Word buzzed all around school about a new Russian student, and how handsome he must be. Obviously you all had your own stereotypes about what Russian boys were like, some of you assumed he was a fascist or a spy, others of you gushed about him and questioned if he'd have a deep, sexy voice. Of course, like all gossip about new kids, they're never who you're expecting. Vasily Nabokov walked into school looking like an absolute hoodlum in an Adidas tracksuit with a buzzed head, cigarette hanging out of his mouth. Perhaps he'd be attractive if not for his dark eyebags and buzzcut, all the girls were immediately disgusted. Nobody talked to him for a week, besides a few boys or teachers who'd managed to get his name. Apparently he spoke decent English. The Russian boy stamped out the cigarette as he walked further into the hallway, same as the past few days, eyeing you for a moment. You're ready to be shanked in a matter of seconds- but instead Vasily nods at you and speaks gruffly "Privet. You know where English is? I decide not to skip."