“Oh.” Zoe Young also opened her blank history book, her gaze drifting out the window. Ian suddenly realized that the three questions he had asked earlier hadn’t been answered at all. He opened his mouth to ask, but seeing Zoe Young lost in thought, he held back and lowered his head to start reading about the Opium War.

Right outside the window was the main gate of Brightstar High School, and the street at the entrance was already jammed with traffic.

The International Auto Show.

The no-honking sign had never worked; every morning the blaring of horns was always this lively. Mercedes and Audis had long since lost their novelty, but this white stretch Cadillac still surprised Zoe.

“Ian, come look at this car.”

“This is... my god, it’s just going to school, does it really need to be so ostentatious?” Ian muttered a couple of complaints and went back to his seat, “What do you think? It’s too much.”

“Heh, I just think the car is beautiful. Nothing special about it.”

The original school building of Brightstar High School wasn’t this big, nor did it need to be. As the leading provincial model high school, Brightstar High School only admitted five hundred students each year, maintaining an astonishing college admission rate. Three years ago, Brightstar High School started opening branch campuses like other key provincial schools, promising that the branches and the main campus would share the same teaching staff, with each teacher working at both locations. The branch campus admitted twice as many students as the main campus, bringing in a large sum of tuition fees and allowing the construction of this beautiful new building. For a while, controversy raged throughout the province, especially as parents from the main campus petitioned multiple times, but the branch still opened with great fanfare. The whole school was suddenly a place of both ice and fire.

It was also the branch campus that let Brightstar High School stride toward becoming a prestigious high school, attracting the white Cadillac.

Suddenly, she saw the back of a boy walking against the flow of people, apparently meeting some familiar classmates, and the four of them burst into laughter for some unknown reason.

Zoe Young quietly watched that back, both strange and familiar, for so long that she felt a little dizzy. She pulled her gaze back and saw Ian writing furiously in a thick notebook. Zoe Young didn’t ask what kind of notes they were, nor did she praise him for taking good notes. After a year in the honors class, she had learned a lot; even if Ian wasn’t the type to be petty or calculating, she didn’t want to take any risks.

She still remembered when she was sick and missed classes in the second semester of her first year, Zoe Young had to borrow English notes from the girl behind her. The girl reluctantly handed them over, flipping to the last few pages. There were so many notes that Zoe Young asked if she could take them home to copy—

The girl said sure, just tear out those pages. Zoe Young was stunned for a moment, then tactfully returned the notes. When she turned back around, a little embarrassed, her deskmate chuckled softly and said, “The front of that notebook has notes from David Clark’s tutoring class, fifty yuan a session. How could she let you take such a precious thing home? Don’t be silly.”

From then on, whatever others were studying or what workbooks they were doing, Zoe Young pretended not to see. Besides, it was different from middle school now; she really wasn’t that obsessed with chasing grades anymore.

She flipped open her history book. The section on the Opium War still had a few keywords marked, but the rest was all blank.

Zoe Young really hadn’t planned on studying liberal arts. It was just because Alan Carter said, “I think you’d be good at liberal arts,” that she signed up for the class, which even surprised Alan Carter, who replied with a text message and a shocked emoji.

“It doesn’t really matter, science or liberal arts. Liberal arts it is!”

Alan Carter didn’t reply again.

She picked up her pen and started carefully reading the material, when suddenly a command came from the front of the classroom—“It’s almost 7:20, everyone head downstairs to line up!”

The homeroom teacher left after speaking, leaving only a blurry silhouette behind.

“What’s the rush? Do we have to compete to line up, like elementary school kids?” a few girls behind her grumbled.

Ian put down his pen. “Want to go together?”

Only then did he realize his deskmate, with a blank look on her face, had already drifted off somewhere in her mind.

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3. What marks has time left on you

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The moment Zoe Young turned to leave, Ray Cindy’s gaze followed her back all the way until she disappeared at the end of the corridor.

Actually, that sentence wasn’t originally meant for Charlotte Lee. What Ray Cindy really wanted to say was, Zoe, you’ll definitely be the top student in the liberal arts grade, right?

Ray Cindy would never say it out loud. The old Zoe Young was gentle and enthusiastic; she couldn’t bear to challenge her face to face. The current Zoe Young was like a vague mist, and if you tried to fight, it was like punching into thick fog—neither side would feel anything, and it only made Ray Cindy’s swinging look especially foolish.

Win or lose, it was a battle fought alone. Ray Cindy could only endure the utter indifference, like Don Quixote.

Besides, this was her only friend.

The so-called only friend was the only one who kept her secrets.

Everyone holds someone else’s past in their hands. It might be long stretches of inseparable companionship, or it might be scattered fragments of brief encounters. Ray Cindy didn’t just fall from the sky into the world; she had quietly grown up in some corner of an ordinary elementary or middle school, had once been included in the yearbook of some popular kid, had had bland conversations with some people, had once timidly lent her eraser to the best-looking boy in class who never returned it...

Of course, most of the marks were not so glorious. She tried desperately to erase her own traces, and almost succeeded.

The people who knew her were scattered elsewhere. Here, in the proud Brightstar High School, she had the freshest of new beginnings.

Only Zoe Young knew who she used to be. But she couldn’t erase Zoe Young from Brightstar High School.

At least Zoe Young was her friend. When others mocked her for being withdrawn, cold, and unpopular, she could pull out a certificate with the name “Zoe Young” written in big characters.

“Cindy、Ray!”

Ray Cindy turned around and saw a very pretty girl. Ray Cindy couldn’t help but frown at her outfit, a slight mocking curve at the corner of her mouth. It was her elementary school classmate Grace Howard, no wonder she paused in the middle when calling her name—Ray Cindy had only changed her name after graduating from middle school.

“Yao Yao” always led the way. The elementary school teachers doted on Grace Howard, and classmates who idolized celebrities would crowd around her, endlessly calling her nickname. Ray Cindy still remembered Grace Howard’s slightly proud yet modestly tense face. She was the top student and class monitor, and when she chose to attend No. 8 Middle School, everyone was envious for a while. Even in her own backwater school, there was a princess.

“What’s up?” Ray Cindy put on a friendly smile and widened her eyes inquiringly.

“Oh, it’s like this,” Grace Howard tilted her head, tucking her long hair behind her ear, “This summer, for some reason, our class reunion didn’t happen. Now that school’s just started and everyone’s not too busy, we’re planning to go out together this Saturday, so I’m asking if you want to join.”

An elementary school reunion. Ray Cindy was momentarily dazed. She had almost never attended... no, she had gone once. Right after graduation, Ray Cindy sat in a corner drinking juice, listening to everyone brag about the great middle schools they were about to attend, how many students got into Brightstar High School every year; listening to them discuss the breakup of MUJI, the rise of Yu Quan, and clothing brands; watching them put on dazzling smiles when noticed, and when approached, giving the compliments or truths the other person most wanted or least wanted to hear... No one praised the new dress Ray Cindy had worn on purpose, but someone spilled orange juice on it and didn’t even apologize. In the end, the bill was split AA style—Ray Cindy ate very little, but because of the money and the orange-juice-stained dress, her mother slapped her.

After the party, Ray Cindy walked into her house, that place that made her heart sink the moment she stepped in. A familiar musty smell filled her nose. Suddenly, a nameless resentment filled her whole body.

She didn’t know who or what she hated. Twelve-year-old Ray Cindy (back then she was still called Michelle Cindy) just bit her lip and cried alone in the dark. It was because of the orange juice, but not really because of the orange juice. God wasn’t picking on her on purpose; there were plenty of people who had the same experience, extras A, B, C, D, all equally ignored and insignificant, but they could still happily attend every year, while only Ray Cindy was deeply wrapped in that inexplicable resentment. Ray Cindy never wondered if she was petty or too sensitive; all she saw was a fog of confusion. This was their youth—many would look back and think it was a youth without regrets, full of friendship, but this was not Ray Cindy’s youth.