“Kids don’t need so many whys.” He ruffled Chen Huan’er’s hair, her mushroom spikes fun to mess with.
Morning exercises ended, and the hallway grew noisy again.
Huan’er tidied her hair, “Do your best on these finals. No need to let Qi win – she has the ability.”
“I know.”
“Let me play with your new phone when you get it.”
“Making fun of me, huh?”
Huan’er thought of what Teacher Xu had just said – track selection was a watershed moment, competition would only get fiercer. But Jing Xichi’s current preoccupations would distract him. She felt inexplicably angry and worried, so she said, “Don’t you have a Plan B? What if you really can’t play soccer anymore?”
As soon as the words left her mouth, she realized they were too harsh and quickly added, “I mean, just what if. Of course, I hope you become famous, succeed in everything, and reach life’s peak with endless wealth.”
“Oh, you little flatterer.” Jing Xichi messed up the mushroom hair again, smoothly avoiding the question.
He certainly knew about “what if,” but at the current he refused to make even the slightest preparation for that possibility – he feared that preparing for it would make it come true.
Qi Qi’s birthday fell on a Wednesday. Fifteen minutes before dismissal, Liao Xinyan stood at the podium, “Everyone, spare a few minutes. The school wants to show a video.”
USB plugged in, screen pulled down, lights off.
Qi Qi was still holding a grudge against the class monitor and didn’t even look up.
But in the next second, a voice rang out, “Qi Qi, happy birthday.”
Familiar faces began flashing across the screen. Someone said you write essays so well, heard you want to be a writer, it’s a heavy responsibility, keep going; someone said look everyone, this is the legendary luxury men’s room, Qi Qi, we even exposed our base just so you wouldn’t find out, don’t cry from emotion when you see this; others said next semester you’ll be in the liberal arts class and we’ll see less of each other, want to tell all the liberal arts brothers and sisters to come back and visit, Class Five’s doors are always open.
Huan’er said, my Qi, meeting you was my luck.
Song Cong said, Qi Qi, may you cut through thorns and build your tower high.
Jing Xichi said, happy birthday.
Everyone was saying happy birthday.
Qi Qi cried, and by the window, a girl also heading to the liberal arts class had red-rimmed eyes. Growing a year older, stepping closer to independent adulthood, choosing tracks and subjects, moving closer to brilliant dreams – yet at such a moment, someone cried.
They were laughing in the video, but in the classroom, they laughed through tears.
Sadness seemed to be the most contagious of all emotions. Thinking of growing up, of leaving, of grades that wouldn’t improve, of that person you’d never see again when you turned around – everyone seemed to have a reason to cry.
Director Fu’s voice came through the broadcast, “Class Five, Class Five, what are you doing? Quickly turn off the projector, class isn’t over yet, you know?”
A boy in the back directly covered the camera with his uniform. The youths shifted from crying to laughing, their revelry growing louder.
At sixteen or seventeen, they were learning to endure, not knowing it was a hundred times harder than those unsolvable physics problems.
Qi Qi wiped her tears and stood up, “Thank you, everyone, this is my most unforgettable birthday.”
Having lived just a small portion of life, naturally, everything was “most.” The best friends, the worst cafeteria food, the most anticipated gift, and the moments they most wanted to preserve.
Someone chimed in, “Qi Qi, are you choosing liberal arts?”
“Mm.” The girl sat down, nodding to the questioner. Despite all the reluctance, the reality was just like this – she couldn’t switch to another track because of her present attachments. That wouldn’t be rational, or mature.
In the future, Qi Qi thought, I will meet you all, and you, in a better place.
After class, when only two or three people remained in the classroom, Huan’er brought out the gift she’d hidden behind the storage cabinet all day, “This is from the three of us. You’ve always wanted to learn the ukulele, right? If not now, then later.”
Qi Qi was moved again, “Was the video your idea too?”
Huan’er looked at Jing Xichi, and seeing him nodding continuously at her, could only muster a mosquito-like “mm.”
Qi Qi hugged Huan’er tight, leaving a heavy kiss on her right cheek. Letting go, she wrapped her arms around Jing Xichi, saying “Thank you, thank you.” At the last moment, she gathered her courage to hug Song Cong – a light embrace between classmates, in friendship, with gratitude – saying “thank you.”
Huan’er rubbed her cheek, “That was my first kiss.”
Jing Xichi picked up Qi Qi’s backpack and tossed it out lightly, “Silly, only kissing on the lips counts as a first kiss.”