I'm a failure, seriously. I got lost in my way to the bathroom and arrived in the class right in the moment when the teacher was closing the door. I put my foot to impede him and almost had it cut. The door was opened again and the red eyes of the Military Diplomacy (or rather, Military International Law)teacher faced me mockingly.

- A lagger! - he exclaimed. - You lack discipline, miss. Let your teacher of Military take care of this, pay 32 pushups and 15 situps. Now! - he shouted.

I goggled at him, horrified. Then, he laughed hard.

- I'm joking, find a place for you - he ordered me. - Yet the males of this classroom will get disappointed with me, considering your skirt, kesesekese~ - he added, loud enough for everybody in the classroom to hear, some burst in laughter as if they were not adults, but high school folks.

The room was not very large. I didn't see the Italians; I reckon they had been put in the other class, and the Headmaster hadn't dared to divide them even for this purpose. Almost all the places were occupied, except for one desk in the back corner of the room. That was just what I needed. When I approached, however, feeling my face burn, I noticed that the desks were double, and half of the mine was just occupied. With an nonplused grimace, I faced the ocupant. It was that Ivan Braginsky guy.

- May I...? - I asked, forgetting all my English due to my shame and confusion.

- 'course - he answered simply, emphasizing the "r" in a cute manner, without a single glance at me.

The teacher had explored enough the incident with me and now came to the subject itself. Or not. First he presented his brother, Ludwig Beilschmidt, which happened to be in our class. He was sat in the opposite back corner, trying to hide behind some books, and I really pitied him when the teacher draw the attention of the whole group to the blond guy. He went pink, and his eyes faced sternly the blackboard, while our albino teacher kept talking about how his brother was better and smarter than any other student of that school - no wonder, as he had been taught from childhood by that so awesome teacher! - and that his Luddy would beat all of us on the marks. And woe to him if he didnt'!... Man, I really pitied that guy, while the glaring of at least half the class was driven towards him. And yet, it could be only my impression, but his face reflected some proud among the confusion and embarassment.

-...and also - he said - he'll have the advantage that he's German, so he'll have a lot of good stuff to research in this subject. Germany historically had great military power and can provides us excelent study material...

- Yeah, like the Nuremberg Court - someone shouted in the class, making the people burst in laughter again and even I had to hide a smile.

The teacher waited patiently for our hilarity to stop.

- I'll make you guys rethink this issue - he said, simply, and proceeded with the lecture.

In spite of his loose behaviour, the teacher showed us, along that afternoon, why he had been given the chair. For the next 4 hours, he entertained us with lively reports of battles, linking them to most obscure details of the juridical negotiations that had been led through the war, until its ending. He started with Peloponnese, leading us to the birth of Roman Empire in this first day. I drank all of his words, transported to that old romantic time, feeling the emotions of the generals and the soldiers, almost forgetting to take notes.

- That's enough for today, I need some beer. For our next class - he finalized, about 17:30 on the afternoon - you will bring me a paper about the Punic Wars and all the conditions that led to the fall of Carthage. I'm not exacting much of you, as this is our first day. I want it short and clear, yet full of details, just like my lecture was. Don't try to make up what you don't know with beautiful words. I'm not wanting to read whole books. Go to the point. Besides, from your analisys you shall come out with a draft of a treatise containing peace conditions that could have saved Carthage, and might be accepted by Rome. And now you're free.

- Excuse me, when is our next class? - asked a girl in the middle rows of desk.

- In two days, kesesekese~~ - said Mr. Beilschmidt, picking his briefcase and marching towards the door with it under his arm. - Good luck!

There was a race to the library, like a throng of elephants, and all the books about Carthage were, in twenty minutes, taken. Happily, I didn't followed the Brazilian rule of "do everything in the last minute", or it could have damned me this time. I knew I wouldn't be able to continue studying with my stomach empty, then I took the books with me to the dinning room. They served the dinner from 18:00h to 20:00h. I ate hastily, as I felt that if I didn't started the homework soon, I'd never be able to finish. Besides, after so many fiascos in a day, for the sake of my country I should be something worthy and represent it better.

I took a little to find the dormitory they had assigned me. Number 28-A, in the end of the first corridor of the seven in the dormitories' wing. I put my books on the ground to open the door and entered to put my bag in its place. Then I went out again to pick the books. Right in this moment the dweller of the 30-A was coming out and I gasped when I noticed it was the same Russian boy I had sat with wordlessly during all the afternoon. By the way his eyes were violet.

I stared at him and he looked back interrogatively, then I decided to talk before the situation became awkward.

- Looks like we're neighbors here too - I said.

- Ironiya sud'by - he turned, with a gentle smile.

- What? - I asked, confused.

- Irony of fate, I said - the Russian explained. - That's an old Soviet movie... nevermind - he kept quiet for a second. Then, as if noticing his solecism, he presented himself. - I'm Ivan Braginski, I'm from Russia - and reached out his big hand, which I shook, or rather, tried to.

- And I'm from Brazil, my name is...

- Erika - he said. - It was written on your notebook - Ivan explained, with a funny smile to my puzzled face.

Before I could said anything else, another voice with cute accent in the R's was her down the corridor, a feminine voice.

- Can you believe, big brother, that they won't let me move neither to your classroom nor to the same corridor as you? - she was spitting fire. - That's an absurd! I told the headmaster, I spent all my lunch and about one hour after classes trying to convince her, but she won't change her mind. Argh, that witch!

- Calm down, sis - said the man, meekly. - We're still in the same building.

- With all those boring people surrounding me. I wanted to stay near from you! - she complained, annoyed. Then she saw me. Her glare was so intense that I felt my eyes burning. - Who's that? - she snapped, cross-armed.

- That's Erika, she's my classmate - the Russian introduced. I waved shily at her. - And that's my younger sister Natalia - she didn't returned the greeting. - Davai, Natasha, bud' vejliva [1]! - Ivan muttered, looking it at ease.

- Hi - she said, grudgingly. - Come big brother, I'm hungry, let's eat! - Natasha said, then, grasping her brother's arm and taking him away.

I observed them walking away. Was that the Belarusian or the Ukrainian sister? Shrugging, I opened my door and went to Carthage.

[1] Come, Natasha, be polite!