This time his stomach was really acting up, hurting for several days straight. Eric Clark took medicine every day, drank stomach-soothing porridge morning and night, and didn’t dare touch anything greasy, fishy, or spicy.

Everyone in the group knew about his stomach problems. One of the teachers even gave him a box of monkey head mushroom biscuits, telling him to take care of his stomach. Eric Clark found it both funny and exasperating, feeling like he was possessed by Daisy Clark.

He took a picture of the box of biscuits and sent it to Adam Wright's private number. He followed up with another message: Next time I really won’t drink anymore, I’ve turned into Daisy Clark.

Both messages seemed to sink into the sea, with no reply at all.

Eric Clark figured Adam Wright couldn’t reply—guys like that aren’t so easy to flirt with. But it didn’t matter; he hadn’t expected a reply anyway.

Now he even had to bring a water bottle to class, sipping warm water whenever he was thirsty. Luckily, the weather was gradually cooling down. If it were still as hot as before, he probably wouldn’t be able to force down cup after cup of warm water, even if he was thirsty.

Last time, the class monitor came over to get him some hot water. Eric Clark said, “Thanks.”

“No problem.” The class monitor stood by the lectern, chatting with him. “You’re so young, how come you’re acting like an old man, even having stomach problems?”

“Only old men get stomachaches?” Eric Clark chuckled. “I’ve had stomach problems since middle school.”

“Then you’ve got an old illness, and old problems are even harder to fix.” The class monitor said, “I’ll introduce you to a traditional Chinese doctor, Brian Clark, a relative of mine. Let him help you out.”

“We’ll see. I don’t like Chinese medicine, it’s too bitter.” Eric Clark replied.

The class monitor said, “You’re just like a kid.”

Eric Clark glanced at him and said, “Wipe the blackboard for me.”

That’s the trouble with teachers at Eric Clark’s age—students always feel close to him, and Eric Clark doesn’t want to always put on a teacherly air, so students often end up feeling there’s no distance, and it doesn’t look much like a teacher-student relationship.

Because of his own orientation, Eric Clark didn’t want to get too close to either male or female students—he had to avoid suspicion. If people ever found out about his orientation, it would be bad if the previously harmonious teacher-student relationship became the subject of gossip.

Eric Clark was pretty confident about this point. There were plenty of good-looking guys on campus, but ever since he figured himself out, he’d only liked those older than him—he never had any interest in anyone younger.

Thinking of this, Eric Clark couldn’t help but think of Adam Wright again. Ever since that night they drank together, he hadn’t called again, and those two texts were the first time he’d reached out.

Samuel Reed messaged him on WeChat: How’s the pursuit going, Mr. Clark?

Eric Clark: Why are you gossiping like a girl?

The Great Animal: Little Baldy asked me to get a touch-up this week, want to come?

Eric Clark: What day?

The Great Animal: Sunday, I guess.

Eric Clark: I’ll go.

Of course Eric Clark would go—otherwise, he’d have to think of another way to contact Adam Wright. He’d already said he was going to pursue him; just waiting passively wouldn’t do.

On Friday night, Eric Clark went home and stayed the night, only returning Saturday afternoon. Dr. Turner said Ethan Harris had already taken away the rest of his things—everything was cleaned out, and nothing was left at home.

Eric Clark said, “Thanks, Mom.”

“No need, I know you too well. I just didn’t know what was going on between you two before, otherwise I would’ve cleaned up sooner.” His mom looked at Eric Clark and sighed. “Little Ethan said the breakup was his fault.”

Eric Clark shook his head. “It doesn’t matter, it’s all in the past.”

He and Ethan Harris had lived at his parents’ place for a while before, when the heating pipes in Eric Clark’s apartment had problems and took over a week to fix. Even after the repairs, the place was still cold, so they spent that winter at his parents’ home.

“In the future, don’t hide things from us. If you don’t tell us, we’ll just worry. No matter what, your dad and I will never blame you, you know that.” She peeled an apple for Eric Clark and put it in his hand.

Eric Clark didn’t say anything for a long time, just crunched away at the apple. Only after he finished the whole thing did he suddenly hug his mom, patting her back. “I just didn’t want you to worry, not that I meant to hide it.”

His mom patted Eric Clark’s back too, her tone unusually gentle. “You’re my only son. As long as you’re happy.”

“Mm.” Eric Clark nodded and let go of her. “Then let’s talk about something happy, old lady.”

“What’s happy?”

Eric Clark grinned and winked at her. “I’ve got a new love.”

Chapter 8

This new love of Eric Clark’s was truly cool, and he already knew he had a long road ahead. But Mr. Clark wasn’t afraid at all—this kind of thing only made him braver with each attempt.

On Sunday, before heading to the shop, he didn’t tell Adam Wright in advance. After all, he was going with Samuel Reed, so he had a legitimate reason. When they arrived, there was no one in the front; the girl from last time wasn’t there. In the back, only Jack Morgan was playing games, chatting with friends on voice.

“Shit! Someone’s behind me! Thirty-five degrees, thirty-five degrees! Hurry!”

“Damn, that scared the hell out of me just now!”

“Shut up and help me up.”

Samuel Reed walked over, and with Jack Morgan wearing headphones, he didn’t hear the footsteps. Samuel Reed pressed the corner of his phone against the back of Jack Morgan’s bare head and lowered his voice: “This is a robbery, don’t turn around.”