Mariya maintained a fierce, pubescent annoyance.  Mum! Shut up—it’s important! Her phone absorbed her long brown hair and green eyes.

You just zone out, staring into that thing, her mother Sofiy said. Here we are—I am the one buying you pretty clothes—but you’re off in another world. Are you looking at a new blouse and skirt on that? Or is whoever you’re texting going to buy you clothes? Since I’m about to leave you to stare at that damn thing all day and night—you wouldn’t realize I’m gone for at least an hour.

The girl’s mother’s extended arms—draped with white, red, and black garments—slumped, and with them the clothes fell to the woman’s waist-side in the boutique’s dressing room.

It takes like two seconds, c’mon! Mariya said with gritted teeth, hunched over her phone. This is serious!

Her mother tossed the pair of blouses and skirts she was holding onto a ripped leather ottoman.

The room’s cracked block walls were painted in worn, soft pink pastels and lit by a naked table lamp with a bare wire where its lampshade had been.

This, the mother said waving her hands, is important—the Last Bell is important!

I swear to God—mum! Mariya said without looking up from her phone.

Sofiy grabbed her daughter’s arm, yanking her close. What the hell is the matter with you, knock it off.

What the heck? Mum! Mariya said, jerking loose. What are you doing!

Sofiy glared at her.

Mariya broke, throwing her body to the threadbare carpet, letting out a cry followed by a soft wail of tears. She sobbed into her forearm, her limbs strewn about the ground.

Sofiy’s round face and ruffled brow bore an expression of both confusion and frustration. Mariya, what has gotten into you? she asked, standing over her.

Mariya sobbed with defeat and sprawled out on the floor. Her mouth quivered as she sniffled. You just don’t get it, Mum, she said.

Get what? her mother asked, crouching down beside her with a renewed empathy. What’s there to get? What aren’t you saying?

Mariya burst out crying. Olek is going to Donbas.

You don’t know that, Sofiy said in a reassuring effort while kneeling down to rub her daughter’s shoulder.

Yes, I do, Mum! – He got, she hiccupped. He got orders today. He leaves after exams.

Aww, rypka, her mother said, now cradling her daughter. This time—this war—she sighed—is not easy. Your uncles, your brother—everyone has their part. Slava Ukraini. I miss your father more than you could imagine.

Shut up, mum! God! She wept.

Daughter. Make the best of your time, don’t be a spoonful of tar in a barrel of honey.

What’s the point? Mariya asked. Her cheeks were flushed and marked from streams of tears eroding her makeup. What’s the point of this stupid Last Bell, the singing, the dancing – pretending like we’re not living through hell?

Don’t say that.

What? Are we going to move to Kyiv and go to university or get married? No? Oh, that’s right, he’ll be being shelled to death in some bunker in Bakhmut. Mariya resumed a flurry of sobs.

Hey, though. How’d that make him feel, if you did that to him? What about hope, sweetheart? What about that? You’re going to be the last person that he has any connection to, and that’s a big responsibility. That’s the hard part about getting older; you’ve got to be responsible, even though it hurts. Nothing’s ever greener.

Mariya wiped her eyes in the soft glow of the room. He wants me to wear our rushnyk—for us, for our people. Some of the other girls are doing it, too.

Sofiy stood up. That’s okay, Mariya. Here, stand up—there’s a beautiful red and white rushnyk skirt here you can pair with a white blouse. You’ll look beautiful when you jump into the fountain in the square with your friends.

I don’t want a fucking rushnyk skirt or anything to do with this goddamn war with those fucking moskal orcs! Mariya screamed at her mother, agonizing. I want Olek—as he is now—not after they do what they do to him. Or whatever comes back if he doesn’t die! He will die there, you know—it’s just whether he comes back in pieces or not!

Sofiy jerked back and slapped Mariya, hard, across the face. They stared at each other in silence with wide, intent eyes.

Look, her mother said, grinding the words out through her teeth. Snap out of this. You’re bringing shame to us. She held her hand out to her daughter. You’re not a little girl anymore. This is the world we live in. This is our reality. People die—all kinds of people. Drivers, grocers, policemen—even doctors. They are shelling and crashing drones and missiles into us every day; are you going to let your spirit be murdered before your body? It is time to be a woman. You have gone along like this long enough. Please come to your senses; this isn’t all about you.

There was a moment. Mariya sniffled.

I’m sorry, Mariya, her mother said. I am sorry, I was overcome. I didn’t know what to do.

Here, let me get some tissues, Sofiy said. I’ll be right back.

Mariya lain there and cried. After some time, cries turned to whimpers. Her eyes wandered up and met her own in a mirror. Mariya got up and straightened her dress. I am a woman, she said to herself, Slava Ukraini.

Mariya’s mother returned with some ripped toilet paper. She found Mariya adoring herself in the mirror and making gleeful twirls while wearing the rushnyk skirt and blouse.

I like this one, Mariya said, with a smile.

With a look of pride, her mother Sofiy replied, so do I—I like this one much more.

– D. Daniel Perry