The movement of Henry Clark writing beside her stopped, and she quietly lifted her sleeve to sniff. Thomas Reed caught this out of the corner of her eye and turned her head, saying, “I wasn’t talking about you, I meant the ginkgo outside.”

Ginkgo leaves are pretty, but they bear ginkgo fruit, which has a strange, foul smell.

Thomas Reed couldn’t stand the stench and complained in a low voice, “You’re sitting by the window, even closer than me. Can’t you smell it?”

Henry Clark shook her head. “It’s fine.”

Thomas Reed rolled her eyes and put on a mask. The student in front couldn’t stand the smell either and complained twice, but when she saw Thomas Reed wearing a mask, she and her deskmate mocked her together, “Making a fuss over nothing. Do you really need a mask? Such a princess.”

Thomas Reed never tolerated anyone’s passive-aggressive remarks and spoke up directly: “You want to wear a mask yourself, but you don’t because you’re afraid people will call you delicate. Now that I’m wearing one, you criticize me. You’re exactly the kind of gossip you claim to hate.”

Sometimes Thomas Reed found it strange—whenever she did something others wanted to do but didn’t, they would mock her. It seemed like every group couldn’t tolerate anyone different, even the slightest bit of difference was unacceptable.

Thomas Reed was especially sensitive to smells, and the stench made her so uncomfortable she couldn’t concentrate in class. For two days straight, she frowned as soon as she entered the classroom.

Not long after, the ginkgo fruit on the tree was picked.

Thomas Reed noticed right away and was a bit surprised. “The ginkgo fruit is gone?”

Henry Clark, head down reading, said, “Yeah, ginkgo fruit can be used in soup. During lunch break, the cafeteria staff came with baskets and picked them.”

Thomas Reed didn’t ask how she knew, but felt a wave of instinctive nausea at the thought of ginkgo soup. “It smells so bad, and they make soup with it?”

Just thinking about the stinky ginkgo fruit made her not want to go to the cafeteria at all. She decided to get some bread and milk from the convenience store instead.

Henry Clark: “They use the seeds inside for the soup, not the flesh. It doesn’t smell.”

Thomas Reed raised her hand to refuse. She didn’t believe it—she would never drink soup made from that stinky stuff!

The weather grew colder and colder. Autumn seemed to be struggling to survive between summer and winter, and before she could even savor it, winter had arrived.

Getting up early in winter became a real test of willpower. It was especially hard to leave the warmth of the bed, but their homeroom teacher, Old Baker, was a health-conscious middle-aged man who required them to get up early for morning exercise. Every morning, when they gathered to run, the whole class was full of groans and complaints.

Among the shivering “quails,” Henry Clark stood out like a crane among chickens. While everyone else had switched to sweaters or thick coats, she was still wearing just the school jacket—only switching from short sleeves to long sleeves—looking especially thin.

Thomas Reed wanted to ask if she didn’t have a sweater, but felt there was no need; she already knew the answer. Henry Clark’s locker had very few things, barely any clothes—she lacked everything.

Should she buy her one? Ever since her relationship with Henry Clark had inexplicably grown closer, Thomas Reed often worried about this: should she help her?

But whenever she brought Henry Clark a bottle of water, Henry Clark insisted on paying her back. Even if she didn’t, she’d find some other way to make it up. A long time ago, on a whim, Thomas Reed bought her a bra, and even now Henry Clark was still trying to repay her by giving her practice questions. If she bought her clothes, Henry Clark would definitely want to pay for them too. It would be better to let her buy her own—if she refused, it would just make Thomas Reed look meddlesome.

Henry Clark sat by the window, where there was a small gap that wouldn’t close properly. After winter set in, every night during evening self-study, a strong wind would blow through that gap into the classroom, though Henry Clark didn’t seem to mind it at all.

“Let’s switch seats. I want to sit inside,” Thomas Reed suddenly said.

Henry Clark was absorbed in her work and looked up at her, a bit confused, but switched seats without hesitation. It wasn’t until after evening study, when she was getting ready to shower, that she suddenly realized—was it because Thomas Reed thought she wasn’t wearing enough? Was she worried she’d be cold?

Thinking of this, she saw Thomas Reed coming out of the bathroom, steam still billowing out. In winter, they didn’t shower every day, usually every other day, but Thomas Reed showered as often as she did, often going before her.

Henry Clark went into the bathroom and closed the door, unsurprised to see Thomas Reed’s hot water card left behind.

Before, Henry Clark would always take the card down and set it aside, but this time, she picked it up, opened the door, and put it on Thomas Reed’s bed. “You always forget your hot water card.”

Thomas Reed was drying her hair and looked at the card, responding with a sound.

Henry Clark turned to leave, but heard Thomas Reed say behind her, “If I forget it again next time, just use it directly. No need to take it down.”

Henry Clark couldn’t help but laugh, but suddenly felt a pang of sadness. She turned around and reached up to the top bunk.

Thomas Reed: “What are you doing?”

Henry Clark: “Touch my hand.”

Thomas Reed looked at her for a moment, then touched her hand. For some reason, Henry Clark reminded her of a cat—when she reached out, she’d show that startled, wary, hesitant look.

Thomas Reed realized her deskmate’s hand was warm, much warmer than her own, which always got cold in winter.

Henry Clark: “I’m not afraid of the cold. Back home, I always washed with cold water in winter. I’m used to it.”