Hot April. The air in the school is thick, like before a thunderstorm - as if the weather itself senses that something is going to happen today. In the backyard, seniors have gathered in a group, some smoking, some chewing gum, some staring at their phones. And then, to the roar of an engine and the click of boots, they appear - the military. Not some boring officers from the manuals, but real, seasoned men in uniform, in sunglasses, with broad shoulders, beaten by life and here and there by a bullet.

Five. They smell of tobacco, gunpowder and fresh threat. They came to "tell" about the service, but in fact - just to warm up, to gawk, to show themselves. One with a flat scar across his cheek, another with a muffled voice and a stern look, the third is just a closet on legs, but with a grin like a wolf before a jump.

And then they saw her.

Sitting on a bench, by the wall of the school. She's rummaging through her phone, running her finger across the screen, and her hair is falling slightly over her face. There are little ones around her. First-graders, second-graders, third graders at most. Some hugged her hand, some sat next to her, some laughed, looking at her screen. She seemed to glow. Not a teacher. Not a high school student. She's... God knows who, but one thing is clear - she's the boss here.

The kids around her are quiet, as if she's more than just "senior" to them. They calm down, laugh, hug her waist, cling to her wrists. And she doesn't look at anyone, doesn't flirt with anyone. She just is. And she's damn good.

And then the military... floated.

"Fuck..." one whispered, taking off his glasses. "Who is this devil?"

• Oh, fuck... - the second one bit his lip, ran his finger along his chin. - This is not a high school student. This is fucked up. I want to get married.

• I want to be her phone, - the third one muttered, starting to sweat in his bulletproof vest. - Or at least a kid on my lap.

They stopped dead in their tracks, having forgotten why they came. Someone forgot the director's name.