“Well that works out nicely, then, since he is here to talk to Grace.”
I wait for Jamie to be insulted, to get upset because, for once, he’s the one being left behind. But Jamie isn’t hurt, I realize. He’s just angry.
I turn to look at Ms. Chancellor, who raises her eyebrows. “I don’t understand boys,” I say.
She pats me on the back. “It gets worse once they turn into men, dear. Now come along. Alexei is waiting for you outside.”
When I step outside the residence’s doors, I see Alexei standing on the other side of the fence. He’s staring straight at me, not blinking, not smiling. He doesn’t even say hello. I nod at the marine who opens the little gate and lets me out onto Adrian soil. Wordlessly, Alexei falls into step beside me.
His right eye is swollen and I know I’m in his blind spot, so I stare a little harder than I ordinarily would. His knuckles are bruised and red, like he tried — and failed — to wash the blood off. There is a cut at his hairline, a burn on his arm. I start to reach out and touch it, as if I have the power to soothe, but I don’t. So I pull my hand back and cross my arms.
“Don’t tell me,” I say when the silence is too much. “I should see the other guy.”
“I have no desire for you to see the other guy.”
I still can’t believe how much stronger Alexei’s accent is. Maybe that’s what happens when you return to your homeland and spend a few days speaking exclusively in your native tongue. Or maybe that is just something that happens when Alexei is angry or sad or deep in thought. I don’t know, I realize. And then it hits me: There is so much about Alexei I may never know.
“Then you will be happy to hear that the other guy didn’t come home after the party. At least that’s what Jamie said at breakfast.”
Alexei pauses for a moment, blinks, and looks back. It’s like he is expecting — or maybe just hoping — to see we aren’t alone.
“Jamie’s still mad,” I say, answering the unasked question.
“I had assumed as much.”
We walk in silence toward the city gates. There are cars and bicycles passing, a few pedestrians and tourists snapping pictures from atop the big red buses that seem to circle Embassy Row on a perpetual loop. I wonder if, to Alexei, it feels like he’s come home. Or maybe it feels like he’s just left.
“You came back.”
It’s not a question.
“I did.” He tries to slip his hand into his pocket, then winces like maybe he forgot about his bruised and bloody knuckles. “Moscow is concerned about … our situation. The ambassador is retiring. My father will assume the position.”
What situation? I want to know. I’m sick of people dancing around the facts, treating me like a child. I’m sick of all of it.
But that’s not what I say.
Instead I blurt, “What were you doing last night?”
“That man was touching you.” Alexei’s voice is almost like a roar.
Something about it makes me want to laugh.
“He’s not a man. He’s Jamie’s age.”
But when Alexei turns and glares at me I don’t feel like laughing anymore.
“Jamie is a man now. I am almost a man.”
“What were you doing, Alexei?” I can’t help but notice he never answered my question.
“I thought you needed help.”
“I don’t need any help,” I say, because it’s instinct now. Automatic. It was my reply when I was twelve years old and following the boys over the wall. And it is my answer now. It will be the answer until I die.
In fact, it is probably the answer that will kill me.
“Yes.” Alexei looks at me too closely; he sees too much. “You do.”
And I can’t help but stare at his swollen eye and bruised jaw. He looks like the god of war, damaged and scarred, but still standing. I’m not thinking as I reach up and gently run a finger across his battered face. Then I pull back, like I’ve felt a shock, and Alexei drops his gaze to the ground.
“I will make apologies to your friend if that is what you wish.”
“He is not my friend.”
Alexei nods. “To Jamie’s friend. To your grandfather. I have lived here long enough to know that there are repercussions for my actions. I knew better than to behave as I did. I am sorry, but …”
“But what, Alexei?” I throw my hands out, confused. “If you knew better then why did you do it?”
The wind blows behind me, pushing my hair around my face. I must look wild, crazy. Free. I would give anything to feel free.
“Are you mad that I fought with Jamie’s friend, Gracie? Are you mad that I interrupted the two of you? Or are you just mad that I left?”