a little spoiled because of the rejection, so I didn't feel like listening to him. What would he tell me? That all women are bitches? Or that he couldn't be wrong?

I had run into this situation many times before and wasn't surprised or overly upset, although it stung a little. You look at a girl, she smiles, winks, and gives all the signs that she likes you, but as soon as you approach her, she shuts you down. Why all these signals then? It means you're just a nice guy!

Then, they wonder why guys are becoming less likely to make the first move.

But I didn't despair. A rejection is just that, and the world doesn't end with it. I knew Alex was looking for a girl for one thing only – sex. For him, it was almost an obsession, as if not sleeping with someone at sixteen meant you'd wasted your life, and the world would cross you off its lists. I wasn't so categorical, although these repeated rejections certainly did not boost my confidence.

"...and back then it was the same!" Alex kept ranting about why on earth she had acted like that. "Why go through all of that? Just to reject you? To make you feel awkward? No, do you get it?"

"I get it," I replied, not really listening to what he was saying.

I wanted to finish the book before class started, as I wouldn't have time until the evening. After school, I'd have work, or more accurately, a part-time job. Then I'd have to do my homework and go to bed. Besides, he often subtly shifted the conversation toward me losing weight and so on. I was tired of explaining that I was content with everything, so I simply agreed with his arguments.

So, nodding at the right moments and agreeing, I continued to immerse myself in far happier worlds with far more interesting lives where I didn't have to face the unpleasant reality. I had reasons to escape, although Alex didn't know it yet. But that's what I thought. I was about to find out what an unpleasant reality really was.

"Hey, you're listening to me, right?" He nudged my shoulder. He seemed to have figured me out.

"Yeah, sure..." I mumbled.

"No, seriously, I'm pouring my heart out here, and you're sitting there looking like you're not even here."

"I'm here," I sighed. No, he definitely wouldn't let me finish the book today. I could feel it, he would bug me until he himself got tired. "See, I'm listening."

"I just wanted to talk to you about something..."

"You're already talking, aren't you?" I glanced at him with a smirk. "Right now."

"No, I mean about something serious."

"Something serious?"

It's not that I thought poorly of Alex, but he... wasn't one who could talk about serious matters. About real matters. About games, girls, where to go in the evening or for the weekend, crazy ideas – yes. But something serious, like work or an important task, that was definitely not him. Now, I just had to guess which of these he was going to bring up.

Alex lowered his voice.

"Do you want to make some extra cash?"

I knew it, another wild idea. I was expecting something like this, honestly.

He had always been an adventurer, always seeking ways to make money. It was a good trait, especially in our capitalist world. But he was not one of those who had a knack for money-making.

Every time he came up with a new scheme to make a quick buck, he would immediately turn to me and ask in a conspiratorial tone, "Do you want to make some extra cash?" He would try to drag me into his adventures, of which he had dozens if not hundreds. I can even recall the latest ones.

For instance, assembling computers and selling them. Buying parts, putting them together, and selling them at a higher price. The only thing that could be said in his defense was that he didn't lose money, he just broke even. Or opening his own shop, where he simply poured all his money down the drain without achieving anything. And each time, he tried to pull me into it. I desperately needed money, but not so much that I would invest in risky ventures. Honestly, I would have preferred if he showed as much interest in his studies. It would have been more beneficial.

I was about to refuse, but I was simply curious about what he would offer me this time.

"And how would I do that?" I asked in a deliberately bored tone.

"Well..." he looked around as if checking if anyone was nearby. "Remember, you helped me once?"

Yes, that was a standard beginning: remember, we talked; remember, you helped me with something; remember, I told you. But I had no idea what I was being dragged into.

"Helped with what? I've helped you with a lot of things," I shrugged, putting my book aside for a moment. "Homework, lessons, cleaning your room..." I slightly smiled, "your business."

"Why are you starting this again," he grimaced. "We all make mistakes. And I'm not talking about that crap," he shook his head. "Remember, back in elementary and middle school..." Alex lowered his voice to a whisper. "Well, with the safe..."

"A break-in?" I asked.

"Keep it down," he hissed and looked around again. But, of course, everyone else couldn't care less about us and what we were talking about. "I have a friend. A reliable one. He has a safe. He needs it opened. And you cracked it open like a can."

"Well, that safe was indeed like a can. He better hire a professional or take some..."

"No, you're not getting it. It needs to be opened neatly, without breaking the walls."

Looking back on that moment, I realize that after these words, I shouldn't have even asked about it. I should have just flatly said, "No". I knew perfectly well what people mean when they offer you to "make some extra cash" and carefully describe the essence of it; I wasn't that clueless. It was so obvious that even a child would have guessed. But curiosity was stronger, and no one knew then what curiosity could lead to.

"Do you understand what you're suggesting right now?" I asked.

"Of course," he nodded. "You just need to come, open it, and that's all."

"Break in, help rob," I clarified. "Criminal activity."

"No, those who take something are the ones who rob. You're just helping to open it. And you'll get paid for it."

Paid. The word was said, and it was to this word that I would return later. If I hadn't heard it, I would never have come back to this conversation and never would have remembered it. Nothing would have happened. But, as we say, a river starts with small, inconspicuous streams.

"It's not about the money. Are you seriously suggesting this to me right now?" I decided to clarify.

"Of course."

"No."

"So definitive," he sighed. "You need the money. You said yourself that all you do is work, right?"

"I need it, but not like this," I returned to my book. "And I wouldn't advise you either. Seriously, as a friend, drop this crap."

I know about such jobs for teenagers. Mainly because my Dad worked in the police force. I've heard many stories from him. How such workers are hired primarily because they're easy to get rid of if necessary. Moreover, according to him, many kids go for it because it's cool in the eyes of others. But I never felt such a need, nor did I want to get involved in such affairs, even for money.

"Oh come on, what's up, are you scared?" he smirked and nudged me in the shoulder. "Easy money. How much do you make, eight bucks an hour? And you work as a loader in a store, then you mop the floors. And here they'll pay you a whole five hundred, just think about it!"

Alex knew where to hit to provoke me. But five hundred dollars... That was a lot, a lot for me. Considering that my part-time job was only four hours, and I could only make thirty-two dollars a day, I would have to work continuously for just over half a month for that kind of money. And here, in one day...

"No," I shook my head.

"Oh, come on, it's five hundred..."

"No, I'm serious. The last thing I need is for my own father to drive me to jail."

"That won't happen..."

"No," I firmly replied, looking at him seriously. "Stop this. I won't get involved in such a thing."

"I'm just suggesting," he raised his hands, smiling. Just a moment, and the cloud of mystery that hung over us dissipated. "No means no. No conversation if you don't want it."

"No conversation... for this, your own parents would knock some sense into your head."

"Why are you bringing up parents all of a sudden?"

"Am I wrong? Go tell your Mom where you decided to work."

"Screw you," he dismissed. "I just suggested. However, if anything..."

Alex made a phone gesture near his ear, as if to call him if I changed my mind.

But I won't change my mind. At least, that's what I thought at that moment.