Struggle

The sun rose as usual today. During the break in self-study class, I stood at the stairwell, waiting to go down with her to get water, just like always. We're only friends, I told myself silently; I mustn't let her notice, mustn’t act like a fool whenever I see her... Yet the moment she ran over and tapped my shoulder, an involuntary, silly smile immediately spread across my face.

“Yesterday in biology class, the teacher showed us an animation of motor proteins, just like this—walking along microtubules...” She hopped down the stairs, swaying, while I followed a step behind, mesmerized by her silhouette. Suddenly, I recalled the white bear effect in psychology: the more participants are told not to think of a white bear, the more it occupies their mind. And for me, the more I repeated, “It can’t go on like this,” “We’re only friends,” the deeper I unknowingly sank.

“Y-you, why aren’t you talking today?” We stood in line at the water dispenser when she suddenly asked softly, clutching her cup and nervously staring at me. I avoided her gaze; she turned away and lowered her head, her petite figure seeming even more fragile.

After filling her cup, she, as usual, reached to take my hand to go upstairs together, but perhaps because of my silence, she hesitated halfway and withdrew her hand anxiously.

No, don’t do this, I shouted inwardly, but my body was frozen.

“Do you... dislike me?” Her voice suddenly stiffened, cold as ice.

No, no, I like you the most, but...

She confronted me from two steps above, her tone mechanical and emotionless, the same voice she used when speaking to others—her mother, teachers, or classmates who caused trouble.

Yet, I clearly saw her lips trembling slightly.

No, no, no, I felt as if all the blood in my body was flowing backward.

My mind shut down completely. I rushed forward and wrapped her in a full embrace.

She froze for a moment, then relaxed, gradually leaning her entire weight on my shoulder. For the first time so close, I smelled the unique scent of her hair and shirt—alcohol and bitter chocolate.

“We seem to be blocking the way,” she said after a while—I couldn’t say how long, maybe seconds, maybe minutes, or perhaps an eternity—then she chuckled softly and leaned against the railing. “Xiao Qing’s suddenly so close today.”

Zero Aldehyde. This is my Zero Aldehyde, mine alone.

“If you don’t like it... I’ll stop in the future...”

“In the future... you have to hug me like this every day. Every day, prove it again, prove you don’t dislike me.” Zero Aldehyde suddenly leaned in by my ear, declaring it possessively.

I nodded desperately, dizziness and a sense of losing control growing wildly like weeds, squeezing out all reason. Let it be. I gave up resisting entirely.

After all... we’re friends, right? I suddenly felt lucky to be a girl, able to use the pretense of friendship to act as I pleased; after all, everyone was used to such scenes, and the class teacher never caught us for early romance. But... it could only be friendship, meaning no matter how turbulent the emotions inside, they could never be officially acknowledged as love. “Friend” is such a cruel word.

“Do you want some chocolate?” I masked the bittersweet turmoil inside with a radiant smile.

It seemed everything could just continue like this. But deep down, I knew I wasn’t satisfied with just being friends. So what if I wasn’t?

Strangely, I started copying poems and writing my own—not polished verses, just fragmented lines and moaning thoughts that popped up on my solitary bus rides home.

“You are the spring breeze; I write my longing on the white snow. You are the autumn rain; I write my longing on falling leaves... You are the ribosome; I write my longing on mRNA.”

“My neurons all light up because of you, weaving into a net of countless stars.”

At home, I quietly hid in my room, writing them down line by line on the ruled letter paper handed out at school. After finishing each page, I tore it off and stuffed it into my drawer, which soon filled with scraps of paper and fragments of words.

Letters that would never be sent.

The last club session. Last time, the vice president had brought a five-liter fermentation jar, kilograms of grapes, sugar, and a bag of brewing yeast. A few club members and I disinfected the jar, activated the yeast, washed and destemmed grapes (and sneaked a few bites), wore alcohol-sanitized gloves to crush the grapes, added yeast, and sealed the jar. It sat in the corner of the biology lab. The teacher promised to loosen the cap daily to release gas.

Two weeks passed. When we checked again, the grape skins and pulp had floated to the surface, forming a thick layer, beneath which bubbles rose in the red liquid. The vice president carefully and slowly unscrewed the lid, and we all smelled a strong scent of wine.

The filtered liquid was poured into a 2.5-liter mineral water container. The vice president took a few paper cups. “Cheers.”

“I’m still underage,” I said, licking my lips. It tasted more like soda than wine.

“This homemade wine probably has a high methanol content,” Zero Aldehyde eyed the container suspiciously.

Hearing this, the vice president scratched his head thoughtfully, then reluctantly put down his cup—only to pick it up again. “Just... just a little.” Under everyone’s gaze, he downed half a cup in one gulp.

“This will be our last club event,” he said, standing at the podium as if delivering a speech. “You might find it strange—other clubs are switching leadership, but ours—two consecutive years failing to recruit fifteen members means the next session will be canceled. I don’t mind; these past two years have been fun. Yeah, fun is what matters.”

“That’s it, we disband today. Don’t want to hold up your final reviews.” Saying that, the vice president carried the jar away, followed by the president holding the empty jar from before. It was heavy; after a few steps, the vice president rested, then carried it with both hands, tapping his way down the stairs.

I stared blankly at the remaining liquid in my paper cup.

“All good things... come to an end.”

“Xiao Gu, your biology teacher sent a WeChat message.” On Saturday before bed, I was in pajamas, drinking milk in the kitchen when my mother suddenly came in, beaming. “I didn’t expect this—you studied for only a month and still won an award—”

I leaned in to see the screenshot. It was a partial list of biology competition awardees from our school. I ranked... among the top three hundred in the province? Provincial third place? I was so surprised I almost couldn’t breathe.

“In first year, only three won awards. Besides you, there’s one in the math competition class, called...” Mom opened another screenshot, “Lin Quan. She’s second in the province—only two in school got second place, her and a second-year student. No first-place winners, it seems...”

“Zero Aldehyde!” I jumped excitedly from my chair, nearly spilling my milk.

“She’s the one you’re close with, right? I often heard you talking about her when you came home.”

“Uh, yeah, just, well, good friends, haha... We have classes together and got to know each other...” I sat back down, trying to mask my overexcited tone with indifference.

“That’s good—she’s strong too. If you have any questions in the future, ask her more.”

“Mm-hmm.” I nodded while sipping milk.

“Oh, right.” Mom suddenly seemed to remember something and opened her photo album. “Recently, your dad and I have been thinking, now that you’re in second year and evening study ends late, it’s a long way home, and you waste time commuting. So we plan to rent a place near school. We’re looking at two options. One is... Wisteria Garden, right at the school gate, close but only forty square meters. The other is Jiangyuan Second Village...”

Wait, that neighborhood name sounds familiar... It’s where Zero Aldehyde lives! Once, I even walked her to the gate...

“Here, take a look. These photos are from the landlord. We went to see the place...” Mom swiped through some pictures.

I swiped left and right, not really looking at the listings. But to avoid suspicion, I pretended to evaluate seriously and then said, “I think the one in Jiangyuan Second Village is better.”

“Really?—You don’t have to worry about rent; it’s just to make school easier for you.”

“Really, it feels... the neighborhood is nicer, the house is bigger with better lighting, and there’s a large bookshelf in the room...” I made up praises for the place.

“Okay, we’ll go with your choice.” Mom smiled and added, “The landlord said the tenant who rented this three years ago got into Xi’an Jiaotong University, and they’re moving out after this year’s exam. Their kid was pretty good academically—it might be good luck for the place. So, this one it is.”

“Mom, you actually believe in feng shui?”

“Ah, don’t say that. Maybe there’s something to it—these things... Your dad is working the night shift today. I’ll tell him tomorrow, and we’ll contact the landlord again. Oh, it’s already quarter past eleven. Xiao Gu, hurry to bed, or you’ll sleep in again tomorrow.”

“Okay!” I quickly tossed the milk bowl into the sink, brushed my teeth in a flash, dashed into my room, turned off the light, tucked myself under the summer quilt, and rolled from side to side, laughing wildly in the dark. Hehehehe, hehehehehe... Zero Aldehyde won an award, I won an award; our names would appear together on the school’s honor roll. And next semester, we’d live in the same neighborhood, maybe walk to the stairwell together, maybe invite her over to hang out, hehehehehe...

But... if Mom noticed my strange excitement, if she knew my secret selfishness in choosing the apartment, if she discovered the sheets of love poems in my drawer (though she had always respected my privacy, I still worried)—I dared not imagine the consequences. For the first time since childhood, I had a secret from my mother, and it was a big one.

Better hurry to sleep. I have self-study tomorrow.

The next day in class, I was suddenly hailed by the classmates in front and behind as the “biology competition ace.” The messages in the parent group really spread fast.

After self-study, as usual, I stood at the stairwell. Zero Aldehyde ran over from the other end of the corridor. We looked at each other for a few seconds, then both smiled involuntarily. She was really smiling, her eyes curved, cheek muscles and orbicularis oculi contracting.

“High five!” She raised her right hand high, the sharp clap echoing.

“What’s up?” I raised my right hand to match hers.

“I was thinking, it feels like we can touch the sky this way.” She stood by the railing, looking up at the cloudless, gray-blue summer sky.

Suddenly, she leaned forward with both hands, half her body extending beyond the railing. We were on the fourth floor.

“Hey!” I quickly hugged her from behind. “You’re going to—”

“...fall toward the sky...” she whispered words I couldn’t quite catch.

“We’re human. Humans... can only live on the earth,” I said, helplessly pulling her back from the railing.

“You’re right. So right.” She pouted and jumped down three steps in a sulk.