Actually, Zoe Young knew that she didn’t really want to tell Alan Carter everything. She still tried to avoid letting him know about many girlish things, like her obsession with pretty notebooks and her craze for all kinds of stationery.

During breaks in orchestra rehearsal, she had also seen Alan Carter standing by the window, sunlight streaming through the old rehearsal hall’s stained glass, casting mottled shadows on him. He would just look down, a plain ballpoint pen or mechanical pencil casually clipped to the page. Alan Carter’s bag only had a simple pencil case inside, with just two ballpoint pens, a fountain pen, a mechanical pencil, and an eraser. When he did math or physics problems, he might draw diagrams, but never used a ruler.

Zoe Young understood that a person’s grades had nothing to do with what kind of pen they used, but somehow, pretty stationery gradually became her hobby. If she bought a particularly unique mechanical pencil, her thoughts would flow more smoothly when drawing diagrams for math problems, and a light gray notebook with a slightly frosted cover would help her focus better when taking notes in English class.

Gradually, this hobby turned into a bit of a quirk. Zoe Young liked wandering alone through all the nearby stationery shops, browsing online.

On Friday morning, the school required everyone to arrive half an hour early to rehearse for next week’s fortieth anniversary celebration.

Zoe Young arrived especially early and wandered into the stationery store out of boredom.

Zoe Young was taking down every TrueColor and M&G ballpoint pen from the shelf, testing them one by one on white paper, when she suddenly heard a girl nearby anxiously shouting to her companion.

“I’m going crazy! I’m about to be late, and my mom insisted on sewing a button on my shirt. I had jam all over my hands, and she asked me to hold the buttons for her, so I had no choice but to hold them in my mouth. Then my dad got all worked up and hung my prepared uniform on a hanger—just making things worse! I got flustered, opened my mouth to call him, and ended up swallowing the button.

It was such a big plastic button—what am I supposed to do?”

“Surgery to take it out. Cut a big opening from your throat down to your belly button, search carefully, and you’ll find it.”

The last sentence sounded like a whisper. The girl who swallowed the button was still loudly complaining, while the one who suggested surgery was right next to her, murmuring softly to herself.

Michelle Cindy.

She wore a wrinkled school uniform, her ponytail loosely tied, as if she hadn’t had time to brush her hair. Michelle Cindy was muttering to herself, a slightly dazed smile on her face, completely unaware that Zoe Young was right beside her, frozen, gently running her finger over the colorful ballpoint pens in the TrueColor section, looking very interested.

Zoe Young swallowed.

“Actually, I heard that the button… will come out when you go to the bathroom…” she said softly.

Michelle Cindy jumped in surprise, her calm, dreamy smile vanishing instantly. She stared hard at Zoe Young, expressionless, her hand no longer touching the pens.

The two of them stared at each other for a while. Zoe Young decided to let the poor button go and refocused on the pens, pulling out a light blue gel pen with Garfield on it, clicking it, and doodling on the paper. Without thinking, she drew a round, four-holed button.

Embarrassed, she put the pen back and forced a dry laugh. “I thought this was a ballpoint pen, but it’s actually a gel pen. Heh, heh.”

“I like gel pens,” Michelle Cindy said softly. Her voice was unremarkable and she rarely spoke, so Zoe Young could never remember what she sounded like.

“Actually, I like notebooks even more.” Michelle Cindy glanced greedily at the various imported Korean notebooks on the back table, then shook her head.

“Me too!” Zoe Young grinned happily. She was about to ask if she preferred cartoon covers or scenic ones, but what came out was, “Who told you you’d need surgery if you swallowed a button?”

She immediately regretted it. That crazy button.

Michelle Cindy was silent for a moment. Just as Zoe Young thought she’d clam up like she did in class, she suddenly spoke.

“My mom said so.”

Then she smiled.

When she was two or three, Michelle Cindy had also swallowed a button. She was afraid her mom would yell at her, so she hid in the corner all day, struggling with herself, before finally working up the courage to find her mom, crying as she said, “Mom, I… I swallowed a button.”

That day, Michelle Cindy’s mom was in a surprisingly good mood. She didn’t yell, just frowned and said, “Surgery. Cut your belly open, from here to here.” As she spoke, she drew a hard line across Michelle Cindy’s little belly with her finger.

Before her hand was even gone, Michelle Cindy was terrified and burst into tears.

Her mom picked her up, gently patted her head, and said, “Don’t be scared, don’t be scared. Let’s go sit on the potty, and it’ll be fine soon. There, there, don’t cry.”

In Michelle Cindy’s memory, that was her mom’s gentlest moment—never before, never again.

Zoe Young saw her space out for a while after saying this, then turn and leave, her bag knocking over a row of brand new Snoopy notebooks on the table.

Only she was left standing there, listening to the two girls at the door still loudly discussing how to get the button out of someone’s stomach.

That week, after an entire afternoon of spinning her pen, Zoe Young couldn’t think of anything to write in her weekly journal for the teacher.

On Monday morning, she explained to the Chinese class rep that she’d accidentally dropped her notebook into the bowl of tofu pudding while eating fried dough sticks and tofu pudding for breakfast.

“I really couldn’t fish it out,” she said, looking completely sincere.

Next week, she’d just use a new notebook—she’d buy the blue one with Mickey Mouse on the cover, Zoe Young thought. Maybe a new notebook would bring inspiration.

Thinking of this, she suddenly turned to look at Michelle Cindy, who was curled up in the corner, lost in thought.

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6. Chicken Head and Phoenix Tail

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Zoe Young had a nickname that left her helpless—Eric Young.

In the second semester of seventh grade, she once again ranked second in the entire grade on the midterm exam. When all the results were in, she sat at her desk, head bowed, as she took the class ranking list from Monica Zack. It wasn’t out of guilt, but because she couldn’t stand the way Monica Zack spoke, with spit and breath she couldn’t control. Zoe Young could always tell what the other person had eaten for breakfast or lunch just by listening to the teacher’s lectures, and sometimes she even felt guilty for her occasional disgust.

Second place was certainly something to be proud of. In Class Six, which always lagged behind in average scores, Zoe Young was the teachers’ favorite.

“Alan Carter, you know, I feel really happy. It almost feels unreal. Junior high math isn’t hard at all, not at all. Back then, the teacher tried to scare me, saying girls aren’t smart and wouldn’t be able to keep up in junior high, but it turns out that was a lie—of course, maybe I’m speaking too soon.”

She had unconsciously developed the habit of living cautiously. Standing at the tail end of thirteen, Zoe Young had already begun to quietly wonder if there were rules and taboos to be found in life’s unpredictability. For example, never make absolute statements; for example, even if you do well on a test, when others ask, you should lower your head and say, “It was just okay”...

As if she was afraid happiness would slip away from a boastful smile.

“I did pretty well—but that’s also because our school’s teaching quality is average, you know. And I have good companions now. I don’t dare call them friends, at least…” She scratched her nose, not sure how to explain.

She thought she’d never bother with those so-called friends who shrank away when she was being insulted by Ethan Xavier. Her high standards for “pure” friendship once made Zoe Young want to distance herself from everyone, but before long, she realized she couldn’t keep it up.

Her mom was right. It’s hard to be serious and stick to your principles about everything, and she couldn’t hold everyone to such high standards. So gradually, her relationships with classmates returned to how they were before, chatting with her girlfriends, buying funny New Year’s cards to exchange, or learning pen spinning from her deskmate Lena Taylor.