Forbidden Rock and Roll
The massive wooden door slowly cracked open. The snub-nosed, dark-haired boy of about fifteen timidly looked through the gap.
“Did you call for me, Rosalia Andrianovna?”
“I did, Temkin, I did!” a loud female voice from the other end of the office responded with displeasure. “Come in! Don’t pretend it’s your first time.”
The unfortunate Temkin’s restlessly darting eyes clearly showed he was desperately looking for an opportunity not to cross the threshold so as not to find himself in this terrible room. But he had no choice. With a resigned sigh, the dark-haired boy entered the office and closed the door behind him.
“Tell me about what happened, Seva.” A woman sitting at a round table made of dark wood took off her glasses and looked up at him with tired eyes.
He sighed heavily again and looked around the office wistfully. Indeed, it wasn’t the first time he was here. Last year, he went here as if going home, sometimes alone, sometimes with his father. The first time was better, of course. The arms and legs were intact, he had pocket money, and no one threatened to drive him out of the house. The fact that Andrianovna’s shouting was ringing in his ears for another week was nothing. He could survive it; there had been worse.
Nothing has changed in the office since the last academic year: the same sad, green walls, a battered carpet, and massive furniture made of dark wood. Maybe the flowers were different, but that was just a little thing. Andrianovna also changed her hairstyle—burned with peroxide. Poisonous white hair lay on her shoulders in some odd style.
“She looks like a poodle,” Seva thought, but he immediately pushed this thought away. First, to laugh in his position meant condemning himself to death. Second, even if he left the office alive, it would still be impossible to spread Andrianovna’s new nickname around the school—it would not take root. With eternally pursed lips, a tenacious hawk’s gaze from which all the schoolchildren huddled in hallway corners, and a broad-shouldered posture towering over even tenth graders, she involuntarily and simultaneously inspired awe and respect, even among slobs like Seva. A poodle? No way—a German Shepherd.
“Seva, please don’t waste my time,” the head teacher’s voice threatened. “Why did you break the window in our art teacher’s apartment?”
Seva lowered his eyes and began to scrutinize the toes of his shoes. They were already battered. If he didn’t change them soon, they would be riddled with holes, but that wasn’t surprising. He had been wearing them for over a year; it was a miracle they lasted this long. They had bought them, even though they knew he was growing, but now they pressed so hard against his toes that it hurt to walk.
“Seva!” Rosalia Andrianovna was becoming angry.
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Polina Krymskaya
Biography
I’ve been writing all my life. Mom says, “Dostoevsky” rose in me at age five, the moment I wrote a whole sentence instead of my first word. Since then, books and I have been inseparable. I experienced my most joyful and challenging moments with them: moving from the far north of Russia to Belarus, entering the university at the Faculty of Psychology, the first day of work, and much more. For a long time, I wrote only for myself, not showing my manuscripts even to those closest to me. However, at sixteen, I started working on a new book. After finishing it, I realized I craved to share it with someone.
That was the first time I thought about publishing a book; however, I was unlucky. “A Stain on the Red Banner” primarily reflects the experience of homosexual people in post-Soviet countries. As soon as I started looking for a publishing house that would risk distributing my book, the Russian government enacted a law banning the propaganda of same-sex love. Initially, I was desperate, but I resolved to turn the situation in my favour and try my luck outside my native country. Having completely translated “A Stain on the Red Banner” into English, I searched for a publisher. This time, I was lucky! Now, I am happy to write, share my thoughts and create freely, knowing I am safe and can find like-minded people.
Writing is a hobby at this point in my life. I work two jobs: one as a client communication specialist at an IT company and one as an English teacher for preschool children. I also study at the Faculty of Psychology because I believe that a good writer is at least partly a psychologist.