The high jump area was set up directly below the main rostrum. Jing Xichi watched from afar as Chen Huan’er crossed the finish line on the opposite track, silently cheering “Yes” in his heart. He should have gone to congratulate her to show proper friendship, but at this moment he was waiting for the final round that could begin at any time. He figured she would pass by here on her way back to class anyway, and he would make sure to praise her thoroughly then.
Something seemed increasingly wrong as he watched. The girl would walk a few steps, then stop to hold her forehead, her steps getting smaller and smaller, her pace becoming slower and slower.
“Number 1043, get ready,” the teacher called out.
“Here,” Jing Xichi raised his hand while keeping his eyes on Huan’er. The girl had stopped completely.
This wasn’t good.
He couldn’t leave his position. His first reaction was to turn back and look for Song Cong on the rostrum. But before he could wave, he saw a figure rushing down from the platform, reaching halfway down the stairs before grabbing the railing and vaulting over from mid-height. Song Cong ran past him without a sideways glance, heading straight for Chen Huan’er.
“Number 1043?”
“Present!”
In this situation… being worried was normal, right?
Take-off, side flip, landing – the crossbar hadn’t moved an inch.
The teacher put away the record book. “Alright, all scores are in.”
Jing Xichi, kneeling on the landing mat, looked up to see Song Cong supporting Huan’er as they walked across the track toward the edge of the field. His suspended heart finally settled back down.
The school doctor was treating a student with a sprained ankle while Huan’er, assuming she wasn’t seriously ill, sat quietly on the bed waiting.
“You scared me. What happened?” Song Cong pressed his palm to her forehead, finding it sweaty but relieved it wasn’t hot. “No fever.”
He had supported Huan’er all the way here, bearing most of her weight, his mind racing through all the fainting treatment methods he’d heard before. The roughly two hundred meters from the field to the infirmary had given Song Cong time to run through nearly ten contingency plans.
Qi Qi pushed open the door. Song Cong greeted her before continuing his questions, “Did you skip breakfast this morning?”
Huan’er shook her head. “Couldn’t eat. It’s nothing, just nerves.”
“You should get some glucose.” Song Cong turned to leave. “I’ll go buy some food.”
“Hey-” Qi Qi had barely gotten a syllable out before he was gone.
The school doctor finished with her previous patient and began examining Huan’er, asking about her condition once more before finally saying with a smile, “Looks like low blood sugar. Should I do as your classmate suggested?”
Huan’er stuck her tongue out at Qi Qi. “See that? If the doctor wasn’t here, he probably would’ve tried to give me the injection himself.”
“Ungrateful,” Qi Qi sat beside her. Noticing the male student with the sprained ankle on the other bed, she moved her mouth close to her friend’s ear and whispered, “Is it that time of the month?”
Huan’er immediately understood, letting out a soft “Ah.”
Qi Qi nodded with certainty, “I remember you’re right after me.”
No wonder her stomach had been growling – she’d been so focused on the competition that she’d forgotten about her period. She quickly asked, “Do you have any?”
“I just finished mine. Should I go buy some now, just in case?”
“Let me give you money.” Huan’er instinctively reached for her pockets – short sleeves, short pants, not a single coin. She gave an embarrassed smile.
“Come on, I’m not going to miss these few bucks,” Qi Qi tossed out the teasing comment as she stood to leave.
There were three shops at the school gate, and Qi Qi went straight to the largest one, where she ran into Song Cong waiting in line to pay.
“Why are you out here? Where’s Huan’er?” he asked.
“Getting her IV.” Qi Qi pointed toward the shelves inside. “I came to buy something for her.”
“Bring it over, I’ll pay for everything.”
Qi Qi’s mind went blank for a moment. This wasn’t something appropriate to “pay for everything,” but how could she explain why? At sixteen, a girl still couldn’t say the words “sanitary pad” out loud with confidence, especially not to him.
He was someone she had known about but never had the chance to meet properly, someone she had hoped to get closer to after meeting, someone whose presence made her desire grow endlessly and uncontrollably after becoming familiar, someone she could see just by turning her head slightly but carried such an enormous secret she could never tell him.
He was brilliant as the sun, while she was just a speck of dust visible only in his radiant light.
Song Cong was Qi Qi’s secret.
A shy yet persistent secret she kept in her heart, carefully making herself more beautiful and accomplished, hoping that one day she might stand beside him and hear someone say “You two make a perfect match.”
She stiffly shook her head. “No need.”
“Hey,” Song Cong called out, “bring it over, no need to be polite with me.”
“It’s fine.” Qi Qi glanced at the store shelves from the corner of her eye – what she needed to buy was in the very back.
Song Cong stepped out of line holding bread and milk, moving to stand directly in front of her. “So what are you buying?”
“They… they don’t have it here.” Qi Qi turned to leave.
The corner of her school uniform was caught, and she turned to meet his smiling gaze. Song Cong spoke with slight exasperation, “Wherever you go, I’ll go too.”
The world became incredibly gentle in that moment.
Early autumn in October, eleven in the morning, in front of the store shelves, with people nearby chatting about the sports meet and the rhythmic beeping of the cash register. The handsome boy in his school uniform, his fingertips lingering on her clothes hem, his gaze sincere and earnest, his tone carrying a lazy sort of stubbornness as he said:
“Wherever you go, I’ll go too.”
If only that were a confession.
Song Cong let go of her uniform and teased, “Qi Qi, you’re acting a bit dazed.”
Can’t be seen as an airhead. Qi Qi steeled herself and ducked into the inner shelves, grabbing a pack of sanitary pads and stuffing them into his arms. “There, let’s go.”
Pink packaging, with cartoon characters with big eyes on the front.