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his side, but I suppose I’ll never know.”
    “I’m sorry,” I tell her. I wonder what is worse—knowing your father is a liar, or never knowing him.
    “It’s okay,” she says. “My mom is awesome. She’s all I need.”
    I can tell what she said is well rehearsed. But it’s not the truth.
    “There is nothing wrong with being curious,” I tell her. “About your dad I mean.”
    She looks down at her hands. “I don’t want to hurt my mom.”
    “Okay. If you ever want to talk about things, let me know. I know a guy who can help you find your dad and your mom would never have to know,” I say, thinking of Tristan.
    “Thanks,” she says, looking hopeful. “I’ll think about it.”
    “You’re welcome.”
    “You’re okay, Katerina.”
    “You too, Jade.”
    I think I am going to like having a cousin.
    Especially Jade.
    She’s kind of awesome.

FOUR
    Flashback Tuesday.

    Americans are so weird.
    More so in the 1980’s.
    Big hair. Mismatching clothes. Scrunchies. And don’t even get me started on the awful music they listened to. Not that American music is much better now days. I much prefer Russian music.
    “You dressing up for 80’s day?” Tristan asks, and I swing punches at him. He blocks each one with precision. Just once I’d like him not to block. Not that I’d really punch him. I’d stop before I did that. But I’d like to beat him.
    “I don’t know,” I say, taking deep, even breaths, like Tristan taught me. “Americans back then were so weird. Not that you guys still aren’t weird.”
    He laughs, blocking another punch. “That hurts. You think I’m weird?”
    “Very,” I say, swinging my arm at his stomach.
    He blocks it.
    Dang it.
    “I resent that,” he says. “Maybe Russians are the weird ones.”
    “Maybe, but I doubt it,” I say, swinging another punch.
    Perfect block.
    I decide to try something different. I use my leg.
    I watch in slow motion as Tristan falls to the floor.
    Oops. I thought he was going to block me.
    “My bad,” I say, using a saying I’ve heard a few people on campus using. It’s kind of like an apology, but you’re not actually saying sorry. I like it. I hold out a hand to help him up. He grabs it, but instead of letting me help him up, he pulls me down. I hit the floor beside him.
    He laughs.
    “Ouch,” I say, rubbing my hip. “That was so cruel, Tristan Thomas.”
    “You did it first. Katerina Mikhailovna Vasin.”
    “You said my middle name right,” I say, sitting up.
    He sits up beside me. “I’m learning Russian.”
    “Learning? I thought you were fluent.”
    “Nope. I just started learning in July,” he says.
    “But you understood Kazimir when he had a knife to my throat,” I say, feeling confused.
    “I’m taking advanced night classes,” he tells me. “I Skype with my teacher for three hours every single night. It’s supposed to be a four month program. And I did understand him. I didn’t understand every word, but enough to fill in the gaps.”
    “Oh,” I say. “I was wondering why you didn’t understand what I was saying when I spoke Russian to you when we first met, but then you understood Kazimir. It makes sense now. It must be hard to learn a second language.”
    “Very,” he says.
    “I’m lucky I was raised speaking both,” I say.
    He gets up off the floor and holds out a hand to help me up. He pulls me up, and we get back to training.
    I think about what Damon said—about him being a distraction while I’m training. I wonder if he’s right. When I train, I’ll probably end up paying too much attention to him. Maybe we should train separately.
    “Damon is up to two and a half miles,” I tell Tristan, taking swings at him.
    “That’s good,” he says.
    “I was thinking about the whole training him thing,” I say. “Maybe you should train him separate, because I think he would be distracting to me. I mean, I like him. You know?”
    “Yeah, okay,” he says. “I agree. You really need to focus on