“My life is at stake,” Logan Wright lay on the desk, “I need a quiet moment to think about my survival.”

Only Henry Howard was giving face, his attitude top-notch: “This movie is pretty good, aren’t you guys watching?”

Ethan Young went out to take a call.

Last night Ray's Mom had already asked him when his exams would be over, and as soon as he finished, Ray Jones called.

Ray Jones was squatting in a small alley, and when he answered the phone, he stubbed out his cigarette, then switched the phone to his other hand: “Boss Young, you done with exams?”

“Yeah.”

“Want to get together sometime? Aunt May learned a new dish a few days ago, she’s been talking about making it for you when you come over.” Big Ray was halfway through his sentence, then turned and “tsk”ed at someone nearby, “You little brat, still acting tough with me? Hold him down for me. If I don’t deal with you today, I’ll write my name, Little Ray, backwards.”

Hearing this, something sounded off, so Ethan Young asked, “What’s going on over there?”

“Nothing,” Ray Jones walked a bit further out of the alley, the noise gradually fading, “Just a thief. Damn, daring to steal in this neighborhood, let him see the power of the united people of Blackwater Street.”

Ethan Young understood: “Go easy on him.”

Ray Jones kept walking, then suddenly remembered something and laughed: “Boss Young, do you remember that time—when Wayne's Mom woke us all up in the middle of the night to catch a petty thief? Man, that night was wild, scared me half to death, I thought something serious had happened.”

Ethan Young leaned against the wall, his gaze drifting across the classroom, as if he’d returned to that familiar little street that never ranked in the community environment competitions.

He felt a bit dazed.

It was years ago, one night, in the middle of the night, Wayne's Mom’s house was broken into.

The thief was still hanging at the window, hadn’t climbed in yet, and locked eyes with Wayne's Mom for ages. He never expected that a middle-aged woman could be so fierce—she hurled pots and pans at him, and then shouted at the top of her lungs, waking up the whole street: “Thief—!”

The petty thief didn’t expect that he couldn’t even escape. He’d just jumped down the drainpipe, hadn’t even steadied himself, when a slipper flew right into his face.

Ray's Mom, in her pajamas, took off the other slipper and shouted from the balcony: “Over here! I see him! Still trying to run? I’ll beat you up.”

The whole night was chaos.

They chased the thief across three streets.

Ethan Young and a few other kids joined the crowd, running all over the place.

That summer, even the night breeze was hot.

Before sending the thief to the police station, they cornered him against a wall, and he cried, begging for mercy: “I’ll never come here again.”

“Why steal in the first place?” Aunt May stood in front, rolling up her sleeves, “Lift your head, let’s talk. Don’t be scared, we won’t really beat you to death, we’ll leave you half alive to teach you a lesson.”

Ms. Miller never really fit in on this street. All her years of education and manners told her you can’t just hit people. If you catch a thief, just send him to the police, no need for violence.

In the end, Ms. Miller dragged him home by the ear: “Why are you getting involved in this mess—”

Ethan Young snapped back to the present and said, “Let’s do this weekend, I’m free anyway.”

“Alright.” Ray Jones agreed readily.

They chatted a bit more.

Ethan Young was standing at the stairwell corner when Henry Howard slipped out of the classroom at some point, and, seeing no one around, hugged Ethan Young from behind, leaning in to ask, “What are you up to?”

Ray Jones was about to hang up when he suddenly heard this from the other end.

The voice was low, very close, as if the person was speaking right in Boss Young’s ear, with a slightly rising tone at the end, making it sound a bit ambiguous.

And it sounded familiar.

Ray Jones was startled: “Who is that? Sounds like a real rascal!”

Ethan Young said, “You could tell?”

Henry Howard, suddenly labeled a rascal for no reason: “Huh?”

“Oh, you’re that guy, I remember you, we met at the station.” Ethan Young gave a simple hint. Henry Howard had a good memory and hadn’t forgotten that summer spent at the station, writing self-criticisms with his head down. His boyfriend’s childhood friend—Henry Howard felt he should make a good impression, so after racking his brains, he complimented, “Buddy, your self-criticism was really well written, very eloquent.”

Ethan Young: “”

Ray Jones almost dropped the cigarette he’d just lit: “”

“Who the hell is this!” Ray Jones asked, then thought about the words ‘at the station’ and the guy’s cheeky attitude, and realized, “Is it that super handsome guy with the mask?”

Henry Howard was close by, and Ray Jones’s voice was loud, so he shamelessly replied, “Yeah, that’s me, the most handsome one at the station.”

Henry Howard was naturally sociable, able to chat with anyone, whether he knew them or not. Ethan Young couldn’t take it: “Have you no shame?”

Ray Jones actually wanted to chat more with this guy: “Hey—Boss Young, what a coincidence, you guys go to the same school? Friends?”

Ethan Young paused, then said, “Yeah, friends.”

Actually, boyfriends.

Ray Jones didn’t think in that direction, so Ethan Young didn’t say more.

Even though they kept things low-key at school, Ethan Young had no intention of hiding this relationship. If Big Ray ever asked, he’d probably just admit it: boyfriend, surprised?

After Ethan Young hung up, Henry Howard asked, “You going back this weekend?”

“Yeah,” Ethan Young said, “going to my godmother’s.”

Henry Howard thought for a moment: “That godmother who’s a local boss?”

Ethan Young didn’t expect Henry Howard to remember his offhand comment. Aunt May did have a bit of a fierce temper and gave off a tough vibe, but she was a proper businesswoman.

Just then, the school bell rang, and everyone started packing up to leave. Even though the results weren’t out yet, some were already happy, some worried. Luke Carter and the others stood at the classroom door, waving from afar: “Let’s go—”

Henry Howard still had his arm around Ethan Young’s shoulders, kept that pose, and waved back at Luke Carter: “Bye.”

Luke Carter was used to this scene by now. These two had held hands in class and even had a shipping thread on the school forum.

Ethan Young went back to the dorm to pack, with Henry Howard following him everywhere.

He grabbed a few clothes, turned to get his phone charger, and bumped right into Henry Howard: “Can you find a place to sit quietly for a bit?”

Henry Howard said, “I can’t be quiet. Just thinking that we won’t see each other for two days—two days, 48 hours, 2880 minutes, 172,800 seconds—”

Ethan Young was too busy trying to push him onto the bed to notice anything odd, or to pay attention to Henry Howard’s mental math speed.

“Sit down,” Ethan Young pushed him down, then, holding back his temper, even patted Henry Howard’s head, and said in a not-so-nice tone, “If you keep following me around, I’ll beat you up.”

Henry Howard: “”

Ethan Young didn’t go straight to Blackwater Street, but stopped by Cooper Family first.

Ms. Miller was still cooking, hadn’t even taken off her apron, and came to open the door: “You’re back? Why didn’t you let us know in advance?”

Grace Miller asked a bunch of questions—how was the food at school, had he lost weight, how did the midterms go.

Ethan Young took an apple from the fruit plate, leaned against the kitchen door, and said, “It’s alright.”

That “alright” was vague, not clear what he meant.

“What’s alright,” Grace Miller said, “Did you get second to last again this time?”

Ethan Young didn’t answer, and Grace Miller didn’t dwell on it, instead randomly started talking about the last place in the grade: “Your deskmate, does that kid always come in last?”

After saying that, Grace Miller let out an “oh dear.”

Ethan Young actually felt that sometimes his mood was probably similar to Ms. Miller’s.

Ms. Miller, who had only planned to make two dishes, ended up cooking a few more, busying herself in the kitchen for a while.

Ethan Young sat on the sofa waiting for dinner, and couldn’t help but type, one word at a time, into his phone browser: What to do if your boyfriend doesn’t like studying.

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55. Chapter Fifty-Five

There really were a lot of similar questions. Ethan Young found a recent one and clicked in.

The question was posted three days ago.

The person asking the question rambled off-topic for a while, praising her boyfriend to the skies, almost making him sound inhuman, and then finally got to the point: But his grades aren’t very good, he always comes in second to last. How can I correct his attitude toward studying?