Ethan Young was still thinking that getting forty or fifty points in this Chinese test should be about right. Half of his test paper was left blank; for the questions he didn’t plan to score on, he simply didn’t bother to write any answers.

He really couldn’t compare to Henry Howard, who could answer questions so randomly with his eyes wide open.

Before the exam, during Chinese class, Old Tang handed out two reading comprehension worksheets as in-class assignments, to be collected after class. He watched as Henry Howard seriously filled in every blank, but all the answers were completely off-topic. In the end, that answer sheet was widely circulated in the class, practically treated as a joke book by Luke Carter and the others.

This time, the essay topic was “Back View”.

Ethan Young was working hard to go off-topic, racking his brains so much it hurt, when he heard Henry Howard calling him softly from behind.

Then his back was poked twice.

“Old Young,” Henry Howard whispered, “your hand, down.”

“What?”

“The answers, come on, give me your hand.”

Henry Howard was holding a crumpled piece of paper, leaning forward, his left hand hidden under the desk, close to the wall, very discreet. Ethan Young could reach it if he stretched out his hand.

Ethan Young leaned back nonchalantly, one hand bracing the edge of the desk, closing the distance between them. He lowered his voice and said quietly, “I told you, no.”

“If you don’t want it, the guys in front are still waiting to copy,” Henry Howard tapped under the desk with his fingertip, urging him, “Those guys’ fates are in your hands. Do a good deed for the day, help develop the charity business.”

The noise from the big fan in the center of the ceiling drowned out their conversation, and a slightly hot breeze blew in from the window. The classroom was bright and clean, with seven or eight extra test papers on the podium, held down by a chalk box, the corners curling up in the wind, as if they might fly away at any moment.

Ethan Young reluctantly let his arm drop and reached back, groping for a while but couldn’t find it.

“Where?”

“Right underneath.”

“Nothing there.”

“There is, keep looking.”

Ethan Young wanted to check on the enemy’s situation, so as he fumbled, he asked, “Did you copy it?”

“Me? I didn’t.” Henry Howard remembered Ethan Young’s earlier “I can’t afford it” and added, “I thought about it, I can’t afford it either.”

“”

Ethan Young was getting annoyed, leaned back a bit more, thinking if he couldn’t get it this time, he’d just give up and let them fend for themselves. If you can’t do it, just leave it blank, he thought, and then he grabbed Henry Howard’s fingertip.

Both of them froze.

The fan kept creaking as it spun.

There were only a few used-up chalk stubs left in the chalk box, which finally couldn’t hold down the test papers on the podium. The wind blew them up, and Chelsea Shaw quickly closed her book and bent down to pick them up.

Ethan Young didn’t let go, and Henry Howard didn’t pull his hand back either.

After a moment of stalemate, Henry Howard suddenly moved his finger, his index finger curling up slightly, pressing right into Ethan Young’s palm.

------------

29. Chapter Twenty-Nine

“Mr. Tang, turn off the fan,” Chelsea Shaw said as she picked up the test papers, “It’s too noisy, it’ll affect the English listening test later.”

Thomas Thompson nodded and went to turn off the fan.

Chelsea Shaw was holding the test papers, and from her angle, she only needed to lower her head a little to see under the desk.

Seeing that Chelsea Shaw was about to stand up, Ethan Young jerked his hand back as if shocked.

Henry Howard was a beat slower to react. He watched Ethan Young lower his head and continue answering questions, then blinked, curled his fingers, and once again clenched the paper ball in his hand.

Chelsea Shaw didn’t notice anything unusual.

After picking up the test papers, she glanced around, then opened her book and started reading again.

Thomas Thompson saw a student trying to flip through a Chinese book to find answers for the fill-in-the-blank poetry questions. He stopped by that student’s desk, didn’t say anything, just knocked on the desk corner as a warning.

The fan slowly came to a stop.

There were still four people in front of Ethan Young. These four brothers were anxious inside; the promised answers still hadn’t been passed over. If they didn’t get them soon, there’d be no time left to copy.

Finally, the first in line couldn’t help but turn around and hint to the person behind: “Where’s the goods?”

The one behind said he didn’t know, and asked the next person, “Is the stuff still with Bro Henry? When can we make the handoff?”

“No idea.”

“Hurry up, we can’t wait, there’s no time.”

“”

The fourth student was given the heavy responsibility, but he didn’t dare ask either. The legend of Ethan Young was still circulating in the school. He suggested, “How about we just show our real abilities this time?”

Ready to rely on their true abilities, the four unlucky brothers gave up hope for the answers. But Henry Howard was loyal—after waiting a few minutes, he poked Ethan Young’s back again: “The answers, hurry up.”

Ethan Young granted him a single word: “Scram.”

“So cold,” Henry Howard said, “Look up, look at these four compatriots, see their melancholy and sorrowful backs. Doesn’t your conscience hurt? Don’t you feel anything?”

Ethan Young: “None of my business.”

Henry Howard: “”

“Ten minutes left, everyone, use your time wisely,” Thomas Thompson glanced at his watch and reminded, “If you haven’t finished your essay, watch the time, you can start wrapping up.”

As Thomas Thompson spoke, he turned and walked to the podium.

Taking advantage of this moment, Ethan Young didn’t look back, just reached his hand behind him. Unlike Henry Howard, he didn’t bother to hide it, but openly pressed the back of his hand against Henry Howard’s desk, sounding quite impatient: “The answers.”

Henry Howard was stunned for a second, then realized and put the paper ball into Ethan Young’s hand.

After getting it, Ethan Young tossed the paper ball forward, hitting the desk of the student in front of him dead on.

Henry Howard realized what happened and suddenly wanted to laugh.

He lowered his head; his test was already finished. With his elbow propped on the essay paper and his hand covering one eye, he looked lazy, secretly thinking to himself: This kid who says “None of my business” is actually kind of cute.

Ten minutes later, the bell rang.

There were two exams in the morning, and right after was the English test. No one in their exam room needed to go back for books or anything; except for those who needed the restroom, everyone else stayed after handing in their papers.

Once the two proctors had collected all the papers and arranged them by exam number, the class stood at the door and waved to the teachers, shouting together, “Ah, friends, friends, goodbye!”

The classroom was a mess, and someone had even brought playing cards for a game of Dou Dizhu.

“Bro Henry, you in?” the one with the cards asked as he dealt.

Henry Howard stood up, waved his hand and said, “No, you guys play.”

Ethan Young was still estimating his score, adding and subtracting on the paper several times.

Henry Howard walked over to Ethan Young, bent down to take a look, but before he could see, Ethan Young slapped the scratch paper over.

“What are you writing, so stingy,” Henry Howard didn’t mind, changed the subject, and casually asked, “Going to the bathroom?”

Ethan Young really couldn’t understand why people liked to go to the restroom in groups—couldn’t pee alone or what? So much nonsense. He put down his pen and mocked, “What, need someone to hold it for you?”

“”

His deskmate was too heartless. Henry Howard rubbed his nose and went by himself.

After washing his hands, he wandered outside for a bit, greeting people at least ten times along the way. He was so sociable, it was as if the whole grade were his buddies.

“Bro Henry,” someone else poked their head out of the classroom and called him, leaning by the window, “Haven’t seen you in days.”

Henry Howard stopped, tilted his head to look at the class sign, then leaned against the wall and said, “Taking the test in Class Five? Not bad, your grades have improved a lot.”

“Nah, you know exactly how good I am. The bolder I am, the higher my grades. Last time I copied too much by accident.”

As he spoke, the guy pulled out a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, pretending to offer one: “Zhongnanhai, want a puff?”

The cigarette was only halfway out when the guy suddenly cursed, stuffed it back in.

Chelsea Shaw walked past the door of Class Seven in high heels.

After Chelsea Shaw walked away, the guy wanted to take out the cigarette again, but Henry Howard waved his hand: “I don’t smoke.”

“Huh?”

Henry Howard added, “Quit.”

There were still more than ten minutes before the next exam.

Henry Howard didn’t go back to the classroom. He wandered to a quiet spot near the academic office, found a random step to sit on, pulled a lollipop from his pocket—orange flavor—tore off the wrapper in a couple of moves, and popped it in his mouth.

With the lollipop in his mouth, Henry Howard lowered his head and texted Ethan Young.

It was just a cold joke he’d seen online, so lame and awkward that he could already imagine what Ethan Young would say—boring, blocked, scram.