– He-ello, – she took her time with her vowels. – What are you do-oing here? – She looked all over me, hungry for knowledge. – Whose co-oat is this? Yours? – She pulled my wardrobe item by its fabric.

I wanted to destroy her. I wanted to show her that lacking big sums doesn't mean lacking dignity.

Sasha rushed from the kitchen.

– And who-o are you, what's your name?

– Alexander. I study together with Sasha.

– Alexa-ander, – she smudged my name wistfully. – Ali-isa Sergeievna. – She didn't even hand out her skinny arm in a leather glove. I felt like she was ready to spit on me. – Please, get o-out with your sque-eaker. Alexandra Sergeievna needs to stu-udy.

My arm twitched abruptly, my throat closed. I said something inarticulate, not wanting it.

Suddenly Sasha, who stood behind me all that time, grabbed my arm with hers.

– Yes, I will. Just let me take my "squeaker."

Alisa Sergeievna opened her mouth and moved. Sergei Mitrophanovich sighed.

When I walked out of the building, it seemed to me I heard a cheerful voice. It was true.

– Alexander Pavlovich!

I lifted my head.

– Sasha! – She wiggled her legs that were hanging out of the metal balcony cage.

– Don't sit in the cold for too long.

– Don't worry. Catch!

I put the case on the ground and barely had time to catch a bottle of something.

– It's a gift for your patience.

– Who was that grumpy lady? Your father's friend?

– That's my mom.

I got silent.

– You're going to have fun tonight. Hope you like it. My phone number is there – you can call me when you need me.

I saw Alisa Sergeievna talk to Sasha about something. I smiled and headed home.

At home I stuffed my face with my mom, by food and her favorite which we drank together. I hope Sasha won't mind if she finds out I shared her gift with someone else.

When time has come to practice for a bit, I opened the case and plucked each string. That wasn't what I expected to hear – the strings said what they wanted to say and not what they were meant to, not something I heard before.

I dialed the number at my own risk.

– Hello! Alexander Pavlovich?

– Sasha! How did you know that I…

– Dad smashed the case. I heard everything, you know. And I knew you would call me to ask for tuning help.

– Iosif Seraphimovich said strings sounded in fifths. Is that two notes, the first and the fifth?

– Absolutely. Congratulations with your first success. I'm going to hit the tuning fork now, you'll hear it.

And I heard something. A bright iron voice saying "ah."

– Thank you, Sasha. But can you sing open strings to me?

Sasha repeated the iron voice on each pitch. Then she described to me in details how to tune.

– …And first you tune the A string.

– Thank you, Sasha. It just so happens I have the A in tune.

– That's great! It'll make your problem easier. Good luck! There's dad here, telling me I should practice. See you in class!

– Bye, Sasha.

I made it in an hour. I don't know if Sasha's gift helped me or I'm just a brave fool by nature. The scariest part was the E – my eye can barely catch it, what can I say about my hands. I played a couple of songs from Kesha's music notebook.

In the notes, Kesha's teacher wrote that Kesha's fingers handle the process poorly and sometimes bleed. Some notes had small brown spots on them. I had my back twisted a bit when I noticed.

I went to bed listening to classical music – I found mom's disc she didn't like for some reason.

-

I almost skipped on my way, whistling pieces. They were mostly Brahms' Hungarian dances.

While Iosif hurried at the speed of snails, I had time to finish the book.