CD Player had been lying in the sunlight for quite some time. When her hand gently touched it, the warmth felt just like that night with a low fever of 37.2°C, when she was in a happy little family, ate too much, and felt like crying.

Not long after, at the graduation ceremony, Zoe Young thanked her.

Even then, Michelle Cindy still felt a bit of disgust at that thank you.

She hated their pretentiousness, their affectation. Zoe Young, Charlotte Lee, all of them were like that.

They lived their days like a movie, needing closure for everything, as if others were meant to play supporting roles for them.

Everything Zoe Young missed—paddle balls, thumbtacks, “Seventeen Without Tears”—Michelle Cindy didn’t care for any of it.

Until Zoe Young said, “Thank you for visiting me when I had chickenpox, for smiling at me from outside the glass.”

Ray Cindy’s lips suddenly curled into a mocking smile.

Back then, she smiled for herself. Back then, there was no Zoe Young in her eyes. Back then, she imagined herself being the one surrounded and cared for by Mia Waters and the others.

Every time she smiled, it was because she thought she was someone else.

Because one day, she would become someone else.

Even if Mia Waters said, others might not be happy.

Ray Cindy didn’t know.

She only knew that being herself could never bring happiness.

They forced a Zoe Young on him, and all the arguments and unhappiness were called Zoe Young, and then they told him, you have to forget Zoe Young, you have to pretend she doesn’t exist.

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Ryan Johnson Side Story: The Monkeys of the Himalayas

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Ryan Johnson Side Story: “Have you ever heard a story?”

Ryan Johnson looked up. Zoe Young seemed to be talking to him, but didn’t look at him, still fully focused on the shelf, searching for something.

He didn’t understand how she could talk to him so casually, as if he were just an old elementary school classmate she hadn’t seen in years, and not even a close one.

But he still couldn’t help but ask, “What story?”

“About the monkeys of the Himalayas.”

Driven nearly crazy by his mother’s nagging at home, he had no choice but to go out under the pretense of buying graduate school prep materials. He didn’t expect to see a familiar figure in the corner of the store.

After three years apart, she no longer wore a ponytail. Even though it was just her back, he recognized her at a glance.

There were only a few readers in the store. In that instant, he suddenly felt the blazing sun overhead, and when he looked down, it was as if he had become that skinny little marching band member again, wearing a stiff green uniform, with a string of hideously ugly white tassels on his chest.

Back then, this girl wasn’t wearing a band uniform; she was the only bright spot in a sea of green. She stood in front of the sink for a long, long time, as if she’d been frozen by a spell.

Under the command of the team counselor, everyone lined up and moved toward the sink. Ryan Johnson turned his head and suddenly saw a few tall boys from his class mingling among the girls playing the drums, saying something that made everyone around them laugh. Their faces showed a hint of smugness, still a bit immature, but sure to become more practiced with age.

So carefree, radiating the dry, youthful energy under the blazing sun.

There are always people in this world who, whether they’re six or sixteen, always stand at the center of the crowd. They don’t remember the blurry faces around them, but when others flip through the pages of their youth, every page has them in it.

No matter what, Ryan Johnson could never erase his own yearbook. In his yearbook, it seemed like others were always stealing the spotlight, and he couldn’t find himself in the crowd.

When Ryan Johnson was in third grade, he skipped a grade. When he first arrived in the new class, the teacher told the other students to look after him as if he were a kindergartener—he vaguely knew the teacher’s concern wasn’t really for him, but for his mother. The kindness from his classmates gradually faded. Ryan Johnson was small, ordinary-looking, dark and skinny, and never stood out anywhere.

In his old class, there was a feisty little girl who always liked to tease him. Sometimes she went too far, and he would get so angry his face turned red and shout, “I’m going to tell the teacher, I’m going to tell my mom…”

Everyone would laugh, saying he was too old to keep mentioning his mom. The little girl would laugh especially brightly, her “quack quack quack” laughter like a lively little duck. Listening to her laugh, Ryan Johnson suddenly realized he wasn’t actually that angry.

Even though she always said, “Why are you always following me? Aren’t you annoying?”

Still, there was a bit of sweetness in his heart. Being noticed always felt good.

Ryan Johnson Side Story: But later, that girl was harshly scolded by the teacher. Ryan Johnson didn’t know how his mom found out her precious son was being bullied and scolded at school—she always had her ways. The girl’s face was bright red as she cried and read her self-criticism in front of the class, sobbing, tears streaming down.

Ryan Johnson was pinned to his seat, not knowing what to say. He wanted to tell her he hadn’t actually told the teacher, or his mom.

He really hadn’t.

After that, the girl never spoke to him again. No one else did, either.

On the day Ryan Johnson skipped a grade, his mom crouched down to straighten his collar and led him to the new class. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that girl sitting in the front row, looking at him expressionlessly—he didn’t feel at all what his mom had said: “Those who bullied you won’t be able to hold their heads up. You can skip a grade, you’re smarter and better than them, and they’ll be embarrassed to look at you.” Instead, he suddenly felt very lonely.

So this is what loneliness feels like.

In the new fourth-grade class, he became a shadow again. Even Charles Johnson, who was also a year younger than the others, had his own circle of friends. Even though Charles Johnson always trailed behind Charlotte Lee and Andrew Lane like a little sidekick with a runny nose, Ryan Johnson still envied him.

Their parents knew each other, and sometimes they’d eat together. The adults’ conversations at the table were always boring, so the kids would leave early, run out of the private dining room, and squat in the hotel lobby, watching the doomed softshell turtles, trout, eels, and black-bone chickens. The other three chatted excitedly, and he wanted to join in, but after thinking it over, he never knew what to say.

“Catfish with long whiskers look like old men.”

Charlotte Lee always liked to compare one thing to another. Charles Johnson nodded vigorously beside her, while Andrew Lane shook his head disdainfully, “How do they look like old men?”

“If Charlotte Lee says they do, then they do.” Charles Johnson said dully, sniffling.

“Is Charlotte Lee your mom?” Andrew Lane snapped at the fish tank, and Charlotte Lee blushed with anger. The three of them bickered messily, and just as Ryan Johnson was about to speak, he saw Charles Johnson’s mom walking over from a distance.

“Don’t go outside, don’t run off, play nicely—” She glanced at Ryan Johnson, put on a loving smile, and said, “Don’t just play by yourselves, take care of Ryan Sherman, he’s the younger one, you have to look after him.”

It was always like this.

He’d rather linger outside other people’s circles, lost in thought, than be pushed in by adults and become an outsider. You have to look after him, you have to include him—he became a responsibility handed off to others. They disliked him, but wore expressions that didn’t dare show it.

Charles Johnson’s mom’s smile seemed directed at him, but also as if it passed right through him, smiling at someone behind him.

Charlotte Lee helplessly pursed her lips and suddenly said, “Ryan Johnson, do you think catfish look like old men?”

Ryan Johnson was caught off guard, stammered for a while, glanced at Charles Johnson’s mom’s smile out of the corner of his eye, and then nodded hard.

Andrew Lane looked at him even more disdainfully, arms crossed. Charles Johnson seemed annoyed that Charlotte Lee had more sidekicks than just him, while Charlotte Lee, having completed the “take care of Ryan Johnson” task, went back to squatting in front of the fish tank to observe the catfish, as if she hadn’t even noticed whether his answer was yes or no.

After that, the three of them went back to bickering, and Ryan Johnson awkwardly stood up and went to the bathroom. While washing his hands, he accidentally overheard two women talking outside the girls’ restroom.

His mom, and Andrew Lane’s mom.

Ryan Johnson had heard the story countless times—the grudges between his parents, with another woman and her daughter in the middle. His mom neurotically told the story to many people, and he was always there as her companion.

He suddenly wondered what kind of expression Andrew Lane’s mom had, and what real feelings were hidden beneath that expression.

From his father, he’d known since childhood that adults could have two sets of expressions at the same time, and still carry on a conversation smoothly.