She handed the book back, spinning around and disappearing past the bookcases. " See you," she giggled back to him.
"Da." He called after her, carefully returning the tome to its place on the bookshelf.
Illya flushed, knowing an older girl was watching him. He felt flattered as Natasha Asimov was sixteen and one of the nice girls. Not like the slutty disease-ridden creatures sleeping with most of the older boys and teachers for favors and food.
He was lucky that he was scrawny, with none of those sorts of girls giving him a second look, that kept him healthy.