“Dad,” I say, shocked that he is, in fact, standing in at the door of my hotel room. I panic slightly, because Tristan is in the shower. I’m also relieved he’s in there. My dad would most definitely get the wrong idea if he saw that I was in a hotel room alone with a boy. Especially an American boy. Of course that is the time that Tristan decides to walk out of the bathroom. “Showers free,” he says to me. Then I hear my dad do something he’s never done in front of me before. He cusses at Tristan—in Russian. He pushes past me towards Tristan and Tristan goes into defensive mode. “She’s my daughter,” he says, mixing English with Russian. Tristan blocks each punch my dad swings at him. “I think there is a misunderstanding,” Tristan says. “Umm… nedorazumeniye.” Dad stops swinging punches, but he still looks angry. “Profolzhat.” Continue, my dad says. “I didn’t feel safe at school,” I tell my dad. “Tristan is just a friend. We slept in different beds.
