Chapter 2
When Ryan makes his way to the break room, he's not surprised to see Zelenko alone, seemingly zoned out.
He looks... sullen.
Uninterested in the cheer of all the other kids, even though it's a nice summer day and the first day of camp and he's in a whole new country.
It must be hard to make friends with people who don't speak the same language.
Ryan is all the more determined to befriend him.
"Good game," Ryan says, walking up to the kid and sticking his hand out, ramrod straight.
He's breathless, which is weird, because he has long since cooled off from the game.
He hopes his palms aren't sweaty.
Then his lips curl into something a little amused.
Like he's trying not to laugh.
"Yes," he says.
"Good game." His accent is thick, and Ryan really has to focus to parse his words.
"I'm Ryan," Ryan says.
"Um.
Mercer.
That's my name," he stammers out.
God.
What is he doing?
He wishes the ground would just swallow him up. "Uh, you're Andriy Zelenko, obviously.
I mean.
You introduced yourself earlier."
"Andriy Zelenko," Andriy says, correcting Ryan's pronunciation.
Rose-anne-nov, not Ross-a-nov.
"Andriy Zelenko," Ryan repeats slowly, letting himself taste the words.
He grins.
"Wow.
You're, like, a really good player.
How come you're in America for summer camp?
Is that weird to ask?
Sorry if that's weird.
I just meant-"
Ryan is cut off by a hand on his mouth.
He flushes.
"Too fast," Andriy says.
"My English... not good."
"Sorry," Ryan mumbles into Andriy's hand.
Andriy grins and shakes his head, curls dancing, as he pulls his hand away.
"Is okay.
Slow words.
Okay?"
"Okay," Ryan says.
He's even more breathless now, for some reason.
You play very well." He makes sure to speak slowly and clearly.
Andriy grins.
"Yes," he agrees cockily.
Ryan rolls his eyes.
Looks like Andriy isn't feeling too out of place.
He can't stop smiling back, though, so it probably doesn't look too annoyed.
"How come you're here?" Ryan asks.
"I mean why come to a camp here in America?"
Andriy hums, frowning as he hunts for the words.
"Coach Belov, you know?" He mimes the claws of a bear.
Ryan nods.
Everyone here knows Coach Belov.
The camp is named after him.
"He is... my father friend.
Belov.
I... come here to play."
"Cool," he says.
He wonders why Andriy would come all the way here.
Surely there are good camps in Ukraine?
But he doesn't know how to communicate that question in a way Andriy could understand it.
He shifts on his feet awkwardly.
He doesn't want the conversation to die, because he really wants to get to know Andriy.
He also doesn't know what to say to keep it going.
Usually, he grabs some fruit and spends his break in the library.
They have a lot of books on hockey.
There are probably some in Ukrainian, right?
Coach Belov is Ukrainian.
Maybe he has some.
Maybe Andriy would be interested.
"Uh... do you want to come to the library with me?" Ryan asks.
"Where?" Andriy blinks.
"Um... the library?
Like, uh, books- uh, la bibliothèque.
No, wait." Why is he speaking in French?
How is that supposed to help?
Though with the way he's stammering and stumbling over his words, he doubts anyone could parse their meaning.
He still can't seem to force his mouth to stop.
"It's, like, where you keep-"
Ryan is cut off by Andriy grabbing his hand.
Andriy places a hand on his own chest and takes a deep breath before indicating that Ryan should do the same.
Ryan follows, laughing nervously.
"Is okay," Andriy says.
"Slow.
Don't know, but I come.
Ryan smiles shyly, tangling his fingers with Andriy.
Andriy looks surprised, but he doesn't pull away, so that's- good, right?
"Okay," Ryan says.
He pulls Andriy along, and Andriy follows, laughing under his breath.
Wow.
Andriy has a really nice smile.
Ryan can't help noticing how warm Andriy 's hand is in his.
He keeps his head determinedly forward, afraid that if he turns back and sees Andriy 's crooked smile he'll... he's not sure.
He'll explode with embarrassment, probably.
He leads Andriy down the hallway at the back of the break room, up the stairs, to the little green door on the left.