Curly season

Part 2

Nicka

Today I decided to choose a new route to my home. I have sometimes created
these kinds of tests for myself in order to study the terrain in order to better navigate it in the future.

When I came here for the holidays in the past, I mostly lived with my grandmother, who had moved
to the countryside. We rarely came to this area. The apartment was on rent until my mother
and I moved in together.

Once again, my geographical cretinism, as my mother likes to say, let me
down and I got lost. All my attempts to go back to the school and go
the usual way were futile. I'm really lost. And as luck would have it, not a single soul is on
the street to ask for directions.

Stopping in one of the courtyards that was like a twin brother to ours, I
decided to use the navigator, because I had doubts that I could
handle it myself. Given my genius for navigation, there was a risk
of making a circle through the World before I got home.

He was pointing the way across the square, and it was only about seven minutes walk away. I let out a sigh of relief and started walking in the direction the arrow was pointing on my phone screen.

As I passed some buildings that looked like warehouses or just abandoned, I suddenly heard the loud voices of children. For some reason, I slowed down and started listening. One voice was particularly clear and even rough, I would say. Someone was laughing, and another was pleading for something.

So, what's going on here? I've never
been able to remain indifferent to such situations, but I can't say that I've encountered this very often. I turned the corner and followed the sound of their voices. The devil gave me a jerk.

Four guys were standing with their backs to me, facing a guy who was... suspended from the door of a gloomy one-story, seemingly abandoned building. He hung there, swinging his legs in zero gravity, and tearfully begged him to let go, explaining something along the way. What the hell is this, I muttered to myself before making a sound through my mouth.

"What are you doing here?" Let him go!" I blurted out indignantly.

All four of them turned to look at me in unison, and the one who was hanging froze in confusion.

"Excuse me?" one of them turned to me in mock surprise.

He was tall, with curly, highlighted hair that fluttered from
side to side in the wind, causing some strands to fall carelessly over his forehead. With
perfect facial features, with a light summer tan. He was so damn good-looking that I
couldn't even speak for a moment, and I could only feel my heart
beating treacherously in my chest at the sight of him. My head was spinning, and everything
around me seemed to be spinning.

The girls in the class, when they found out that I came from Italy, immediately thrilled
about what beautiful guys we have there. I somehow didn't really share their delight,
for me they were all ordinary. For me, the exotic is here. A guy with
curly hair and eyes with a mind-blowing shine, the color of which
seemed blue from a distance.

"Let him go," I say. " Or I'll call the police, " I said, regaining my courage and pointedly holding up the phone in my hand. But at the same time, I realized that I don't really know the number where to call in such cases in Russia.

"Where did we get such a cute accent?" A tourist or something?" the curly-haired man ignored my threats and asked. "The Palace Square is on the other side," he said in English, with a heavy accent, as if deliberately twisting the language. And he laughed. Apparently, he himself came up with his idea.