Mort slammed his fist on the table.
"I used to think I'd become the head of the mafia too. In our family, Damon and I were the most intrigued by the mafia world. But, since she's a girl, everything had to belong to me, and for her, it had to be off-limits! Everyone relied on me."
"Calm down. I can listen, just speak more quietly," I requested. The boy raised an eyebrow, and I took a seat across from him. "The neighboring class is full of big gossips. They'll stumble upon this story sooner or later."
"Well, I don't care," he scoffed, but his voice softened. "As you already know, women can't be bosses in the mafia. But my sister broke through that barrier and showed she could be one. They even chose her as the boss, boosting her reputation."
"How do people treat her?"
"At first, pretty badly. Everyone thought she'd crack soon. But now... they even exaggerate with their politeness," Mort nodded. "But I've come to terms with it. It's a long story."
I nodded understandingly.
"She's the youngest in our family, and now everyone depends on her. She's more like a true mafia member. Did you know that?"
I nodded, indicating my lack of knowledge. I wanted to uplift Grace's mood. He seemed like a good guy, behaving better than his sister. I returned to my seat, and Mort sat in front of me. I was surprised.
"By the way, are you... um... do you have friends in this class?" he asked. I was getting increasingly surprised by this. Then the brunette waved his hand and added, "Why am I even asking, of course you do..."
"No, I don't," I interrupted him and started flipping through my book. "I'm an outcast here; no one wants to be friends with me. But it's not a big deal. You'll understand soon. Just don't believe everything they say about me." I nervously adjusted my glasses.
"Then let's be friends. I know it's not easy to be friends with someone connected to the mafia, but..." the boy began. "By the way, I'll tell you right away, just in case: if you betray me or replace me with some thug, I'm telling you, it'll be me who gets you, not my sister."
I froze. Well, this was unexpected! The son of the mafia wants to be friends with me?! What have I done in my life to deserve this? Is this a joke or something?
"With me? Are you joking? I told you... if this is a joke, it's not funny."
"I know, and I'm not joking. You're an interesting guy, so I want to be friends. Honestly, I don't really want to end up with a gang of losers," the boy said. "You know, the rich only think about valuables. I'm saying this, even though I'm from a wealthy family myself. And the poor, they... they're more intriguing, in my opinion. So, what do you say? You have nothing to lose."
I nodded and looked at him with interest, saying, "Somewhere I've seen you before." It felt like it was true. I was sure of it.
"Oh yeah, that's right," Grace started searching in his black bag. "I'm a young actor; I've appeared in movies, and also... here."
He placed four magazines on the desk. A brunette posed on their covers. I remembered seeing something like this at my sister Daya's place.
"Oh, right, I need to sign these," the brunette muttered to himself and began searching in his bag. I handed him my pen, saying, "I don't need your autograph to know that you're my friend. Do you know what friendship is?"
"I know, it's not for you..." Mort grumbled and quickly started signing. "What was her name?"
"Who?" I asked.
"The girl in the wheelchair," the boy furrowed his brows, trying to remember. "Ah, right. Her name is Emmy."
"Emmy?" I asked again.
"Yeah, she's my devoted fan. She's been to my tours many times," Grace recalled with a smile. "She sent me many letters that honestly touched me. And her drawings just amaze me. Alice is really talented; she's a student at this school, and I wanted to give her something today."
In my mind, the thought that Mort was a really good guy crossed my mind. I could see him shaping the letter "G" with confidence and knew that his fans were lucky to have him. For some reason, the word "mafia" didn't prevent me from talking to him.
"By the way, if you took off your glasses, you wouldn't be a bad actor or a photo model," Grace noted.
"Listen, why did... your sister attack you?" I asked. Honestly, I was most curious about that now.
Mort sighed, as if it was a painful topic for him. His eyes narrowed, and he put the magazine aside.
"For one, because I said her real name out loud. And she doesn't want it revealed. Secondly... she knows I didn't come here just out of the blue. And third... well, third... she simply doesn't like me," he looked out the window, studying the green leaves of the trees in the park.
"No matter how hard I tried to get close to her, be friends with Damon, she always closes herself off and pushes me away. Just like now."
"Why are you here then?" I asked cautiously.
"Because... just say everything as it is!" the brunette exclaimed, but then lowered his voice. "You understand that she's the boss of the Young Mafia, and they hold her in high regard. And my father still sees her as a child. In short, it's a long story."
Suddenly, Lisa and Karen entered the classroom, arm in arm, followed by Charlie and Josephine, engaged in conversation.
"Well, you know I couldn't resist buying..." the brunette began, her eyes widening as she locked onto us. The group stopped in their tracks, staring at us. And I knew why—it was because the one sitting next to me was none other than Grace Mort. The girls began to whisper among themselves, while Charlie blurted out loudly:
"Who are you, then?" The blonde got to his feet.
"I..." he began to say, but Karen interrupted him.
"Oh, Charlie, it's Grace Mort! One of the most famous actors and models. How clueless can you be? It's maddening!"
"I'm not into that stuff," the blonde replied, visibly unimpressed.
"Of course, fixating only on your chess enthusiasts can be very limiting," the brunette smirked.
"Karen, don't exaggerate," Lisa intervened gently. "Everyone has their own tastes."