With You

(No.40—No.46)

No.40

On the day we came here, a group of us cried. I was very sad for Laishun at the time. I heard that his family was quite poor. In fact, he came out as a soldier when he was not a few years older than us. I remember hearing from my dad before that sometimes the recruits in the army were often bullied very badly. I don’t know whether Laishun’s silly, flat-skinned skinny will be able to eat well in the army — even thinking further. The group of people he commanded and taught will enter a higher education institution in two or three years. Further studies, a good job, a good income, a good house, a good life-and where was he at that time?

This kind of thinking will be reprimanded as naive when my mother hears it, and my dad will forgive me for being stupid with a smile.

My mother always looks at problems from the perspective of "My fate is my responsibility". There is no room for the weak in her world, and there is no unfairness of "inconsistent starting lines". If you have a bad life, with few tickets, and a small house, then blame yourself for not being able to climb to a higher level to live a good life. You deserve it...

And my dad will tolerate my little kid's micro-extremism from the macro perspective he has cultivated using "Reference News" and government internal reference. The uneven distribution of educational resources is a temporary phenomenon, and a society’s pursuit of competition and efficiency is greater than fairness, which is a need in the development stage. Therefore, not everyone has the opportunity to live a good life. From a macro perspective...

All nonsense.

I hate their coldness. Adult coldness.

I only remember Laishun telling us that he envied us to study.

Then waved his hand and said: "Study hard."

I cried like a mess. Yu Huai lowered his head, pursed his mouth, and said nothing.

No.41

So, we officially started the new semester.

In the morning, Zhang Ping called out Yu Huai and the tall boys sitting in the back row to move books. Stacks of new textbooks tied with plastic ropes were brought into the classroom by them. I was very excited.

Every new semester releases textbooks, I am excited. I have been doing this since the first grade of elementary school. The textbooks are passed from the first row to the back. At that time, I envied that the students in the front row could have more choices-get rid of all broken or stained edges. , I picked out the latest one for myself, and passed the rest to the back table-but then a little friend of mine said with great distress that she was assigned a broken book at the time, so she picked another one. Ben, stuffed the broken ones back and passed them on, but was criticized by the teacher.

Public criticism. Then a boy in the class who was very much loved by the teacher stood up and took the initiative to receive the broken book. He was warmly applauded by the class and praised by the teacher. Oh, and a little red flower.

My little friend was very, very painful. She stared at me very seriously: "I know I was wrong, but I asked the boy for the broken book, and he wouldn't give it! If this goes on, the teacher will never forgive me for the rest of my life. "

I patted her on the shoulder, really sorry for her.

It is still a lifetime to be held hostage by the teacher, how terrible.

No.42

Later, I didn't know the ownership of the broken book, whether it was taken home by one of them and decorated with a photo frame.

Teaching materials are not cheap. As a consumer, how can you rush to ask for a broken book? Rights protection awareness is really **** bad.

I was thinking about it, the book was already in my hand, and I looked through it lovingly, feeling Yu Huai's surprised look.

"what happened?"

"Have you... the first time you saw the textbooks for high school?"

"Yes, isn't it just posted?"

He shrugged: "Yes, yes, it's all right."

No.43

Then, I took out the weapon that I had prepared a long time ago—the old calendar wrapped in scrap newspaper after being rolled into a tube.

I don't like the colorful book covers sold in cultural and educational stores. There are only three types of book covers-brown kraft paper, white calendar paper, blue-gray drawing paper.

In addition to the calendar paper, the other two rely heavily on your parents' professional attributes. For the nature of my parents' work, it is estimated that only invoice books and government work reports can be obtained, and these two types cannot be used to cover books.

When I was planning to start work with joy, I saw Yu Huai's surprised expression that his eyes were about to fall on the table.

"Have you never seen a book cover?"

"What age did you come from? Are you still wrapping your book cover?"

"I don't like books that are worn and dirty."

"Huaquan embroidered legs."

"Leave me alone?!"

I slowly took out the scissors and transparent glue from my schoolbag, and Yu Huai's sigh became heavier and heavier.

After packing, I took out a pen and carefully prepared to write the title and class name on the cover. I was too religious to burn incense. I suddenly remembered that my handwriting was ugly.

In the past, my dad wrote my name on the book cover, and my dad wrote very well. As I said, when he is at home on vacation, he likes to raise flowers and birds and write calligraphy, just like retired old cadres.

My pen tip was suspended for a long time, and finally I put it down.

"Why don't you write it?"

"I can't write well."

"Formalism. Write the title of the book and your name. You know which one is which, and others know that it is yours. Do you want to put up a photo frame?"

Just like my malicious speculation about that broken book back then, I laughed and frightened Yu Huai.

"By the way," I suddenly thought of "the best time", so I was very excited to grab his sleeve, "Yu Huai, you can help me write, you seem to be very good at writing."

After being complimented, Yu Huai was embarrassed to continue to condemn my formalism and picked up the pen awkwardly.

"Don't blame me for bad writing."

If I don’t look in the mirror, I know I laughed terribly: "No blame, no blame, write it."

So he swiped his pen.

"English language".

Two blank lines.

"Zhenhua Middle School".

"Five classes a year".

"Yu Huai".

No.44

Then, we both looked at each other for a long time, and he blushed and scratched the back of his head.

"Um... I accidentally wrote it as my own, so I just made it easy... Would you like to repackage it? Oh, I still have correction fluid!"

I looked at it, not knowing what, but a little happy.

I can't tell the feeling, and my heart is light.

"That's it," I put the book into the hole in the table, and handed him the next one, "and then write, write anyone's name."

No.45

Zhang Ping appointed a temporary class committee-to let everyone raise their hands and recommend themselves. Yu Huai nominated himself to be a sports committee member, while Han Xu was designated by Zhang Ping as a study committee member—I didn’t know that Xiao Bailian had such good grades in school.

The squad leader is simple and honest, with a dark face, and is also a boy named Xu Yanliang.

Yu Huai insisted that this was Zhang Ping's conspiracy, because only Xu Yanliang in the class was darker than him, so that Zhang Ping and the squad leader could stand on the podium with the monitor in the future to bring out the tender skin.

Han Xu's face was still as calm as water. He was sitting at the front right of the table with Yu Huai and me, the second-to-last row of the next group. Simple is sitting beside him like a daughter-in-law, and the friend of Simple, the pungent girl whose name I still don't know, sits behind Jian, just like me in the last row.

I thought of the scenes when I divided the seats, and smirked.

The first class is Zhang Feng's math class. He was thin and tall, with a pair of glasses, white complexion, long slender eyes, a bit high cheekbones, and he looked...a bit mean.

And it was cold, completely opposite to Zhang Ping, and didn't laugh at all. I waited for Zhang Feng's opening remarks with the mentality of watching the reunion of the passionate friendship, but there was only one sentence:

"Hello everyone, my name is Zhang Feng. From today, I will teach you high school mathematics." Then I opened the book, "Today we are going to the first section of the first chapter, to introduce you to the concept of elements and sets."

"He's so boring." I lay down on the table.

"People are here for class. Do you think you are acting in a TV series?" Yu Huai glanced at me and took out the math book from his schoolbag.

The same version, but it is a used old book, of course, there is no cover.

So, I finally knew what was in his big schoolbag—used textbooks, workbooks, and calculation books.

"Why the old one?"

"During the holiday, I learned the first year course in advance, so I bought it first," he flipped casually and added, "Most people make up lessons in advance, or learn by themselves. I heard that some of them, like Lin Yang, engage in competitions. Yes, it seems that we have to learn a little bit of university basic physics and mathematical analysis in advance."

I don't know who Lin Yang is, and I didn't ask. Only when Yu Huai started to flip through the "Queen Xiong High School Chemistry Workbook" without listening to Zhang Feng's lecture, I found sadly that I had inadvertently broken into the super Saiyan kingdom of Namek.

Most people have learned it in advance.

As a result, I accidentally became a handful of extremists with ulterior motives.

When I opened the beautiful notebook I bought, I felt a little better, and I began to carefully copy the collection definition given by Zhang Feng on the blackboard.

"That thing is useless, it's all in the book, copying it is a waste of time." Yu Huai gave me such a comment without raising his head.

"I'm happy." His face was a little bit awkward. Although I know he is right.

"I kindly remind you, it's useless." He shrugged and continued to work on his questions.

I know that Yu Huai's reminder is for my own good, but my poor inferiority complex makes me not want to admit it. Sometimes I would rather others laugh in my heart that I don't understand efficient learning methods, but in terms of face, I must smile and say to me, Oh, your book is so beautiful.

No.46

At the beginning of the new semester, I knew that Yu Huai was a top student.

Maybe it was because his tattered books had all been sucked away.

Maybe it's because he made the "Complete Interpretation of Wang Hou Xiong Textbook" for the second year of high school.

Maybe it was because he heard the expression of disdain and yearning in the first and second shifts on the day of registration-you know, it will be uncomfortable if you almost don't get it, and it will be calming if it is too far away. So I am calm and he is excited.

Later, Yu Huai finally was not afraid of hurting my face, admitting that he also judged from the beginning that I would not be a top student.

I asked why.

He snorted unceremoniously: "Because you wrap the book cover."