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the long, lean body of a ballet dancer. They’d struck up a curious friendship during the past month—he’d taken pictures of her, given her little snippets of information while she’d taught him how to put his long blond hair up in French braids. Today he was dressed all in black, with glittery purple eye shadow that made his green eyes glow. In the outside world, he would have frightened her. In here, he was her only friend.
    â€œGood morning, Kiska,” he said, his English thick with Russian. “How are you today?”
    â€œOkay.” She sat cross-legged on the bed. “Considering all the racket outside.”
    â€œYou hear Dusty bragging?”
    â€œIt was hard not to.”
    He tucked a stray curl into his beloved French braid. “She’s proud of the money she brings to Clifford. I warn her—shut your mouth, you’ll have trouble if you make the black girls mad.”
    â€œWhat would they do?”
    â€œWho knows? Cut her face up, kill her. You never know what women will do. Anyway,” he sat down on the foot of her bed. “You need to forget about Dusty. Today is big day for you.”
    â€œWhat do you mean?”
    â€œTonight Boyko comes with doctor, to examine you.”
    She tried to keep her voice steady. “What for?”
    â€œTo make sure you are virgin. If doctor says okay, they will send you someplace much nicer than here.”
    â€œWhere?”
    â€œFar away. You will never see here again.”
    â€œBut where is here , anyway?”
    â€œThat I cannot tell you.”
    She looked down at her bowl of cornflakes, the squat little carton of grade-school milk. Her heart began to beat like a drum. If she never saw here again, then she’d probably never see her mother or little brother again, either. She started to tremble, fighting back tears.
    â€œAh, Kiska, do not cry. Is not so bad. A wealthy man will take care of you. You will have good food, pretty clothes. You will never have to work the casino or the streets.”
    â€œBut I’ll never see my family again!” She looked up at him, tears finally spilling down her cheeks. “Don’t you know what that’s like? Don’t you miss your family in Moscow?”
    â€œI miss them, but they don’t miss me.” He wiggled his fingers, showing off the purple nail polish that matched his eyelids. “In Russia, they hate pretty boys like me.”
    His words made her cry harder. How had she ever wound up here? How could she ever escape?
    â€œKiska, please.” Ivan ran to the bathroom and spooled off a handful of the rough toilet paper. “If they see you’ve been crying, they’ll know I’ve told their secrets.” He thrust the toilet paper at her. “Please—dry your eyes.”
    She wanted to tell him she didn’t care if they found out—she didn’t care if he got in a lot of trouble. Then she realized that he was truly scared—not for her, but for himself. Instead of drying her eyes, she sobbed louder.
    â€œ Ne plach’, little Kiska!” he cried, sitting down close beside her and putting his arm around her shoulders. “You mustn’t be crying when Boyko comes. I was teasing about the doctor—just telling you foolish gossip.”
    She knew his words weren’t gossip—weeks ago he had told her exactly what awaited her if the doctor pronounced her pure. She kept on crying.
    â€œShh!” He tightened his grip and shook her, as if that might staunch her tears. When it didn’t, he slid to the floor and beseeched her like a frightened puppy. “Kiska, please. How can I make you quit crying? What can I do to make it better?”
    â€œFuck me,” she whispered. “Make me not a virgin anymore. Then at least I’ll be able to go outside.”
    He shrank back, his eyes wide with terror. “That would be bezumnyj … suicide.”
    She started to beg him to have sex