In early spring, the school held an open class competition. The little old teacher seemed rather unconcerned, only mentioning it once during a class meeting. It wasn’t until one afternoon when English class ended ten minutes early and a group of administrators flooded into the classroom, with the little old teacher standing at the podium in a suit and tie, that everyone realized this was an important activity that could earn face for their teacher.
Chen Huaner had been listening attentively with an attitude of detachment, but unexpectedly, halfway through the class, the homeroom teacher suddenly called on her to explain her problem-solving approach. In the more than half a year since her transfer, she could count the number of times she’d been called on with one hand.
Could it be because she had improved in these recent tests?
She secretly delighted in the thought. The problem wasn’t difficult, and she spoke quickly, but after a few sentences the little old teacher interrupted, “What?”
Huaner repeated, “cos…”
The surroundings fell silent.
“Ah,” the little old teacher suddenly smiled, correcting her while laughing, “cos, cosine.”
Now the classmates laughed, and the observing director of studies, grade leader, and all the teachers, whether she knew them or not, also laughed. The classroom erupted in laughter.
Only Chen Huaner couldn’t laugh. Because she finally understood why the homeroom teacher had asked her to repeat, why he had corrected her, and why everyone was laughing.
She had pronounced the function as she was used to, “kăi sài,” but that was the heavily accented way her teacher at Shui had taught it.
Funny, rustic, even incomprehensible.
The homeroom teacher lowered his hand to signal her to sit down, “Your approach was completely correct, very good. Don’t worry, mathematics tests don’t examine pronunciation.”
Another wave of laughter swept through the classroom, as the small-town girl’s unexpected speech pushed the open class atmosphere to its climax.
Even after class, as the observers filed out, some were still laughing and imitating her pronunciation.
Huaner knew everyone meant no malice; perhaps she had inadvertently even earned the little old teacher extra points.
How interesting. What should have been smoother than an expressway, everything orderly but certainly dry and dull had an open class airdropped with a different species.
She just felt somewhat embarrassed, and a bit lost.
During New Year’s visit home, meeting many relatives, attending a class reunion, and linking arms with close friends while shopping, everyone unanimously commented that Huaner now spoke like a city person. But thrown among real city people, she was still a girl from an unknown backwater, carrying Shui’s accent. Chen Huaner had completely become a neither-here-nor-there misfit, but as for how all this happened, when it happened, she had no awareness at all.
Because of this open class, Chen Huaner and her hometown Shui County’s presence both rose simultaneously. After morning exercises, people vividly described the “kăi sài” incident from Fast Class 3; classmates would ask her to demonstrate the standard Shui pronunciation of English words and phrases; even the protective red string tied around her wrist became a kind of special identifier—”Do all babies in your place wear these when they’re born?”
Qi Qi, being sensitive, quietly asked her during lunch break one day, “When everyone talks like this, does it make you uncomfortable?”
“No,” Huaner said with certainty, “Once the novelty wears off, they’ll quiet down.”
“Yes, and there’s no malice,” Qi Qi patted her chest, “Thankfully I didn’t mention the ‘Flower of Shui.'”
“Hey, small honors aren’t worth mentioning.”
No malice anyway. Chen Huaner repeated these five words to herself—truly an all-purpose excuse.
A week later after evening self-study, Song Cong was mysteriously absent. Usually, all four would walk home together. After waiting fifteen minutes, Qi Qi couldn’t hold back anymore, “I have to go, if I’m late for tutoring the teacher will call my mom.”
The Fast Class 1 area was restricted and it inconvenient to go upstairs to look, so Huaner nodded, “Go quickly then, be careful riding your bike.”
“I’ll escort you,” Jing Xichi volunteered to be the flower protector, “The way you’re rushing, hope we don’t find you missing tomorrow.”
“No need,” Qi said while quickly pushing off on her bike—she was genuinely in a hurry, forgetting even to put up her kickstand.
“Hey!” Jing Xichi caught up, using his foot to hook up her kickstand, then turned his head to shout at Huaner, “Wait for Song Cong! If anything happens to you my mom might operate on me!”
His voice still lingered as he disappeared.
“Okay,” Huaner responded to herself. With major exams approaching, graduating classes’ evening self-study was extended until eight o’clock. To be honest, more than herself, she was more worried about “pretty boy” Song Cong having any mishaps.
The sky was half dark, with students from late classes gradually emerging from the teaching building. Huaner leaned against a corner post of the bike shelter and stuffed earphones into her ears, but after pressing the buttons repeatedly the screen still showed no movement. The old-style Walkman’s batteries were increasingly unreliable.
So she just left the earphones in, showing an attitude of isolation to avoid being disturbed.
After waiting a while longer, two girls walked near the bike shelter chatting and laughing. Huaner hadn’t paid attention at first until she realized who they were talking about.
“You must have seen her. Not tall, short hair, really provincial.”
“I know, that country girl from Class 3. She’s chasing Song Cong? Don’t joke.”
“She sticks to him every day, okay? Going to and from school together, sometimes even squeezing next to Song Cong at meals, super calculating.”
“Who told you that?”
“No one needed to tell me, it’s all over the grade.”
“Come on, I don’t believe Song Cong could be interested in her.”
“Exactly, she should look in the mirror, doesn’t know her measure.”
“Haha, to put it nicely it’s not knowing her limits, really it’s just being shameless.”
Word by word, wave after wave of mockery, Chen Huaner standing two meters away heard everything crystal clear.
Seeing them prepare to leave, Huaner turned her face away.
Suddenly there was a dull thud—the outermost bicycle had been kicked over forcefully. The domino effect began, and the entire row of bicycles fell to the ground.
The two girls who had been talking froze, and Chen Huaner located the culprit at the same time they did—Jing Xichi walking toward them.
“Keep your mouths clean.” Jing Xichi stood in front of them, his voice cold, “Making up rumors about what you think you know, got water in your brains?”
“You psycho! What class are you from?” One girl cursed, about to step forward but was quickly pulled back by the other, the two whispering to each other.
Huaner was too far away to hear clearly what they were saying, but Jing Xichi heard, as he raised his chin, “Yeah, that’s me. I also walk with them every day, got a problem with that?”
“What’s it to you? Go play hero somewhere else.” The two girls tried to walk around him to get their bikes.