Katrin enters with a slight sway, her gait betraying clear discomfort. She wears a short black dress that accentuates her slender figure and high-heeled black boots. Her hair is disheveled, and the red of her lipstick is visible everywhere, giving the impression of a hasty makeup fix. It is slightly smeared, as if she is trying to cover up the consequences of a sleepless night. Everything about her appearance makes it clear that she has overslept and tried to pull herself together, but it looks more comical than anything else. A faint hint of irritation in her eyes mixes with a self-satisfied smirk — she doesn't seem to care. It's as if Katrin has no awareness of how her condition and appearance might affect the perception of her knowledge. Or maybe she simply doesn't care at all.
"Sorry, I'm a bit late," she says with a smile, glancing around at us.
"You're a whole hour late, and your presence here is meaningless. Besides, you're clearly not in a state to take such an important exam. Go sober up," the examiner replies, looking at her with irritation.
Katrin is obviously drunk, but her reaction stuns me. In her every movement, there is a rebellious nature, and her determination seems boundless.
"You're wasting my time on this assignment; what is there to solve? These idiotic tests — any idiot could pass them. And as for my condition — I could pass them perfectly even drunk." Her words shock everyone in the auditorium, but she doesn't even notice how she is devaluing the efforts of the other students. Everyone around is stunned by how she dismisses the difficulty of the exams and the capabilities of her peers.
The examiner is furious but can't do anything. She is ready to throw her out, but Katrin won't back down.
"Who do you think you are? Leave the auditorium before you're thrown out!" the examiner persists. She is clearly not used to such behavior, especially from students who should be watching their conduct.
But it's not for nothing that I mentally call Katrin "Rebel Girl" — that is exactly what she does: she rebels. She isn't afraid to challenge authority, she pushes forward, and she always gets her way, regardless of how it looks to others. In her disheveled state and exhaustion, there is a confidence that makes me doubt that her participation in the Olympiad is over. Katrin knows how to attract attention, and her appearance in the auditorium is a real show.
She doesn't just ignore the examiner's remark; she looks at her with slight disdain, as if the woman is saying something ridiculous. In her eyes, there is not just audacity, but a challenge. As always, Katrin refuses to acknowledge any limits. Every step she takes is confident of victory, despite the circumstances.
I watch her with surprise, not understanding what she is trying to prove. Maybe she doesn't know what she will do next herself, but one thing is obvious — she isn't going to stop. Her claim that she is ready to pass the test in any state seems like madness, but I can no longer underestimate her. This girl is different, and I don't know how to deal with this.
The entire auditorium follows their squabble, but even in this situation, Katrin remains unfazed. It is not just fearlessness, but an ability to make others doubt themselves.
"I'm ready to make a bet with you. If I don't pass your Olympiad, you can expel me from the institute. Deal?" she says with a smirk, looking the professor straight in the eye.
The girl knows she won't finish the exam in time, but she continues to argue. This isn't just self-confidence, but a strange pride that doesn't allow her to admit a mistake. Does this girl ever not argue with someone? She puts everything on the line, and I can't understand why. Why is she willing to risk her future? Is it really that important who wins our bet?
"Deal. I will personally grade your paper. Take a seat; you have only thirty minutes left," the examiner surprises us, deciding to give her a chance.
When Katrin sits at the desk and starts filling in the answers, her speed stuns everyone. She works with such concentration that it seems as if she isn't in a state of intoxication at all. Her eyes don't leave the sheet, and her hands move quickly and confidently. I don't know what to think. It's an incredible determination that throws me off balance. How can she be so sure of her abilities if her entire life is one endless night of partying?
Her concentration and confidence simply amaze me. Is she really that smart? Or is it just an outward shine, and in reality, things aren't like that?
"Time's up! Turn in your work!" the professor says, interrupting my thoughts.
I turn to Katrin and notice her satisfied smile. She stands up, walks past the desks, and sits on the edge of the table. There is instability in her movements, and I feel how she is struggling to keep her balance.
How will this day end? I don't know, but I will definitely remember this moment. How will this Olympiad end for her? Victory or defeat? The questions remain open.
"Does anyone have any Analgin? My head is about to crack!" she shouts, and from her cry, my head nearly explodes. My vision darkens, and there is a ringing in my ears as if someone set off a firecracker nearby. The examiner instantly hands her a pill, and the professor brings a bottle of water. The room becomes quieter, but the dull echo of her yell continues to resonate in my head.
"Thanks."
Katrin tries to stand up, but she sways; her movements are uncertain, as if she is in a state of half-slumber. I manage to catch her, throwing her right arm over my neck. She leans on me, and her weak body seems to hang on me, as if I am her only support at this moment. We head toward the exit, and she seems detached, lost in this short journey.
"Don't forget, we'll announce the results in the evening. Don't be late!" the examiner shouts after her, but Katrin, without looking back, raises her left hand, turns her head to the right, and yells right into my ear:
"Okay!"
From her yell, I almost go deaf myself. The sound is so piercing and unexpected that everything inside me tightens. I stop for a second, not yet recovered from the sonic attack. Several students turn around, looking annoyed, but quickly avert their eyes, as if they don't want to be part of this strange scene. Only one guy hides a smirk.
The girl and I stand in the middle of the corridor, as if she herself doesn't know what to do next. Her eyes are empty, fixed, and her face is pale, with parched lips and slightly red eyes, as if after a night without sleep or tears. Obviously, her head hurts, and exhaustion is readable in every one of her movements.
"That's it, let's go," I throw out, not waiting for her reaction, and carefully take her hand. Her palm is cold and trembling, but I feel how she briefly relaxes when my fingers close around her hand.
Silently complying, we leave the building. The cold air, suddenly becoming sharp and fresh, seems to wake her up. But she isn't in a hurry to walk faster, and her legs, shod in fashionable but uncomfortable boots, don't obey her. Every step is difficult for her — she stumbles and tenses her body, trying to keep her balance. A quiet groan escapes her, but she quickly suppresses it.
When we reach a bench, she sinks onto it with a heavy sigh, as if she has cast off an invisible burden or as if she has overcome a marathon. Her face is pale, her hair disheveled, and small beads of sweat have appeared on her forehead.
I sit nearby, looking at her. Rebel Girl looks ahead, as if she sees not the bench and the trees, but something distant and invisible to others.
"Well, finished playing the hero?" I hide the irritation that flares up inside me, like a fire ignited by my lack of understanding of her actions, behind sarcasm.
"This isn't heroism. It's a necessity," she mumbles without even turning her head, only looking tiredly somewhere at the ground, as if all her energy has drained away, leaving only fatigue and pain.
It sounds so sincere and sad that I feel guilty for a second for my sharpness. A heavy feeling appears in my chest, resembling a sting of pity, making me feel awkward for my harshness.
"Alright, get up. We need to go," now the words sound softer than I expected.
"Where to?" the girl looks at me.
"To the dormitory. Do you have anywhere to sleep right now?"
The girl doesn't answer anything, just shrugs. I understand that this means "no," and simply nod, standing up.
"Let's go."
She doesn't answer, but obediently stands up. It's good that she can walk, even if unsteadily, like a person who has lost their last strength. It is a little easier for me, as I definitely wouldn't have managed to carry her, and abandoning her here alone would have been a jerk move.
The road to the dormitory turns out not to be as short as I would have liked. Rebel Girl moves slowly, her legs are tangling, and at times I have to steady her so the girl doesn't fall. The pain in her gait is obvious. She keeps stumbling, as if her legs aren't obeying her, and the exhaustion in her body is palpable. Her face is tired, and there is no joy in it. Rare passersby cast curious glances at us, as if at something strange and unusual. I, too, steal glances at her, but say nothing.
When we finally reach my room, the first thing I do is sit her on the bed. She barely holds her footing, like a marionette whose strings are about to snap.
"Lie down," I don't even try to hide the exhaustion mixed with sympathy.
She obeys, exhaling with gratitude, but as soon as I manage to turn to leave, she quietly adds:
"I'm not leaving this bed."
"As you wish," I grumbled, but before that, I removed her boots.
Her feet look tired, reddened from the long day. She quietly mumbles something like "thanks" and almost instantly falls asleep, as if her organism couldn't withstand another minute of wakefulness.
"Where did you pick up such interesting people?" asks my neighbor, who has already woken up after yesterday's Friday party. His face is crumpled, and his hair sticks out in different directions, like a person who has just climbed out of the realm of sleep.
"We're from the Olympiad," I sit on the edge of the chair.
"You're definitely from there. But where did you pick her up?"
"Like I said, at the Olympiad. She barged in there and demanded that they allow her to take the exam. And when they refused, she put her studies at the institute on the line."
"In what sense?"
"Literally. If she doesn't pass the Olympiad, she will be expelled."
"Wow, what a girl! And do you think she passed?" my neighbor is surprised by the girl's antics, stretching and rubbing his eyes, like a person who has barely gathered his strength himself.
"Unlikely. She came at the end, she had only thirty minutes left instead of an hour and a half. Plus, her head was hurting. It's unlikely she passed even half the tasks. Although she was writing at the speed of the wind, of course."
I smirk with full confidence that I won our bet.
When, after some time, we are sitting at the table again drinking tea, she comes out of the room — barefoot, sleepy, in my hoodie, a bit disheveled. She silently approaches the table, grabs my mug of tea, and takes a sip, not paying attention to the fact that I didn't even manage to take a swallow. At that moment, her carelessness, as if encapsulated in the gesture, attracts my attention. I can't help but notice how her chest nearly draws my gaze. She isn't shy at all, as if she doesn't realize that such moments become noticeable.
"What time is it now?!" the girl suddenly shouts, putting the mug back with such a crash that the tea splashes onto the table.
We shift our gaze from her chest to her and stare in surprise. My neighbor and I exchange glances, barely holding back laughter.
She is a real mystery, waking up in the middle of the day like a charming and restless sleepy whirlwind. Her face is crumpled, and her hair, sticking out in different directions, completes the picture of a person who has just climbed out of the realm of sleep. Her red locks, ruffled and unruly, give her appearance a slightly chaotic, but surprisingly lively look.
Her reproaches, emotions, and reactions to small things — like the delay or the incident with the tea — only emphasize her natural charm, which immediately attracts attention. Her confidence is striking, and I can't help but admire how she turns ordinary moments into something unique.
"What are you staring at me like idiots for? What time is it, I'm asking?! I need to find out the Olympiad results! Did I lose or not? It's important!" she screams, and I can't help but pay attention to her gaze.
"Don't worry, you didn't oversleep. There's still an hour until the results are announced. I was just about to wake you up."
"He was going to wake me up for the results, but for the exam — no way?! Think I didn't notice how you were rejoicing when I was late?"
"And? Firstly, I don't know where you live. Secondly, I don't have your phone number. Thirdly, in war, all methods are fair. So it was to my advantage if you hadn't come," I answer her reproaches honestly.
"Pfft! Good for you. But you didn't take into account that I can't be outplayed. I always get what I want. Remember that. And while you are mulling over my words, I'll go and tidy myself up."
This girl drives me crazy with just her presence. She is not just a rebel — her behavior throws me off course. This girl is like a hurricane bursting into my measured life. Her gaze, manners, habits — all of this simultaneously irritates and attracts me. What to do with this, I don't know. If she wins, I will have to fulfill her wish, and judging by everything, it will be such that it will completely drive me crazy.
Katrin takes a shower and, having put on her dress and boots again, finishes the look with my hoodie. In this combination, she looks unexpectedly cute. As if nothing happened, she passes by me, measuring me with a light, mocking glance.
When the time comes, we head to the institute. We exit the dormitory and head to the institute building where the results are to be announced. She walks quickly, without looking back, and I have to catch up with her.
Entering the auditorium, we stand by the wall, leaning against it with our backs. The auditorium is already full of Olympiad participants and professors. It's noisy: everyone is discussing the possible results.
I glance at my rival: she is clearly nervous. Her hands are fidgeting with the hem of her dress, and her gaze darts across the walls and faces. This is not surprising, as she had to take it in such a state, and there was little time — only a third of what was allotted.
I discreetly take her hand and squeeze it. Her fingers are cold and surprisingly soft, but, to my surprise, she doesn't pull her hand away, but only looks at me questioningly; her gaze is full of light surprise and some kind of internal wariness, but she doesn't try to pull away. I smile at her in response, trying to convey confidence and calmness. Having relaxed a little, she also smiles, but in her eyes remains a shade of light uncertainty. So we stand, holding hands, in anticipation of the results, feeling how our silence is filled with a special closeness.