Originally, the English teacher, who should have been the homeroom teacher, became an ordinary subject teacher, and a middle-aged woman who taught math became the homeroom teacher of this class. Zoe Young didn’t find it strange. Things like drawing lots can guarantee fairness for a moment, but afterwards, everything is still “open to discussion.”

The English teacher, still dressed like a palette, was very fond of the “train” style of questioning. Starting from the first row, students in the back rows would stand up one by one to answer questions, snaking through the classroom, and finally looping back to the first row. She would rapidly repeat the newly learned text content using this method many, many times: “How are you?” “Fine, thank you, and you?” (“How are you?” “Thank you, I’m fine, and you?”)…

Michelle Cindy was a broken section of railway track. She would stand up, block the way, and say nothing. No matter how the teacher treated her—from gentle guidance and encouragement at first, to later frowning and scolding, and now, guiding the whole train to detour around her—Michelle Cindy never showed any expression. Embarrassment, blushing, crying… none at all.

Zoe Young looked up at the Chinese teacher. They had all experienced how terrifying the Chinese teacher could be when angry, and she even felt a bit nervous for Michelle Cindy.

However, the Chinese teacher just nodded and said to her, “You can sit down.” Then she grabbed a pen from Zoe Young’s pencil case and marked an X in the attendance book.

There was something else that made Zoe Young feel unhappy. Beijiang District’s key school did have a certain gap in student quality and management compared to truly good schools. The class was no longer as timid and quiet as it was at the beginning of the semester. Now there was whispering during class, and boys and girls mingled noisily after class. Sitting in the first row, Zoe Young wasn’t affected, but some students had already complained that they couldn’t hear the teacher from the back row.

The homeroom teacher, fuming, turned the math class into a self-study period, then started roll call, calling several well-behaved students out of the classroom one by one for a talk.

But she didn’t go far, and her voice was loud enough to be heard. “You know the situation in our class. Now I need your help to find the troublemakers. From now on, you’re the teacher’s undercover—don’t let anyone know. Every day, write down the names of students who talk during other teachers’ classes and give them to me privately…”

Zoe Young sat in the classroom, burying her head deep in her English book, both amused and exasperated. “Alan Carter, there’s something I feel I shouldn’t say because it’s rude, but I really want to tell you, please don’t criticize me—I think our homeroom teacher is a bit silly.” The math teacher and homeroom teacher’s surname was Zhang, her name was Monica Zack. On the first day of school, she wrote her name on the blackboard with a flourish, then said seriously, “Let me introduce myself, I’m your homeroom teacher, I teach math, my name is Monica Zack, ‘敏’ as in nimble.” And she didn’t notice at all why the students below were laughing. Monica Zack was very dark-skinned, very dark, also fat and unattractive, and had no sense of style. On the very first day, when giving a speech, she couldn’t find the attendance book, hurriedly turned her own dark blue cloth bag upside down on the podium, making a mess, and finally said breezily, “Forget it, let’s not waste time, let’s start class.”

That was Zoe Young’s first math class in junior high. She didn’t even realize how eager and focused her gaze was as she stared at the blackboard—so cautious, so anxious. That kind of look almost startled Monica Zack.

“I became class monitor, and was moved to the first row. I used to think the teacher was nice to me because I was from the Affiliated Primary School of the Normal University, but later I realized she didn’t even know who I was. She only looked at my file later, and then was even nicer to me. She said my gaze in math class was so intense that if she were a male teacher, she’d think I was in love with him.

“Tell me, what kind of teacher talks like that? So I think she’s a bit silly. But I like her. I think she’s a good person.”

Zoe Young stopped writing and stared at the last sentence, suddenly dazed. She remembered a night that felt like a dream, when Alan Carter said to her, people who are good to you are good people, people who aren’t are bad people.

She used to not admit this. Only now did she realize that some reasons for making judgments had quietly seeped into her blood. She thought it was intuition, but actually, behind it all were reasons that were neither wise nor fair.

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2. Breaking the Crystal Shoe

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Zoe Young tiptoed over to Michelle Cindy’s seat and gently slipped the book “Seventeen Without Tears” into her desk.

Michelle Cindy’s desk was a mess, stuffed with who knows how many things. With just a careless touch, Zoe Young sent a pile of magazines and workbooks clattering to the floor. Startled, she quickly crouched down and scrambled to pick them up, when she suddenly saw a pile of colorful little things and couldn’t help but pause.

There were “Sailor Moon” crystal stickers, and “Princess Pearl” adhesive labels. Zoe Young was stunned. These gaudy, cheaply made trinkets were especially popular with many girls, but “many girls” didn’t seem to include girls like Michelle Cindy. When someone is doing something sneaky, their senses are always extra sharp. Suddenly, Zoe Young heard a faint sound behind her, whipped around, and saw Michelle Cindy’s dark, sallow face, her eyes staring blankly, lifeless, like a ghost that had silently appeared. Zoe Young was so scared she nearly jumped out of her skin.

“I…” She swallowed hard. After PE class, she had run back to the classroom, hoping to return the novel to Michelle Cindy’s desk while no one was around, so no one would notice. At first, she didn’t know what to do, and when she finally decided to return it, she had, on a whim, opened the first page, and ended up reading until last night before finishing it, finally making up her mind to return it today. She hadn’t expected to be caught in the act, making all her sneaky efforts pointless. Michelle Cindy turned into a statue again, just like that misaligned section of track in English class—her expression showed no anger, but it was still terrifying. Zoe Young steeled herself, lowered her head, and yanked “Seventeen Without Tears” out of the desk again, sending another pile of odds and ends clattering to the floor. “I’m just returning it.” She had even wrapped the book in white paper from a calendar, “Do you remember this book?” Michelle Cindy’s expression finally softened a little. She moved her lips, reached out, and took the book.

“Was it good?” “What?” Still racking her brain for an excuse about “finding” the book, Zoe Young was stunned. “What did you say?” “Did you read it? Was it good?” There was a strange persistence about Michelle Cindy. Zoe Young was tongue-tied for a moment, then finally returned to normal. “It was good,” she nodded with a smile, “really good. Actually, there’s even a TV series of this. I told my mom, and she bought me the VCD! Have you seen it?” Michelle Cindy shook her head. “I haven’t finished reading it yet. Did Jian Ning and Yang Yuling end up together?” Zoe Young bit her lip, blushed a little, and lowered her head. “No, no. They… they wanted to focus on their studies, so…” She looked up and saw Michelle Cindy’s disappointed expression, and quickly added, “But maybe later, I think they might—I promise!”

She almost wanted to laugh at herself after saying that. What good was her promise? The two of them looked at each other. Zoe Young thought for a moment, then asked softly, “Do you like Jian Ning?” That cautious, self-possessed, smart, diligent, gentle boy in white. Michelle Cindy blushed instantly, didn’t answer, and turned to leave through the back door, leaving Zoe Young alone in the classroom.

Zoe Young lowered her head and gently stroked the cover, reluctantly putting it back into Michelle Cindy’s desk. If just now Michelle Cindy had answered “yes,” she would have immediately replied, “Mm, me too.” Zoe Young stood at the beginning of her junior high, tiptoeing to look toward the distant high school. Seventeen seemed so beautiful—there would be an outstanding, handsome boy in white, true friendship, a carefree life, even that kind of hazy love that you have to let go of and the troubles of complaining about exams. To her, all of it was enviable.

And that school was also called Brightstar High School. In the book’s Brightstar High School there was the fictional Jian Ning, and in this Brightstar High School there was the once real Alan Carter.

Zoe Young’s junior high life went more smoothly than she could have imagined. Monica Zack’s special treatment helped her gradually overcome her math phobia—she even told Zoe Young after she solved a problem on the blackboard, “You’re really smart.”

Her talent for languages also won her the favor of her Chinese and English teachers. But what really pushed her to the top was the midterm exam. She had prepared for the midterm for a long, long time, and in the end, she ranked first in the class and second in the whole grade. Before the results of each subject were announced, there would always be students running to the teachers’ office to find out, and Zoe Young was the most anxious of all, but she had to pretend not to care, forcing herself to stay in her seat, eyes straight ahead, pretending not to hear her own heart pounding like a drum.