These are the words that Grace Ford's father Edward Ford once taught her. When Grace Ford recited them, Teacher Chloe Evans took the lead in applauding. This year, Grace Ford was undoubtedly clean and pretty, and the classroom was filled with genuine applause.

Emma Bennett wore a light yellow cotton pullover T-shirt under a green jacket, with pea green shorts that reached her knees.

Such bright colors were lively and didn’t show dirt easily. She never had white clothes as a child—Lillian Clark was afraid kids would get them dirty.

Probably only Grace Ford in the whole class could wear a white princess dress.

Grace Ford was temporarily arranged to sit alone at the very first desk specially placed by the classroom door. She was young and felt a bit wronged.

Grace Ford thought, everyone else has a deskmate except her. It wasn’t like this in kindergarten; all the kids there liked to play with her. Even that legless Charles Page had a deskmate, so why did she have to sit alone? Wasn’t it always Charles Page who sat alone before? She wanted to go home, wanted her mom, but when she saw Emma Bennett with her backpack neatly placed on the far left of the classroom, she felt she couldn’t go back!

After the first class, Grace Ford was immediately surrounded by several children.

Some were friends from kindergarten, others thought Grace Ford was pretty and looked like Sister Chang Xue from TV. Surrounded by so much care, Grace Ford finally felt a bit better inside.

Emma Bennett carefully took out a washed apple from her backpack.

The big apple was bright red. Lillian Clark had prepared it for her, afraid she’d get hungry in preschool.

She looked at it fondly, then turned to Charles Page: “Charles Page, do you want an apple?”

Charles Page was writing in the grid notebook. September sunlight streamed in from the window by the door, making the side near the window a bit dim. Charles Page lowered his eyes, his dark gaze fixed on the notebook, saying nothing. He ignored her, and Emma Bennett understood—he didn’t want it and didn’t want to be bothered.

She happily turned her head and asked Helen Neal and George Goodwin if they wanted some.

The two kids in the back row both nodded.

Charles Page gripped his pencil tightly. After all, he was still young and couldn’t hide his feelings. He turned to look—his little deskmate was tilting her head, using a small knife to cut the apple. The ribbon on her hair bobbed with each movement; she was struggling to cut it.

His gaze shifted to the little knife. It was Emma Bennett’s pencil-sharpening knife. Maybe because her mother had taught her, Emma Bennett had carefully washed the knife before cutting. His lips pressed into a straight line.

Charles Page was unhappy.

He didn’t mind if Emma Bennett ate the apple herself, but when Helen Neal and George Goodwin ate it too, that uncontrollable anger flared up again.

This obedient yet silly, good-tempered little dumpling pushed his irritation and frustration to the limit.

While Emma Bennett was dividing the apple, Henry Brooks arrived.

The chubby boy was greedy and thick-skinned. He asked little Emma Bennett for some apple. With her simple third-grade mind, little Emma Bennett didn’t overthink it and generously gave him some.

Henry Brooks bit into the sweet apple, his cheeks bulging, and magnanimously said, “Emma Bennett, I’ll take you to catch sparrows this New Year.”

Emma Bennett’s almond-shaped eyes sparkled as she smiled and nodded.

Henry Brooks hummed a tune as he walked away.

Charles Page’s pencil lead suddenly snapped.

He suddenly realized that little Emma Bennett was nice to everyone. He wasn’t the special one after all, even though he thought… even though he thought…

He lowered his eyes, took out the little knife, and started sharpening his pencil.

His fingertips were pale, but he sharpened the pencil even more skillfully than she cut the apple.

Emma Bennett had no idea that Charles Page was upset. Charles Page always wore the same expression whether he was happy or not. She had memories from the past five years, but her mind was still that of a child.

It was the hottest day of September, with the afternoon sun blazing and the temperature rivaling midsummer. During afternoon class, Emma Bennett kept drinking water. She had a sweet tooth, so she put a little sugar in her water, and didn’t bring much. Usually, when she finished her water, she would ask Charles Page for some.

His water bottle was always full; he never drank from it himself. Whenever Emma Bennett looked at him with longing eyes, he would give it all to her.

After finishing her own water, Emma Bennett turned to look at Charles Page.

The boy’s eyelashes were long but not curled. When he lowered his eyes, it hid his emotions well. His side profile had a sharpness that went beyond delicate features.

“Charles Page, I want some water.” Her little voice was soft and sweet as she opened her cup and stretched her small arm toward him, asking for water.

Usually at this time, Charles Page would unscrew his bottle and pour some into her cup.

But today, Charles Page didn’t move. She looked at him expectantly.

He slowly raised his eyes, his dark gaze meeting hers.

—I’m not happy.

His eyes couldn’t hide his feelings yet, but Emma Bennett didn’t understand. She stared at him blankly, thinking she understood, and happily placed her cup on his desk.

Charles Page: “……”

Charles Page pushed her cup back, then took out a pencil and, from one end of the wooden desk’s screw to the other, clearly drew a dividing line.

He divided it meticulously, not taking advantage of her at all, nor giving Emma Bennett even a little extra.

The already small wooden desk was now split exactly in half for the two of them.

His attitude was cold and firm, shutting her out.

Emma Bennett stared blankly.

Wasn’t this dividing line something that only started appearing in first or second grade? Were she and Charles Page the first kids in the class to have a “dividing line”?