Other universes of Cherner's realities.

September 25. There were some amusing moments. For instance, on this day, Kamila accidentally witnessed Shcherbakova telling Medvedeva to "back off" — in an entirely chemical way. Kamila was standing outside the "Magnit" store, breathing heavily and looking quite unwell. She felt weak, her vision slightly fading, and she was attempting to compose herself before heading home. As she stood there, Shcherbakova came out of the store, noticed her right away, and walked over. “Kamila, are you okay?” she asked calmly, studying the girl’s face closely. Kamila straightened up, mustered her willpower to appear somewhat upbeat, and nodded. “Yeah… I’m fine. Just a bit tired.” Anna Stanislavovna frowned. Since Tuesday, Valieva had been acting strangely — pale, distracted, almost like she was always coming down with a cold. She was about to say something more but was interrupted by a loud voice. “Anna Stanislavovna!” shouted Medvedeva, stumbling slightly as she exited the store. “Let’s go already, our drinks won’t drink themselves!” Shcherbakova mentally cursed: why did I even agree to this idea… She shot Medvedeva a look that clearly but politely conveyed, please be quiet while I’m still being nice. Turning back to Kamila, she softened her tone. “Did you remember that we have an extra chemistry lesson tomorrow? At my place.” “I remember,” Kamila replied quietly. “Just leave the kids alone!” came another voice from across the street. “You’re messing with their heads even on a Saturday, let’s go!” Shcherbakova whirled around. “You know where to go, Medvedeva. Transition to sodium, xenon, and phosphorus, Zhenya.” A pause lingered for a moment. Kamila initially just bit her lip, but then couldn't help but chuckle softly. Anna Stanislavovna turned to her with a look that seemed to say, and what’s so funny? but Kamila was already trying to suppress her smile. Her mind automatically brought up the periodic table: Na — sodium, Xe — xenon, P — phosphorus… She understood, shook her head, and thought with unexpected warmth: She says that cursing is bad… but allows herself this. “Valieva,” Shcherbakova said sternly, “don't you dare laugh. It's unbecoming.” But she noted to herself, Good, she knows the table. Well done. Ultimately, Shcherbakova turned around and headed towards Medvedeva. They barely took a couple of steps when a familiar voice called from across the street. “Kaamiila!” Kostorna dragged out. “Why were you glowing next to her?” Kamila flinched. “Alena, well…” she tried to look away. “Don’t even start,” Kostorna interrupted. “I can see right through you. I’m your friend.” Kamila hesitated, then honestly and quietly said: “I don’t even understand what this is. It just feels… strange. And calm. And that scares me.” Medvedeva whistled. “Well, that’s a twist.” Shcherbakova, having overheard snippets of the conversation, came to a sudden halt. Her heart tightened uncomfortably. No. No, and no again. She’s seventeen. This shouldn’t even sound like that… Meanwhile, Kostorna had started excitedly whispering something to Kamila, gesturing animatedly as if proposing a “course of action.” Anna Stanislavovna turned around, ready to step in and immediately put an end to this circus, to take Valieva aside for a serious conversation — without jokes or unnecessary words. But Medvedeva gently yet firmly took her hand: “Stop. You’re just being emotional right now. Let’s go. We’ll take a break. And tomorrow we’ll figure out what to do about this.” Shcherbakova pressed her lips together, looked at Kamila once more — and reluctantly nodded. September was ending strangely. Too vividly. And far from the plan.