Page 51 of A Vegas Crush Collection #2

perhaps you need a tutor?

Zoya

February

“Kak nash rebenok?” my mom squeals through the phone. Her face looks pixelated due to the time difference and likely poor cell coverage from where she’s at. Still, I am happy to see her.

“English, Mama,” I remind her. “We all need the practice. And I am not a baby.”

“You are still your mother’s baby,” my father scolds, standing behind her shoulder. “Are you being good? Staying away from the party crowd?”

“Of course, I am, Papa. Irina is another story, though.”

“As always,” my dad says. Then he mutters, “Bol’shaya problema.”

Big trouble. Well, he’s not wrong there.

“How is dorm room?” Mama asks, her English jerky.

I flip the screen so they can see the room while I tell them about how Georg paid to get me a private room.

My father grumbles again in Russian, something along the lines of, “On tratit slishkom mnogo deneg.” Translation?

My brother spends too much money. He is hard to hear in the background, but it would be right on point for him.

Papa is a frugal man and my brother is not, and never has been.

Still, he leans in and says he is glad I am able to have my own space and he thinks I must be safer that way.

Safety—always my father’s primary concern.

“You are make friends?” Mama asks.

“Yes. I mean, it has only been a couple of weeks but so far, things are good. There is a guy in one of my classes, Jay, who seems nice.”

“A man?” Papa booms in the background.

I roll my eyes at my mom and she giggles. “Just a friend, Papa. I think I need to get a job or volunteer somewhere. I might be able to meet some people. Or join a club. I have not decided.”

“Is there a Russian heritage group or something?” he asks.

I scrunch one side of my face at the thought. “Why would I want to hang out with a bunch of Russian people, Papa? I just left Russia.”

“Safer for you, my Zoya. How are your studies? Focus on grades first, social life second.”

“They are mostly good. It is very early in the semester. There is plenty of time.”

“Do not fall behind. You are there to learn.”

“Yes, Papa. I know this. I am committed.”

“Good girl. Mama and I are proud of you.”

“I struggle with my statistics class,” I admit.

“Oh, I am good at statistics,” Papa says.

“You should be. Coaching all these years.”

“Perhaps you need a tutor?”

A shrug is all I can give him in response. I have never needed a tutor before this class. Maybe it is because my classes are all in English now.

“Get one if you need one. Do not let yourself get too far behind.”

“I won’t.”

Then he says, “Well, maybe having a job or volunteer role might keep you away from the party scene.”

I have to laugh at him. “Have you ever met me?” I never party, and they know that. My sister, on the other hand?

My father seems to remember who he is talking to, because he says, “We should probably call and check in on Irina.”

A huff of a laugh escapes me. “Uh, yeah. Though good luck trying to control that one.”

“Is she being bad?” Mama asks.

“She is being Irina,” I answer. “I think she likes it here, though. Feminist heaven.”

My mom makes a confused face. She does not understand the "feminist heaven" part. My father does, though, based on the smirk on his face. He stops smirking when I tell a story about how Irina got in a shouting match with a man on the street who was harassing a prostitute. My father is, of course, mortified and says he’s going to call Georg and have him keep a better eye on us.

“Georg is busy, Papa. He has his own life and he is in season. Everyone loves him here. They love the team.”

My father relaxes the minute I start talking hockey. He asks if I have been to a game and I say no, but that we went to a mid-season press event and met a lot of the players and staff. He says I should at least go to one game to cheer on my brother.

“He would like it,” Mama agrees. “To see you on the seats.”

“It is fun to watch a winning team, Zoya,” Papa adds. “The crowd will be loud. It will be fun.”

“I have had enough hockey fun to last my whole life, thank you. Georg can live without having me in the stands.”

“One game, Zoya,” my father says sternly.

“Okay, okay. Fine. I will go to one game. But for now, I need to get going on some homework. Did I mention I hate my stats class?”

“No, you say trouble,” my mother says. “No hate.”

“Okay, I greatly dislike the class because it is giving me trouble. How is that, Mama?”

“Better. Get tutor.”

We talk for a few more minutes but then I insist I need to get off the phone to study.

It is getting late there, so they agree to let me go.

I know they miss seeing us. I miss them, but honestly, only having to report in over the phone is much nicer than being watched over my shoulder every day.

Papa is like any other Russian father—protect family at all costs.

It is all he knows. It is all I know. But with the feeling of freedom alive in Vegas, I am enjoying being away from home right now…

so much more than I thought I would. Even though Mama’s eyes looked sad as I said goodbye, I know getting a life in Vegas will make her proud and happy.

This is for you, Mama. But it is also for me.

I am allowed exactly twenty minutes of quiet study time before my sister barges through my door, her eyes bright and an excited smile lighting up her face.

“Come with me. I’m getting my first tattoo today!”

“Papa is going to murder you, Rina.”

“He will not. It will be fine.”

“He is going to call you. I just hung up with him and Mama twenty minutes ago.”

“Well, you don’t have to answer just because they call,” she says.

“That is rude. They are our parents. They pay our tuition.”

“Whatever. Are you coming with me or not?”

“I have so much work to do—”

“Don’t be such a drag. I need you there with me.”

I make a face but then get up and pull on some jeans and an oversized, black T-shirt.

I twist my hair up into a messy bun and slip on a pair of lemon-yellow Keds.

Irina bounces impatiently while I get ready, and the second I look presentable, she grabs my hand and literally tows me from my room.

At least that has been consistent since I arrived.

Irina pulling me toward something drama-filled.

“I hope you will not end up regretting this, Rina.”

“I never regret, little sister. Never.”