William Carter frowned unhappily. He had a loyal side to his personality—he liked whoever liked him—but he was also spoiled: whoever disliked him was an idiot.

Henry Clark saw his expression and knew the young master was about to blow up, so he quickly held him back. “Forget it, I’ll get it.”

Henry Clark glanced around and, seeing no sign of teachers snooping, shifted his chair a bit, politely said, “Excuse me,” and stretched his arm to reach for the crumpled paper on Brian Cooper’s desk.

But Brian Cooper suddenly grabbed the paper ball and tossed it straight into the trash can in the corner.

Henry Clark was slow and gentle by nature, so he froze for a moment, not reacting, but William Carter’s temper flared instantly and he shot to his feet.

Just then, Heather happened to walk in from outside, her dead-fish eyes glaring so hard they almost popped out: “William Carter, what are you standing up for?”

Henry Clark grabbed William Carter’s wrist.

Brian Cooper looked up expressionlessly and met William Carter’s gaze—a look full of meaning, half mocking, half provocative.

“It’s nothing, teacher. I dropped a pen and he was helping me find it,” Henry Clark said, then hurriedly tugged at William Carter. “Sit down, quick.”

William Carter shot Brian Cooper a sinister glare, but let Henry Clark pull him back to his seat, clearly unwilling.

Heather circled them suspiciously a few times, and seeing the troublemakers had quieted down, finally clicked her high heels “da-da” over to the lectern and sat down to write her lesson plan.

After a while, Henry Clark carefully passed over a note, nudging William Carter’s arm. “Brother David rewrote it for you. There, it’s freezing and you’re still so fired up?”

William Carter said nothing, took David Wright’s little note, and thought, “I have to teach him a lesson when I get the chance.”

Brian Cooper pulled out a tissue, dabbed it with water, and wiped the spot where the note had landed three times over. He could still clearly picture David Wright’s “heroic pose” leaning against the bathroom door that day.

“Trash,” Brian Cooper thought. Then he raised his hand, and the half-wet paper ball traced a parabola through the air, landing precisely in the wastebasket in the corner.

That slight noise caught the attention of Heather at the podium. She glanced over and saw Brian Cooper putting his headphones back on, lowering his head as if no one else existed, and immediately felt a headache coming on.

Heather owed a favor—she’d accepted a shopping card from Brian Cooper’s father, Eric Cooper. These past few days, she’d been worrying herself sick over Brian Cooper, privately seeking out every subject teacher and class officer, but Brian Cooper wouldn’t listen to anyone, like a nonviolent, uncooperative hedgehog.

Heather’s pen paused, and she tapped a girl in the front row. “Alice Reed, come out with me for a moment.”

The class committee in Class One was a mixed bunch: there was David Wright, the sports rep who never studied; William Carter, the Youth League secretary who secretly didn’t care about teachers; and then there was Alice Reed, the model class president who treated every word from a teacher as gospel.

The next day after morning exercises, Alice Reed approached William Carter. “Can you do me a favor?”

Before William Carter could answer, David Wright and Old Miller, those two idiots, each gave him a shove from either side, pushing him forward. Caught off guard, William Carter almost crashed into Alice Reed.

William Carter: “Damn, are you two nuts?”

David Wright and Old Miller cackled like a pair of long-necked wild ducks. The whole class knew Alice Reed had a crush on William Carter, and her face flushed bright red.

William Carter didn’t really have any feelings for Alice Reed, but for a teenage boy, just the thought of “this girl likes me” was exciting enough. Seeing her blush, he suddenly felt awkward too. “Sure… what is it? Just say it.”

Heather had given Alice Reed a task: talk to Brian Cooper and help him integrate into the class as soon as possible.

Old Miller frowned when he heard this. “Did Heather let Brother David sit on her head or something? Why send a girl for this?”

Of course, Heather hadn’t specifically chosen a girl. She’d actually said this to every class officer, including William Carter and David Wright, but no one except Alice Reed paid her any mind.

“Get lost, you sat on it,” David Wright shot back at Old Miller, then turned to Alice Reed. “Don’t bother with Heather. I’m starting to think that kid is her secret son.”

Alice Reed looked troubled and glanced at William Carter for help. William Carter felt the same as David Wright and was about to speak when Henry Clark suddenly tugged at him from the side.

At first, William Carter was confused, but then he quickly remembered—right, their class had one scholarship spot each year, worth fifteen hundred yuan. It wasn’t much to most people, but it was different for Alice Reed; she was from a poor family. She was a thin, petite girl with a seriously ill mother to care for at home, and unlike Henry Clark, she couldn’t go out late at night to work odd jobs. The scholarship was awarded by the homeroom teacher.

She couldn’t afford to ignore Heather’s instructions.

“All right then,” William Carter said, pinching his nose and making the decision. “We’ll go with you.”

At No. 6 High, there were two sets of morning exercises: one was the standard “The Times Are Calling,” and the other was a routine choreographed by the school’s gymnastics team. Brian Cooper didn’t know the latter and had no intention of learning. Every day, he just stood like a wooden post at the end of the line, and as soon as the exercises ended, he quietly slipped away.

When Alice Reed called out to him, Brian Cooper didn’t stop walking—he just glanced at her indifferently.