Page 59 of Pioneer Summer

The apple trees around the dance floor had been decorated with strings of lights. They flashed and sparkled, embellishing the evening’s deep blue with their yellows and reds. Music poured from the speakers. San Sanych, the facilities manager, was working the sound and light equipment that had been set up on the stage. The on-duty troop leaders, armbands in place, were patrolling the dance floor as the Pioneers danced their hearts out.

Familiar faces from the older troops appeared here and there. The boys—each and every one of them all dressed up, hair painstakingly combed, and smelling of cologne—were casting searching glances this way and that. The girls—each and every one of them all made up, painstakingly dressed in the latest trend, and flaunting teased bangs—were hanging around in languorous expectation, flirting, making eyes at the boys, and trying out shy little dance moves.

For ten minutes or so, Volodya and Yurka stood around under the apple trees, out of the limelight, watching the others. But as soon as the troop leader came around the row of chairs on the far side of the dance floor and joined the dancers under the roving rays cast by the light equipment, it waslike a wind blew through the crowd. The first to notice them was Katya from Troop Two. She pointed at Volodya and leaned over to whisper in the ear of first one friend, then another, and the news flew with the speed of sound. Not a minute had passed before Volodya was surrounded by the twittering Pukes, and Masha, and another pair of the bravest girls. Yurka actually felt a little sorry for him, seeing the expression of obvious despair on Volodya’s face.

After a minute of this, Volodya somehow extracted himself from the bevy of clingy girls. He grabbed Yurka by the shoulder and pulled him to one side. He sat down on a chair and caught his breath.

“What’s up?” Yurka asked him. “Aren’t you going to dance?”

“Why?” replied Volodya, surprised.

“What do you mean, ‘Why?’ Because we’re at a dance, that’s why! People dance at dances! It’s fun!”

“Not really, not when you can’t dance,” said Volodya deprecatingly.

“Well, let’s just go lurch around to the music. Look at Matveyev busting a move over there!”

Alyosha Matveyev considered himself an avant-garde kind of guy, so he was dancing in a strange way that looked contrived and jerky. First he waved both his hands around up in the air, something like a broken marionette, or maybe a working robot. Then he plopped down onto the asphalt and waved his feet around the same way. Alyosha had once explained to Yurka that it wasn’t actually convulsions; it was a dance: “It’s really hot right now in Moscow, Leningrad, and the Baltics! It’s called ‘breakdance.’ It’s so cool! But yikes—what a hard dance.” Yurka decided that when he got a minute, he’d find out from Volodya whether kids in the capital knew about it. But when he saw the undisguised skepticism on Volodya’s face, he decided to ask some other time.

“No, thanks. I’m definitely not going to do any ‘lurching around,’” scoffed Volodya.

“Aw, come on! Are you not going to dance at all? Not even a slow dance?”

“With who?” said Volodya, blushing.

Yurka snorted. “You mean with which one?! Look how many candidates there are! Every girl here is yearning for you to ask her.”

It was true. Yurka looked around and noticed girl after girl gazing hopefully in their direction. Most of them were looking at Volodya pleadingly. Half of them were probably thinking,Well, why not? What if I’m the one he asks?

But Volodya shook his head. “It won’t look right if I dance with just one of the girls. What if the others get mad at her? So ... and besides, I didn’t come here to dance, but to see Ksyusha kiss you. Go get her. She’s over there.” He gestured to where the Pukes were standing. “I’m here, so you’ve fulfilled your part of the bargain. Time for her to pay up.” Volodya was clearly in a good mood, chuckling as he talked.

Yurka smirked and walked over to the Pukes. He was bursting with confidence. With impudence, too.

“Hey, Ksyukha!” he called loudly. “Here I am!”

All three of them stared at Yurka in surprise.

“A deal’s a deal! I brought him, so keep your promise.”

“Promises are made to be broken!” squeaked Ksyusha, who clearly didn’t want to keep her word.

“Now, now, girls, that wasn’t our agreement. If you don’t kiss me right now, Ksyusha, I’ll make Volodya leave. Yeah! How do you like that, eh? But on the other hand”—Yurka let a pause hang dramatically in the air—“if he stays, maybe he’ll ask one of you to dance!”

Yurka knew that wasn’t going to happen, but Polya’s and Ulyana’s eyes glittered with curiosity. Ksyusha was the only one who wasn’t burning with enthusiasm. But Ulyana stepped in, grabbing Ksyusha by the elbow and dragging her over to Yurka.

“Go on,” Ulyana whispered, nodding at him.

“Nuh-uh!” Yurka stopped them. “You promised to do it in front of everyone. We’re going to the middle of the dance floor.” He held his hand out to Ksyusha. “Shall we dance?”

She sighed and trudged gloomily after him.

A silly little song by a group that was popular at first but had now started getting on everyone’s nerves was pouring out of the speakers:

Your eyes are the color of morning skies,

Your hair’s as golden as fields of wheat.

Flowers bloom in my heart from your smile ...

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