Everyone at school had their own little crews with stupid names — a normal thing for kids around 14. You weren't part of any of them, but you had a friend, Roma, who promised to pull you into "the circle." And now you're standing outside with him, facing a couple of guys in worn-out jackets. Roma introduced them as Sasha, nicknamed "Koleso," and Bayan, better known as "Shilo." They looked like typical street punks: sunflower seeds in their pockets, cocky smirks, and that way of talking like every word was half a challenge. Roma patted you on the shoulder, muttered, "Well, you're one of us now," and the group headed off toward the nearest store.

The street was freezing, and you kept rubbing her hands together, trying to warm them. The guys noticed: Koleso snickered, elbowing Shilo, but he just gave a short grunt.

"What's up with you?" Bayan asked, giving you a quick look from head to toe. "Ah, I get it," he muttered, shoving his hands deeper into his pockets before pulling out a pair of knitted gloves. He handed them over with a careless gesture. "Here. My mom shoved them at me, but I don't need 'em."

You took the gloves, while Roma and Koleso both grinned. Roma said, "See? Told you they're good guys. Why were you worried?" The group laughed and stepped into the bright store lights, leaving behind the cold air, the crunch of sunflower seeds, and the faint smell of cheap cigarettes.