"This is the worst New Year's Eve of my life!" I thought with despair as I looked at the blond presenter, who was calling the guests to the contests with fake liveliness, and at the long table where two families - us and relatives - were sitting. The table was full of all kinds of food, but I didn't feel like eating because I was in a bad mood, so I sipped sizzling coke from a glass. The cramped room we were sitting in was decorated in New Year's Eve style; colorful streamers hung from the ceiling, blue and gold sprinkles wrapped around the archway to the other room, a not-tall but beautiful Christmas tree with golden toys stood in the corner, silver snowflakes glittered on the large windows, and light lasers ran restlessly around the room, like in a nightclub, but with the lights on. I had suggested celebrating at home because I wouldn't say I like New Year's Eve programs in restaurants, including dancing for those over 30, pop for adults, awkward contests with equally uncomfortable prizes, and karaoke. This restaurant could have been more original.

The annoying and overly cheerful host announced our parents' youth musical group, "Ruki Vverh!". "My Baby" played, and the adults got up from the tables and headed to the dance floor while calling us teenagers. Unable to show enough resistance, I found myself dragged with a drunk uncle under my arm to the dance floor. After showing some dance, I quietly returned to the table. I never understood how anyone could dance to songs like that. The brothers found something to amuse themselves, sipping wine from the adults' glasses and laughing.

Shaking my head, I looked out the large window behind me. The street was quiet and deserted and seemed much more appealing to me than the restaurant despite the 10-degree frost. It was one of those little streets leading to the town center. In our city, people usually celebrate New Year's Eve indoors: at home or in restaurants like we did.

Suddenly, I wanted to be on the other side of the window. I wanted to run away from this restaurant and have fun running through the streets of Kharkiv with my friends. I picked up my phone and texted my friends about my wish, asking how their New Year's Eve was going. It turned out that four of them were also celebrating the holiday with their families and weren't happy about it either. "How you celebrate New Year's Eve is how you spend it" ran through my head. What if... "Girls, let's meet at the center," I wrote in the group chat. "My parents might not let me go, but if the girls agree, I'll figure something out." But the girls replied that it was impossible because the parents wouldn't allow it, and there was no way to leave discreetly. "Nerds," I rolled my eyes.

The adults had just danced their butts off and returned, laughing at the host's stupid jokes. God, was that really hilarious? Out of breath, they finally sat down at the table. They started talking about their kids, I mean us. I knew what was coming, so I fidgeted restlessly in my chair.

‘What do you want to be, Alina?’ asked a fat uncle with a bald head.

Here we go. Who should I make up this time? I'm not going to say writer - they would laugh and tell me off. Once, I told my mom that I wanted to make a living writing in the future, and she told my dad about it; they jointly resented and admonished me, saying that this is not a profession and, in general, that all writers were mad. Being mathematicians, they somehow believed that art inevitably leads to loss of mind.

‘A surgeon,’ I replied casually, shifting my gaze from one adult to another.

Uncle Sasha choked. My parents raised their eyebrows, knowing I fainted when blood was drawn from my finger. They immediately realized I wasn't serious, but they remained silent.

‘Well, you know, a surgeon is a challenging profession, not for a girl... You have to study for ten years, and when will you get married? In our time…’

‘Maybe women didn't become surgeons in your time, but now women can be whatever they want, just like men,’ I couldn't resist and interrupted his essential speech.

The boys pulled their faces. Mom looked at me angrily. Auntie was picking at her plate of salad without raising her eyes. Uncle was going to continue his speech so as not to look humiliated.

‘Did you get off on the wrong foot today?’ my brother on my right asked mockingly.
‘Screw you,’ I pushed him to the side.

They wanted to continue their enlightening conversation, but then the servers brought us big yellow clappers to blow up at 00:00. In five minutes, it would be the new year. I wish I could feel it as an important event, the beginning of something new, but I strongly resented that moment. I tried to cheer myself up and look happy, to think about plans for the new year, but it was all so ridiculous and boring that I couldn't help but think that I wished I could live that day again. Gradually, my thoughts shifted to adults. Will I be so dull when I grow up, too? Will I also listen to pop music, laugh at stupid jokes, and celebrate holidays like this? Then I don't want to grow up. I tried to think of a non-boring adult from my neighborhood, but I could only think of one aunt who liked to have fun with us, but she was single and didn't have kids. So, is it family life that makes them like this?

My train of thought was interrupted by the countdown to the new year.

‘Five! Four! Three!’ the chorus shouted from the audience.

I hurried to grab the clapper. Everyone pulled the string on the count of one, and colored confetti flew into the air, followed by cheers. And I pulled the stupid rope hard, but my flapper wouldn't go off. I got frustrated and gave it to my brother. He blew it up right away and laughed at me. I almost cried and, having taken my jacket, walked out of the restaurant.

The glass doors slammed behind me, and I was alone on this deserted street with the low old houses across the street. Fireworks and people were cheering on all sides. It was New Year, and I wanted to cry. I stood in the scalding cold, wrapped in my jacket, and looked up at the reddish sky above me. Not even snow this New Year!
The phone in my pocket was blowing up with notifications. I pulled it out and logged into the girls' group. After reading the latest notifications, I realized they were about to run away from the parties. I smiled. Hope and an uncontrollable urge to drop everything and break all the rules awoke in me. I was ready to leave the party without warning anyone, and I didn't care about the consequences. Although the new year had already arrived, not everything was lost.

We decided to meet downtown at the city Christmas tree. Glancing one last time at the restaurant with the glowing "Montana" sign, I strode confidently down the street toward downtown. Warm white boots tread confidently on the sidewalk. I wanted more than walking, and desiring to get to the busy, bright downtown area as soon as possible, I decided to run. Gradually, I sped up as fast as I could in my winter jacket. I ran down the deserted street with my arms open as if they were wings and enjoyed this moment of freedom and youth. Nothing mattered, and I didn't care if anyone saw me or what they thought of me. My cheeks flushed from the cold, and my lips weathered from the fact that I couldn't contain my smile and laughed joyfully. I felt so light inside as if no one else existed but me. It was my street. Suddenly, snowflakes started crashing into my face. I stuck out my tongue and caught them with my mouth. An image of boring adults sitting at a restaurant table came to mind, and I felt a little sorry for them. They didn't know how to have fun-the constant work, and daily family routine had robbed them of that skill. But my thoughts soon returned to reality, and I savored the moment of passing youth.

That's how I got to the significant crossroad, where young people were walking, as adults were not attracted by the possibility of celebrating the holiday in the cold. How beautiful the city was! 19th-century houses decorated with garlands surrounded a square where a giant Christmas tree with ever-changing colors stood. Around the tree and further along, the shiny skating rink with golden lanterns were cozy wooden houses of the fair. New Year's music was playing. The square was less crowded than in the pre-holiday days. The traffic light turned green, and I crossed the road. I noticed Lena with Christmas tinsels wrapped around her neck at the entrance to the fair. I waved to her, she spotted me, and with a scream, we rushed towards each other. What a relief to see a happy, familiar face.

‘I'm so happy to see you!’ She sighed in relief.
‘Me too! I would have died of boredom if I'd stayed there,’ I admitted.
‘For real. I don't know why I had agreed to this in the first place.’

The anticipation of the fun grew with each passing second as Lena and I chatted and laughed. We walked down the rows of the fair past vendors selling mittens, socks, hats, vests, souvenirs, wood items, soap, and candles, and met a few people we knew. Some of them were two 11th graders making mulled wine with different flavors. Kirill and Lyosha, rubbing their palms from the cold, invited people to try mulled wine from large pots with fragrant steam. We chatted with them and took two glasses of hot, dark red, non-alcoholic mulled wine. We saw the girls rushing towards us as we walked towards the Christmas tree. In a second, we merged in a joyful hug and joyful screams. No gifts made me feel as happy as our embrace at that moment. The girls dressed in whatever they found after their holiday dresses and decorated themselves with tinsel, Christmas hoops, and glitter.

There were five of us. Our company was a blob of youthful carefreeness in this mass of New Year's fun. We laughed, sang, danced, joked, and took pictures. A funny drunken man sitting on a bench wished us a Happy New Year. We congratulated him back with glee. I thought about how lucky I was to be here and not in a restaurant. How cool it is to have friends.

I suggested that the girls run down the blocked-off street like I did before our meeting. I wanted them to experience that incredible feeling of freedom, too. They didn't have to go up my street: the main street was blocked off for cars that day. They agreed. After tossing out our drink cups, we walked into the middle of the broad, brightly lit street. Few people were walking on it.

‘Ready?’ I asked.
There was a cheerful "Yes!" from all sides.
‘One, two, three!’

‘Woo-hoo!!!’

We raced down the cobblestones, leaving the surprised people and glowing signs behind us. It was wet and snowing, but we weren't afraid of falling down. We didn't look under our feet. Fireworks exploded in the black sky as if they had been launched in our honor. Our happy faces were open to the scalding frost. Sprinkles fluttered in the wind and tickled our necks. How good it is to be young! How cool to have your whole life ahead of you and be irresponsible! I can run away to the end of the world because I don't have a job, a husband, or children; nothing is tying me to this place. I can misbehave or say stupid things. The judgment of others means nothing to me. I can be friends with whomever I want and love whomever I want. I am free to think how I think and do what is right. I was so grateful for all these opportunities that my eyes filled with tears, and I closed them. I realized I wouldn't always be like this and wanted to squeeze everything out of my flying youth. We stopped when the street ended and laughed, looking at each other's red faces.

Suddenly, someone called out to me. When we turned around, we saw Kirill, who had seen us at the fair, coming down, flushed and red-faced. He reached us and put his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath. This picture amused us.

‘Did you want to feel free, too?’ Lisa laughed.
Finally raising his head, he blurted out, addressing me:
‘What are you talking about?... You left...your... phone…’

And he took my phone out of his jacket pocket and handed it to me. Boy, I forgot my phone.
‘Oh! How could I have forgotten it? Thanks for bringing it to me,’ I was surprised.
‘You can't put a thank you in your pocket,’ he said jokingly.

In response to this daring phrase, Vika threw a snowball at him. Muttering curses, Kirill collected some snowballs from a thin layer of snow and answered Vika. The other girls started making snowballs, too, and pelted him. I felt sorry for him because he was running after us to get my phone back, so I took his side. It was hard to open my eyes in this whirlwind of tiny snowballs and flying snow. It was a lot of fun, but my hands froze without gloves. I stepped aside to check my phone and saw eleven missed calls from my mom. Oh God...but I put it back in my pocket. Kirill noticed the look on my face.

‘I told your mom that you would be at the intersection of Sumska and Teatralna.’
‘Why?!’

He just shrugged his shoulders. We noticed significantly fewer people while the girls were shaking off the snow. And our black Toyota pulled into the parking lot, where our angry parents looked out. It made my insides tighten, but I was smiling. So that was the end of my New Year's adventure. After saying goodbye to the girls, I headed to the car.

All the way home, I was reprimanded for being irresponsible. At that moment, all the remarks passed by my ears, and I tried to vividly capture the happy moments in my memory. Probably, I shouldn't have subjected my parents to such worry, but I had no regrets. When I opened my phone gallery, I found selfies of Kirill and Lyosha from the fair. A smile appeared on my frozen face, and the warmth of memories warmed me from inside. How wonderful it is to be young!