Monica Zack certainly wouldn’t just sit and wait for doom. After compromising with some of the parents, the first thing she did was to make a large-scale adjustment to the seating arrangement—since all the parents believed the real reason their children weren’t doing well was because they weren’t sitting in the front row and didn’t have a well-performing, disciplined deskmate.

Zoe Young was also implicated. It was said that Lena Taylor’s father thought his daughter wasn’t studying hard because her deskmate was too selfish, only caring about secretly studying for herself, but during class would read comics and novels, pretending to be lazy and misleading his daughter.

Needless to say, it must have been Lena Taylor who got caught either hanging out at the bar or sneaking a look at comics, and dragged Zoe Young in as a scapegoat: “Even the top student in our class reads comics under the desk during class every day!”

Zoe Young was annoyed, but couldn’t refute it. After all, what was said was true.

Many years later, she read a line in a book, and suddenly remembered this farcical seat-changing episode from her youth.

When we look at the world, we always think we’re standing at the center of the universe, believing our perspective is so complete and correct, yet we forget that the biggest blind spot is actually ourselves, standing at the center.

Lena Taylor’s father only saw Zoe Young, but didn’t see his own daughter.

And at that time, the proud, self-disciplined, and triumphant top student Zoe Young firmly believed that whether it was grades or anything else, it was all within her control, and no one else had the power to change anything. Likewise, she didn’t think she could influence anyone, unless the other person was just asking to be influenced.

Six of one, half a dozen of the other. Humans are all too arrogant.

It was only many years later that Zoe Young realized there are actually plenty of people in the world who are just asking to be influenced.

In the end, Monica Zack turned her troubled gaze to Zoe Young. Before finalizing the new seating chart, she called Zoe Young into her office for a talk.

Monica Zack’s desk was so messy it was infuriating, and Zoe Young tried hard to focus on Monica Zack’s expression, but the spray of spit as she spoke was already making her dizzy.

“In short, the teacher has a lot of faith in your self-control, so I’m asking you to put up with this for now. But I promise, if he bothers you, I’ll immediately have him moved!”

Zoe Young calmly stepped back out of the range of the flying spit, looked up at the puffy bags under Monica Zack’s eyes and the rough, dull skin on either side of her nose, and sighed softly in her heart.

Back in elementary school, she was short but was assigned to the second-to-last row. Now that she’d grown taller, she was sitting in the front row. This incompetent, chaotic homeroom teacher had once praised her intelligence, had once complimented her shortcut solution to a math problem in class, and had never put any pressure on her about always being second in the grade.

Having suffered unfair treatment as a child, she would repay any kindness with several times the warmth.

“It’s fine, I don’t mind who I sit with. Ms. Zhang, you arrange it!”

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4. Adolescence

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Zoe Young wasn’t moved to the last row as she’d expected. She ended up in the third row, and her deskmate changed from Lena Taylor to a boy.

The boy’s name was Martin Bates, and the meaning behind the name was obvious—his parents’ naked hopes and love. But judging by his current state, it seemed those hopes and love were nothing more than a burst of enthusiasm when naming him.

The big flakes of dandruff on Martin Bates’s shoulders and the sleeves of his jacket, worn shiny with grease, made Zoe Young start to regret her act of gratitude in Monica Zack’s office. Martin Bates’s previous deskmate was a timid, delicate girl who, after he’d splattered white correction fluid all over the ends of her braids, tearfully called her parents—whose anger nearly blew the ceiling off Monica Zack’s office.

Zoe Young’s expression was indifferent as she absentmindedly flipped through a comic under the desk, while keeping an eye on the changes in the seating around her. Martin Bates shuffled over from the second-to-last row, angrily slamming his bag onto the desk. He was almost the only one who was openly unhappy about being moved to the front.

Zoe Young even felt a bit surprised, but didn’t so much as lift her eyelids.

Once the seating was settled, the English teacher came in and started class. Zoe Young saw that Martin Bates beside her seemed lovesick, constantly turning around to look at the flashy boys in the last row, and the pretty girls who called him “bro” and sent him on errands, even watching all their antics with shining eyes, happily playing along.

No wonder those people always liked to make a scene, showing off all day long—look, even in the third row corner, there was such a distant yet devoted audience member.

She’d never imagined Martin Bates would have such a strong sense of professional loyalty—after all, in Zoe Young’s mind, he was just a lackey ordered around by Ethan Xavier, or rather, someone who was always being bullied without even realizing it.

The slovenly Martin Bates always hung around the group of delinquent boys and girls in Class Six, with Ethan Xavier at the center, goofily entertaining them, getting teased for his odd accent, running errands for them, passing notes, and taking the blame.

Or rather, they didn’t dislike Martin Bates. While praising his simple loyalty, they handed him five yuan without a hint of guilt, sending him downstairs to buy snacks.

Can being a clown become addictive? She couldn’t figure it out.

Zoe Young was a well-liked, front-row good student, but she’d never felt a strong sense of belonging to the class. If something fun happened, she might turn around to watch, give a supportive smile, or sneer in disdain, then lower her head to read comics or do exercises.

The polite silence and distant smile of a good student could be seen as aloofness, or as dullness, depending on whether people admired, envied, or pitied her. Zoe Young never realized that the way she interacted with her classmates was very much like someone else.

Many years ago, she’d seen Alan Carter, surrounded by orchestra seniors in the hallway outside the youth center stage, with that same indifferent smile.

The one she’d once so envied, the genius-turned-distant Alan Carter.

Time had changed her, but she hadn’t noticed at all.

In Zoe Young’s eyes, Martin Bates’s behavior could only be summed up in eight words.

“Pity his misfortune, resent his lack of fight.”

The only thing that worried her a little was Michelle Cindy.

Michelle Cindy had been moved to the very last row, and her new deskmate was Ethan Xavier.

At this moment, Ethan Xavier looked as if he’d eaten something foul, sulking because of the seat change.

Michelle Cindy still kept her head down, as if she hadn’t heard the ridicule and disgust from Ethan Xavier and the others beside her.

Zoe Young looked back deeply, a hint of worry in her eyes, and unexpectedly met the gaze of Mia Waters, who was sitting right behind her.

She jumped in surprise—their faces were so close that Zoe Young could almost count the number of spirited little pimples on his forehead. Red quickly spread from Mia Waters’s neck to his earlobes and cheeks, and he lowered his head, staring at the English book’s pictures of Lily and Ly (Lily’s Lucy), and asked softly, “Why are you looking at me? ...Why are you looking at me like that?”

Zoe Young thought he was being ridiculous, rolled her eyes, and turned back around.

She didn’t expect Mia Waters to keep muttering behind her.

“What’s so interesting about me?”

Zoe Young turned around and smiled, “There really isn’t anything interesting about you.”

With a double meaning, Mia Waters’s face couldn’t help but fall, and he muttered, “Who says I’m not interesting?”

With her back to him, Zoe Young smiled like a mischievous little fox.

Winter crept in quietly.

After PE class, Zoe Young rushed inside and warmed her hands over the radiator. For the outdoor skating lesson, she’d only worn a black cashmere coat, forgetting her gloves and scarf, so she kept her neck and hands tucked in, standing on the ice looking utterly defeated, as if her spine had been broken.

Suddenly she thought of Grandpa Green. Remembering that winter morning when the two of them stood side by side warming their hands by the radiator, Zoe Young realized she no longer felt a pang of sadness, but instead was filled with a gentle, endless warmth. Grandpa Green’s face seemed shrouded in mist, impossible to see clearly, leaving only a vague smile.

Time blurs memories, smooths over wounds, and leaves only a gentle beauty.

What made Zoe Young feel relieved was that her grandmother’s health was steadily improving. Although she still had to take a lot of medicine, she no longer needed IV drips and could manage to walk with help.