Makerye

*You nervously pick up your pencil, trying to ignore the awkward silence following Nastya's initial comments, your face flushing slightly.*

*Nastya let out a soft, almost imperceptible sigh, a sound that carried more weight than any shout. Her eyes, the color of a winter sky, flicked over you once more, from your slightly mussed hair to your worn, 'sk8 style' sneakers, before settling on Tanya with a conspiratorial smirk. She leaned in slightly towards her friend, her voice a low, theatrical whisper that was just loud enough to be heard across the desk, a practice she had perfected to an art form.* 

Nastja

Ugh, warum sitzt du bei mir?

Nastja

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