That one day, when he was coming home, my crew staged a blockade at the gate.
I set up challenges that were physical only: 500 push-ups, 400 sit-ups, treadmill sprints, an hour of orienteering—then come on through if you can.
The former school heartthrob collapsed like a dog’s day, sprawled on his fiancée’s doorstep, exhausted. Brains made up for lack of stamina—I’m talking to you, Lucas Blake. Don’t leave after school!
– My name is Zoe Summers. Zoe, as in the "Zoe" of Zoe.
My childhood friend is Lucas Blake—quiet, ruthless in a cool way, handsome, and not dramatic.
We were born the same year—he in the dead of winter, I in the cusp of spring and summer—so I’m younger than him.
Our families lived in the same rowhouse. Our windows faced each other—so close I could kick and hit his room.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m not rich. He is.
I come from a family of educators: Dad’s a high school teacher, Mom’s a middle school teacher, Grandpa was an elementary principal, Grandma ran a preschool.
His family was in business. What kind? No idea.
I just know when I was in preschool, my dad marveled at Mr. Blake’s sedan—"That thing’s got oomph!"
In elementary school, he admired Mr. Blake’s Audi.
In middle school, he coveted Mr. Blake’s Benz.
By high school, he was praising Mr. Blake’s Rolls-Royce like it was royalty.
I don’t remember exactly when Lucas and I met. He was just always there growing up.
He didn’t talk much and liked books. I didn’t care for books and liked to fight.
Thanks to my "bookish family," I somehow became the playground bully starting in preschool.
Parents came to my grandma’s office to complain about kids hitting others, and half the time they were calling my name.
I’d bare my teeth at classmates at preschool, and Grandma would go home and make bamboo-shoot stew for me.
I didn’t bully kids on purpose—those kids stole Lucas’s sketchbook first!
I never stole Lucas’s sketchbook. I only stole cherries from Lucas’s little panda lunchbox.
Preschool trays were always apples, bananas, oranges…but Lucas’s panda lunchbox had lychees, cherries, mangoes.
"What is this? Never seen it before. It’s so good!" I spoke in full-on Northeastern dialect back then.
Lucas wasn’t mad. He’d hand me cherries with his tiny hands.
For those two preschool years, I protected Lucas—ate his food, drank his drinks, even slept over at his place.
Mr. and Mrs. Blake were busy with work. They sent gifts to my parents, so sometimes Lucas stayed at our house.
We were four or five, piled onto one bed, falling asleep who-knows-how-many times.
My memories are fuzzy—mostly lychees, cherries, mangoes, and that clean, nice smell that clung to Lucas.
When elementary started, it was my time to shine.
The school was next to our house. Lucas and I walked hand in hand with our backpacks to school.
Every time we left, my mom warned, "Zoe, look after Luke. Watch out for cars."
"Got it!"
I’d yank Lucas along and run.
After third grade, Lucas wouldn’t let me hold his hand anymore.
My mom’s reminder changed to, "Luke, look after Zoe. Keep an eye on her."
We ended up in the same class. At first we were desk mates. After third grade, the teacher put the troublemaker—me—in the front row, seat one, always reserved for the top student. That became Lucas’s spot.
Lucky for me, she didn’t put the last seat in the back reserved for the bottom kid—otherwise I’d have been as unreachable as a cloud.
Kids’ lives are colorful, but darkness creeps in.
Sometime along the way, the class split into camps.
Good students rallied around Lucas—competing in contests, joining school events, grades that were immaculate.
Bad students rallied around me—specializing in "Don’t leave after school," "Block him by the restroom," and arranging fights.
Lucas and I didn’t hang out at school much beyond arrival and dismissal.
But nights were different. My short legs could just reach the two-family balcony between our houses. After cartoons, I’d "escape" and go copy his homework.
One spring, Lucas had his dad buy a tree. He dug with a little shovel in the strip between our yards for three or four days and planted it.
I helped him dig and asked, "Why plant this?"
He glanced at me. "When we grow up, you can climb it. Then you won’t have to sneak through my window."
I looked at the sapling—shorter than me—and thought, That "when we grow up" is forever away.
In fifth grade, rumors spread that Lucas was transferring schools. I was thrilled—who asked for his leaving, anyway?
After school, while he packed, I grinned and butted in, "Luke, someone said you’re transferring. I’ve already cleared it up!"
He paused, mid-placing-books-in-his-bag. "Hm."
"Let’s go! I’m getting chicken from the skewer stand outside today!"
"That’s unhealthy."
"Tastes good!"
"Don’t eat too much."
"I’m having three!"
"One."
"Three!"
"I’ll tell your mom."
"…Two."
I chomped away at the fried chicken skewer, strolling home with him. Right before the door, Luke stopped me. "Zoe."
"Huh?"
I turned, a bit of chicken bone in my mouth. He whispered, "I might have to move."
At first I didn’t get it. Then it hit me: "You’re really transferring?!"
The chicken bone dropped. I didn’t mourn the bone. I mourned Lucas.
I was small and couldn’t hold it together—tears just fell.
I’d rarely cried even in front of family—when I did, I got scolded. But this was the first time I’d cried in front of him.
He hurried to say, "I’ll talk to my dad. Don’t cry yet."
I wiped my snot and tears; I didn’t want to let him go.
He went to negotiate with his dad—the result was predictable.
A few days later, the Blakes started loading up their house.
At dinner, my parents casually mentioned that Mr. Blake’s business had grown; they were moving to Capital City. They’d bought a big villa facing the Imperial Palace, flowers in spring and warmth. And Lucas was so smart—going to Capital City would be better for his studies… I knew about Capital City: the Imperial Palace, the Great Wall, and Havenridge University.
In third grade, a teacher asked us to write our goals. Half the class wanted to be teachers, half wanted to be scientists. Only Lucas wrote "Havenridge University."
The teacher praised him for ambition, saying he’d surely make it.
Looks like she was right.
But university felt impossibly far away—I hadn’t even finished elementary school.
On the day Lucas left, I sobbed and clung to him, refusing to let go.
He gave me a ceramic cat bank, telling me it held money he’d saved—use it later for shaved ice, chicken skewers, soda.
I cried harder.
He left in his dad’s brand-new Audi. I couldn’t bear it.
That night I cried through an always-unresolved cartoon and pried open the bottom of the bank. Inside were big bills.
I wailed even louder.
My parents couldn’t watch it anymore. They told me: study hard, kiddo—Lucas will take the entrance exam for Havenridge. If you make it too, you’ll see him again.
Okay.
I went to my room and wrote on a math book I’d never opened: "I will get into Havenridge"—in shaky handwriting and with pinyin underlines where I couldn’t remember characters.
Childhood vows—like becoming a teacher or a scientist—are easy to forget.
So are childhood playmates.
With new friends, the shadows of youth fade—edges blur, then vanish… Yeah, right.
Lucas left, but he left the bank and Grandpa Mao’s bills.
Every time I spent shaved ice or chicken on Lucas’s money, I couldn’t forget him.
No matter how many buddies or close friends I had, the guy who stood at the top of the food chain and tossed around cash remained my favorite.
For years after, besides our old photos, the image I never forgot was that pale, youthful, delicate face behind the Audi window on the day he left.
– The first year after Lucas left, the sapling in the yard wasn’t as tall as me.
The second year, it was taller than me.
Seasons turned.
I finished elementary.
When I started middle school I felt like this was more my home turf—my happy place.
On the third day of school, I led half the boys in my grade and gave the upperclassmen who’d bullied us a good opening- day beatdown.
I fought three at once, straddling a bigger kid and bashing his head with a bilingual English-Chinese dictionary.
Thanks, Mom—Ms. Reed, my English homeroom teacher for ninth grade—this dictionary was thick and practical.
I became famous overnight.
People gave me a nickname: Boss Zoe.
People who disliked me sniped behind my back: Zoe the Wild.
If I bit, it hurt.
Even though I loved fighting, I was well-liked—among both boys and girls.
In PE, sleeves rolled up, in shorts, showing off lean, strong arms and long legs, sweating on the basketball court with the boys, the girls would stomp and cover their faces, shouting, "Boss Zoe is so cool! Boss Zoe, look over here!"
Middle-school rules say you need to develop morally, intellectually, physically, artistically, and practically. I was all-around—except academics. I tried to be the best at everything else.
I thought I was a good student.
But my mom—Ms. Reed—didn’t agree. She spent more time in the homeroom teacher’s office than in her own.
She always said the family of teachers was too limiting for my talent. So in the second semester of seventh grade, I spent most of my time hanging with the PE teacher—yes, I became a specialty student, an uncommon female long-distance runner.
The track was my home. The sun was my mother. If you wanted a fight, look for Zoe in 7-4.
Thank you, everyone.
— Lucas left a lot of money, but even a lot runs out.
Near the end of seventh grade, one day I ran a few kilometers: three and a half laps around school, then three and a half around the neighborhood.
From afar I saw a boxy car parked at the community gate. The triangular emblem was the coolest triangle I’d ever seen.
Not one to waste a route, I ran three and a half laps around the Benz too, wiped my sweat, and slipped into the house.
I didn’t give it much thought, but at dinner my dad, with half a beer’s worth of courage, praised Mr. Blake’s Benz.
I perked up, ears pricked. "Mr. Blake’s back?"
"He’s back."
My dad answered with a grin.
I dropped my chopsticks and bolted for the door.
Only three steps out and my dad finished the rest of his beer. “Left again,” he said.
I yanked the door open and craned my neck to look. The Benz was gone—no sign of it.
I trudged back to my seat, shoulders slumped.
My mom carried a basin of bok choy and tofu soup and, seeing me like that, asked, “Why’s our little Zoe so down?”
“I thought Lucas would be back,” I said, fishing a leaf from the soup with my chopsticks.
My dad poured another beer from a 330ml can and said slowly, “Lucas didn’t come back.”
Oh.
I chewed the greens, thinking I already knew that. If he’d come back, he’d have come straight to me first.
My dad took another slow swig. “But he’ll be back soon.”
God.
I forced the vegetables down, grabbed the beer glass, and shoved it at my dad without thinking, “Drink it, Dad—down it in one go, and say it all at once!”
He didn’t expect his daughter of more than ten years to be so filial—coerced into the one-chug performance.
He coughed and spluttered, his face red and veins bulging.
My dad, Mr. Summers—veteran math teacher at Ridgeview High—almost choked on a beer.
Lucas really hadn’t come back. But Lucas had to come back.
His household registration was here; without it, he couldn’t go take the high school entrance exam anywhere else.
Thank you, homeland, for the glorious hukou system!
Four more years of gravy, sooner or later the vultures will come for us all!
That night I poked at the empty ceramic cat bank for ages—if Lucas didn’t come back, I wouldn’t have any money for soda.
It’d been almost three years since Lucas left.
The sapling in our yard had grown into a small tree—branches spreading, roots thickening.
My dad said Lucas would be back soon. I wasn’t sure what “soon” meant.
Weeks slipped by. I set up four or five hangouts that never happened. Lucas still wasn’t back.
At first the waiting made me restless, but eventually I started keeping busy.
Eating, fights, skipping practice—what was more important than waiting for someone?
My rambunctious first year in middle school took a strange turn when I found a letter tucked into my desk.
It was pastel blue and pink—thin and scented.
It took me a long beat to realize: I’d gotten a love letter… I think?
Love letters aren’t exactly unheard of, but getting one felt different.
Me—part little wolf dog, part rough guy, part girl-school bully—received a love letter!
My crew roasted me for it for a long time.
The sincere letter got passed around and read by everyone.
Consensus: it was beautifully written—just that the writer seemed a little blind.
As it turned out, the blind don’t come alone—they come in packs.
After that first letter, more people started throwing glances my way, some overt, some not.
To my shock, admirers were both boys and girls.
Me: …I’m still female, so Miss, can you not be blushing at me?
I rejected every confession without exception.
Ms. Reed and Mr. Summers had preached: don’t date early—focus on school and run the long race.
I ran the long race—hard.
And I reaped the rewards.
Before the end of seventh grade I won my first medal: champion of the City Junior Girls’ Cross-Country. I shattered the record, lapped the second-place runner by half a circuit, and led by miles.
Being a specialty student wasn’t my choice, but the athlete label seemed to choose me.
The night I got the medal, I jumped around my room like a monkey until I was exhausted. Then, holding the medal, I kissed it hard.
I hung it on a hanger in my closet and—looking at it from every angle—decided that didn’t feel right.
My eyes wandered around the room and finally landed on the ceramic cat bank.
There was no money left in it, but it still had a use.
I looped the ribbon around the cat’s head and hung the medal on its head. The gold disk nestled against the cat’s belly. I patted the cat and thought of its original owner.
Lucas, when will you come back…
–
Lucas wasn’t coming back.
That’s what my dad said.
That day Mr. Blake came over and moved Lucas’s household registration.
I was slow to process it, then blurted, “So will Lucas come back later?”
“Probably not,” my dad said. “Why would he come back if his hukou isn’t here?”
If the hukou is here, Lucas would come back. If the hukou isn’t here, he won’t—now or ever.
I said, “Oh,” and figured he hadn’t promised to return when he left, so fine—he wouldn’t.
That evening after dinner I was stretching in the yard as usual and looked up at the tree between our houses.
Three years and it looked great—branches lush, getting pretty full.
And like the tree, I was growing too.
Without Lucas I had other brothers—my crew.
Putting the fighters aside, two were closest to me.
Jack Cooper—an absolute dumpster-fire student, always second-to-last in the year, already over 5’9" in seventh grade, dark-skinned and standing there he could’ve passed for a freshly painted utility pole.
We weren’t in the same class, but we fought side-by-side against the eleventh-grade bullies and bonded hard.
Noah Lang—top of the class, the academic prodigy, never ranked lower than first since he arrived. Pale, handsome, glasses, the epitome of a well-mannered boy.
He doesn’t fight. He’s my deskmate.
Our form teacher believes in raising the bottom as much as praising the top; together we all try to improve and occasionally go off the rails.
So I always had a black-and-white duo by my side.
On the far side of the field are two sets of uneven bars. When bored, Jack and I would sit on top while Noah stood below. The three of us would feel the wind and talk about nonsense.
They were curious about all the love letters I got.
“Boss Zoe,” Jack asked me, “what kind of person do you like?”
“A person-kind,” I said offhand.
“That’s useless,” Jack clicked his fingers, grinning as he poked himself. “What about someone like me?”
“Nope,” I said without hesitation.
“Why not? What’s wrong with me?” Jack looked hurt.
“Actually…” I looked at him solemnly, “I like people who study well.”
Noah, leaning on the bars with a book, pushed up his glasses. “You mean me?”
I burst out laughing, flashing a row of little white teeth. “I like someone taller than me!”
Jack and Noah exchanged a look and shrugged.
I was tall and long-legged—already a head taller than Noah.
Jack called me nonsense, but honestly, when it came to liking someone, I couldn’t be bothered.
Teenage hormones fumbled around in cryptic ways. I threw myself into long-distance running and fights.
Medals beat boyfriends.
Fights beat early romance.
–
I believed in hard work bringing rewards. While others passed out love notes, I entered every competition I could.
On the track, nobody beat me.
Those years I collected every medal I could—from city meets to provincial events.
We called it a “complete sweep.”
My medals clink-clinked on the ceramic cat’s head.
Old ones stacked on new ones, ribbons layering in every color.
Mr. Summers and Ms. Reed stopped worrying I wouldn’t study.
After graduation from middle school, my countless medals and honors helped me glide into Ridgeview High.
Mr. Summers personally brought home my admission letter, made a copy, and framed it in the study.
The night the acceptance was confirmed he swapped the 330ml beer for a 500ml, and fueled by the drink, lectured from algebra and functions all the way to calculus—speaking boldly, like someone who’d endured a decade only to knock down the Berlin Wall.
To me, he was simply relieved I wouldn’t drop out.
Once upon a time my parents feared I’d only be fit for nine years of compulsory education—that I’d drop out early, ruin my life with cigarettes, alcohol, tattoos, and crazy haircuts, become an unstable element for our family, and make their already mystified “why did two teachers give birth to a wild child?” situation even worse.
On the first morning of school I slung my empty backpack over my shoulder and glanced at the tree in the yard.
It had flourished over the years.
At the gate I ran face-to-face into my black-and-white duo.
Noah made it into the top school on his merit; Jack got in because his dad donated an indoor basketball court.
No matter what, the three of us were still together.
Less than a week into tenth grade, I showed off my bully skills again.
In the alley behind the school’s back gate I took on four guys.
No hidden agenda—I simply couldn’t stand them picking on a scholarship kid who was meek and afraid to fight back.
It wasn’t an easy scuffle. I split my eyebrow, but they got hit worse.
I nodded at the trembling skinny boy and said, “If they bully you again, come find me. Class 10-6—Zoe Summers.”
“…Thanks,” he said cautiously. “I’m Evan White, 11th Grade Class 7.”
I knew—he’d spoken at the opening ceremony. The penniless golden phoenix from the mountains; top of 11th grade, his achievements pinned to the honor board.
Poor but proud; timid but unbowed.
“Good morning, senior,” I grinned, eyes crinkling. “I’ve got your back, Senior White.”
Evan looked at me a long time, then gave me a shy smile.
Walking out of the alley, I saw Jack jogging toward me. He peered in and clicked his tongue. “You really hit hard.”
“If I went easy they’d never learn,” I snorted. “Those cowards who gang up on kids—that’s one I beat every time.”
This wasn’t random—every fight I got into had a reason.
Manners taught kindness—but my rule was retaliation with force.
At the mouth of the alley, Noah met us, pushed up his glasses, and handed me a bandage.
“Thanks!” I called, loud and casual.
After school I went to the office to find Mr. Summers—and got caught with the bandage.
“Dad,” I raised my hand, “I wasn’t the one who started!”
My dad was used to my fights by then, but he still made me stand by the door and gave me a forty-five-minute lecture.
Professional habit—if you’re going to teach, teach a full lesson and don’t waste a second.
I was used to it too—the lecture went in one ear and out the other.
Professional habit: if you can zone out for a whole period, don’t hang on to another word.
Starting high school wasn’t all sunshine for me.
First off—
I stopped growing.
In middle school my height made me tower over everyone. In high school I got leveled off like someone detonated the tallest peak.
169.5 cm—couldn’t it have been a nice round number? Half a centimeter more wouldn’t have hurt!
Of course, the universe is tragic.
Meanwhile, already-tall Jack Cooper just breezed up to 187.
Even Noah Lang crossed 180.
My sadness formed a river and flooded everything.
I had no one to vent to.
After lunch, Jack and I planned to sneak over the back wall to the game café for some three-lane chaos and gankfesting.
Jack dawdled, couldn’t get over the wall, so I used the training excuse and climbed up the rear wall cleanly.
I was sitting on the wall, ready to drop down, when I noticed three boys blocking two girls below.
The boys were in Central High uniforms; the girls were in Ridgeview uniforms.
One of the boys held a pretty big stuffed bear and insisted on shoving it at one of the girls. She refused, and they wouldn’t let them pass.
The two girls were on the verge of tears.
I couldn’t help snorting.
Not loud, not quiet—just right. The street was mostly empty; only those five were tussling, and my sound drew ten eyes to me.
I perched on one leg with my foot on the wall, one hand lazily draped over my knee, and tilted my chin down at them: “She said no already. You guys look like people—but how do you have such bad ears?”
“Mind your own business.”
“None of your business, too nosy!”
The three boys shot back.
The autumn wind, somewhere between seasons, blew my thinned hair up. I propped my chin on my hand and smiled, head tilted: “Our girls don’t like you, yet you shamelessly block them like you own the sidewalk. Do your principal, your teachers, your parents, your classmates know what a nuisance you are?”
They pointed at me, flustered and angry.
“Get down here!”
“Come on, get down!”
The school wall was about eight feet. I kicked off and leapt down, landing that dull thud on the pavement, then casually stood in front of them. “I’m down. Now what?”
And, of course, it turned into a fight.
Not them beating me up—me beating them up.
I didn’t go hard, just a few kicks each, and I chucked the poor stuffed bear back to the girls so we could all be reunited.
Two girls were clinging to my uniform hem behind me, pale with fright.
I made a rude hand gesture at the three boys (very friendly) and said, “Block our girls again and I’ll knock your teeth out!”
They cursed and ran, imagining their heads being knocked off.
I snorted and turned to the two pretty girls. “It’s okay now. They won’t try that again.”
“Th—thank you, Xia—no, thank you, Zoe!” one of them gushed.
I waved it off, unconcerned. “No big deal. Don’t worry about it.”
Girls in my eyes are flowers—each different, each beautiful. Because of them, the world is pretty. Anyone who dares bully these flowers? I’ll break their front teeth.
The other girl, braver, said, “We’re in 10th Grade Class 2. A few days ago you were on the assembly stage… speaking. We thought you were handsome, too bad you were born the wrong gender…”
Assembly speech?
Oh—right, that time I read the self-criticism aloud.
I scratched my head and grinned. “I didn’t get the wrong gender.”
“Huh?”
Both girls looked at me.
I smiled and said, loud and proud, “Girls can be handsome too!”
No one owns the adjective “handsome.” It doesn’t belong only to boys.
The two girls burst out laughing.
I was about to tell them to hurry back to school so I could get to the game café, but their gazes kept slipping past me, looking back over their shoulders. Their eyes were wide, like marbles.
My chest went cold—those idiots back already?
I turned to look.
Late autumn: willow leaves, dry and curled, drifted down in the wind.
Beside the willow stood a tall, graceful boy.
Black hair, fair skin, a face so arresting I couldn’t look away.
Beautiful and composed. Noble and clear.
We looked at each other.
Though we were far apart, in that moment something in me crossed the distance and locked on him.
I didn’t speak—I just stared for several seconds.
A willow leaf brushed across his brow. He blinked slowly and then said softly, “Zoe, I’m home—”
The instant he blinked, I lunged.
Light and sound cannot keep up with me; I was faster.
He only said six words before cutting off.
I ran up and threw my arms around him, crashing into his chest.
There was a faint, clean scent about him that wrapped around me. In this late-autumn chill—when everything else was falling away—he felt like spring and summer at once, warm as ever.
My nose prickled. I couldn’t hold it: “You came back! I thought you weren’t coming back!”
After years apart, Lucas Blake had grown taller, but I’m not blind—I recognized him instantly.
Lucas hadn’t expected my full-on hug. He paused a beat, then reached up and patted the back of my head. “Yeah. I’m back.”
Pure joy.
I was hugging Lucas, bouncing in place, clinging tight, when a voice behind me swore.
I straightened and glanced back.
Jack stood there, mouth open, unbelieving. “Boss Zoe—what the hell are you doing?”
I wasn’t doing magic.
I was doing Lucas.
…No, I wasn’t doing Lucas!
I was doing reunion!
Proud, I jabbed a thumb at Lucas. “My childhood friend—we grew up in the same pants.”
Jack was speechless. “You two can fit into the same pants at your heights?”
Me: …I sneak another look at Lucas. How is he so tall now?!
Lucas looked steadier than he had as a kid. Standing beside me, he nodded to Jack. “I’m Lucas Blake—Zoe’s… childhood friend.”
The phrase didn’t strike me as odd. I beamed at him. “This dork is Jack. He’s my ride-or-die.”
Jack glanced at Lucas and frowned, then looked at me. “How come I never knew you had a childhood friend?”
“You didn’t even know I’d get my period!” I blurted before thinking.
I explained to Lucas, “Back in middle school he borrowed my uniform jacket and found a sanitary pad in my pocket and—like an idiot—asked what it was…”
“Stop it!” Jack yanked my sleeve, his face flushing a ridiculous red.
Lucas frowned briefly, then relaxed without judgment at Jack’s cluelessness.
I grinned and asked Lucas, “Why are you back? Are you leaving again?”
“Not for now,” Lucas said, plucking two willow leaves from my hair. “I’m registering at Ridgeview tomorrow.”
“Really?!” I squealed—joy 2.0.
“Really.”
“Perfect!” I started planning immediately. “We’ll walk to class together, do homework, you write and I copy—no, you write, I copy—skip class to hit the game café, I jungle, you mid—”
“Zoe,” Jack gaped, “are you that heartless? New guy and you forget your old guy?”
I waved a hand. “He’s older.”
Jack had no comeback.
Lucas watched my excitement and smiled. “You can’t copy my homework if it’s not the same level.”
My grin faltered. “Don’t be stingy—homework is—”
I stopped, studying him up and down. “You aren’t the same type as Jack, are you?”
There are many species of underachievers.
“What do you mean same type? What type is Jack?” Jack protested.
I patted Lucas’s shoulder comfortingly. “Don’t worry. If you can’t write, just copy Noah Lang’s.”
Lucas didn’t answer.
To celebrate his return, I immediately persuaded Noah to skip class with us.
There’s a small diner by the school; I treated.
Noah’s easy to get out—claim a headache, stomachache; teachers always believed him because he’s the good kid.
There were two chairs across the table. Lucas and I sat on one side; Noah and Jack on the other.
The server brought the menu and I slid it across without hesitation.
Jack perked up. “Thanks for thinking of me, Boss Zoe.”
“No problem,” I said casually. “I know what Lucas likes.”
I really did. I ordered several dishes without needing the menu.
Lucas finished my sentence: “Cabbage and tofu soup with dried shrimp, braised yellow croaker.”
I flashed him a small smile.
Jack set the menu down, expressionless.
Curious, I asked him, “You not ordering?”
“You guys ordered six or seven dishes already—how much more can you eat?” Jack snapped.
Noah pushed his glasses up. “Two days ago you said your pocket was cleaner than your face.”
“There’s still money in the pocket to buy Lucas a meal,” I said without blinking.
“That’s fine,” Lucas said softly. “This one’s on me. Order whatever.”
“You heard that—he’s paying,” I tossed the menu back. “Don’t be shy.”
Noah adjusted his glasses. Jack paused with the menu in his hand.
Lucas smiled slightly. “Don’t be polite.”
While they picked dishes, I peppered Lucas with questions. “How’d you get back? My dad said your household registration was gone, you couldn’t come back.”
“My household registration has always been here,” Lucas answered, testing the tea with the pot. “I came back to prepare for college entrance exams.”
“How did you do on middle school tests?”
Lucas rinsed my plate with warm water. “I went to school abroad for middle school.”
“Ooh—what’s abroad like?”
“Okay.”
“Is the food good?”
“Not as good as home.”
“Are the people attractive?”
“Not really.”
I, a girl who’d never left the country, brimmed with curiosity about the unknown.
Across from us, Noah stared out the window in silence. Jack tapped his chopsticks on the plate.
I chattered nonstop. Lucas was patient and answered everything.
It was a satisfying meal.
Noah and Jack together barely ate as much as me.
I clicked my tongue. “Come on, you guys have no appetite for battle.”
By the time we finished, it was afternoon. Noah and Jack headed back to school; Lucas had enrollment to take care of.
I canceled the half-day plan at the game café and stayed with Lucas.
I took the chance to show him every corner of the school, playing host to the max.
We were walking under the faculty building when someone shouted up at me.
"Zoe!
Stop skipping class and wandering around the field!"
Mr. Summers had me locked in from three floors up.
I looked up and, smiling, yelled back toward him, "Dad!
Lucas is back!"
"Huh?!"
Mr. Summers sounded surprised.
I nudged the person beside me forward and kept yelling with a grin, "Lucas!
Dad!
Lucas is back!"
Mr. Summers made a little "oof" sound. "Luke?
Luke, wait a minute, I’ll be right down!"
I laughed and turned to Lucas. "My dad missed you too!"
Lucas looked at me. His eyes were just as bright and dazzling as ever, laughter flickering across them like light on water. "You’re the same as before."
"I always am."
I smiled.
My dad hurried down the stairs and reached Lucas, out of breath.
"Mr. Blake."
Lucas greeted politely.
"Well, well, Luke," Mr. Summers looked him over from head to toe, "you’ve grown so tall. Even better-looking than when you were little."
"Luke didn’t turn out ugly," I boasted. "I recognized him right away."
"Luke didn’t turn out ugly. You did," my dad had a gift for the backhanded compliment. "Look at Luke, then look at you — it’s a masterpiece: the youth and his little mutt."
I pinched my nose and got to the point. "Lucas is going to Ridgeview. I’m taking him to enroll."
"You do the enrolling?" my dad swatted at me like a fly. "You get back to class. I’ll take Luke to do the paperwork."
"But I want to be with Lucas," I pleaded. "We haven’t seen each other in years, Dad—"
"Say ‘teacher’!" My dad’s face went stern. "You go to class. After school, you two come home together."
I looked at Lucas with big eyes.
Lucas smiled at me. "I’ll wait for you after school."
"Okay," I relented, turning away in little glances and still reminding him, "Wait for me! …Don’t leave! …Let’s go home together!"
"Okay, yeah, sure," Lucas agreed to everything.
Back in class, I spotted Noah Lang and Jack Cooper huddled together right away.
I strode over and slapped Jack on the shoulder, "What are you whispering about?"
"Boss Zoe," Jack folded his arms, tone unfriendly, "who’s the handsome guy? Your childhood friend? Where did the bamboo come from? How come Noah and I don’t know anything?"
"He grew up by our house since I was born!" I sat on Noah’s back desk, thrilled. "Isn’t he handsome? And smart! When he was little my dad said he was super smart. You remember the elementary math contests? He was number one in the city, top ten in the province, national-level… and that was without much coaching — my dad only half-pushed him. Not only is he smart, he’s polite to everyone and always smiling. Have you noticed? He has dimples when he smiles! As a kid I used to poke his dimples because I didn’t have any — I’d stick a chopstick to my cheek trying to copy his… Oh, and that tree in our yard you guys have seen? He planted that…"
I couldn’t stop babbling about Lucas.
Jack and Noah exchanged a look, their faces serious. They weren’t thrilled with my nonstop praise.
"Zoe," Noah interrupted and asked quietly, "you wouldn’t start dating early, just because of him?"
"What?" I didn’t get it. "How is early dating related to him?"
Those were two different things; they didn’t connect.
Noah snorted. "As long as it’s not him."
"Yeah," Jack hummed. "As long as it’s not him."
I didn’t hear a single word of the afternoon classes. My mind kept drifting outside.
Enrollment shouldn’t take that long, right? Why hasn’t Lucas shown up? Mr. Summers should put him in my class, right? I paced my feet like a metronome, anxious.
One period passed, then two… the last bell rang, and still no Lucas.
The dismissal bell sounded and I grabbed my backpack, ready to bolt.
"Boss Zoe," Jack was quick and grabbed a strap. "Where are you going?"
"Home!" I tugged.
"Aren’t we supposed to go to Central High to confront them today?" Jack protested.
"I’m not going. Go without me. I don’t have time." I yanked my bag back hard and ran for the exit without looking back.
"Boss Zoe, wait for me!" Jack chased after me.
I was frantic to find Lucas and kicking myself for not getting his number… if he disappeared again I wouldn’t even know where to look!
I had barely stepped out the classroom door when I slammed on the brakes.
"Zoe—hey!"
I stopped short only to have Jack crash into me from behind.
Like a little dog leaping at a boy, he lunged straight into Lucas’s arms.
"Careful." Lucas caught him.
I beamed at him. "What are you doing here? I was just going to find you!"
"I knew you got out of school, so I came to wait," Lucas said, helping me straighten up. He took my backpack from me and weighed it. "This light?"
"It’s light because there’s nothing in it." I shrugged.
Lucas swung the lightweight pack over his shoulder. "Going home?"
"Yep!" I answered without hesitation.
His gaze flicked to Jack. He smiled. "Zoe and I will head home first. See you tomorrow."
"Let’s go!" I grabbed Lucas’s arm and hurried.
I’m used to running; Lucas isn’t. To keep pace with him I actually walked for once.
It takes about twenty minutes on foot from school to home. I jabbered the whole way, rattling off everything I could remember from when he left until now.
By the time we reached our front gate I had only gotten through half of it.
Lucas stood by the little tree between our houses. "It’s gotten so tall."
"Yeah!" I preened. "I water it every week, add fertilizer, till the soil — look at the others in the neighborhood, none of them are as big or strong."
"You’ve been attentive." Lucas smiled at me.
My care for that tree wasn’t casual. It was intense — second only to my obsession with cross-country medals. The orphaned thing Lucas left behind could only rely on me, its single "widowed" caretaker—sorry, my vocabulary’s not great, but you get the idea.
That night I dragged Lucas over for dinner.
He casually filled me in on what he’d been doing the past few years and why he’d come back now.
Turns out he came back on his own. Mr. Blake and Mrs. Blake were busy with business, they’d hired a nanny and basically dropped their underage son off at his old home. That was even bolder than what my parents would do.
At dinner I asked Mr. Summers if Lucas would be in my grade.
Mr. Summers blinked. "What are you thinking? Lucas is a senior. How could he be in your tenth-grade class?"
My mouth nearly choked on a forkful of cabbage. "He’s a senior?!"
Don’t mess with me — Lucas and I are the same age. How did he suddenly become a senior?
"I skipped a grade when I was abroad," Lucas said, handing me the fruit juice he’d barely touched. "I’m back this year to take the college entrance exam."
I stared. "So… you’ll only be at Ridgeview for a year?"
"Yeah." Lucas nodded.
My mood curdled.
After dinner Lucas went home to pack. I lay on my bedroom balcony, watching him open suitcases and moving boxes across the yard.
I couldn’t help myself and shouted, "Lucas!"
He looked up and smiled. "Yeah?"
I puffed my lips. "Just a year, and then you’re leaving again."
Lucas set his things down, opened his door, and joined me on the balcony.
We stood a little over three feet apart — close enough to hear each other’s breathing.
"I’m going to study university here," Lucas said.
"I know." I let my head droop. "You could’ve stayed abroad. Burgers every day…"
Lucas drew in a deep breath, half a sigh, half a smile. "Do you know where the best sports university in the country is?"
I shook my head.
His short hair twitched as he spoke. "In Capital City."
My ears perked. I looked up.
"My goal hasn’t changed: Capital City, Havenridge University. What’s your goal?"
"Also… Havenridge?" I wasn’t sure.
"Pick a realistic target," Lucas said.
I puffed my cheeks. "Havenridge was a pie-in-the-sky dream, but I didn’t think of anything else!"
"Then start thinking now," Lucas paused and smiled at me. "The world is huge. I want to see it with you."
"I’m a tenth grader and you’re a senior. Can we really go together?" I muttered.
Lucas exhaled and then went back inside to finish packing. I watched him move with calm order, then glanced up at the sky. What exactly was my goal?
The next morning I woke at my usual time, 5:30. After washing and changing into my P.E. clothes, I opened the window and glanced toward the balcony.
Lucas’s curtains were pulled tight.
Heh. Someone’s finally drawing the curtains!
I went for a jog around the neighborhood for an hour, showered, changed into my Ridgeview uniform, and hopped onto Lucas’s balcony to knock on his glass with a clatter.
Within two minutes the curtains were thrown open.
"Lucas!" I grinned in the morning light. "Let’s go to school together!"
Lucas was wearing the same ugly Ridgeview uniform as me — horribly tacky, but he still looked fantastic in it.
He opened the balcony door and saw my huge smiling face, and smiled back. "Okay."
We ate breakfast at Lucas’s house. The nanny could really cook — just shy of the street pancakes by maybe two eggs. Pancakes will always be divine.
After breakfast we skipped off toward school, me practically bouncing.
We passed a small convenience store and Lucas bought a cold cola, slipping it into my bag.
"Lucas!" I called.
"Hmm?"
He looked at me.
I crinkled my eyes in a grin. "You’re the best!"
"It’s fine, I just bought you a cola," Lucas said. "Has no one bought you anything these past few years?"
"Someone did buy for me — you did," I said, smiling. "When you left you gave me that cat bank with thousands of dollars in it, remember? I spent it all."
"What happened after the money ran out?"
Lucas asked.
"After you spend it, you’ll wait for me to come back, right?"
I answered without thinking, "See? You came back, now I get to have cola again."
He smiled at me. "My whole job is to buy you cola?"
"Not at all," I said offhand. "You do so much more—crushed-ice stalls, fried chicken skeletons, little barbecue stands, spicy hot pots. You’re basically my cola-and-snack supplier."
Lucas sighed again.
I noticed he picked up that habit as he grew older—huffing little sighs.
– Ridgeview High is a top school in the province and city, the kind that guarantees advancement.
For seniors, everything—virtue, intellect, physical education, art, labor—had narrowed down to one thing: the exam rankings.
Luckily, I’m only in 10th grade. But 10th grade isn’t great either, because it puts me far from Lucas.
I hadn’t realized before how rigid Ridgeview could be.
The campus buildings line up like a single row.
10th-grade building, 11th-grade building, faculty building, lab building, indoor gym, indoor pool, the computer-and-library block… and finally, the senior building.
What a long conga line!
Seniors are isolated from everything—kept apart, almost sacred.
But the school was naïve to think that separation could stop a long-distance runner.
During break it’s one thing, but when the lunch bell rings, I sprint to the senior building like my life depends on it.
I was determined to beat the bell!
Ever since Lucas enrolled, the school forum and confession wall were basically taken over by him.
He’s the handsome brainiac who came back from studying abroad—of course people like him.
But I knew no matter how many people fawned, Lucas wouldn’t say yes to any of them.
Like me, his eyes were fixed on one thing: studying!
I started going to the senior building to find Lucas for lunch, for dinner, to take walks and cool down, to wander home together.
After enough times, I became a familiar face in the senior crowd.
His classmates all knew he had a "school bully" childhood friend.
My classmates all knew I had a brainiac childhood buddy.
Whenever I showed up in Senior Class 1, someone would shout with a laugh, "Lucas, your childhood friend is here to eat with you!"
"Lucas, your childhood friend is here to walk you home!"
Lucas has a sweet temper, so he never protested. He packed his bag and walked out with me.
On the way home, he’d buy me snacks—what he considered acceptable: old-school braised meat, international chain fried chicken… Ever since he came back, I’d stopped eating the fried chicken skeleton at the school gate.
Fried chicken and the fried chicken skeleton are two different things—one has soul, the other doesn’t.
I tried to reason with him, but the conversation inevitably turned into a chemistry lecture.
About how gutter oil is refined and how the cheap chicken skeletons have bacteria levels way over safety limits… I have to say again—Lucas is kind! He just doesn’t talk much, but when he does, it’s straight to the point.
Succinct, precise—he always hits the nail.
I bit into soulless fried chicken and sat on his carpet, while he flipped through pages of practice problems.
"Lucas."
"Mm?"
He didn’t look up.
I asked curiously, "You’re so smart—why are you still up late doing practice problems?"
"If I don’t practice, how can I get into Havenridge?" he said, flipping to the latter half of an English reading section.
"But you’re so smart."
"Who isn’t?" Lucas turned his head and gave me a glance, smiling. "You’re smart too."
"Stop flattering me," I chewed on a crispy drumstick, slurring my words, "this month the seniors’ mock test—you’re first… that score is basically monstrous."
"I’m first, and you’re last," Lucas said calmly. "Did you ever find the answer to that question I asked you last time?"
"No," I shook my head. "Getting into university feels so far away for me. I’m bad at academics, but my specialty is fine. Coach says with my long-distance times, I could probably get into the provincial sports university."
Lucas tapped his pen on the test. "If you decide to try for the provincial sports university, eat more fried chicken and drink more cola."
"Why?"
"I’ll go to Capital City and won’t be able to buy these for you anymore. While I’m still here, eat as much as you want."
He turned back to his problems.
Ugh.
My chewing slowed. The thought of Lucas going to Capital City while I stayed—no more fried chicken and cola with him… no, there might still be fried chicken and cola, but not with Lucas.
That life would be so dull!
The more I thought about it, the more dreary it felt. The drumstick in my hand suddenly wasn’t appetizing.
By nine that night, I was still sulking over a tasteless drumstick. I kept eating anyway when Lucas glanced at me. "It’s nine. You should go home."
I gripped the bone and frowned. "It’s only nine. Don’t rush me."
"It’s not ‘only nine,’ it’s already nine. It’s not good to stay late."
"What’s so bad about it?" I planted myself on his carpet. "I want to stay a little longer. You keep studying; I won’t bother you."
"It’s not that I’m afraid you’ll bother me," Lucas paused. "It’s too late—go home."
I glared at him. "You haven’t even gone to Capital City yet and you’re already trying to distance yourself from me!"
Lucas smiled helplessly. "How would I distance myself? If I wanted to, I wouldn’t come back."
"Don’t pretend our household registration system doesn’t exist!" I snapped.
Lucas put down his pen, came over, and sat with me on the carpet. "I mean, you’re a girl—it’s not great to be in my room so late."
"I’m a girl and I’ve slept in your bed before. Why didn’t you mind then?" I rolled my eyes.
"Being a kid then isn’t the same as now." He reached up and ruffled my hair. "Be a good kid—wake me tomorrow morning and we’ll go to school together."
I shoved his hand away, staring wide-eyed and snapping, "If you’ve got the guts to kick me out, don’t sweet-talk me into coming back."
With that I leapt up, climbed through the window onto the balcony, and slipped back into my room.
I turned and saw Lucas sitting on the carpet, looking at me through the window.
Outside it was already winter; the floor heating made the windows’ edges frosty.
Through the clear glass fissured with ice, Lucas wore only a bulky knit sweater. His exposed neck looked long and clean in the cold white lamp light—half his face was lit so sharply it seemed pristine.
He watched me, smile still at his lips, voice neither loud nor soft: "Sleep early. Goodnight."
I snapped the curtain shut.
That night I broke my usual sleep habit and stayed up half an hour later than normal.
He told me to sleep early, and I stubbornly didn’t.
In that extra half hour I thought it over: Havenridge is hard to get into, but Lucas is smart and driven—maybe he really could make it.
His goal had never changed.
Third grade, he’d already set his future path. I briefly and blindly chased that path, but like an outdated elementary textbook, I left that rash goal behind.
I pulled out my phone and looked up Havenridge University on the map. From this bed to the campus—seeing the distance, I quietly shut the screen.
Next morning I went for my run like always and slipped over the balcony to find Lucas.
Yesterday’s small argument seemed not to have happened.
After breakfast he handed me a thermos and tucked it into my bag.
"What’s this?"
I peeked.
"A sports drink—low sugar," Lucas said. "Cut back on cola. Carbonated drinks aren’t good for long-distance runners."
"You put a sports drink in a thermos?"
Weird move.
Lucas glanced at me, "Warming it up doesn’t ruin its function. It’s winter."
Winter doesn’t change training, it just moves the track inside.
Shorter laps annoyed me. After I finished my training, I sat on the rubber track, twisted open the thermos, and drank.
"When did Zoe start getting health-conscious?" Coach smiled and walked over.
"Coach Huang," I swallowed and tried to stand.
"Sit," Coach patted my shoulder and sat with me. "I signed you up for next year’s Provincial Games junior girls’ long-distance race."
"Oh."
"This competition matters. If you place well, getting into the provincial sports university is almost guaranteed."
I nodded.
Coach cocked his head. "Why aren’t you excited? Not like you."
I rubbed the thermos, hesitating. "What if I don’t get into the provincial sports university…"
"You don’t want to?"
Coach thought for a moment. "Provincial teachers’ college sports program? That’s not bad either."
"I don’t want that either." I scratched my ear. "What if I want to try for Capital City’s sports university? Do you think I could?"
"Capital City…" Coach blinked and stared at me. "Capital City?!"
He whooped and startled me. "What’s the matter?"
He looked at me like I was a wonder. "You want to try for Capital City’s sports university?"
I asked quietly, "That school is in Capital City, right?"
Since it’s named that, it better be.
"It is," Coach said with a proud sigh. "I never thought you’d have such lofty goals—like shooting for the stars!"
Me? Lofty goals and stars? I was speechless.
Coach’s expression shifted to helplessness. "Capital City’s sports university is the best in the country. Olympic champions fight to go there. It’s tough to get in."
Olympians… my head went a little fuzzy.
There are two kinds of athletes: those trained professionally from childhood, the ones who grind day and night to fight for national and provincial teams. And then there are athletes like me—who win medals and are athletes, but are still basically students.
The gap is huge.
Seeing me hang my head, Coach softened his tone. "It’s not impossible… If you want to try, first you have to win provincial competitions—be first, not second. At worst, don’t fall out of the top three. And then there’s academics—you being last in class puts you only about three hundred points below last year’s cut for Capital City’s sports university."
My neck felt like a thousand-pound weight was dropped on it. Zoe Summers cracked open on the spot.
"…Capital City’s sports university—directly under the sports administration, a national key university, among the first batch of ‘world-class discipline construction’ schools, part of the national ‘Project 211’…"
"Boss Zoe!" Jack Cooper slung an arm around my shoulder. "What’re you looking at?"
I shoved my phone into my pocket. "Nothing."
"I saw," Jack dragged a chair over and sat, "Why are you checking Capital City’s sports university? You want to try? Do you think you can get in?"
"Capital City’s sports university?" Noah Lang in the front row turned around. "That’s the country’s top sports university—its academic scores are high."
"I know," I muttered.
When I checked the admissions scores just now, I glanced at the cutoff line.
Mr. Reed, you were wrong. My score isn’t three hundred below the admissions line—it’s over four hundred below!
Jack waved it off, "We’re only in 10th grade. Why think so far ahead?
Capital City’s sports university is damn hard to get into. Don’t even dream about it. I think the provincial sports college is fine—solid, close to home… Noah, you agree, right?"
Noah didn’t answer. He just stared at me for a long time.
When the bell rang, Jack ran back to the back row. Noah asked me one thing: "Do you want to go to Capital City because of Lucas?"
Bound to My Childhood Obsession
Before, when Noah asked if my early crushes were because of Lucas, I told the truth—no, it wasn't because of him. This time, when he asked whether going to Capital City was because of Lucas, I told the truth again.
"I don't know. Maybe…he's part of the reason."
Vague. Even I was a little confused.
Childhood togetherness, that teenage reunion—I felt like I couldn't leave Lucas behind.
Like my medal couldn't be separated from that cat.
It looks wrong hanging anywhere else; it looks right hanging on the cat's neck.
Whether to try for Capital City's sports university wasn't certain yet. But if I were really going to try, Lucas would definitely factor into it.
Thinking about the four-hundred-point gap between me and Capital City's sports university, I felt sudden despair.
It’s just too impossible.
I'd never been someone who studied, never worried about tests—and now, karma, right?
A perfect lesson in looking up: no one gets spared by fate!
I was down, gloomy.
A person who eats like an animal had lost their appetite.
At lunch I pulled out my phone, planning to text Lucas to say I wouldn't go to the cafeteria.
The phone screen showed the blank battery lightning icon.
Heart-sucking exhaustion.
"Zoe," Noah turned and asked, "not going to eat?"
"You guys go. I don't want to."
I laid my head on the desk, questioning my life.
Noah and Jack told me to keep my head down; they'd bring me something later. Slowly the classroom emptied, and I sat there, eyes glazed over, still doubting everything.
In my head lyrics played on loop—brother with a winding river; sister across singing a sweet song; brother's heart keeps making waves; sister, when will you help me cross your river? —"Ah!"
My inner drama hadn't finished when suddenly my face felt hot, the dizzying, winding sensation sucked back into focus.
Pressing against my cheek was a warm bottle of soy milk.
Holding it was Lucas, who looked perfect no matter how you looked at him.
"What are you doing here?"
I was surprised.
"I didn't see you come find me, so I came to find you."
Lucas set the soy milk on the desk and put two sandwich boxes down. "Haven't eaten lunch yet?"
"Mm."
I nodded and sniffed.
Lucas peeled the plastic off the sandwich box and pushed one toward me. He unscrewed the soy milk cap, then tightened it again just a little and set it by my hand.
I took the sandwich, chewing like cardboard, my eyes flicking to Lucas's face again and again.
He was eating the same thing, but with that slow, deliberate grace that made it a pleasure to watch.
Lucas didn't say anything. He just smiled at me when he noticed I was looking.
Oh damn!
I clutched my chest and inhaled sharply.
"You okay?"
Lucas asked.
"Nothing, nothing…"
I shook my head hard and gulped down the soy milk in several big swallows.
That smile of his packed lethal force.
His lashes were so long, his eyes so bright—the way he smiled hooked you like a little fishhook.
My heart raced like it had a faulty stent and his smile was the jumpstart.
I swallowed a piece of sandwich, didn't reach for another, but cleared my throat, glanced around, and then fiddled with the soy milk bottle.
After that useless performance, I finally blurted out, all nervous, "Your goal is Havenridge, and I'm definitely not getting in. Even if I could be shoved back into my mother's womb to redo school, I still wouldn't get in… But Capital City's sports university—I'd like to try…"
Lucas said nothing.
I had forced the words out. After waiting a long time with no response, I hurriedly added, "I mean—"
"Have you thought it through?"
Lucas looked at me steady as a rock.
I opened my mouth, "Uh… I… I just thought about it a bit…"
Lucas exhaled lightly, a little helpless. "If you haven't made up your mind, don't be so quick to say it out loud."
"Why?"
I looked at him with pleading eyes.
Lucas twisted his own soy milk bottle and said quietly, "I don't want to be disappointed."
I didn't feel disappointed.
Not understanding him, I bit another sandwich.
The radio drama announcement popped up in my head—Lucas and I didn't finish lunch. Jack and Noah came back in carrying cafeteria takeout.
They hadn't expected to see Lucas.
Jack snorted, "With senior year so busy, you still have time to keep Zoe company for lunch?"
"No matter how busy, there's always time to eat."
Lucas pulled out a napkin and handed it to me. "You've got mayo on your mouth."
"Oh."
I took it and wiped messily.
Noah glanced at Lucas. "The last time anyone from Ridgeview got into Havenridge was six years ago."
"Getting into Havenridge isn't easy," Lucas said to him with a meaningful smile. "I'm pretty persistent. For what I want, I go all out."
"You'll get in for sure!"
I had absolute faith in Lucas.
After lunch Lucas cleaned up the empty boxes and soy milk bottle and left.
Full and content, I started doing the math in my head.
"Why do I feel like you two have issues with Lucas?"
I looked at the black-and-white duo.
They were practically radiating passive-aggression.
"You noticed?"
Jack gave a smarmy smile. "Yeah, we have issues with him!"
"Why?" I didn't get it. "Lucas is great. He hasn’t offended you, he even buys you lunch."
"It's not about him buying lunch," Jack said, annoyed. "Since he came back, you turned into a different person—no more ditching class, no more skipping fights, always by his side, every sentence about him… I'm not kidding, the 10th-grade and senior buildings are so far apart and you two still glue together. If you really want to date him, just say so!"
"Who wants to date him!"
I widened my eyes. "We're childhood friends, not a marriage arrangement."
"If it's not like that, you should keep some distance," Noah said gently. "Senior year workload's heavy. If you stick too close to him, it'll affect his studies."
I glanced at him. "You and I sit in neighboring rows. Why didn't you say I was affecting your studies?"
"They're different things."
"No—they're the same thing!" I stamped my foot and declared, "Whatever issues you two have with Lucas, you can't bully him!"
"It'd be nice if he didn't bully us," Jack muttered.
I couldn't focus in afternoon class. My head was full of Lucas's words.
"I don't want to be disappointed."
But I didn't think I'd be disappointed.
So actually it was him who didn't want disappointment.
He wanted my talk about going to Capital City to be genuine—wholehearted, like running straight ahead without hesitation.
But my attitude had been fuzzy; my voice so weak I barely felt it. It wouldn't hold up to scrutiny and couldn't give a definite answer.
Once I sorted that thought out, I couldn't stop feeling conflicted.
If I said I didn't want to try for Capital City's sports university, that would be a lie.
People strive upward; even puppies go for the tastiest bone.
But Capital City's sports university was just too far out of reach for me.
If in competition I could give everything, what about the four-hundred-plus academic score gap?
It's a nightmare.
After school it started to snow, little flakes drifting down.
Lucas opened an umbrella. I grumbled and looked at the ribs, "Little snow won't kill you."
Lucas didn't reply. He just held the umbrella steady and covered me, every step measured and sure.
It felt weird.
A puppy's intuition is usually more accurate than people.
On the walk home I kept chattering; whatever I said, Lucas answered kindly.
From the outside, it looked the same as always.
But I knew he had things on his mind. I had things on my mind.
We both weren't fully present but tried to keep up the appearance of normality.
At the gate between our houses, I glanced at Lucas. "I'm going in, okay?"
"Mm."
He closed the umbrella and gave me a little smile. "See you tomorrow."
I nodded, opened the door, and went in.
When I took off my shoes I froze—what did he mean, see you tomorrow? How did he know I wouldn't sneak out my window tonight to find him?!
…Not to brag, but Lucas was kind of a clairvoyant. That foresight skill was maxed out.
At dinner my dad praised Lucas generously.
He said Lucas was the most "bright" student he'd ever taught in all his years—understands things instantly, or even without being pointed out.
Talented and hardworking, neither arrogant nor complacent—remarkable for his age.
…And more hyperbole and praise… I poked at my rice and asked, "Dad, do you think he can get into Havenridge?"
"Probably. Hmm… he should be able to."
Dad thought a moment and said confidently, "If nothing unexpected happens, he'll make it."
"Oh."
I shoveled rice into my mouth.
Dad mused, "Actually, the safest way for him to get into Havenridge is to move his household registration to Capital City. I don't know what Lucas and his parents are thinking—it's a lot harder taking the college entrance from here than from Capital City…"
I bit my chopsticks, staring at Mr. Summers. "Dad, do you think I can get into Capital City's sports university?"
His face went absolutely stunned. "You want to try for Capital City's sports university?!"
"Not that I want to… I was just asking."
I lowered my head and picked up a dish, pretending to be casual.
Dad patted my head, looking worried. "Running long distance isn't easy. If you're too tired, rest a couple days. Don't push yourself too hard…"
"What's going on?"
Mom came over holding a bowl of washed bok choy and radish, frowning. Dad sighed, "Our little pup wants to try for Capital City's sports university."
Mom's hand trembled and almost spilled the bowl. "Zoe, are you okay?"
"…"
Your family's pup is fine. Your family's pup is starting to question if she's even biologically theirs.
I sulked back to my room and rolled around on the bed. Finally I lay flat, starfish position, staring at the ceiling light.
Capital City's sports university—indeed not a goal you could toss out casually.
No one thought I could do it. I didn't think I could do it.
It seemed everyone—except Lucas—had the same attitude.
Capital City's sports university… Capital City's sports university… I closed my eyes and emptied my mind.
Two minutes later I shot up like a startled fish and started overturning everything.
After ripping my bedroom inside out, I burst into the study. "Mom! Where are my elementary school textbooks?!"
She was busy grading and didn't look up. "Recycling bin."
"Don't joke," I said, exasperated. "I'm looking for a book. A really important one."
She glanced up, annoyed. "All those school-issued books were a waste. You've barely used a single one since you were little. Now suddenly your elementary textbooks are important? How important—are there two hundred bucks tucked inside?"
"Mom!" I begged.
She rolled her eyes. "Check the garage."
"Got it!"
I tore out the door.
Mr. Summers and Ms. Reed teach at schools that are progressively closer to home. They used to bike to work; now they ride electric scooters. We don't own a car, so the garage's become a storage room.
I flipped on the garage light and stared up and down at the makeshift shelves—boards propped into tiers—and couldn't tell which dark crevice my thin little book had been shoved into.
It had to be here somewhere.
I rolled up my sleeves and started from the bottom.
Two hours later I'd barely scratched the surface.
I stacked the textbooks and lesson plans I'd pulled out back where they'd been, rubbing my sore forearms.
One thing those two did well was keep every textbook, supplemental guide, lesson-plan outline, and any homework, workbooks, and test papers kids left behind. They brought it all home and neatly preserved it. Credit where it's due—that's responsible parenting.
For me, though, it was like needle-in-a-haystack.
Where on earth was my spotless elementary school book hiding?
I made a dust angel, showered, changed, then pushed open the balcony door to look toward Lucas's room.
Luke wasn't in his room—he was in the yard.
Outside it was pitch dark except for the neighborhood lights, and snow fell in fine, endless flurries.
Lucas wore a white puffer coat and stood in the snow, wrapping a blanket round and round the trunk of the tree.
His fingers were long and pale; the knuckles looked sharp from the cold, fingertips a little pink. When he finished wrapping the blanket, he tied it tight with a rope.
I didn't call to him. I just watched from the balcony.
I'd been the one taking care of that tree for as long as I could remember. I'm messy in a lot of ways, but attentive with that tree. Every winter I'd lash hemp rope around it in circles, afraid it would freeze to death.
Luke was even more careful than me.
I didn't say anything; I just stared. When he straightened and rubbed his hands together, a half-smile tugged up at my lips.
He sensed it, looked up at the balcony, and our eyes met.
His face was pale; his nose and cheeks a little flushed from the cold. Those quiet, deep eyes held mine. When he saw me smiling, he smiled back—an upward tilt at the corners of his eyes, a gentle curve to his mouth.
In the snow he looked like a lone white crane, born of the snowfall—clean, composed, soft.
Thud—my hand flew to my chest. That strange, unfamiliar flutter hit me like a shockwave aimed straight at my stubborn heart.
"Zoe?"
Luke walked beneath my balcony and looked up. "Everything okay?"
"Yeah." I rubbed my chest and changed the subject. "It's snowing so hard—come inside."
"Okay." He brushed snow off himself, closed the back gate, and came inside.
I leaned over the balcony waiting for him to go back to his room. After a while he switched on his light.
He'd changed—puffer gone, now in thin loungewear, wet hair falling across his forehead like he’d just showered.
When he noticed me at the balcony he came back out.
I squinted at his light clothes. "What are you doing out here? Aren't you cold?"
"I'm fine." He mimicked my pose, draping himself over the railing. "This is the first snow of the season."
"First snow calls for fried chicken and beer, oppa?" I teased, winking.
"Minors aren't allowed to drink," he said deadpan.
Then I remembered, "Your birthday's the ninth day of the first lunar month—you're almost sixteen."
"Sixteen isn't legal either," he replied, unconvinced.
I stuck out my tongue and swiped the thin dusting of snow off the railing. "About that Capital City's sports university thing—I want to think it over."
"Okay." Luke's voice was soft.
"Can we not talk about it until I've decided?" I asked.
"Sure." He nodded.
"Good." I blinked. "Smile for me. A sincere smile—like you're thankful to have me around."
He actually smiled, relaxed and warm. "I am, really—I'm grateful you're here."
"See!" I preened. "You never thought about how many times I saved you from bullies when we were little?"
"Does bullying you count as saving me?" he asked.
"Doesn't count. We're the same team."
The snow thickened, frosting the bare branches nearby with crystalline rime. Since it was the weekend, Luke and I shoveled both yards and piled the snow beneath the tree into two snowmen—one with his scarf and one sitting under my hat.
Before I knew it, finals arrived.
I've always treated tests casually—just bubble in the multiple choice and rely on fate. But some people took it as an all-out battle.
Noah plunged into non-stop studying earlier than the rest of us—either memorizing or drilling practice problems. Reading tenth-grade material but stressed like a senior. Lucas did the same: later nights, stacks of test papers and workbooks—everything ratcheting up.
When the post-finals rankings went up, I squeezed through the crowd to look.
Top of senior year: Lucas Blake.
Top of junior year: Evan White.
Top of sophomore year: Noah Lang.
I was so proud—couldn't help it.
Before winter break, Luke told me he was going to the Hu-Ning competition and that it was a big deal. I cheered him on—go get it!
My dad was coaching the team. Before they left he told me that if Lucas did well, he might get direct admission.
"Direct admission where?" I asked.
"To Havenridge," Dad said.
I blinked. "Oh—wow."
On the day he left I got up early and went with them to the high-speed rail station. A few of the city’s top senior prospects were going—there was a whole group.
Before we passed the ticket gates I grabbed Luke's arm. "My dad said if the competition goes well, you could be recommended to Havenridge."
"Yeah," he said. "A first prize gives you a shot."
"Then—" I bit my tongue. "Good luck. Really—do it."
He looked at me. "Zoe."
"Yeah?"
"I don't know if I can get the direct-admit spot, but I'll do everything I can."
"Okay," I said.
He added, "My goal hasn't changed. Everything I do is to reach the goal—Havenridge is one of them. It's there; it won't move. If I work for it, there's a chance it'll accept me. But other things aren't just about me working hard."
I thought I half-understood.
He hoped I'd go to Capital City. He didn't say it outright. He wanted me to decide for myself—something his effort couldn't determine.
In third grade, I could've irresponsibly let my parents decide and treat Havenridge like a forgettable far-off option. Not anymore. I'm grown now; my choices matter and affect others.
After Luke left, I scrolled my phone every day for news about the competition.
Dad said they'd be in closed training and competitors couldn't use phones. We lost contact.
Day one was fine. Day two okay. By day three I was restless. My thumbs burned on the screen. I wanted to find anything, anything about them. Luke was smart—he should do well—but everyone competing was top-notch.
I hoped he'd rise and shine—and felt an undercurrent of dread. When I heard there was a chance for direct admission, I suddenly realized we might not need to wait for the gaokao. His target was within reach, and we might be parted again.
On the day he returned the autumn wind had just started to bite. It felt like it had only been a little while since he left.
I endured days of anxious scrolling until his call finally came.
"Hello? Luke, are you okay? When do you get in? I'll pick you up!"
He was his usual composed self. "I'm fine. I'm back tomorrow. No need to pick me up."
"I want to pick you up," I rushed. "What time? Which train?"
"Seven p.m. I'll send you the train number later."
"Okay—I'll be there!"
He smiled. "Why didn't you ask how the competition went?"
"I forgot…" I hesitated. "How'd it go?"
"What do you want it to be?" he shot back.
"I want the best," I said without thinking.
He gave a soft laugh. "Not bad."
I wasn't sure what "not bad" meant, but the next day I saw the answer for myself.
A gilded banner hung across the Ridgeview gates—big letters congratulating Lucas Blake of Senior Class 1 for winning first prize at the International Physics and Chemistry Competition, bringing honor to the school. I read the banner over and over.
Then I tugged at the corner of my mouth, the kind of smile that didn't quite reach my eyes.
I was proud—no, arrogant. That night I went to the high-speed rail station to pick them up. The school’s administrators beat me there.
A crowd with flowers, applause, and banners was packed at the exit.
When Lucas Blake came out, everyone swarmed him. I stood where I was, watching with my mouth watering.
Honestly, I’m sick of first-place trophies—why didn’t I ever get that kind of reception?
Lucas took the flowers and, when he saw me, smiled.
I stuck my tongue out and made a silly face.
He pursed his lips and laughed, exchanged a few words with the teachers, and then came over to me.
“Congratulations on first place.”
That congratulation felt sincere.
“Thanks.”
Lucas handed the bouquet to me. “Take it.”
I glanced behind him. “The director gave that to you.”
“If he gave it to me, it’s mine. You’ve won so many championships before and I never gave you flowers. Consider this my compensation.”
“You’re basically borrowing someone else’s gift to show off,” I raised an eyebrow.
Lucas smiled. “So—want it?”
“Yes.”
I snatched the flowers. “Let’s go home!”
On the way back, my dad sat in the taxi’s front passenger seat and wouldn’t stop talking, all fired up.
He gave me a full rundown of how brutal the competition was, how tight the schedule had been, how many incredible opponents there were—and then, of course, how much better Lucas was.
According to him, there’s always someone stronger, and Lucas was the one who broke through.
His pride practically leaked off him.
I fiddled with a petal and asked, head down, “Dad, Lucas won first place. What about guaranteed admission… will that work?”
Lucas shot me a look.
My dad said, “With this award, the school and the city and provincial education officials will push. In past years even second place had a shot at Havenridge. First place for Lucas? It’s nailed down.”
My stomach dropped.
Should I be happy for Lucas? Excited for him? I wasn’t empty about it—not at all.
Like my dad said, this award carried a lot of weight.
At the start of winter break, my dad—who’s a senior homeroom teacher—still had to do school duties.
Even though 10th grade was off, I stuck to our routine: I went to school every day to train in the gym while Lucas attended classes. He squeezed study time from other hours to prepare for the upcoming National Games.
So when news that Lucas would get guaranteed admission came out, I was one of the first to know.
The day finally arrived.
We were both pretty calm.
Even with admission secured, Lucas still went to class and listened to lectures. He simply shifted his study hours and came to the gym during free periods to watch me train.
He won first place, and I wasn’t about to be left behind.
I dug in my heels and swore I’d prove something.
Days passed, high school seniors were done with exams, and Lunar New Year came.
Lucas was going back to Capital City for the holiday. Before he left, he gave me a pair of running shoes.
They were from the world’s top athletic brand and cost a bunch. I couldn’t help staring.
“When will you be back?” I asked, clutching the shoebox.
“After the New Year,” Lucas said, sitting on the couch and lacing them up for me.
I kicked my legs; my fuzzy dog-head slippers flopped, ears waggling. I made a face. “What is this supposed to be?”
Those slippers were the pair we’d bought at the mall the week we saw a movie together. I still couldn’t understand how someone could charge the price of a leather shoe for slippers.
Lucas—who’d gotten a national first in the phys-chem competition—somehow calculated that they were worth it and bought them anyway.
“They looked like you, so I bought them,” he said, putting on one shoe, switching to the other. “They’re cute.”
Cute my foot.
I grumbled, “Your birthday’s on the ninth. Can you make it back?”
Lucas glanced at me. “You want to celebrate my birthday?”
“Obviously,” I rolled my eyes. “When have I ever missed your birthday?”
“Okay.” He tightened the laces and set one shoe by my foot. “I’ll be back for my birthday.”
I kicked off the dog slippers and slid into the new shoes. I felt ready to run!
I ran a quick loop in Lucas’s living room, flopped onto the couch holding a pillow, grinning at him. “Promise me—you’ll be back before the ninth.”
He looked at me and nodded, smiling.
The next day he left for his family’s big villa in Capital City.
On New Year’s Eve I sat hugging my phone, complaining with him about the awful TV variety show everyone watched.
At midnight I sent a voice message, “Lucas, happy New Year!”
Almost immediately he sent one back: “Zoe, happy New Year.”
Because of the usual parade of teachers dropping by to pay respects, from the first to the sixth day of the holiday people kept visiting.
My parents were welcome guests—education people!
On the seventh day I messaged Lucas to ask when he’d be back.
Result… “Lucas, you big liar!”
I yelled at him through the screen.
Lucas looked helpless. “Zoe…”
“You said you’d be back for your birthday, and now you say you can’t? Flight canceled? Train stopped? How can you just not come?”
I fussed and ranted.
“This is on me for agreeing too hastily. I’m sorry,” he said, sounding regretful.
I glared at him and couldn’t vent all my anger. “Fine. If you don’t come, I don’t care. People who don’t keep their word are puppies. You’re a puppy! I don’t wanna talk to you—do whatever you want!”
I hung up the video, threw my phone down, and beat my pillow left and right in a huff.
You selfish Lucas—don’t you dare come back!
If you show up I’ll… I won’t punch you, and I won’t call you Zoe’s Puppy!
I tossed the pillow aside and grabbed the red envelopes hidden beneath it.
Gifts from Mr. Summers, Ms. Reed, grandparents, aunts and uncles—stacked thick. It wasn’t a small amount.
I’d planned to use the money to celebrate Lucas’s birthday—part for cake, the rest for a present.
Now he wasn’t coming. Save money!
I picked up my phone and sent two messages.
“Jack, let’s hang out.”
“Noah, dinner? It’s on me!”
After the holiday Jack had clearly put on weight—his legs looked thicker. Noah was the same as always, but he still brought his tablet to the dinner—online class in tow.
“You’re pushing yourself too hard,” I said about Noah.
He pocketed the tablet. “I’ll go to a tutoring session after dinner.”
“Is it necessary to be this tired?” I smiled wryly. “We’re only 10th grade…”
“If you don’t have talent, you make up for it with effort,” Noah said, looking at me. “I want to get into Havenridge, too.”
I was surprised. “Weren’t you going to aim for Nanjing-Jiaotong?”
“That was before,” he said with a small smile. “Now there’s one goal. Havenridge. If Lucas can get in, I can, too.”
I snorted. “Why are you competing with him…?”
“It’s not really competing. I just don’t want to lose to him,” Noah lowered his lashes. “Set a big goal and work hard. The process’ll be tough, but if you make it, it’ll be worth it.”
“Alright.” I raised my soda. “Hope your dream comes true.”
After dinner Noah rushed off to tutoring. Jack tried to pull me toward the arcade on the mall roof. I cleared my throat. “I’ve got something else to do—go on without me.”
“You said there wasn’t anything planned when we met. Now you have plans?” Jack was puzzled.
“Nothing planned, then suddenly something,” I made up. “I gotta go!”
Before he could ask more, I bolted—my track advantage showing as I shot down the escalator.
The elevator stopped on the first floor and I rubbed my nose with my finger, then slipped into the phone store.
“Um… that Bluetooth earbud set, can you get one for me, please?”
I spent my New Year money on a tiny box and two earbuds.
Sitting on a bench in the mall, I pulled up my phone and messaged Lucas: “Send me your address. I want to mail you something.”
Three seconds later a video popped up.
My phone felt like it was burning in my hand. I switched it to my other hand, scanned the crowd, scooted against the decorative plants behind the bench to stay out of the way, and picked up the call.
I jumped in fast. “You can just give me your address. No need for a video.”
Lucas looked at me and took a breath. “I don’t want a gift you mail.”
I frowned. “Then what do you want? Do you want me to bring it in person?”
“Could you?” he asked.
I froze. “…What?”
He looked at me and asked slowly, “Zoe, do you want to come to Capital City?”
I blinked stupidly. “Why would I go to Capital City?”
“Come see me,” he smiled. “I’ll take you to all the good food and the places you want to see. Want to come?”
I blinked crazily and babbled, “I’ve never been to Capital City. My parents would never let me. I don’t know where I’d stay. I don’t know how to get there. I can’t even afford the ticket!”
Lucas calmly answered each worry. “You haven’t been to Capital City—that’s exactly why you should come. I’ll talk to your uncle and Ms. Reed. Stay at my house—my parents would love to have you. Plane or train, whichever you want. I’ll pay for your travel.”
“…Ah.” My eyes went wide. “I’ll… I’ll think about it.”
Too sudden!
He nodded. “Think it over. Tell me whenever you decide. I’ll wait.”
I nodded stiffly.
That evening I paced in front of the study door in circles—four, five, six, seven—then finally worked up the nerve to go in.
Mr. Summers glanced up. “What trouble this time? You’re afraid to come in?”
“Dad,” I forced myself in and stole a sideways look at Ms. Reed. “Mom, there’s something I want to discuss with you.”
“What is it?” my mom asked.
“Well… um… Lucas’s birthday is coming…” I started.
“Oh?” My mom looked at my dad. “I think his birthday is the ninth or tenth.”
“Ninth,” my dad confirmed. “What about it?”
“I want to get him a present…” I said.
“Okay.” My dad grabbed his phone. “How much?”
“Money’s not the point. It’s just that his birthday wish is kind of… special.” I swallowed and whispered, “He wants me to come to Capital City.”
“Ah!” My parents nearly lost their glasses.
Then predictably came the triple rejection.
No. Absolutely not. You can’t go.
I trudged back to my room, dejected, and messaged Lucas.
He replied: “If you want to come, decide yourself. I’ll handle the rest.”
What good is handing it to you? Are you going to persuade Mr. Summers or smooth things over with Ms. Reed?
I tossed my phone aside and buried my face in the pillow, sulking.
The next morning I jogged back for breakfast. Mom looked serious as she warned me, "When you're at Lucas's house, be polite. Mr. Blake and Mrs. Blake are genteel people—don't go jumping around and making them worry."
Dad gave me his stern lecture: "Just because I let you go out doesn't mean you can wreck the world. Don't think because your mom and I aren't watching you you can run wild. Listen to Lucas. If you cause trouble, come home and see how I deal with you!"
Me: "…"
Lucas, you got this. You're the GOAT!
I don't know what he said to my parents or how he convinced them, but somehow, on the eighth day of the Lunar New Year I boarded a high-speed train to Capital City.
Lucas was flush with cash—first-class seats—and I got to ride like royalty.
I spent the whole trip chatting with him.
He told me he'd be right outside the station waiting.
I pulled up the train schedule and listened for the stops, itching to fling myself out of the carriage and fly to him.
A few hours later I dragged my suitcase through the crowd and came out into the station.
Capital City’s high-speed terminal was packed. I stood on tiptoe, scanning the tide of people.
Lucas—Lucas—where are you?
I couldn't find him in the sea of heads.
Then a voice behind me called, amused and warm.
"Zoe."
I spun around.
Beyond the bustling travelers, a boy stood by the glass wall—clear-eyed, poised, and inexplicably gentle.
"Lucas!"
I rushed over with my suitcase, my smile as bright as the sun.
He took my arm, steered my luggage, and asked, "Tired?"
I shook my head and grinned. "No!"
"Let's go," Lucas said, guiding me toward the exit. "Home first."
I couldn't yet put into words what living in a Capital City mansion would feel like.
But I could answer what riding in a Rolls-Royce felt like.
Lucas called the driver Uncle Chase, and I followed suit.
The AC was blasting; I reached for my scarf and tangled my hair into a mess.
"I'll help you," Lucas said, gently taking the scarf from my neck, folding it, and setting it between our seats.
I watched the city fly by.
Capital City is too big for one pair of eyes.
Lucas sat closer and pointed out the window, speaking slowly. "There's the SOHO tower, next to it is the big e-commerce HQ, and beyond that is the tech park."
"Where's the Imperial Palace?" I asked.
"It's still far from here," he answered.
"Where's your house?"
"East Third Ring," he thought a second, then rephrased, "Pretty close to the Imperial Palace."
"I know," I said with a smile. "Facing the square."
Lucas smiled. "Facing the square are the Great Hall and the museum."
"I want to watch the flag ceremony! Climb the Great Wall! Go to the Imperial Palace and tease the cats!" I rattled off, eyes sparkling.
He nodded. "Okay. I'll take you to all of them."
Lucas’s house didn't exactly face the square, but it was definitely a huge mansion.
I looked at the place and felt slightly guilty about my own family’s house being called a villa.
My family's "villa"—I didn't deserve it!
Lucas pulled my suitcase into the house. Mrs. Blake—Mrs. Blake hadn't changed a bit—greeted me like I'd never been away.
"Zoe!" she said, and her face lit up like a decade hadn't passed.
"Mrs. Blake, hi," I handed over the tote bag I’d brought, trying to look well-behaved. "My parents asked me to give you this."
She took the bag, looked at me, and let out a little laugh. "Zoe, you were as mischievous as a puppy when you were little. How did you grow up so quiet?"
"I… I've always been quiet," I lied without blinking.
"Mom," Lucas chimed, fully intent on ruining my cover, "she's faking it."
I wanted to kick him into the wall. Could not un-see his smug face.
Mrs. Blake grinned. "Zoe, don't be formal. Be yourself here."
"Okay…" I wanted to punch your son—if this were home, I would already be in motion.
Mrs. Blake really had doted on me since I was little—no pretense about it.
I tried to follow Mr. Summers's and Ms. Reed's advice to be on my best behavior, but it didn't take long for my true self to pop out—ears and tail and all, bouncing around.
I was telling Mrs. Blake about my cross-country achievements, but somehow the story morphed into my "great exploits" at school. Before I knew it I was animated and booming like an orator.
Mrs. Blake was delighted, eyes crinkling with laughter.
When I finally stopped, it hit me—what on earth had I been talking about?
I glanced at Lucas and tried to give him a look, hoping he'd smooth things over. Instead he was smiling even wider than his mom.
…Fine. If it makes you happy.
That night Uncle Blake came home and greeted me with a big smile. My first day at Lucas's felt effortless and warm, like slipping into water.
I video-called Ms. Reed that evening to put her at ease.
She watched my giddy face and worried anyway—apparently, in their world, my happiness meant I’d already gone and caused mayhem in the heavens.
Lying in bed, I messaged Lucas.
Me: [Are you asleep?]
Lucas: [Not yet. You?]
Me: [Can't sleep~]
Lucas: [If you can't sleep, let's talk.]
Me: [Tomorrow is your birthday.]
Lucas: [Mm.]
Me: [After tomorrow you'll be sixteen.]
Lucas: [Technically, after New Year we're both sixteen.]
Me: [That's not the same. You have to pass your birthday to count… Don't sleep yet—I'll wait up too. Let's wait for midnight together!]
Lucas: [Okay.]
We chatted about everything and nothing.
At 11:59, I couldn't wait and started typing like mad.
I hit send at exactly twelve.
"Happy sixteenth birthday!"
What's the difference between sixteen and fifteen? I asked Lucas.
He thought for a second and said that legally adulthood starts at eighteen, but sixteen is the threshold of stepping into maturity—your way of thinking and doing things changes. You treat the future with more caution and plan like an adult to reach goals.
I nodded, half understanding.
Typical "grown-up" answer that us "not-grown-ups" can't quite grasp.
Lucas's sixteenth birthday was low-key but felt meaningful.
Mrs. Blake gave him a watch whose dial shimmered like stars.
Uncle Blake gave him a key to a place—a key that opened a house a fifteen-minute walk from Havenridge University's main gate.
Driver Chase and the housekeeper also brought gifts.
When my turn came, my Bluetooth earphones—bought at great personal expense—felt shabby next to the others.
I fidgeted and handed over the small box. "For you… don't hate it."
Lucas took it, eyes bright with pleasure. "Thank you."
Seeing him smile, I smiled back. Who cared if it was humble? He liked it.
After cake and a little electronic fireworks show, Lucas grabbed his phone and the earphones and led me to the sunroom.
The winter sunroom depended on central heat and floor heating; Lucas switched off the lights and pointed up.
I scoffed, "What are we even looking at? Stars? Come on—this is Capital City."
Still, I looked up.
There were no stars in the glass above, but strings of tiny lights twinkled against the black night, weaving a romantic pattern.
Lucas patted the couch beside him. "Come."
I sat with my back against the sofa. "Trendy fairy lights, filter-level beauty. So extra."
He chuckled softly, then handed me one earbud. I put it in, and when he tapped his phone, music filled my ear.
I remember the song in my earphones and the warm lights above. Lucas promised to show me all of Capital City—and he kept that promise.
After the birthday, Lucas took me to a new spot every day.
The Great Wall, the Imperial Palace, the flag ceremony—big parks and hidden gardens, fragrant hills. I got to see every place I wanted.
On the fifteenth day of the first lunar month, Lucas took me to Havenridge University.
Walking past the campus’s iconic buildings, even I—no fan of pomp—felt a little awe for the place.
"Which major did you get direct admission to?" I asked.
"Medical school," he said. "It's what I want to study."
A doctor—him in a white coat would definitely look good.
Of course I couldn't resist teasing. "Lu Xun said studying medicine won't save the nation," I quipped.
Lucas glanced at me and raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure Lu Xun said that?"
I froze, then actually thought about it. Lucas watched me scrunch my eyes, trying to remember, and suddenly laughed.
I snapped, "He really did say that!"
He laughed, voice soft. "Yeah, he did."
He looked so pleased I huffed and refused to engage further.
Even before enrolling, Lucas knew the campus inside and out. After we toured the grounds he pointed to a gate not far off. "That's Havenridge's west gate. Facing it is Capital City's sports university."
My stomach dropped.
He asked, "Want to go see it?"
I opened my mouth, closed it, and then decided. "If we're going, we're going. Let's look."
His smile curved. We left through the west gate, crossed the road, and entered Capital City's sports university.
I'd competed at provincial meets before—two of them were held at the provincial sports university—so I’d wandered campus grounds. But I had to admit, Capital City's sports university being the nation's top was not an exaggeration.
"Lucas, look at that statue!" I pointed at a marble figure in the flowerbed, nearly squealing. "That's Wang Junxia—my idol! The first domestic woman to win Olympic gold in long-distance running! Do you know what foreigners call her? The Eastern Deer!"
I put my hands together in a messy salute. "My idol bless me! My idol for the win!"
Lucas asked with a grin, "Who's that one over there?"
I looked, eyes wide. "Qu Yunxia! Another idol—first female Olympic mid-distance gold medalist and world record holder!"
"Who's the one beside her?" he asked.
Lucas asked again.
"Zhang Lin?"
"Who's next to her?"
"Jared!"
"Marina!"
I stared at each of them like a statue. Every time I looked, I wanted to spin around on the spot and jump three feet into the air.
These were the queens of the track—untouchable heroes.
Lucas watched me quietly. After I’d worshiped every idol, he took me to see more of the campus.
The nation's top sports university—its tracks were wide and long and velvety underfoot.
The nation's top sports university—its venues were huge, plentiful, and beautiful.
The nation's top sports university—its dining halls smelled amazing, everything fresh and offered in generous portions.
Even the drinks at the window tasted extra sweet.
Lucas picked up a rib with his chopsticks and put it on my plate, speaking softly, "There's a saying around Capital City's universities: Havenridge has the reputation for academics, the tech schools have the brains, the liberal arts schools have the culture, and the sports schools have the food. In Capital City's circles, the sports university's meals are legendary."
I bit into the rib and nodded in wholehearted agreement. "They're really good."
Lucas slipped me another rib like it was nothing and said, "This is Sports U's Dining Hall 2. Sports U has six dining halls total, but since it's winter break only this one's open. I heard Dining Hall 3 is the best, but that's only open to students and staff."
I was busy gnawing and had no time to chat.
Lucas, unusually talkative, continued, "Because of its special mission, Sports U's campus covers a ton of land. There are eight open tracks and nearly a hundred indoor and outdoor training facilities…"
"Um—"
I choked a little on my rib and stared at him, astonished. "How many?"
"Eight tracks, nearly a hundred training venues," Lucas paused to think, then slowly added, "I heard there are more being built. If they all get finished, it'll be over a hundred."
I gaped. Eight tracks, a hundred training venues.
I'd never dared imagine anything like that, not even in dreams.
Lucas laughed, watching me. "After lunch I'll show you around."
I nodded like an eager puppy. Yes, yes, yes!
After we ate, Lucas led me across the eight tracks and dozens of training halls, and finally we went to the famous "Champions' Walk."
"This is Sports U's most famous spot," he said. "They've preserved the footprints of Olympic champions here. Each step represents a world number one in that event. Leaving their prints here shows they regard this school as the highest shrine that all athletes respect."
"It's honor, and unmatched pride."
Winter wind swept leaves across the path, brushing over those footprints.
Dust and dead leaves couldn't hide the clear tread marks.
Just like Lucas said—pride, honor, glory for the athletes.
On the drive home I sat in the car watching the night paint the city in streaks of light.
After a long while I turned and looked at Lucas. "It's so nice there. Really nice."
Lucas met my eyes. "So?"
I took a deep breath, blinked, and asked, "So—if I worked as hard as you, could I get in?"
Lucas smiled. "How will you know unless you try? It's like how you won't know where the finish line is if you never run."
I thought for a moment, then turned back to the window and watched the city lights go by.
Capital City's looped overpasses were flowing clear. Neon reflections streamed under the bridge and I sighed. "Capital City is beautiful."
"It's more than beautiful," Lucas said softly. "There's endless scenery to explore here, food you could eat forever, there's Sports U, and—"
He stopped, not finishing the sentence.
I waited. And waited. Nothing.
I turned to him. "And what?"
Lucas looked at me, lights dancing in his eyes. He smiled and said, "And me."
I froze for a beat, staring at the curve of his smile and the light in his pupils; my heart thudded against my ribs.
Before winter break ended, and after both Mr. Summers and Ms. Reed had nagged me repeatedly, I finally returned from Capital City.
Lucas came back with me.
I didn't talk to him about Sports U or any long-term goal after that.
But I had already made my decision.
Back home, for a long time my parents suspected I might not be their dog after all.
I started studying.
For no clear reason, without prelude, I just began to study.
My foundation was weak; learning felt like chewing through stone. It was grueling.
Thankfully we weren't short on tutors at home. Thankfully Lucas was there too.
We set aside the 10th-grade textbooks for later and started rebuilding from middle school.
Every morning I kept my usual running routine, but now I had the sports earbuds Lucas gave me, looping English phrases and classic poems.
Lucas began where basics begin—algebra, geometry, physics, even potassium permanganate reactions—and explained things to me.
He broke problems down, softened them, drilled them into me over and over.
When Jack Cooper saw me with my practice book, writing and sketching, fussing over where auxiliary lines should go, he was stunned like his soul had left his body.
"Boss Zoe, are you okay?"
"Don't be noisy," I waved him away like swatting a fly. "I'm about to reach the answer."
"You finally switched on," Noah said, pointing at a spot with his pen. "Here—draw the line, reverse-engineer it."
"Oh, right, right!" I followed his hint and suddenly it clicked.
Jack was still dumbfounded. "It's only been a little while and you're obsessed with studying!"
"I'm not obsessed," I muttered as I scribbled the conclusion. "I'm aiming for Sports U."
"So the conclusion is—what?" Noah looked up.
"Sports U," I announced, finishing a problem with a bright smile. "That's where I want to go."
Jack frowned. Noah didn't say anything.
I winked at Noah. "Havenridge and Sports U are really close, I've checked them out… and Sports U's food is delicious! Lucas says the best hall is Dining Hall 3. Once you get into Havenridge and I get into Sports U, come visit—I’ll take you to Dining Hall 3!"
When I finished, Noah asked flatly, "So you're choosing Sports U because of Lucas?"
That question was all too familiar.
He'd asked more than once.
I'd denied it before, gave him vague answers, but this time I was direct. "Yes."
Lucas was one reason I chose Sports U.
Jack sighed and then wordlessly slipped back into his seat. Noah turned away too, diving back into his never-ending set of problems.
Before, classes dragged on forever, and exams felt infinite. Now I found that when you're truly focused, time moves fast.
My plan to apply to Sports U was known by my friends, my coach Mr. Huang, and my parents.
I hadn't told Lucas.
I figured I didn't need to—he'd understand.
Training, competing, studying—it became a loop that filled whatever free time I had.
Winter melted into spring, and the Provincial Games came as scheduled.
This meet mattered a lot. Winning first place would give my athletic scores a huge advantage.
It was crucial, the same way my race with Lucas had been.
The night before the race I slipped over the balcony and crept into Lucas's room. He was researching past Provincial Games long-distance races, and I couldn't help laughing at him.
"When you go to take tests, I study this stuff too," I said, standing by his desk and reading the articles on his screen.
Lucas let go of the mouse, turned his chair, and looked up. "I know you can win."
"I was going to win anyway!" I raised an eyebrow and gave myself a confidence boost.
Lucas smiled. "Tomorrow, don't think about anything. Just run toward the finish. I'll be waiting there."
I rolled my eyes. "Come on, man—judges wait at the finish line, not you!"
Lucas opened a drawer and pulled out a name badge.
It read "Provincial Games Youth Volunteer — Lucas Blake," with a one-inch photo on a blue background attached.
He waved the badge in front of me. "I'm at the finish line too, not just the judges."
I silently gave him a thumbs up. Smooth move.
I'd raced many times and never been nervous, but this race felt different. Beyond the thrill, I was running for my future.
Before bed I glanced at the ceramic cat bank on my desk.
My piggy bank forever lacked a gold medal—one from the Provincial Games would be perfect.
On race day neither Mr. Summers nor Ms. Reed could make it. One had a senior class to mind, the other a middle school group; they wouldn't abandon their students for their daughter's race.
Thankfully Lucas was there.
He said he'd be at the finish line.
Lucas was one reason I wanted to attend Sports U. He was also one reason I sprinted with everything I'd got to the end.
If Lucas hadn't come back, I wouldn't be who I am now.
I heard the official call—get ready.
I crouched low, on my toes, lips curving into a little smile.
Lucas and I had grown up inseparable.
Sports U felt like my future.
Bang—
The starter pistol cracked across the field, and both my future and Lucas were ahead of me.
After the race I was dizzy when Lucas hugged me.
Long-distance left me exhausted and weak.
He held me, whispering things I couldn't hear; my head buzzed.
My lungs felt like they might burst and my thighs ached.
I gasped for air, vision blurring.
"Zoe… Zoe… Zoe!" Lucas kept calling.
I panted at him, "I heard you… stop shouting…"
For the first time, the usually calm look on Lucas's face broke into wild joy.
He'd never been that excited when he was accepted early to Havenridge.
"You're first! Champion!" he shouted.
I pulled my hair back from my forehead, flicked sweat from my face, squinted toward the stands and laughed out loud into the sun, "Win every race—that's Boss Zoe for you!"
Lucas looked at me, his gaze like a tether, soft and clinging.
I hung the medal I'd been dreaming of on the ceramic cat's head as if it were a ceremony.
With this result, I'd taken a big step toward my goal.
The days that followed were a loop of study, practice problems, study again, more problems.
June approached.
The college entrance exam arrived on schedule. My birthday fell three days after the exams.
Even though Lucas had an early admission, he still took the exam by choice.
Even knowing he already had the guaranteed spot, I nervously walked him to the test center.
We were both ridiculous—sick in the same way.
After the exams I started looking forward to my birthday.
I still remembered Lucas's sixteenth birthday so clearly—I wondered what surprise I'd get for my own sixteenth.
By chance, my birthday fell on a weekend.
The night before, Lucas and I stood on the balcony, staring at our phones until the clock hit midnight. He timed it perfectly and said, "Happy birthday," then handed me a gift.
I never would’ve guessed he’d give me a bracelet.
"…Don't you think this totally clashes with my image?" I asked, trying not to flinch.
Lucas took the bracelet, opened the box, and slipped it onto my wrist. "It's lily of the valley," he said. "The meaning is…luck and blessings. I thought it suits you."
Luck. Blessings.
I naturally thought of exams — like he was hoping if my scores weren't enough, a little mysticism might save me.
I played with the silver bell-shaped flowers and swung my wrist in front of him. "I get it! I know what you're implying!"
A strange look flashed in his eyes. "You do?"
"Don't worry," I said, smacking his shoulder and lifting my chin, "I won't disappoint you!"
He watched me, his gaze dropping slightly, then he smiled softly. "Mm."
—Years later I learned that lily of the valley really does mean gentle protection and pure love.
—Lucas is a monster.
Not an insult. A compliment.
When the college entrance results came out, his total score was jaw-dropping. Even without special admission, he'd easily get into Havenridge University.
The big red banners at Ridgeview's gate changed again and again, but Lucas’s name never disappeared.
I didn’t want Lucas’s insane score — half of it would do. Half and I’d be into Capital City's sports university!
Studying is a marathon, and Lucas was standing at the finish line.
There was no reason I couldn't catch up.
I can do it. I will do it. I must!
That whole summer I devoured two years' worth of middle school textbooks and finally reached ninth grade.
At the same time, Lucas was leaving again.
I knew he was leaving. I also knew he’d delayed his return to Capital City for me.
But delays or not, he would still head off to the place he'd chosen before me.
The neighbors started moving things in and out of the villa again.
I stood under the tree and watched Lucas, trying to sound casual. "Go on ahead to Capital City and wait for me. Just two years. Two years from now, I’ll treat you to dinner at the sports university cafeteria!"
He didn't say anything. He just stared.
I pushed my hair behind my ear, looked down and kicked at a small stone on the ground. "…There are winter and summer breaks, right? You can come back, I can go visit…voice calls, video calls, messages…just don’t go missing like before."
He let out a soft breath. "Zoe."
"Hm?"
I looked up at him.
He looked at me and, slowly, softly said, "You once asked me what the difference is between being fifteen and sixteen. Do you know now what the difference is?"
I blinked, remembering his old words.
He'd said that at sixteen people treat the future more cautiously, they plan carefully and use adult ways to achieve their goals and dreams.
When he said it before, I only half understood.
Now, I felt like I understood a little more.
—Lucas left.
He left in the height of summer. I stood on the balcony and looked at his now-empty room across the way. My chest felt heavy; I couldn't force myself to be happy.
My chase after Lucas, and after my future and goals, had only just begun.
Ms. Reed used to say the most important thing for students was studying.
Mr. Summers had said studying wasn't easy; besides talent, it tested discipline and determination.
I was disciplined.
I'm not bragging — I could stick to morning runs and weekly sparring sessions. I could stick to studying.
One day in the first semester of 11th grade, Ms. Reed brought back an old middle-school exam. The results weren't perfect, but she was pretty pleased and told me to keep it up.
That night I video-called Lucas, pouting as I told him I'd failed the middle-school entrance mock.
He said, "Then repeat ninth grade."
"Repeating hurts the pride," I muttered. "I still have some dignity!"
"Then what?"
He teased, "If you don't repeat, you'll be out of school."
"Fine, I'll be out of school. I'll smoke, drink, get tattoos and dye my hair," I laughed. "I'll become the 'unstable influence' in my parents' stories."
We both laughed.
I propped my phone on a stand and grabbed a workbook. "I'll do this set tonight."
He hummed and his eyes left the camera. "I have to finish an assignment too."
This was our routine.
I worked on problems; he did his assignments. We didn't interrupt each other, but the video stayed on.
He wasn't physically with me, but he accompanied me — never letting me face the unknown future alone.
That winter break he persuaded my parents again, and a ticket later I was whisked off to Capital City.
When we hadn't seen each other for six months, Lucas looked a little taller.
He'd stretched, his bones sharper, his features more open — right between boy and man.
I stayed at his house that winter and celebrated the New Year with Mr. Blake, Mrs. Blake, and Lucas.
On the ninth day of the lunar month, it was Lucas's seventeenth birthday. We stayed home in the study — him banging out reports, me filling test papers.
After cake, we ran to the sunroom, one of us typing, the other writing. The scene was unreasonably harmonious — the kind of youthful diligence everyone waxes poetic about.
At the end of the break, Lucas escorted me home with suitcases and a mountain of gifts, many clearly from Mr. and Mrs. Blake.
My parents looked at him in a way that meant a lot and nothing at once, torn between taking them and refusing.
In the end, with a sigh and a grimace, they accepted everything.
It was the most reluctant gift acceptance I'd ever seen.
Lucas finished his mission and flew back to Capital City the next day.
I never understood why he went to all that trouble to come and go like that.
That winter in Capital City, my studying shot up.
I thought Lucas taught me better than my teachers — but I didn't say that out loud. At sixteen and a half, I didn't want another beating.
Not long after, I retook the middle-school mock. After Ms. Reed finished grading, she nearly cried. "Our Zoe has finally graduated middle school!"
Celebrations all around.
I proudly told Lucas. He smiled so warmly. "Your efforts paid off."
I breathed out like I'd been reborn. "My life is worth it!"
"All worth it if you get into high school?" he teased. "Capital City's sports university is still waiting for you."
"Aren't you waiting for me too?" I tossed back. "Don't worry — bread will come, milk will come, everything will come!"
He chuckled. "I'm not in a hurry. I'll wait for you."
That year Ridgeview's gate had bright red banners again.
On the third day after results, the school invited Evan White to speak in the auditorium — he'd been accepted into Capital City Institute of Technology, a top school rivaling Havenridge.
Evan followed the usual script: thank school leaders, teachers, classmates, the security guard, the cafeteria auntie, CCTV, MTV… "But the person I most want to thank is Zoe Summers from 11th Grade Class 6."
I stared at the stage in shock.
Evan still wore the Ridgeview uniform and from so far away smiled at me. "Because of you, I became brave and fearless."
The auditorium erupted.
"Wooo~" "He's awesome!"
Jack Cooper looked at me speechlessly. "You're incredible."
Me: "…"
Since when was I responsible for heroic acts?
That summer after 11th grade, I went to Capital City for the third time.
As soon as I stepped off the high-speed train I spotted Lucas again.
He didn't look dramatically taller now, but his features had sharpened into a scene-stealing look.
He reached for my luggage; as usual I offered my suitcase, but this time he didn't take it — he took my hand instead.
"What's wrong?" I thought he had something to say.
He squeezed my hand, then let go and took the suitcase with a small smile. "Nothing."
Mr. and Mrs. Blake's warmth toward me grew every year. Each visit felt like another holiday.
Mrs. Blake loved to shop for me — clothes, shoes, backpacks. Useful and useless things, I always came back with bags full.
I felt more at home there than at my own.
But this time there was someone new: a private tutor Mr. Blake had hired.
Mr. and Mrs. Blake did everything they could to help my studies.
I locked myself in at the Blake house and cleared the 10th-grade syllabus that summer.
I knew my limits. I wasn't naturally gifted; my brain wasn't lightning-fast. Catching up from behind felt like a child climbing a mountain — the pain and difficulty were my own to bear.
I ran the long race for years and never cried even when exhausted.
But when I grabbed my hair and stared at a problem that no amount of hints from the tutor or Lucas could make sense of, the anxiety and frustration nearly pushed me to tears more than once.
"Students' most important job is studying" — maybe true. But "studying is the simplest thing" is a lie!
While I gritted my teeth and worked through problems, something not small but not huge happened.
In short, one of Lucas’s classmates — a girl — came over to discuss a lab report.
I had no idea which report she had to write for summer break.
I chewed my pen and peeked toward the staircase.
They were in the living room on the first floor. I was in the study on the second.
Even with the door open, I couldn't hear them.
I didn't harbor ill will toward girls. To me, girls were the prettiest flowers — something to cherish, not resent.
But this girl was different.
The way she looked at Lucas — the smile in her eyes, the knife hidden in that smile…love-laced knife.
I bit my pen left and right, trying to recall whether Lucas had ever mentioned bringing a girl into his college stories.
I couldn't remember that ever happening.
Even when he talked about classmates, he never specified gender.
So this girl — was she in the group that laughed and chased the rabbit around during that dissection experiment Lucas once mentioned?
Laughter. Girl.
Huh.
Heh.
I felt nothing wrong about it at all!
I set the pen down and tiptoed out of the study, hugging the wall at the stair landing.
From here I could hear the living room but remain unseen.
I pricked up my ears and heard Lucas say, "…I can finish my part of the group report before school starts. You should send me your portion as soon as possible so I can proofread and finalize everything before we hand it to Professor Du."
"My part's almost done. I just need to verify a few more results; I can finish as early as next week."
The girl's voice sounded amused.
"Thanks for your hard work."
"You did more—you're proofreading my report…" she replied.
I narrowed my eyes. Lucas really is earnest—helping a female classmate, is that everyone's civic duty now?
"Do you have time today? Let me buy you lunch," she asked.
"And thank you for catching those two data errors last time. If you hadn't spotted them, my section would've been sent back."
It was thirty degrees and blistering outside—no fear of heatstroke getting lunch, huh!
I rolled my eyes and snorted inwardly.
"No need," Lucas said gently. "We're in the same group—helping you is helping everyone. I can't go out; there are other people at my place."
"Your parents are home?"
"No," Lucas paused and smiled softly, "it's other people."
I ground my back teeth. Oh—other people?
So I'm an outsider?
Lucas, how dare you treat me like an outsider?!
The girl hesitated. "Other people—what kind of people?"
None of your business!
I wasn't just unhappy; no—I was getting angry!
I heard the clink of a porcelain cup—Lucas must've been sipping water.
A moment later, the same sound again.
He'd set the cup down.
Lucas's voice, after that sip, flowed like a creek under winter snow—clear and calm.
"I like someone," he said.
I silently opened the Q&A app and typed one phrase: "puppy love"
Two keywords.
Everything that popped up was irrelevant.
[How do parents find out about early relationships?]
[Discuss middle schoolers in early relationships.]
[Games, early dating, rebellion—parents' troubles.]
[Is kissing appropriate in early relationships?] I scanned the answers and none matched my situation.
Seventeen-and-a-half-year-old Lucas saying he liked seventeen-year-old me.
Not discovered by parents, not middle schoolers, my parents aren't fussing, and we didn't kiss.
So these FAQs couldn't help me.
Lucas. Lucas!
My childhood friend—I grew up practically sharing a pair of pants with him.
He said he liked me.
Oh, he likes me.
He likes me…
!!!
He really said he liked me!
After hearing a distant thunderclap in my head, I ran straight to the study to calm myself down, carefully doing two practice tests to steady my nerves.
Now I was calmer… at least a lot calmer than when I first heard it.
Yes, Lucas said he liked me.
But—what does he like about me?!
Truant, fights, loves cabbage, fence‑climber, deadbeat student, campus menace?
What could I possibly have that he'd like?
I have zero redeeming qualities—why would he like me?
Such an unsolvable question, such crushing reality.
I couldn't solve this problem—not—going—to—solve!
Just as I was spiraling, the culprit behind my shock walked in.
Lucas put a cup of warm water on the table and picked up my calming handiwork—the two test sheets—and glanced them over.
"…Question four on the multiple choice—wrong. Question six—wrong. The last multiple choice—wrong…"
Wrong, wrong, wrong. It had to be wrong.
I must have misheard. How could he like me?
"…Reading comprehension question three: answer isn't clear enough; you didn't examine the author's viewpoint closely enough…"
Right, right—too sloppy.
I've been far too careless about understanding you—otherwise how would I fail to notice you like me?
"…The essay lacks depth; the thesis is a bit shallow; your handwriting is too messy…"
Messy is an understatement—it's downright cursory.
You didn’t even set anything up—then suddenly you say you like me. I'm stunned.
"Overall, there's improvement," Lucas set the papers down and smiled at me, "big improvement."
Whoa, whoa!
His smile stunned me; my brain couldn't act as fast as my hands. I hadn't thought it through before my fingers shot out.
Five fingers pressed against his face, one palm covering his smile.
"Zoe?" Lucas blinked.
I hurriedly withdrew my hand, cleared my throat, and asked, "Did your classmate leave?"
"Yeah, she's gone," Lucas answered.
I picked up my cup to hide my fluster. "What did she come for?"
"To work on the report the professor left from last semester."
"Just the report?"
My eyes darted left and right. "Nothing else?"
"No," Lucas said calmly. "Just group lab stuff."
Liar, liar, liar!
He'd clearly said he liked me!
I unconsciously rubbed the lily‑of‑the‑valley charm on my wrist and mumbled, "…Early relationships are wrong."
"What?" Lucas didn't catch that.
I picked at the bud on my bracelet and said louder, "Early relationships are wrong!"
He froze. I lifted my head and squinted at him. "That girl looked at you all sugary and hooked!"
Lucas laughed. "What sort of adjective is that?"
"Don't tell me what adjectives are," I puffed my cheeks and snapped, "Mr. Summers, Ms. Reed told us to study hard and avoid early relationships."
"I never wanted an early relationship," Lucas said, patient. "Don't jump to conclusions."
You didn't want one? Say that again!
Seeing me sulk, Lucas thought a moment and said, "College allows dating…"
"Allowed doesn't mean okay!"
I popped to my feet and stared him down. "How old are you? Not enough lab time or not enough thick textbooks keeping you busy—what made you start thinking about nonsense like this?"
"Dating isn't nonsense," Lucas said gently, looking at me. "But you're right—if we're too young, we can't guarantee or promise the future. So I don't want to date early."
I snorted. "Then what about that sugary girl?"
"You said she’s a classmate," Lucas smiled. "A classmate is just a classmate."
I watched him, nervously fiddling with my bracelet, and asked pointlessly, "What about me? Am I also your classmate?"
If you nod, you'll explode into confetti.
"You're different," Lucas answered composedly, smiling warmly. "You're different from everyone else."
Oh—
Ahem.
Oh!
A little happy.
I pursed my lips and smiled, then sat contentedly back down to continue doing practice problems.
I felt like I possessed the greatest secret in the world.
Lucas likes me.
I know.
But he doesn't know that I know.
Perfect.
After more than ten years of knowing each other, I finally had the upper hand.
I typed another search term: secret crush.
These came up:
[What is it like to be confessed to by your secret admirer?]
[What does it feel like to secretly like someone?]
[What does it feel like to give up on a long‑time secret crush?] Lucas didn't confess to me.
I don't secretly like Lucas.
Whoever gives up is the dog!
I stared at the page; it simply said "snore"—two characters.
How has this garbage site not collapsed and even gone public?
Since learning Lucas liked me, I switched into radar‑microscope mode and watched him from every angle.
Looking closely, I found blind spots.
At meals, Lucas would put my favorite dishes in front of me.
When soup was served, he'd ladle a bowl for me first and let it cool.
After eating, he'd bring cleaned fruit to my hand.
A little later, he'd bring snacks for my late‑night studying.
Before bed, he'd watch me drink warm milk.
…To be honest, my own parents never took care of me this meticulously.
I thought back and, chillingly, realized he'd been doing this since kindergarten.
This pattern of care was so familiar that I’d taken it for granted all these years and never found it strange.
Now that I think about it—everything's weird!
"Zoe, Zoe?" Lucas called.
I blinked, "Huh?"
Lucas smiled. "If you're tired, go to bed early. Finish the rest tomorrow."
I looked at the half‑finished test; my pen had idly doodled circles in the answer blanks.
"Okay." I put the pen down and closed the booklet.
Lucas casually helped gather the scattered books on the table.
I stood and headed for the door, then paused and glanced back at him.
He finished tidying, looked up just as our eyes met, and smiled faintly. "Something wrong?"
I balled my fist and thumped my chest. Come on, you useless heart—stop pounding!
"Nothing. I'm going to sleep." I turned and bolted back to my bedroom.
Conclusion: confirmed.
No escaping.
Lucas really does have a secret crush on me!
Hehe—
I kept observing Lucas secretly while my heart quietly bloomed.
Tired from studying? Check Lucas for safety!
Nodding off from drill sets? Check Lucas for safety!
The more I watched him, the calmer I felt; the calmer I felt, the more I couldn't help smiling.
Lucas is so handsome!
Hehe—x2
I had no idea how transparently my behavior, looks, and expressions betrayed me.
I was convinced: Lucas knew nothing; I knew everything.
Hehe—x3
I felt so good that I studied more efficiently than usual.
Staring at Lucas occasionally, sneaking smiles with pursed lips like nothing was obvious, winking and making faces to feed my own joy.
Senior year.
The dreaded third year finally arrived.
My grades weren't stellar, but in the third mock exam I had steadily broken into the top three hundred.
Mr. Summers took time to study the past ten years' admission scores for Capital City's sports university and compared them to my scores. His conclusion: steady progress, high chance.
I'm in the finals.
Either win the chicken dinner or eat dirt.
During the senior winter break, I didn't go to the Capital, but Lucas came home.
That New Year, Lucas was at my house—helping my dad move beer, helping my mom make dumplings, tutoring me with practice problems.
My dad beamed.
My mom was all smiles.
Me: You have a crush on me, you have a crush on me, you have a crush on me!
After the holiday, my parents' friends came over with gifts. When they asked my goal, Lucas was busy pouring drinks. I glanced at him, flashed a bright grin, and announced, "Capital City's sports university!"
Lucas looked up and smiled at me.
I winked at him and told the guests, "That's my goal."
On the day of Lucas's birthday, it happened to snow again.
I was scratching my head over the second part of a math problem; my thoughts weren't clear, and the problem confused me.
I was thinking about it, and without realizing it I turned to the side where Lucas was grading another test. "Eighteen."
Lucas glanced at the question he was checking. "That answer isn't eighteen."
"I'm not talking about the problem," I said, propping my cheek with my hand and looking at him. "I'm talking about you. You're eighteen."
Lucas raised his eyes. "So what about being eighteen?"
"At eighteen, dating isn't called puppy love anymore," I lowered my head and poked the lily-of-the-valley charm on my bracelet with my pen point. "Surely girls at school are chasing after you, right?"
Lucas: "Yeah."
I froze, then looked up at him — I hadn't expected him to say yes.
He looked at me. "A lot of them."
I bit the inside of my cheek. Well, good for you.
Lucas gave a calm smile. "This second half of the year, I want to try dating."
Snap.
I pressed my pen wrong and the barrel split in several places.
Lucas took the broken pen out of my hand, swapped it for a fresh one, and put it back in my palm. "Two more tests. Finish them fast and I'll go over the mistakes with you."
I kept my head down, silent. I didn't do the problems, and I ignored Lucas completely.
Saying he liked me — what a liar!
"Zoe?"
Lucas glanced at me. "What's wrong?"
"You tell me what's wrong!"
My eyes were burning; I glared at him until my face hurt. "If you want to date, go ahead and date. No one’s stopping you. You don't have to tell me — I don't want to know. Love whoever you want. What does that have to do with me? How am I involved? Why should I care?"
"Who do I have to tell if not you?" Lucas looked at my angry, upset face and sighed softly. "If you want me to date, the other person has to agree… Think about it. Take six months, then give me an answer."
Snap.
Another pen met a sudden death.
I stared at him. "You… you mean me?"
"No." Lucas swapped another new pen into my hand, tapped my test, and said, "Finish the problems. Then spend my birthday with me."
It's you. It's you. It's you!
You just said it — I heard everything!
I lowered my head and went through the questions with a blank mind, answering mostly by instinct.
Seeing me in that daze, Lucas put one hand on my paper. "If you keep writing like that, you'll fail."
I jabbed the back of his hand with my pen point and mumbled, "If I fail, it's your fault…"
I heard Lucas laugh. I lowered my head and couldn't help but lift one corner of my mouth.
Lucas's eighteenth birthday passed with no surprises — just us doing practice problems, going over mistakes, filling gaps together.
February came and went.
March came and went.
The 100-day countdown on the board kept shrinking.
Noah Lang had turned into a full-blown know-it-all — greasy hair, thick-bottomed beer-bottle glasses, spouting ABCs one minute and classical Chinese phrases the next, reciting functions and probability at meals, molecular formulas while sipping water.
I wasn't as obsessed as Noah. At least when I shouted ABCs and functions, I still remembered to shower.
Jack Cooper, who'd already decided to study abroad, wasn't exactly more relaxed; his lousy English wouldn't sustain him overseas. Determined to leave rather than flop, he began memorizing phrases and muttering them to himself.
How are you?
How old are you?
…Summer was in full blaze; air conditioning couldn't cool the boys' restless nerves.
Even senior Lucas was getting busier. He was in an eight-year medical program; from the third year on, the academic load dragged him into the "if-you-can't-convince-people-to-study-medicine-something's-wrong" grind.
Endless exams, boundless books to memorize, labs to finish, reports to write… he wasn't having any less of a hard time than I was.
Still, I hoped that for the most crucial fight of my life, he'd be by my side.
But I didn't ask him to stay.
The night before the entrance exam, Lucas and I were on video as usual. I was doing practice problems to get my rhythm; he was writing reports.
At nine, my mom knocked and told me to sleep. I agreed, did the last problem twice, and closed my test booklet.
I stretched and looked at Lucas on the screen. "I'm going to sleep."
"Did you pack everything? ID, admission ticket, pencils, erasers… bring a couple extra pencils."
"All packed." I grabbed a clear bag and waved it on camera. "Don't worry — I won't make those dumb mistakes."
Lucas smiled at me. "Sleep early and get some rest."
"Got it!"
I agreed, then hesitated. "Do you have anything else to tell me?"
"No."
Lucas said it plain as day.
"Oh." I felt a little disappointed; at least give me a pep talk!
After we hung up, I tossed my phone aside and climbed into bed. I worried that if I couldn't sleep I'd ruin tomorrow, but the more I tried to fall asleep, the harder it got.
I stared at the ceiling for a while, pulled back the covers, opened the curtains, and went out to the balcony.
Across the way, Lucas's room was dark.
I rested my face on my arms on the railing and watched the tree in the yard. Over the years it had grown taller and stronger; in summer it was a canopy all on its own.
The night sounds of cicadas and birds rose and fell, and after listening for a bit my tightness eased. I yawned.
The exam wouldn't be postponed just because I couldn't sleep.
So there was no point in fretting.
Don't chicken out — just do it.
Sleep.
The next morning I dressed, grabbed my bag, pocketed my phone, and bounced downstairs.
"Mom! I won't be eating at home. I'm heading out — crap!" My confident greeting slipped into a curse.
Lucas came out with a plate of scrambled eggs and cucumbers and smiled up at me. "There's still time. Eat here and then go. You'll be fine."
My eyes popped. "Aren't you supposed to be at school?" I asked — we had video-chatted last night.
"He flew back early this morning," my mom said, bowl in hand. "You weren't even asleep and he was outside the door."
I glanced at the clock. Seven a.m.
"When did you get on the plane?" I asked, astonished.
"After finishing a report," Lucas said casually, then, smiling, asked, "Do you want milk or soy?"
I noticed faint dark circles under his eyes and said softly, "You didn't have to come back…"
"I wanted to," Lucas looked at me and smiled. "I came back to be with you."
Seeing the smile lines that showed when he smiled made my ears feel hot. At the table I tugged his sleeve under the table.
He looked at me. I leaned against his shoulder and whispered, "I wanted you to come back, too."
Then I grabbed the soy milk and chugged it down. Crisis averted — too hot to handle.
After breakfast my mom went to school to teach; my dad was proctoring and left earlier than Lucas had arrived.
Lucas and I walked to the test center together.
"Nervous?" he asked.
I shook my head. "I was tense last night, then I calmed down."
"Did you come to terms with it?"
"No." I squinted at the freshly risen sun. "I decided it’s pointless. Stick your neck out and it's a risk; tuck it in and it's a risk too. Exams are like competitions — the more afraid you are, the less confidence you have. How are you supposed to win then?"
Lucas looked at me.
"So I stopped being afraid. Take the test — whoever's scared, who cares? Every test I face, I pass. Every competition I join, I win!"
The sunlight above gleamed and my confidence felt free and wild.
He smiled. "I know you can win."
I had confidence in myself, and Lucas believed in me. That was enough.
When the test booklets were handed out, I skimmed them. Most of it I could understand. Lucas had even predicted one essay for the dictation section.
I breathed out and began reading the questions and writing answers.
After the exam, Lucas didn't ask how I thought I did. He just handed me a cold can of Coke.
The next day's exam ended and I walked out light on my feet. Lucas didn't give me a Coke — he handed me a bouquet.
Sunflowers, bright and loud, their scent sweeping away all pressure.
I knew how I’d done, better than anyone. Lucas could read my face and knew it too.
That night he flew back to Capital City with his backpack and me tucked inside it, figuratively.
The day after the exams, the official answers were posted online.
I sat in a coffee shop on Havenridge's campus, eyes on my tablet, pen in hand, marking up Lucas's printed tests — crossing, circling, tallying.
Lucas sat beside me with a textbook on infectious diseases that he hadn't flipped in half an hour. He kept watching the scores I was calculating without blinking.
I wrote down the scores, added them up. Just as I was about to carry over the tens place and total everything, Lucas leaned in and whispered with a smile, "479."
My hand trembled. I stared, wide-eyed and panicked.
Lucas squeezed my hand and said it again, smiling, "479, Zoe. Your academic score is enough!"
479.
I stared at the figures going up and down, and my eyes heated up. I blinked hard and swallowed the sting, turning to Lucas with my lip caught between my teeth.
He held my hand. He could feel my wild joy and my racing heart.
This was the result of over two years of relentless effort — every problem I'd practiced, every pen I’d used, the countless nights I’d stayed up. In this moment, they all mattered.
I hadn't let Lucas down. I hadn't let myself down.
Three days after the exams, with a 479 score and confirmed as a prospective student at Capital City's sports university, I turned eighteen.
Mr. Blake and Mrs. Blake made a big deal out of my birthday. They hired a florist, set up an arch of flowers in the yard, placed decorative arrangements in the living room, and a long dining table garland. Cheerful sunflowers filled the villa inside and out.
It felt a lot like the kind of birthday ceremony Lucas had had at sixteen.
Boxes and bags of gifts sat to the side; I didn't open them. Instead I reached for Lucas's hand. "Where's my birthday present?"
"What do you want?" he asked.
I glared at him. "You mean you didn't prepare anything?"
"I did," Lucas said, looking down at my palm. "But I'm afraid you won't want it."
"It's the thought that counts. Even two fried-chicken coupons would make me happy." I didn't care about price. I cared about who it was from.
Lucas hesitated; his lashes fluttered.
I tilted my head. "…You didn't really bring nothing, did you?"
He said nothing.
I frowned and muttered, "How could you do this? It's my eighteenth birthday. You could at least pluck a flower from outside — I'd appreciate the gesture."
"Zoe."
"What!"
"…Zoe."
I blinked, a little startled. Before third grade he used to call me that; after third grade he switched to my full name and the doubled syllable nickname never came back.
Lucas looked up and, soft as ever, said, "I'll give you a boyfriend."
Me: "……"
Wait—what?
-Long before this, my dad had already researched admissions at Capital City's sports university.
A culture score of 479, plus my sports score that was well above average—I could pick the top specialty among all athletic majors at the sports university.
I didn't know which specialty was the absolute top; I just picked the one I wanted most.
Martial arts and traditional national sports.
I put that as my first choice. When Lucas saw me finish the form, he finally said, "That major's a national-level program."
I flashed my small white teeth. "Dad said, if you're going to pick, pick the best."
Mr. Summers was the one who went to pick up my admission letter.
That night, basking in the pride of still being able to hold 330ml of beer (hasn't increased in a lifetime), he filmed a video to show off to me.
Sometimes I felt a little guilty toward my parents.
They'd raised batch after batch of students who got into elite schools, and their own daughter—unlike Lucas, who'd brought honor to the family—was just content like this.
It goes to show: if someone's baseline is low enough, a small step up is enough to make everyone excited.
"Oh, Dad," I remembered someone else. "What about Noah Lang? Where did he get in?"
After the college entrance exam I chatted with Noah once; he hadn't seemed very upbeat.
"He did well—Ning-Hu Polytechnic's physics department, a top program nationwide. But he's not satisfied. He wants to repeat a year."
"Ning-Hu Polytechnic and he's not satisfied?!"
It's top ten in the country.
"He's a quiet kid, stubborn. His parents and homeroom teacher don't agree with him repeating. I don't know what he's thinking…"
"Maybe," I frowned, "he wants to take the exam for Havenridge."
"Ning-Hu's not worse than Havenridge. No need to fixate on Havenridge."
After the video call, I flopped over toward Lucas on the sofa, my head on his leg. "Why would Noah want to repeat? He got Ning-Hu."
Lucas held his book in one hand and tucked my hair with the other. "Maybe… obsession."
I sat up and poked at my phone to call Noah.
The video connected quickly.
Noah smiled a little when he saw me. "Zoe."
I got straight to the point. "My dad said you're repeating. Is it true?"
"…Yes," Noah said flatly. "I want to repeat for a year."
"Why? Ning-Hu's physics program isn't good? You don't want to go south?"
"None of that," Noah looked down, lips moving. "I want… to go to Capital City."
"You care that much about Capital City?" I was surprised.
"I'm not fixated on the city," he said, lowering his eyes, "but I'm fixated on you…"
"Zoe—" Lucas suddenly called, "grab that book for me."
"Oh, sure."
I said, passing the book across the coffee table. "Here."
Lucas took it, flipped it open, and said casually, "This isn't mine."
I frowned. "Not yours? Whose, then?"
"Don't know. Maybe someone grabbed the wrong book in class," he said. "When school starts we'll take it to lost and found. Whoever it belongs to will come get it. If it's not mine, I won't keep it."
"True."
I answered absentmindedly and went back to Noah on my screen. "Where were we?"
Noah's head was bent; the light reflected off his glasses so I couldn't see his eyes clearly.
"…You and Lucas—are you together?" he asked.
"Me and him…" My gaze slid around, then I nodded. "Yes."
On my birthday he said he'd give me a boyfriend.
You don't refuse gifts out of politeness. Mr. Summers and Ms. Reed taught me reciprocity. He gives me a boyfriend, I give him a girlfriend. Even balance, everyone's at ease.
Noah smiled. "Got it."
I hurried on, "Are you sure about repeating? Have you reconsidered?"
"Maybe later," Noah looked up. "Zoe, do you remember the first love letter you received in seventh grade?"
Pink and smelling sweet.
"I remember!"
"Good." He breathed out. "I have to go. Bye."
"Hey, I wasn't finished…" But he hung up.
I frowned. "Noah's acting weird."
I put down the phone and, hugging a pillow, leaned over to glance at Lucas's book.
With a soft snap, Lucas closed the book.
I looked up. He was watching me.
"Zoe."
"Mm?"
"Have you ever gotten a love letter?"
"Of course—lots!" I boasted. "Middle school, high school—you can fill a sack."
"I've never gotten one," Lucas raised an eyebrow.
I rolled my eyes. "That's nonsense! Lucas Blake, the campus heartthrob of Havenridge—who in Capital City's college circle doesn't know you? You even said people confessed to you before!"
I remembered that clearly.
"There were people who tried, but I never got a letter."
"So?"
"Write me one."
"Dream on!"
I threw my pillow at him.
Lucas tossed the pillow aside, grabbed me as I tried to run, and hauled me back onto the couch. He leaned down and kissed my cheek. "Or—I'll write one. How's that?"
I blinked. "Who wants your letter."
Inside I was dying of excitement—yes please, yes please, yes please!
Lucas wrapped me in his arms and whispered into my ear, slow and soft: "If you don't want to read it, I can say it out loud."
"Dear Zoe, I hope this letter finds you well…"
"I've been thinking about how to tell you about my feelings and admiration…"
"You've been part of my memory for as long as I can remember. When I first realized I existed in this world, you were already by my side…"
"Our childhood memories blur and sharpen—but whether fuzzy or clear, every frame of the film has your smile…"
"I once drew the sun and flowers in my doodle book, and in the end I only drew you…"
"You're brighter than the sun. When you laugh, everyone's eyes turn to you…"
"I'll never forget the moment we met again—you sitting on the high wall, sunlight and autumn wind in your clear gaze…"
"At that moment I knew coming back was the right choice…"
"I've said it: my goal never changed. From the start, I've wanted you…"
"I know you want me too…"
"Your starting line is the track, your finish line is me…"
…Bonus short: sports school's campus bully VS Havenridge's campus heartthrob
[Havenridge Late Night Wall] Great wall—please be anonymous.
Late-night tea: Havenridge heartthrob Lucas Blake's romance is confirmed; the girl is a freshman at the sports university.
Can't wait for grave-digging.
No matter what anyone thinks, my ship just sank.
—"OP, what's the proof? No photos, no videos—are you just slandering?"
"Isn't Lucas single?"
"He's been single three years. I'd sooner believe he's dating a lab mouse than a human."
"Sports university and Havenridge aren't even the same scene. How does this even connect?"
"emmm… OP made the claim, so here's what I saw: I went to the sports university clubs to see a friend a few days ago, and in the third cafeteria I saw Lucas. He ordered two dishes alone and sat watching his tablet. Not sure if he was waiting for someone."
"Maybe the third cafeteria's food's good. Why couldn't he just eat there?"
"You're missing the point. Havenridge's west gate is next to the sports university, but Havenridge's medical school is far. Would Lucas really walk ten miles just for a meal? You believe that?"
"Where's the proof?"
"No spreading rumors without proof. If you have evidence, show it. If not, I'm deleting this."
"If you want proof, look—who's kissing under that streetlight if not Lucas?"
[Image][Image][Image] "…oh wow…"
"That's definitely Lucas! That bag, those shoes, that watch—familiar."
"Gross. Their kiss looked like a bite. Please stop portraying Lucas as the pure, studious type. Someone that single for three years wouldn't be this…steamy."
"I want to know what kind of freshman at sports university could snatch Havenridge's single heartthrob!"
"How do you know the girl seduced Lucas and not the other way around?"
…
I watched the thread spiral and then die, curiously glancing back at Lucas reading under the lamp.
I leaned over, rested my chin on the book, and waggled my brows at him. "Between us, who seduced who first?"
Lucas pinched my cheek and laughed. "We're childhood friends who grew up together. We pulled each other in. I seduced you; you seduced me."
I beamed, stood up on my knees, planted a kiss on his forehead, and happily replied to the thread.
[Lucas says they were mutually attracted—tangled up, intertwined…childhood friends!]
-Bonus two: about our wedding day
On the day Lucas and I got married.
His bridesmaid squad included his female classmates, coworkers, and friends.
No men.
I sneered.
My groomsmen—my crew—included people I knew well: Noah Lang, Jack Cooper, Evan White, and so on.
No women.
Lucas smiled without comment.
Honestly, these were my good brothers—if you doubt it, review the prior chapters.
Oh, by the way, all three of those friends took different paths.
Noah had planned to repeat, but not long after our video call he gave it up, headed south to Ning-Hu, and devoted his life to physics. Now he has a title and an honorable career as a researcher.
Jack studied abroad for years, shed tears and money to polish his credentials, came back with a degree, joined his father's foreign trade firm, and hired three translators—still not sure what he gained from studying overseas, besides loneliness.
As for Evan White… I reunited with him my first year at university. Coincidentally, Havenridge's west gate faces the sports university, and on the other side the Institute of Technology's east gate also faces the sports university.
Havenridge and the Institute of Technology are rivals, with the unsuspecting sports university stuck in the middle.
That year at Capital City's university athletics meet, Evan White, who spoke for the Institute of Technology, and Lucas Blake, who spoke for Havenridge, were on stage trading barbs like needles, every line loaded with implication.
Evan and I were pretty close. After Jack Cooper went abroad and Noah Lang moved south, Evan became my third ride-or-die.
So of course I invited my best friends to my wedding. That’s only natural, right?
But I never, ever expected Lucas to hold a grudge over it.
Yes.
Hold a grudge against me.
On the night of the wedding I fell asleep early, then… couldn’t sleep at all.
I’m an honest person.
For example, if someone asks me, who’s smarter, you or your husband?
Well, obviously my husband!
IQ advantage—no contest!
If someone asks who’s more fit?
Obviously me. What, you think the cross-country gold was for decoration?
So when he pinned me down on the couch for the third time, I felt more exhausted than I did after that race.
“…Okay… that’s enough!”
I was panting, clutching the arm of the couch.
“When you had them show up to block the door, did you ever think I’d be mad?”
Lucas nipped my earlobe, his voice soft as silk.
“I… I just called my boys. What are you mad about?”
I lifted my chin, eyes rimmed pink.
“I’m mad at them…”
Lucas’s body pressed harder across my spine, a little rougher now, but his tone was full of affection. “After everything, and you still want to stop me?”
I gasped, words coming out in fits, “Blocking the door was just for show…”
“It wasn’t just blocking the door,”
Lucas kissed my cheek, “they wanted to block my heart.”
Ridiculous.
I married the man I love. My friends were thrilled for us—how could they have wanted to stop him, let alone break our marriage?
I decided Lucas was petty.
The next day at noon I woke up groggy. Lucas was propped on the bed, watching his tablet.
When he saw I was awake he picked up the water beside him and fed it to me, saying gently, “I changed our tickets. We’ll leave the day after tomorrow.”
We’d booked a European honeymoon and were supposed to fly out tonight.
Clearly, with how I was, I couldn’t go.
I took the water like a good little dog and shot him a reproachful look.
After he finished giving me the water, Lucas smiled and said, “Sorry about last night.”
I blinked. He actually knew he’d done something wrong?
He slowly curled his lips. “Actually, I shouldn’t have been angry either.”
Hmph—indeed you shouldn’t.
“They only got the instant satisfaction of stopping me. They can’t stop our marriage for life. If anyone should be angry, it’s not me. It’s them.”
Me: “…They didn’t want to stop our marriage for life.”
Lucas chuckled, fingers grazing my cheek. “Who knows? But whether they wanted to or not doesn’t matter. You’re mine. You always have been.”
Honestly, my husband Lucas Blake is such a petty guy.
I leaned into his arms, magnanimous. Fine, fine—everyone makes mistakes. Lucas isn’t perfect.
Petty is petty.
Lucas kissed my cheek and got up to make breakfast.
I stayed in bed scrolling on my phone.
I came across a question while scrolling.
“What’s it like having a childhood friend?”
I snorted, thought about it, and started typing.
Thanks for asking.
We grew up together.
On my wedding day he showed up with the bridesmaid squad
to block the groom…
