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It had just been like any other day when Ilya’s life was turned completely upside down. He’d gotten into another fight at school. His father had yelled at him for a few hours, then he yelled at his mother for a few more when she asked him to give it a rest. Ilya wasn’t allowed to go to his room until he finished his dinner, which had gone cold 15 minutes into his father’s lecture. It was gross, but he gulped it down in record time just so he wouldn’t have to sit and watch his parents fight any longer than necessary.
Andrei barely acknowledged him when he finally entered their shared bedroom, his older brother more interested in the music blasting through crappy earbuds from his Discman. He’d already made fun of Ilya for getting in trouble and that meant they’d hit their interaction quota for the day. He just rolled over on his bed with an eye roll. That was Andrei’s way of telling Ilya not to bother him. Not that he wanted to, anyway.
He’d wanted to go play with the kid that lived in the apartment next door, but there was no way his father would let him while he was in trouble. Not to mention he was too busy fighting with his mother. So, instead, he just flopped onto the creaky bed lining his side of the room and tried to go to sleep. At that point, the sounds of his father yelling and his mother pleading just served as white noise.
***
He slept fitfully, waking up and falling back asleep in waves. Every time he fell asleep a new dream would float across his consciousness that he’d forget as soon as he woke up again. He’s not sure what time it is when he is startled awake by a cold hand shaking his shoulders. His gasp was cut short by that same hand gently covering his mouth. His wide eyes take a second to adjust to the darkness. It’s still night time.
His mother was crouched next to his bed, a finger over her mouth in a shushing motion. Behind her, Andrei was getting dressed with a disgruntled expression. His mother removed her hand from his mouth and pointed to a small pile of bags by their bedroom door.
“Quick. Get dressed. Quietly.” She whispered. His eyes go almost comically wider.
“Are you sending me away?” He asked in a shaky whisper. As much as he wanted to play the part of a man, he was still a child, and the offhanded threats made by adults to send him away for misbehavior rang like an alarm in his head. Irina’s eyes softened and she smiled, a little sadly.
“No, sweetheart. We’re going somewhere safe. Just us.” She didn’t need to explain that ‘just us’ didn’t include their father.
One tense cab ride to the airport, an excruciatingly long flight, and a disorienting hour trying to get another cab once they landed later, Ilya found himself and his brother helping their mother bring their bags into a cramped, empty apartment in Ottawa, Canada. A fresh start, his mother had explained. He didn’t really understand why or how. His mother would only smile and tell him not to worry. He was worried anyway. He didn’t know how to feel about it, but he smiled for her sake. He couldn’t remember the last time his mother had looked so hopeful.
****
Being the new kid in school was hard enough, but considering his grasp on English was rough at best, it was especially difficult for Ilya. The other kids didn’t seem to know what to do with him. His clunky attempts at being friendly were received with caution and uncertainty. A particularly brave girl told him his accent was kind of weird. If he didn’t want to avoid getting in trouble, he would have told her that her accent sounded stupid, like she was speaking around a water bottle. Instead, he just shut up and walked away.
The only time at school he felt like he had any room to breathe was in his ESL class. His teacher didn’t expect him to perfectly understand the English letters that swam across his homework. She helped him instead. He felt bad for how often he flagged her down with more questions. Even at ten years old, he could see she was spread a bit thin. The class doubled as speech therapy, and it was just her and a frazzled looking teacher’s aid. Ilya felt a little reassured that even native English speakers struggled to speak correctly. It was a stupid language, anyways.
Despite his marked improvements with English over the next few weeks, he wasn’t doing too well in the friends department. The other kids said he “looked too mean”. Whatever that meant. His face was just his face. He couldn’t help it if he had a permanent glare furrowing his brows. After the first week of failed olive branches, he gave up trying. That didn’t mean his mother did, though.
After asking how making friends was going for the hundredth time and getting the same answer, “I don’t need friends,” she signed him up for an afterschool hockey program.
“You like hockey, sweetheart. It’ll be a good place to find friends with common interests!” She had explained to him. While it was true that he liked hockey, he felt very dubious at the thought of playing it with a bunch of Canadian kids. So far, they’d proven to be nothing but stuck up. He didn’t see why this would be any different.
But his mother had looked at him with that imploring look of hers, asking him to give it a chance, so he begrudgingly agreed to try it out.
He figured his first day at the hockey program would go much like his first day of school. He’d try to be friendly, most of the other kids would ignore him, and he’d spend the rest of his time doing everything in solitude. He didn’t mind that outcome, but he knew his mother worried. He didn’t like making her worry.
He didn’t recognize anyone from his class at the program. Maybe he’d have better luck with this bunch of new kids. He found himself hesitating once he was actually on the ice, though, feeling an uncharacteristic spike of anxiety. Most of the kids were already split off into groups, laughing and joking in their own little worlds. Worlds that probably didn’t include the “scary looking” Russian boy. He chewed his lip as he scanned the rink, looking for any kind of easy opening to try and introduce himself.
His eyes caught on a lone figure off in the corner. A boy with dark hair warming up on his own. He looked familiar, and Ilya stared hard at the kid’s face before recognition dawned on him. That kid was in his ESL class. He usually stuck to himself, glued to the seat closest to the teacher’s desk. Ilya barely noticed he was there half the time.
Maybe he was struggling to learn English, too. Maybe he also thought the language was stupid and had too many rules no one seemed to follow. Most importantly, he was alone. A perfect opportunity to make a friend. He shook himself out, took a deep breath, and skated over.
****
Being in speech therapy hurt Shane’s pride in a way he hadn’t experienced before. He didn’t even realize there was a problem until that fateful parent-teacher conference. It had been going great, his teacher raving about how well behaved he was and how well he was doing. Until one comment had it all crashing down.
“And his reading and writing skills are amazing! He’s actually ahead by a few grade levels. An absolutely amazing accomplishment for English being his second language. He should be very proud of himself!” His teacher had beamed. Yuna frowned, her brow furrowed.
“What do you mean second language? We speak English at home. It’s his first language.” She asked, slightly offended and very confused. Shane’s Japanese, unlike his French, was limited to the very basics. It was mostly things his mom would say to chide him when he misbehaved. Which wasn’t very often. French was really only spoken at school. So yes, English was his first and primary language.
His teacher’s face fell, replaced by surprise, and then concern.
“Oh! Oh… Well, we should probably consider getting him in speech therapy, then. He might have an impediment.”
It had been a real blow to Shane’s confidence.
Shane strived to be the best at anything he did, and this would be no different. Which meant he sat diligently in speech therapy and dedicated himself fully to being the very best. He’s not sure if there’s such a thing as being the best at speech therapy, but he’d find a way to do it. Anything to receive passing marks and get the hell out of that classroom. He already felt too different from the rest of his peers, and this was just one more thing to set him apart.
He’d been told he can get a little obsessive about things once he sets his mind to it. His parents told him it was called discipline. His classmates called it boring and weird. Either way, he was so focused on doing well in speech therapy that he’d taken no time to get to know any of the other kids in the class. Which is why when a tall kid with unruly blonde hair and a rough accent skated up to him at his afterschool hockey program, Shane had no idea who he was. But the kid knew who he was.
“You are in ESL class, too.” It sounded like it should be a question, but it’s said like a statement. The words are sharp and heavily accented. Shane kind of liked the way the accent sounded, but he was mostly disarmed by it. And the question… statement?
“What?” Shane wasn’t expecting anyone to talk to him. He got along better with the kids in his hockey camp, but they still rarely sought him out on their own. He didn’t usually mind. But he’d gotten used to his warm up time alone on the ice, and now that it was being disrupted he felt even more unprepared to talk to a new face.
“Or you are in speech therapy?” This time it sounded like an actual question. The kid’s voice was flat–almost as flat as Shane’s–and for the life of him, Shane couldn’t tell if he was trying to make fun of him or not. He shrugged and looked down, a skate toeing at the ice back and forth. The motion was soothing.
“I don’t see you talk to other kids.” Another statement. Shane didn’t know how he was expecting him to respond, so he just shrugged again, still looking down at his skates.
“Do you want to be friends?” Shane finally looked up at that, eyeing the other boy suspiciously. He’d been asked that question before, and for some reason was met with teasing when he’d answered too eagerly. He didn’t know why people bothered asking questions they didn't want the actual answers to. And besides, how was he supposed to know if he wanted to be friends? He didn’t know this kid at all.
“I don’t even know your name.” He grumbled.
“Ilya.” The boy responded immediately. Well, maybe he did actually want to be friends. Shane can’t think of a single reason why. Ilya also didn’t know him at all.
“I’m Shane.” He offered. Because that’s what you do when someone introduces themselves, and his parents taught him to always be polite when meeting new people. Ilya nodded, and they lapsed into silence.
“So?”
“So, what?”
Ilya rolled his eyes and sighed dramatically, waving a gloved hand between the two of them. “So, do you want to be friends?” Maybe that should have been obvious. Shane still wasn’t totally sure if the other boy was trying to pull some kind of prank on him. Aren’t people supposed to be a lot more… friendly when trying to make new friends?
He had half the mind to say no, but then his mom’s concerned face flashed in his mind, asking if he’d been getting along with any other kids. His answer was always the same: a noncommittal shrug. He let out a sigh of his own.
“Uh, sure. I guess.” It was a lukewarm response even for Shane’s standards, but Ilya just smiled triumphantly.
‘Cool.”
“Yeah. Cool.”
They stared at each other for what was surely an uncomfortable amount of time, a hesitant nervous smile spreading across Shane’s face when neither of them said anything. What the hell was he supposed to do now? He was thankfully saved from further social torture when the coaches finally blew their whistles, calling everyone to start practice.
****
Shane figured Ilya would forget about their haphazardly formed friendship by the end of practice. It wouldn’t be the first time. He was very wrong.
The next morning, Ilya sought him out. Shane always sat in the library while he waited for school to start. It was much quieter than the cafeteria. He was reading at a small table tucked away in the back of the library when a backpack slammed onto the surface and a body slid into the chair opposite of Shane. He looked up, startled, and saw Ilya sitting across from him looking bored.
“Hi.”
“Oh. Hi.” Shane replied. Ilya didn’t say anything else after that, so Shane went back to his book. Maybe he’d go away on his own. He didn’t, of course.
“What are you reading?” Ilya asked, propping an elbow on the table and resting his chin on his hand. Shane sighed.
“It’s a book about a hockey player.”
Ilya let out a raspberry and rolled his eyes. “Boring.” He said. Shane huffed and kept reading, deciding to ignore the other boy. So he was just trying to mess with Shane. Go figure. He was able to get a few more paragraphs in, enjoying the blissful silence, before Ilya started to rhythmically tap his fingers on the table. It took re-reading the same paragraph three times before Shane’s patience snapped.
“Would you stop that?”
Ilya looked back at him and raised an eyebrow.
‘What? This?” he tapped his fingers against the table again.
“Yes. It’s distracting.”
Ilya did it again.
“Dude.”
Whatever Ilya was going to say, probably something to make fun of him, the bell interrupted him. For once, Shane felt relief at the idea of stepping into class instead of his usual anxiety. His relief was short-lived.
When it’s time for him to go to speech therapy, Ilya is there standing outside his classroom. Shane looked up and down the hall, but didn't see anyone else.
“Are you waiting for someone?” He asked skeptically. Ilya gives him a dry look.
“Yes. You, dummy. Let’s go.” He reaches over and grabs Shane’s sleeve, all but dragging him towards their shared class. Shane was too flustered by the sudden contact to properly react, so he just let himself be led.
Things don’t improve in speech therapy. Ilya parked himself at the desk right next to Shane. At least they didn't really talk, their work demanding their attention. Although trying to focus on his speech exercises with the teacher’s assistant was a struggle when Ilya kept showing him stupid doodles from behind the teacher’s back. When it was over, Ilya silently walked Shane back to class, waving goodbye when they got to the door and walking back towards his own class without much preamble.
When it’s lunch time, Ilya found him sitting alone at his usual spot and, once again, parked himself right next to Shane. Once again, they don’t really talk, eating in silence. Shane felt unnerved, unable to get at what the other boy was trying to pull.
Ilya also quietly followed Shane around during recess. Shane just walked laps around the playground because he didn’t feel like fighting for a spot on the swings. He figured Ilya would get bored quickly and go find someone else to play with, but he just kicked rocks and occasionally bent down to pick dandelions and show them to Shane. They weren’t any more interesting than the first time Ilya showed him. Shane still humored him–for some reason–and gave him the same wooden smile and small nod each time. When the teachers finally called them back inside, he’d gathered a little bouquet of yellow weeds. They both watched silently when his green-stained hand let them go to flutter off into the wind.
The afterschool hockey program was no different. Ilya found him during warm ups and they silently coexisted. Shane was annoyed to find out that Ilya was actually very good at hockey. Almost as good as Shane. Usually, he could skate circles around the other kids. But Ilya actually made him work for it. This absolutely could not stand. Shane ignored the little thrill he felt at playing against someone that actually challenged him, and instead committed to never letting himself get bested by the other boy. Frustratingly, it only worked half the time.
By the end of practice he’s more worn out than he’d ever been. And annoyed. Ilya sidled up next to him while he waited at the pick up line and smirked.
“I didn’t expect Canadian hockey player to be so good. Almost good as me.” Shane glowered at him.
‘Shut up.” It wasn’t a nice thing to say, and he would regret swearing later, but Shane was fed up with the entire day. Ilya shot him a mock wounded look, his hand dramatically clutching at his chest.
“I thought Canadians must be nice? You crush my dreams.”
Shane rolled his eyes, suppressing the grin that was fighting its way onto his face. He spotted his mom’s car in the line, and made a beeline towards it.
“Whatever. Bye.” He’s never been known for having good banter. He waved awkwardly, trying and probably failing to look cool and totally not bothered by Ilya’s talent.
“Bye bye.” Ilya calls after him, sounding infuriatingly relaxed.
When he clambers into the backseat, his mom looks back at him with a painfully hopeful expression on her face.
“Who was that? A new friend?” Shane wants to melt into the seat.
“Uh, yeah. Sorta.”
Yuna fails to keep the excitement out of her voice when she says, “That great, honey! Tell me all about him! Is he nice?” Well, he’s not mean, but Shane isn’t sure he’d use the word nice to describe Ilya.
“He’s new at school. He’s in my speech therapy class but for ESL. He’s from Russia. I think.” He provides lamely.
“Well that’s nice of you to make friends with the new kid. It must be a big change coming from Russia all the way here.”
Shane was able to distract her by talking about hockey practice, carefully avoiding the detail about Ilya’s ridiculously good hockey skills, but he ruminated on his mom’s words. He thinks if he had to move to a completely different country that speaks a completely different language in the middle of the school year, he’d have a complete meltdown. So maybe he could be a little more understanding towards Ilya.
It’s easier said than done.
Ilya proceeded to repeat the same routine every day, following Shane around like a shadow. Sometimes he talked to Shane, asking questions here and there. He always seemed unimpressed with Shane’s answers. It was incredibly baffling to Shane. He realized he was someone that very much valued his alone time at school, and Ilya was monopolizing a lot of it. It was quite difficult to get used to. He would still think Ilya was trying to play some kind of prank on him, but after a week of the same thing, he didn’t think so. Which just left him even more baffled.
Was this really Ilya just trying to be friends? Could you even be friends with someone if all you really did was exist around each other? If he knew that was an option, he honestly would have given friendship a harder try. He didn’t totally mind it. If he was being honest, sometimes it was even comforting. The problem wasn’t that they didn’t talk much. That was probably for the better considering the more Shane talked, the less other kids wanted to be around him.
He just couldn’t tell what Ilya was thinking at all. He would stare at Shane intently, his eyes feeling like a brand. It made him feel strangely vulnerable. Of all the kids in school, why on earth did Ilya want to be his friend? He didn’t know if it would be an appropriate question to ask the other boy. He had a tendency to ask a lot of questions and people made it known very quickly that it was annoying. He couldn’t help it. He just wanted to understand.
He’d never had someone ask to be his friend and then commit to it. At least not after he started talking too much. Shane decided he’d hold off on his questions for now. Totally not because he was afraid he’d ask too many and Ilya would get annoyed and stop hanging around him. Totally, absolutely not. It was just new territory. The smarter thing would be to observe first and see how things play out. Totally.
***
Ilya was very pleased with himself. Choosing Shane to be his friend had a lot of perks. Mainly, Shane never commented on his accent or called him scary. He’d sometimes correct Ilya’s grammar, but it wasn’t in a mean way, just very matter of fact. Ilya could appreciate how straightforward Shane was.
Shane also didn’t mind how little Ilya spoke. He still felt insecure about his English, so he tried not to speak too often unless he had to. That didn’t mean there weren’t a lot of things he wanted to say and ask Shane about. Sometimes it took him a while to find the right words, practicing several times in his head and then a few more under his breath before he got the courage to actually say something. It was always worth it.
His new friend was incredibly easy to fluster. Playful teasing came easily to Ilya, a shield for his insecurities speaking English. In Russian, he was quick-witted with a sharp tongue. It felt incredibly frustrating that he couldn’t express himself the same way in English. At least poking fun at Shane didn’t take many words, and the result was always delightful. When Shane got angry or flustered his face would get impossibly red, cheeks puffed out in a pout and freckles stark. Ilya had become a little obsessed with those freckles. He found himself, more than once, wanting to squish Shane’s cheeks between his fingers like a chubby kitten.
Despite Ilya’s teasing, he always kept it lighthearted. Just enough to make Shane’s nose scrunch up in annoyance, but never truly mean-spirited. Other kids, though, did not. And poor Shane was hopelessly oblivious to it.
“Hey Shane! How’s s-s-s-s-speech therapy going?” Two boys with wicked grins walked up to them one afternoon during lunch. Ilya couldn’t be bothered to remember their names, but he recognized them from Shane’s class. Shane looked up from his food and stared at the boy who spoke while he took a moment to finish chewing, a curious look on his face.
He swallowed then said, “Fine, I guess. Why? Do you need speech therapy, too? I didn’t know you had a stutter.” The boy’s face twisted into a scowl, his face turning red. His friend next to him snickered.
“I don’t have a stutter, stupid. You do.” The kid spat. Shane’s head cocked to the side, confused.
“No I don’t. My teacher says I have an articulation disorder. And I’m not stupid. I have better grades than you do.” Again, it was something he said matter-of-factly. Ilya didn’t think he was trying to be mean, it was probably just the truth. The boy’s hands fisted at his sides and his face somehow got even more red.
“Shut up.”
“That’s a bad word.” Shane sounded a little scandalized.
“It’s actually two words. Who’s stupid now?”
Ilya looked back and forth between Shane and the boy that was currently struggling to bully him. This would be almost funny to watch if it weren’t so painful. Shane was too sincere and just looked confused, while the other boy looked ready to get physical. Shane wasn’t trying to fight the verbal battle started by the bully, but he had easily cut the kid down without even realizing it. A flash of hurt crossed Shane’s face. It was there and gone in a second, but Ilya caught it.
“Why do you keep calling me stupid?”
Alright, time to put an end to this. Ilya did not like seeing that look on Shane’s face. The boy was too nice for his own good, so Ilya decided he’d be the mean one.
“Go away. You guys are dumb and annoying.” He leveled the two boys with a glare. They both startled, seeming to notice him for the first time. They looked scared, the bully’s lackey tugging on his sleeve and urging him to give it up. The bully, however, quickly adjusted his expression back to an angry one and puffed up his chest.
“I’m not scared of you, Rozanov.” Ilya rolled his eyes, feeling impatient. Lunch was almost over and these kids were taking up too much time when he could be doing better things. Like teasing funny kitty pouts out of Shane and seeing how red he could make his face. He stood up, coming face to face with the bully, their chests inches apart. He was a few inches taller than the other kid, and he used it to his advantage when he scowled down his nose at him.
“I’ve been in fights. Have you?” He tried to sound menacing, like how Andrei gets when Ilya has annoyed him too much, but he’s not sure how successful he is. Luckily, he called the kid’s bluff. The bully’s face crumpled in fear, and before Ilya could take another breath, both kids were scurrying back to their table. Canadian kids are soft. Ilya knew they didn’t actually want to fight. So annoying.
He sat back down with a huff. Shane was looking at him thoughtfully when he finally glanced in his direction.
“That was mean.” There wasn’t much conviction behind the words.
“They were mean first.” He defended himself. Shane was quiet for a moment, eyes cast down at his lunch.
“Have you really been in fights before?” Ilya shrugged.
“Did you win them?” Shane asked curiously, looking back up at him. Ilya smirked. He’d won about half the time, but Shane didn’t need to know that, so he just nodded.
“Woah. That’s cool.” Ilya was surprised by the quiet praise. He figured mister goody-two-shoes would be annoyed at him for getting into fights. Usually, fights made him anxious. Because after every fight meant getting in trouble. But the swell of pride threatening to burst out of his chest made him want to stomp over to those bullies and fight them just to see more of that admiring look in Shane’s big eyes.
“I wonder what I said to make him so angry.” Shane looked genuinely puzzled when he said it.
“They were bullying you. You know this, right?” He asked. There’s no way the kid was that clueless. Shane’s brows furrowed.
“How? He was just asking about speech therapy–” He cut himself off, understanding finally dawning on his face. “Oh.” Then it fell, looking somewhere between sad and frustrated. “I wish people would just say what they mean. Instead of pretending.” He sighed, long and suffering. It made him look like a little adult, shoulders sagging as if dragged down by the weight of the world.
An image came unbidden to Ilya’s mind of ten year old Shane wearing an oversized business suit, sitting at an office desk and sighing heavily with a shake of his head, muttering about important adult things like… paperwork and something called divorce. Oh, and the electric bill. Adults always complained about electric bills. He had to shake his head to get rid of the silly visual and focus back on the very dejected-looking Shane.
Again, this simply won’t do. It’s funny kitty pouts or nothing. Ilya hated seeing how sad Shane looked, eyes big and round and wet. It made Ilya want to hit something. He decided that, going forward, he was going to make sure no one got away with making Shane look sad. He’s the only one that gets to tease him because, clearly, everyone else around here has no idea what they’re missing out on and he wanted to keep it for himself. Also, they’re all a bunch of jerks.
He doesn’t get why the other kids would want to be mean to Shane in the first place. The kid is perfectly boring and nice, a model Canadian boy. Being mean to Shane feels like kicking a puppy. It just doesn’t feel right.
“Who cares what they say? They suck. I won’t let them bother you anymore.” Ilya nodded sagely. Yes, this was a good plan. He feels like a genius. He’ll scare off all of the boring stupid bullies that make Shane’s face look sad and sucky. Then he gets to keep Shane and his fun faces all for himself.
Thankfully, after his declaration, he got to add a new Fun Shane Face to his list of favorites. Because Shane was looking at him like he was some kind of hero. Which, yeah. He basically was.
“Thanks.” Shane said quietly and looked back down at his lunch, tucking his hands shyly into his lap as his shoulders rose to his ears. His cheeks flushed and dimpled with a small, happy smile. Ilya wanted to grab him by the shoulders and shake him silly. Or maybe squish his face between his hands. Or throw him across the playground. Or squeeze him in a hug until he couldn’t breathe. Or roll him up and carry him in his pocket so he can take him out and poke him like a stress ball. Or–
****
Shane still didn’t totally understand Ilya or his motivations, but after a few weeks, he decided not to question it. Especially since Ilya had proven himself to be a great friend, if not a little infuriating at times. Ever since the attempted (failed?) bullying incident, he and Ilya had developed a bit of a silent language. Any time someone came up to talk to Shane in that off-putting hard-to-read way, Ilya would tap their feet together under the table. Shane would glance over and Ilya would give him a look that he’d come to learn meant “They’re trying to mess with you.”
He didn’t often get a chance to practice any come-backs towards the bullies, though. As soon as he would clue Shane in on what was going on with their secret foot tap and look, Ilya would take over and tell off the other kids until they left them alone. Strangely, he didn’t have to try very hard. The other kids acted afraid of Ilya. It didn’t make much sense to Shane, since he would usually just repeat the bully’s words right back to them. If they could say mean things without being scary, why on earth was it scary when Ilya said it? It’s a good thing Ilya was the one to handle the other kids. Shane thought he’d probably just make things worse. He was content to stick to their secret language instead.
He could admit that sharing something–even something as simple as a few silent looks–that just belonged to him and Ilya made him feel giddy with excitement. It’s like real friends in the movies and TV. Like Milo and Otis! Although, that’s a kitten and a pug, not two ten year old boys. Whatever. Kittens and pugs can be friends. Ilya and Shane are friends, too. Maybe he could propose a secret handshake next. He’d seen friends do that. He wished they were neighbors. Then they could do that stupid two cans and a string thing. Oh! They could get walkie talkies! Okay, maybe he was getting a little ahead of himself.
All that stuff was best friend stuff. And considering he and Ilya still don’t exchange more than a few sentences each time they see each other, Shane didn’t think they were quite at that stage yet. But he realized that he actually wanted to be. He would need to come up with a plan. His mom always said the best way to get things done is to make a plan first. His dad had also said something about the best laid plans and mice. Well, he would lay the best plan and if mice needed to be involved, he’d cross that bridge when he got there. He took out one of his extra notebooks to start jotting down ideas. He used his favorite pen. For good luck.
His thoughts were interrupted by a tap on his shoulder. He looked up and immediately sighed. In front of him stood Dallas Kent and his posse. A kid that, at this point, he needed no help understanding had it out for him.
“You can’t hide behind that Rozanov kid all the time, you know?” Dallas sneered. Here we go. The teacher had left the room to go get copies, so he was on his own for now. Shane glanced at the clock at the wall and saw it was almost time to leave for speech therapy. He could stall for a few minutes and then be out of there and away from this interaction.
“What are you talking about, Dallas?” He asked, slowly gathering his things and putting them in his backpack so he didn’t have to look at the jerks in front of him.
“You know what I mean. You use that Russian kid to hide behind so you don’t have to face me like a real man. My dad says a man who doesn’t fight his own battles is a coward.” Dallas looked far too pleased with himself. Shane fought not to roll his eyes as he stood up, slinging his backpack on and glancing at the clock again. Just a couple more minutes.
“I don’t use him. He’s my friend. We’re not fighting any battles.” He explained. He thinks about him and Ilya in shining armor, riding horses into battle against Dallas and all the other bullies. They would definitely win in a real battle. He wondered what banner they’d fight under. Maybe they can make one together. Dallas’ scoff takes him out of his little reverie.
“No one is friends with that freak. Although, if anyone would be friends with him, I guess it would be a loser like you.” One of the boys standing next to Dallas makes an “Ooh” sound and gives him a high five. A girl sitting nearby perks up, her attention caught.
“Who are you guys talking about?’ She asked.
“That Russian kid, Rozanov. No one is friends with him, right?” Dallas looks over at the girl for confirmation. Her eyes light up in recognition before her face scrunches.
“Oh yeah. He’s scary.” She agrees.
Shane feels his face heat as something like righteous indignation sets a fire deep in his stomach. His fists clench at his sides, and for a moment, he splutters in utter disbelief. These kids didn’t even know Ilya and they were so quick to judge. Ilya might be quiet, and he might be kind of annoying, and he might be infuriatingly good at hockey, but he wasn’t scary. And he certainly wasn’t a freak. Shane may have gotten used to the occasional name-calling from his peers, but Ilya has done absolutely nothing to these kids to deserve their bullying.
“Y-you guys are unbelievable! I’m surprised anyone wants to be your friends since you’re all a bunch of–of judgemental friggin… jerks!” Several gasps sounded in the classroom at his cursing, and Shane belatedly realized his voice had risen to a yell and he’d garnered an audience. Well, it was too late to back down now.
“I’d be Ilya’s friend any day over you guys! None of you have even bothered to get to know him. Well, you know what? That’s your loss. Cuz now he’s my friend, and not yours. So… so screw you!” He huffs and, without checking the time, he storms out.
The door was propped open, so he couldn’t slam it like he wanted to, but he hoped he still had the intended dramatic effect. He also hoped he wouldn’t get in trouble for his outburst. He was still too angry to care about it for now.
He stopped dead in his tracks when he came face to face with Ilya, who’d been waiting for him in his usual spot to walk to speech therapy. Which also meant he probably just heard everything, if his shocked expression was anything to go by. If he weren’t still so angry, Shane would find the look hilarious. It didn’t fit Ilya’s face at all. Instead, Shane felt his face burn impossibly hotter as he huffed again and grabbed Ilya’s hand, pulling him towards their shared class.
“Come on! You’re right, those guys freaking suck.” He snaps. Ilya just follows along and neither of them say anything for a moment.
“You didn’t need to do that.” Ilya finally says quietly. Shane doesn’t like the defeated way Ilya said that. He stops and whirls around to face Ilya, adrenaline still pumping.
“Of course I did! You’re my friend! And friends help each other! Like Milo and Otis!” He ends on a whisper-yell, not wanting to draw anymore attention while they’re out in the halls. Ilya just looks at him–a little confused–before nodding slowly, a small smile forming in the corner of his mouth. Shane nods resolutely, like a decision had been made. He turns back around, hand still clutching Ilya’s, before stopping and turning again. He doesn’t quite make eye contact this time, his face burning red.
“From now on, we’re best friends, okay? So if anyone gives you trouble, tell me. Okay?” Anxiety spikes as the words leave his mouth. This wasn’t at all how he planned for this to go. And he was surely missing some important steps in the “Make Ilya My Best Friend” plan he was drafting. But clearly, they needed to speed things along here. For Ilya’s sake, obviously. He needed someone to have his back and who better than a best friend? Who better than Shane?
‘Best friends. Okay.” Ilya shrugged, playing it nonchalant. The wide smile that broke out on his face gave him away, though. Shane had never seen him smile like that before. He decided he’s going to spend every day trying to get that smile out of the other boy at least once. It made Shane feel like he has the confidence to stand up to anyone. What’s a few bullies to deal with when you have a best friend that smiles like that?
They start walking again, this time side by side, sweaty hands still clutched together.
“What’s Milo and Otis?” Ilya finally asked as they reached their classroom.
“It’s a movie.” Shane shyly glances at him. “Um. Would you want to come over some time and watch it with me?” Ilya looks at him a little surprised, then a pleased grin slides into place.
“I would like that, I think.” He says.