"September 13, 2018—Sunny—Thursday"
I was chosen as the math class representative.
How did this happen?
Do I naturally look like someone who's good at math?
When I went to the office to submit homework, I saw the welcome gala registration sheets for each class on the desk.
...
Class 22: Bea, "Red Dust Inn."
Bea? That name sounds so familiar.
Suddenly it flashed through my mind—registration day.
Blanket Girl's name seems to be this.
I heard her dad calling her to hurry up and bring her quilt inside.
She's going to perform?
I should have signed up too!
...
Reading this, memories from the past seemed to unlock like a gate opening with a key, rushing back to me like a tide.
We had a welcome gala in our first year of high school. Every class was required to put on a program.
Since I was in the choir in middle school, I'd been selected as a lead singer before and often had performance opportunities.
When the teacher asked who had performance experience, I raised my hand.
I've always been someone who seizes opportunities. High school events were already few—if there was a chance to try something new, I'd definitely give it a shot. One thing led to another, and it ended up being me singing on stage.
Among countless songs, I ultimately chose to sing "Red Dust Inn."
That was my favorite song, and it had lyrics I loved too.
"In the martial world, no matter who reigns supreme, I bow only to you."
I unconsciously hummed it softly.
"September 17, 2018—Sunny—Monday"
This Friday is the welcome gala, and then we get a Mid-Autumn Festival break.
I didn't do well on last week's quiz, so I ground through a whole set of practice problems.
I haven't seen Blanket Girl these past few days.
But this morning, while I was reciting texts in the hallway outside the classroom,
I happened to see her on the fourth-floor balcony of Class 22 across the way.
She was leaning against the railing, nibbling on a bun bite by bite.
Eating so slowly. I'd finished memorizing my passage and she'd only eaten half.
How does she make everything she eats look so appetizing? Like a little pig.
Reading his diary, I could always recall certain scenes. My past three years seemed to start all over again.
The stairs I walked, the balcony outside the fourth-floor classroom, the buns with too much filling and too little flavor that were hard to swallow, the wisteria corridor I passed through, the weekly quiz papers—everything was becoming clearer bit by bit.
Our high school followed the Hengshui model. Time was tightly scheduled. For all three years, I'd usually buy breakfast at the cafeteria first and bring it to the balcony outside the classroom to eat, where I could also lean against the railing and look at the scenery across from the academic building.
Our grade occupied two separate buildings connected by a skywalk corridor, with an LED screen in the middle.
That LED screen displayed either core values or motivational quotes every day—and of course, the quotes were always about studying hard.
From our class's balcony, I could see the hallway outside the classrooms across from us.
I'd often lean on the balcony and watch my childhood friend across the way on the third floor of Class 17 getting scolded by their homeroom teacher.
My childhood friend got criticized every single day, and I'd wish I had binoculars to read the teacher's lips and guess what they were saying.
Standing for a while, I pulled out a stool in the storage room, patted off the dust, and sat down to continue reading.
4
"September 20, 2018—Sunny—Thursday"
This afternoon was the dress rehearsal for the welcome gala.
Theo, wanting to look at the female students, went straight to the prop team as a tool-carrying extra.
But he was too embarrassed to go alone.
He insisted on dragging Ryan and me along.
I thought Ryan would refuse.
But Ryan casually threw his arm over Theo's shoulder and said he'd go.
I didn't want to go. I was busy preparing for the math competition.
Just as I opened my mouth to say no,
Theo batted his eyes and said,
"Come on, isn't your Ultraman Blanket Girl supposed to be singing? Don't you want to watch?"
He then proceeded to poke and prod me.
I frowned and removed his grabby hands.
I smoothed out the clothes he'd wrinkled.
I said I didn't want to—I don't even know Blanket Girl, what's there to see?
That afternoon, Ryan and I still showed up at the prop team right on time.
It was only because her singing during military training was really good, so I came to watch her rehearse. That's it.
No other reason.
Writing this line specifically for Theo, who keeps peeking at my diary:
Warning—if you read this, stop right here.
If I catch you again, I'll tell the homeroom teacher that you said she looks like Gargamel.
When the rehearsal started, I saw Blanket Girl. Thankfully, her singing was still really good.
Didn't waste my trip.
She sang "Red Dust Inn."
A Jay Chou song.
Does she like Jay Chou too?
Her microphone wasn't originally carried by me, but I volunteered myself.
No other reason—just because this task was easier. No need to carry tables or chairs, saves time and effort. Yeah, that's exactly right.
"September 21, 2018—Sunny—Friday"
The welcome gala arrived.
Those of us carrying things waited backstage for our work.
Theo stared unblinkingly at the senior girl reciting poetry on stage, not daring to blink even once.
Ryan seemed distracted, standing near the student on ceremony duty the whole time.
Blanket Girl was backstage, staring at the lyrics.
Through that transparent glass window, I saw her slightly quivering eyelashes.
She wore a red dress today, as eye-catching as a streak of sunlight. She'd additionally braided two small plaits that hung naturally, the curled ends adding a touch of playfulness.
She held her lyrics in hand, swaying in small circles.
The skirt swayed along with her movements.
I didn't dare keep looking, afraid she'd notice me. Hmm, Blanket Girl like this is also inexplicably cute.
The performance went smoothly. Midway through, someone even asked me if I knew her and if I had her QQ.
I don't get it—we're in high school and they're still not focusing on studying.
Always thinking about getting girls' contact info.
I don't even have it. So frustrating.
Whatever, I'm done writing.
Annoyed. Going to sleep.
...
Reading the memories, I sank into deep recollection again.
He must have been the boy who set up the microphone stand for me.
Too bad I was so nervous back then that I've completely forgotten the specifics.
I don't understand the courage it took for him to step onto that stage, nor the bitterness behind it. Was every step he took, a step toward me?
I did wear a red dress that day. But I remember feeling quite insecure at the time—all the other performers were slim and fair-skinned with no acne, standing on stage confidently and gracefully.
While I kept my head down, barely daring to look at the audience.
Seeing him call me cute in his diary, I felt a bit unreal.
Would someone really think I was cute? Want my contact info?
Fortunately, my friend had recorded the performance for me.
The video was still on my phone.
I pulled out my phone, but felt inexplicably flustered. My fingers kept tapping the wrong apps.
Finally, I found the video.
Perhaps because time had passed, the video quality wasn't great.
I fast-forwarded to the part where I went on stage.
My heart paused for a moment, but my anticipation couldn't be stopped.
On the screen was a tall, slim boy in a school uniform, facing away from the audience, adjusting my standing microphone.
After adjusting it, he ran offstage at lightning speed.
The video didn't capture his face. My emotions relaxed, though I couldn't tell if it was disappointment or nervousness.
The sky had dimmed somewhat. The afterglow sank into my eyes. The golden light the sun cast filled the entire wisteria corridor, and red-pink clouds swayed in the sky.
I still remembered every casual glance up after finishing an exam, seeing that scenery and understanding what true beauty was.
The muggy evening breeze began to emerge. The bustling sounds on campus gradually faded, with only the occasional student moving books back and forth.
My fingers, guided by the breeze, turned another page. I took a deep breath, slowly calming my thoughts, wandering through his diary.
"September 24, 2018—Cloudy—Monday"
Today is the Mid-Autumn Festival.
At home, my mom made me go out to buy groceries.
I went to that newly opened supermarket at Wangyue Cross Street.