Between the Steps

“Bash! For God’s sake, you’re taking longer to get ready than I am, and I’m the one who actually has an excuse,” Effie shouted, leaning halfway into my room and rolling her eyes in annoyance.

“Not every graduating class gets the chance to have us as speakers; we have to leave an impression,” I said with a laugh, adjusting my shirt in the mirror.

We are only a few hours away from graduating college. My sister and I were chosen as the valedictorians of our year. Don’t think we were picked because we were the biggest nerds—not at all. We have a good GPA, but nothing extraordinary. We weren’t part of the popular crowd either; our circle was quite closed. However, for several reasons I’ll explain later, we were the most voted for in our class.

My name is Bash. Like I said, I never belonged to the popular cliques or any clubs or fraternities. I don’t need to; I stand out wherever I go. I’ve always been the best-looking one—good genes, I suppose. I’m 6′4", with light brown hair leaning toward blond and eyes as blue as the sky, though they often turn gray depending on the weather or my mood. I’ve been a swimmer my whole life, so I have broad shoulders and a well-defined physique. I’m not some steroid-bulked meathead; my muscles are natural and well-formed. You can thank my mother for that—she’s obsessed with exercise and the most competitive person you’ll ever meet.

My sister and I are twins, so we’ve always taken every class together. On this occasion, when I applied to the elite arts college to study music, she didn’t hesitate to enroll with me, even though her passion is quite different from mine. Many students already knew each other before entering; apparently, the world of fine arts is small and jealous, a lesson we learned on the very first day of class.

If you look at the college from the outside, it looks like a museum. At least, that’s what I say, though no one agrees with me. To me, it is and always will be a museum of the rotten. I can’t generalize because that’s where I met my best friend, but most people there are superficial and conceited. But let’s go back to that first day.

The first few hours were normal, until I started hearing more and more whispers as the day went on. We’re used to it, but everything changed when a diva planted herself in front of Effie and told her to get out of the way… bad idea. You see, my sister is the calmest, sweetest person you’ll ever meet, but if mom taught her anything, it’s to NEVER allow herself to be humiliated. She taught us to always stand our ground—not just for ourselves, but for others, because your example can move the spirit of the weak.

“Are you deaf, idiot? I told you to get out of my way,” said the girl with black hair and very little imagination. This is why I tell people to stop watching so much Hollywood.

“The entire hallway is open and I wasn’t in your path; you planted yourself in front of me,” Effie replied, calm as ever.

“I want to walk right here and you’re in my way. Move!” she shouted, shoving Effie. Effie already had one foot back for support, so the shove didn’t even move her.

“Don’t touch me again. That’s not a threat; it’s a warning.”

The girl turned to her friends, amused. There was a girl with brown hair and brown eyes who looked bored, and a tall guy with black hair and green eyes who was smiling maliciously.

“The girl is new, Sierra. She doesn’t know what she’s doing. As they say, ‘ignorance is bliss,’” the guy quipped, laughing.

Everything happened so fast. Before I knew it, the girl was slammed onto the floor, I was punching the black-haired guy, and the redhead was being slapped and kicked in the junk. Minutes later, six of us were sitting in front of the assistant principal.

Before you complain about my storytelling skills, let me explain one thing. Effie might be the calmest person in the world, but she is a living weapon; she’s a black belt in Sambo. My mother put her in training at age four because she said Effie was so sweet that people would abuse her kindness if she didn’t learn to defend herself. Sierra learned what a leg sweep was that day.

“Sir! I was attacked and you’re saying you’re putting a warning on my record? How ridiculous is this? I can’t believe it!” Sierra complained, crying and clutching her hip.

“Miss Rams, are you aware this school has zero tolerance for bullying? And I swear that under my watch, I allow no acts of abuse. Surely your actions were normal at your previous school, but I warn you now that I won’t tolerate them here.”

The assistant principal—whose name is Anton Rublev, by the way—turned a tablet toward us showing the video of what happened in the hallway. Honestly, I was surprised by the clarity of the video and the technology. Mr. Rublev rewound the video and zoomed in to show every action clearly. He slowed it down, and we could see Sierra’s first shove, then her second attempt before Effie grabbed her arms and swept her leg. Then the boy, Dylan, walking toward Effie while I stepped in and landed a punch. And finally, the other girl, Kara, almost lunging at Effie but being stopped by the redhead, who grabbed her arm only to be promptly slapped and kicked in the balls.

“Well, young lady, are you going to dare tell me again that your attack came out of nowhere?” Mr. Rublev spoke calmly but with authority, leaving the black-haired girl speechless and in tears.

“Enjoy your last day at this school, because I’ll make sure you’re gone tomorrow,” Dylan snapped arrogantly, glaring at Rublev.

“Better men have threatened me. So, I’ll propose a deal. Make your calls, and if I’m still here tomorrow, you’re the one leaving the school.” Rublev smiled kindly and extended his hand to close the deal. Dylan stared at him and didn’t take his hand, but he didn’t speak again.

“Alright children, I want your signatures on each file. Remember, you get four warnings; the fifth is expulsion. My recommendation is to be respectful, as these do not reset each cycle. In short, they accumulate very quickly if you aren’t careful.”

Kara was the first to sign. Before leaving, she looked at me with a mixture of hatred and curiosity. Sierra followed her, and finally Dylan, who looked at us with contempt and walked out. The three of us signed without a word while Rublev watched us with his calm blue eyes. As we were about to leave, Rublev spoke.

“Excellent Judo technique, young lady. A pity the school doesn’t have a competitive team.”

“It’s not Judo; it’s Sambo,” Effie said with a kind smile. “Though I wouldn’t join the team anyway; I don’t like fighting.”

“I know. There is a very thin line between justice and revenge, and you exerted only the force necessary to stop the attack and subdue,” Rublev said, standing up and turning his gaze toward the redhead and me. “Try not to get into any more fights, even when it seems like the right thing to do. Our words should be the sword we choose to unsheathe before releasing our fists.” He pointed to the door, and we left in silence.

We walked a few steps in silence, and I burst out laughing.

“They’re going to kill us at home,” I laughed, pulling Effie in to kiss her cheek, teasingly adding, “And this time, it wasn’t my fault.”

But instead of answering, she turned to look at the red-haired boy walking a few steps behind us, limping slightly with his head down.

“Are you okay? In the video, that knee looked pretty hard,” Effie asked, approaching him. The boy looked at her, and his face turned almost the same color as his hair. I could see he was slightly taller than her, with brown eyes and a thin build—the kind of person who is naturally slender but doesn’t exercise.

Seeing he wasn’t reacting, I stepped beside him and draped an arm over his shoulders; he was much shorter than me.

“Come on, we’ll walk you to the infirmary. I’m sure they can give you something for the pain, and if it’s serious, you can call someone to pick you up,” I said, smiling.

“No!” he almost shouted. “My father would kill me if he found out I got a warning.” His face looked sad and worried.

“Okay, okay, Markof. Relax, no one’s going to find out,” I said, patting his shoulder.

“My name isn’t Markof. It’s Ish,” he said, looking at me confused.

“Don’t listen to him, please. He’s a huge idiot. He’s calling you ‘carrot’ in Russian,” Effie said, rolling her eyes in annoyance, and I just shrugged.

And that was how we met Ish Sofer, my best friend. I had never had a friend because, for company, I never needed anyone other than my sisters and sometimes Sam, who is like a cousin to me. Ish was the first person outside my family I allowed to get to know me. He became a brother and an accomplice; he was the first to notice my feelings for her.

Ish Sofer

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Thank you for reading ❣️ and welcome to the story! The Kovacs twins have officially arrived.