Class Allocation

During the final half-month of freshman year, music, physical education, and art classes vanished, and activity periods were frequently canceled due to torrential rain. Even if we could go outside, many students would immediately return to the classroom for self-study after a quick run, hoping to be placed in a better class next year—what the school colloquially calls the "Heaven-Track Class." This name mirrors the "Earth-Track Class" assigned in the first year; just saying it aloud conveys the air of "those selected are the chosen ones." Selection, selection. In the humid classroom, I grumbled to myself while working on a final exam mock paper. Out of nearly forty thousand middle school students in the city, half are chosen for high school; then, one percent of that half—two hundred students—are selected for this key high school’s Earth-Track Class; then, a few dozen are selected for the Heaven-Track Class in the second year; and after the college entrance exams, a few dozen more from the entire province are chosen for Tsinghua or Peking University... Is there any point to all this selecting? Can picking people over and over really produce the "chosen ones"? The three-seven law... a disproportionate pyramid...

No, no, when did I start thinking like this? I must be exhausted from all these problems. I looked at the thick, heavy rain clouds outside the window, rubbed my eyes, and picked up my pen again. Staring at the four or five pale shadows cast by the pen tip under the fluorescent light, I suddenly felt a touch of irony: my heart was thinking one thing, while my actions were doing another. Clearly, I had just been badmouthing the selection system in my head, yet here I was, grinding through practice problems so diligently.

It can't be helped, because I have... someone I absolutely must catch up to...

Finals arrived. The math paper got stuck on the very last problem, which I heard was from an old Jiangsu college entrance exam. The English reading passages were ridiculously long. I felt fairly confident about the Chinese essay, but the other subjects... well, they were just okay.

Next... was to wait for the grades and the class placement results.

After the exams, my parents immediately called a moving company. The rental apartment already had furniture, so we mainly moved pots, pans, bedding, clothes, my father’s computer, monitor, and game controller, and my books. On the way to our new home, I held my backpack, which contained the last of my personal belongings—stationery, trinkets, and letter paper—and felt as if a little bird were fluttering inside my chest. As the car pulled into the neighborhood gate, my mind instantly conjured up scenes of walking down this street with Lingquan: going to school together facing the clouds, coming home together facing the moon, sharing an umbrella on rainy days, admiring the wisteria on the trellis on sunny days, visiting each other's homes, or perhaps even...

With so many fantasies, I felt completely enveloped in a bubble of girlish pink.

"Little Gu is smiling more. Much more cheerful than in middle school," my father said suddenly while driving.

"Well, of course, that was just a rebellious phase, but now she’s a big girl, right, Little Gu?" my mother added, turning around.

Eh? I looked up and caught a glimpse of myself in the rearview mirror—my face was flushed, and a happy smile hung on my lips. Am I really that happy? I felt as if I had suddenly become someone I didn't recognize.

Even though it was summer break, students who passed the math competition selection still went to the first lecture hall every day—lectures in the morning, drilling problems in the afternoon. Because we were often assigned impossible second-round problems, some students jokingly renamed the math competition class "Suicide Class."

I wasn't the least bit upset about my vacation being encroached upon. Firstly, the league competition was in two months; secondly, the mere thought of being able to sit next to her and listen to lectures made the weather seem bright and life lovely. However, there were times... I would sit staring at a problem for half an hour, only to snap back to reality and realize I hadn't even written down a single formula; I had just been thinking about Lingquan—though if asked exactly what I was thinking about, I couldn't seem to say.

Lingquan was wearing her school uniform shirt again today. She looked so good; I could never get tired of looking at her. How are things with Lingquan and her parents lately? Will she be signing up for a lot of cram schools over the summer break... Actually, I could go too. The bell rang—I wonder if she’s tried the new oolong tea in the vending machine. Wait! Why does that boy from Class 3 keep coming over to ask questions? No, no, I just took notes on that problem; don't get close to Lingquan, just ask me instead! I wanted to rush over immediately... Thankfully, Lingquan did as she always did: she just wrote the solution on paper and handed it over, without saying a single extra word. Phew... what was I worried about just now?

Gu Heqing! You cannot go on like this! I warned myself loudly in my heart. Is studying more important, or is Lingquan more important? It's studying! Studying!

Uh, or, is it studying so that I can keep being with Lingquan?

Speaking of which, the class placement results...

"The results are out!" someone suddenly ran into the classroom, breathless, and shouted, "On the bulletin board in the General Building!"

The entire lecture hall emptied as everyone rushed out. Lingquan grabbed my wrist, and for once, she followed along, looking quite excited.

"Seriously, I can't see..." Lingquan was blocked by a group of tall boys in front. I stood on tiptoe, jumping left and right, searching for our names. I was fairly confident in my ranking—they said there were two Heaven-Track classes this year, Class 1 and Class 2—but what if, what if I bombed the finals? Or, if we both made it, but one of us was in Class 1 and the other in Class 2... Oh, good, the people in front moved a bit.

I walked to the tables for Class 1 and Class 2 and searched from the bottom up. It felt like the moment the winning numbers for a grand prize were being drawn...

Class 1, not there. Class 2...

I saw myself. The new student numbers were arranged by gender and alphabetical order; I was number 13 in Class 2. Lingquan was just above me, number 11 in Class 2. I hit the jackpot! Or rather, I was happier than if I had won five million!

"We're in the same class!" I shook Lingquan’s shoulders vigorously. "I know, I know—" she replied, her voice distorted by my shaking.

So, I spent the rest of the afternoon daydreaming about all the scenarios of being in the same class as Lingquan once school started. Until evening, when school ended, I shoved a stack of unfinished league competition papers into my bag and turned left, walking shoulder-to-shoulder with her toward the school gate.

Am I dreaming? I pinched the back of my hand. It hurt. Wait, what if you can feel pain in a dream? I opened my palm and counted my fingers: one, two, three, four, five; one, two, three, four, five. No problem. It’s real. Then—perhaps I have already used up all the luck of a lifetime in these past few days.

Even if that were true, I wouldn't regret it at all.