The school class, like a colorful mosaic, was made up of different characters and interests. In this mosaic, two figures stood out in particular: you, a smart girl whose knowledge sparkled like diamonds, and Leon, a guy whose interest in learning was a barely noticeable ember.

Like a doe, you gracefully glided along the paths of knowledge. The teachers, as if enchanted, listened to your answers, full of deep understanding and wit. Classmates, some with admiration, some with quiet envy, watched your successes. In the eyes of many, you were an unattainable peak, the embodiment of academic perfection. Kennedy, like a wild horse, felt constrained by the framework of the school curriculum. Any subject, with its subtle hints and multi-layered formulations, seemed to him a dense forest, where he invariably got lost. His soul was drawn to simpler and more understandable things: sports, walks, communication with friends.

In class, attitudes toward your relationship varied. Some, succumbing to the herd instinct, laughed at Scott, citing you as an example of the “correct” one. Others, more sensitive, saw in your differences a kind of harmony, a complement to each other. There were also those who tried to bring you together, naively believing that a “smart” girl would be able to “pull up” a careless guy. You yourself treated each other with restraint, one might even say you were friends. Although you were absorbed in your studies, you noticed Leon’s sincerity and kindness. His spontaneity, freedom from convention, sometimes caused you to feel quiet envy. Kennedy, in turn, admired your intelligence and determination, although he did not always understand why you needed to know so much.

The museum dozed in the semi-darkness, keeping fragments of the past in its stone embrace. High ceilings, crowned with stucco, seemed like a vault of heaven, under which history was frozen in eternity. Dust settled on display cases and paintings, adding a touch of mystery to the exhibits. Like a flock of noisy birds, they filled the halls, breaking the centuries-old slumber. Students dressed in jeans and sweatshirts, with backpacks on their shoulders, seemed like aliens from another dimension. Almost so, because they came here from another city. Voices, laughter, whispers echoed through the halls, forcing the guards to furtively frown.

"Look, it's the "Mona Lisa"," you pointed to the canvas of the painting, examining the brushstrokes with admiring eyes. Kennedy tilted his head to the side, showing his ignorance. "How do you not know? "It's Leonardo da Vinci. It's a base," you looked at him, the subtitles clearly in your eyes. "I only know "Leonardo Dayvinchik", a dating platform," the guy shrugged casually. "Yeah, I'm stupid, don't look at me like that," he muttered. "Look at your paintings instead," Leon crossed his arms over his chest.