The registration day was in the middle of August.
The county No.
1 Middle School was located on the outskirts of the old town.
It had red brick walls and a stone plaque stating “Provincial Model High School” at the entrance.
Feifei carried a plastic bag modified into a luggage bag, inside which were her mother’s sewn quilts, two sets of clean clothes, and a small jar of pickles.
She stood at the school gate, looking up at the plaque for a while.
Inside the school, people were coming and going.
Some parents came in their cars to give their children a hand-off, with boxes of milk, fruits, and brand new suitcases being moved out of the trunk.
Some girls were wearing dresses, with their hair washed fragrantly, holding their parents’ hands and chatting.
She looked down at herself – a blue blouse, black pants, and a pair of worn-out cloth shoes with rounded toe tips.
The red and blue stripes on the luggage bag stood out sharply against the edges of the suitcases.
She walked in, and her steps slowed down unconsciously.
Class 2, Grade 1.
The classroom was on the third floor.
She arrived early and chose the last row near the window to sit down, placing the luggage bag beside her feet.
Gradually, other students came in, chatting in groups.
No one spoke to her.
The desk partner was a girl from the city, named Zhou Qian.
Her hair was styled, and her nails were neatly trimmed. Find the original chapter at novelping.com.
She glanced at Feifei’s cloth shoes, said nothing, and moved to the other side.
The head teacher came in to call roll.
When it was her turn, Feifei stood up and responded with a shaky voice.
The eyes of the entire class swept over her, then quickly shifted away.
During the first week of school, she was like a shadow.
In the cafeteria, others paid two yuan for a meat dish, while she only ordered half a dollar worth of cabbage, along with the pickles she brought from home, squatting in a corner to eat.
In the dormitory, the girls discussed the newly released tapes, TV stars, and who had bought a BP machine.
She couldn’t join in the conversation, pretending to read a book.
At night, when the lights were turned off, someone whispered and laughed.
She lay on the innermost bed, her eyes open, looking at the ceiling.
The most uncomfortable part was the English class.
The teacher asked the students to take turns standing up and introducing themselves in English.
It was her turn, and she stood up, holding her breath for a long time, only managing to squeeze out “I…” I am Bian Feifei…” The following sentences got stuck in her throat.
Her accent was thick, and she struggled to pronounce the words.
Several classmates burst out laughing.
The teacher frowned: “Sit down.
Spend more time after class.”
She sat down, her face burning hot enough to fry an egg.
She tucked her legs tightly under the desk.
That evening during the evening study session, she sat alone under the lamp, copying words, filling two pages.
As she copied, tears dropped onto the paper, blurring “English” into a blurry ink stain.
Suddenly, she remembered when she was in primary school, on the way home, those children called her “the daughter of the lame person”.
Even in a different place, she was still that girl.
From the village to the county, she thought she had escaped, but this wall seemed even higher than Bian Jiawa.
On the weekend, she didn’t go home.
She sat alone in the last row of the classroom.
The willow leaves outside the window began to turn yellow.
She opened her diary and wrote:
“The road here is wide, but when I stand on top of it, I always can’t find my own position.”
At this point, she stopped writing and looked out of the window.
On the glass, it reflected another her – thin, dark, with a thick accent, huddled in a corner, like a seed dropped in a crack between walls.
She didn’t know how long she would have to endure in this crack.
She also didn’t know that a year later, a beam of light would shine through that window called “English”.
Then she would understand that the reason she felt out of place was not because she wasn’t good enough, but because she hadn’t met someone who could push open that window.