From then on, she started making all sorts of excuses to decline. After all, she was neither an important figure nor a beauty, so no one tried too hard to persuade her, and soon, no one invited her anymore. No one knew how much Ray Cindy actually wanted to attend the class reunion, but the time hadn’t come yet.

The time hadn’t come—the right time was the summer when the not-yet-seventeen-year-old girl Ray Cindy was admitted to Brightstar High School. The scorching July sun melted away the bleak days, and Ray Cindy waited like a soldier about to go to battle for the trumpet to sound, but no one called her.

Suddenly, she remembered that she had moved, changed her phone number, and even her name within a year—no one knew.

That painful summer. The lazy weather accompanied Ray Cindy as she wore down her youthful spirit. She tried hard to convince herself that a new name meant a new beginning. So-called revenge was just a kind of entanglement with the past.

Let it go—the old name and the battered, scarred past.

“Oh, I’m not going. I have something to do on Saturday.” The class reunion she’d been longing for was right in front of her, but Ray Cindy smiled lightly and decided to let it go. She even felt a bit proud and happy about her own open-mindedness at that moment.

Yet, when the person involved finally decides to let go, fate often doesn’t give her the chance to leave with a dashing exit. We will always choke on the dust of the world.

“What are you so busy with?” Grace Howard’s slightly upturned lips suddenly infuriated Ray Cindy. “You hardly ever come, you know. Mr. Warren always finds it odd. Oh, she’s coming this time too. You’re always so busy, just burying yourself in your studies—no wonder you got into Brightstar High School. But since you’re in the liberal arts track now, shouldn’t you have more free time? We all wonder why you switched to liberal arts—was science too much for you?” The sweet, innocent smile and the cute, naive voice—yet Ray Cindy seemed to hear the distant beat of war drums.

The only real happiness Ray Cindy felt was just for a moment—when she happened to see a few students from the branch school paying the school construction fee at the Brightstar High School office. Grace Howard still looked as sweet as she did when they were kids. Ray Cindy was surprised and greeted her. Although Grace Howard no longer remembered Ray Cindy, when she learned that Ray Cindy was in the top class, the fake smile on her face could no longer hide her annoyance and frustration—but it was only for a moment.

At the time, Ray Cindy hadn’t meant to show off in front of her, but as she left the office and went upstairs alone, a sweetness even stronger than she’d expected spread through her heart.

Branch school, Grace Howard. Grace Howard, branch school.

Belated happiness—though dark, it was real.

Ray Cindy felt her sense of relief swept away by Grace Howard. Idiot, a science student who couldn’t survive in the top class—such blatant provocation. It seemed this Grace Howard still didn’t understand what it meant to hide a needle in cotton. Ray Cindy decided to fight fire with fire.

Her smile grew even brighter, and she leaned forward slightly, whispering to Grace Howard, “Studying like crazy—I learned it all from you! Back in elementary school, I really admired you and copied everything you did. Later, I realized I was just too blind. Before I knew it, I’d used up all my energy too—what should I do now?” She deliberately emphasized the word “too,” and shrugged. “So now I just go with the flow. Whether it’s liberal arts or science, aren’t we all just muddling through? Actually, I’m doing pretty well.

Don’t you ever look at the grade rankings? Well, I guess you don’t have to—your branch school has its own rankings, and we don’t really have much to do with each other anyway.”

Grace Howard’s face stiffened, and her lips trembled.

“Don’t make me say such tasteless things again. If you want to provoke me, at least do it with some skill. That trick was outdated back in elementary school. You’re so blunt—I don’t have the time to play tit for tat. If you try it again, I’ll puke.” Ray Cindy looked at Grace Howard carelessly.

She looked at her with an expression she’d learned from Zoe Young.

Turning away like a character in a TV drama, wiping away tears as she ran, Grace Howard’s act left Ray Cindy feeling a bit helpless.

So disgusting, all of it. This kind of drama made her hate even herself.

Ray Cindy walked along the corridor toward the sunlit hall, slowly flipping through the exercise book Zoe Young had just given her.

Ray Cindy had once asked Zoe what it felt like to wander through the endless aisles of the study guide store.

No particular feeling. Zoe Young stared absentmindedly ahead.

Really? Ray Cindy lowered her head and smiled. I just feel like I want to finish them all. Such strong determination, such strong exhaustion. It’s as if, if I finish them all, I’ll get… something, something. Ray Cindy was a bit incoherent, but she knew Zoe Young would understand.

This was something she could only say to Zoe Young. With anyone else, the words would be spread around, in a tone that seemed admiring but was actually scornful—even if the other person studied just as hard as she did.

“You know, that Ray Cindy, her ambition is to finish every single workbook.”

“Huh? Really? She’s nuts!”

…………

Just like back then, when she and the other students in the junior high cram class used to mock the overly diligent Sean Sherman behind her back.

Ray Cindy suddenly felt this morning was especially hard to get through. She desperately tried to tear apart her tangled thoughts. Looking back, she realized she had nothing at all. The only wealth she’d accumulated over the years was that bit of newly awakened self-esteem, now opening its mouth wide, hungry for attention, while she fought desperately for a bit of light and praise—just to fill her belly.

Suddenly, she heard a cheer—it's raining outside! The flag-raising assembly must be canceled!

This rain had been brooding all summer, and finally, it swept across the restless city.

“Ray Cindy, why are you here alone?”

It seemed like this morning was full of people like this—not too close, not too far, but always making her uncomfortable. Ray Cindy thought bitterly, but still forced a smile.

Dana Yule could be considered a competent homeroom teacher—around forty, the backbone of society, with both energy and experience, respected at school, and quite skilled at managing students—though, honestly, Class One hardly needed managing. If any skill was needed, it was in coordination and reassurance.

Unlike Ray Cindy’s chaotic, noisy junior high class, the top students in Class One were a group who understood more and planned further ahead than their peers—polite, talented, but living under a subtle pressure.

“Mr. Yule.” Ray Cindy smiled obediently.

“Why are you sitting alone on the windowsill?” Dana Yule came over with a stack of books.

Got up late, makeup’s a bit sloppy. Foundation isn’t blended, and there are eye bags. Ray Cindy thought.

“Just a bit tired. The corridor was too noisy, so I came to the hall.”

“Do you have any close friends in the new class?”

Ray Cindy felt a bit uneasy about where the conversation was going. From this question, she could guess what Dana Yule wanted to talk about.

At the end of first year, many girls with unsatisfactory grades went to Dana Yule for advice about switching to liberal arts, but in the end, the ones who actually applied were Ray Cindy and Zoe Young, both of whom had never shown any sign of wanting to switch and had good grades.

“A few. I’ve also met some new classmates. They’re all great people—I really like them.” Ray Cindy lied casually.

“It’s a pity Zoe Young isn’t in your class, but maybe it’s good—you’ll get to meet new friends. I noticed that in first year, you hardly had any deep conversations with anyone. You got along well with everyone, but you talked more with Zoe Young—maybe because you were in the same class in junior high?”

So, what do you really want to say? Ray Cindy kept her face blank, determined to change the subject.

“I heard there’s only one girl in Class Two who switched to liberal arts,” Ray Cindy said.

“Oh, her name is Charlotte Lee, a very outstanding girl.”

Then Ray Cindy had nothing more to say, and Dana Yule smiled kindly.

“I just feel like you have something on your mind, Ray Cindy. Would you like to talk to me about it?”

Damn it, how did we get back to this? Ray Cindy knew Dana Yule thought she had psychological issues. She’d once written in her bland weekly journal, “I think you might be pushing yourself too hard, and it’s putting a lot of pressure on those around you. Would you like to talk to me?” But Ray Cindy had never responded. She knew Dana Yule would never press her—she understood the art of moderation best. Like during the big clean-up, when the class labor monitor was driven to tears by classmates who just sat at their desks studying, Dana Yule only gently told everyone, “You all worked hard today. Go home and rest well.”

That was all.

But unexpectedly, this “heart-to-heart” was something Ray Cindy couldn’t avoid after all.

Ray Cindy smiled, a bright smile. She knew that if she stubbornly insisted she was fine, it would only make Dana Yule lose face.