bad kids

I was a good kid. Everyone told me not to be a bad kid, not to make friends with bad kids. What makes a kid bad? Student: Academic record?

After the first monthly exam in Grade two, the teachers were furious, and I was given a seat in the back row, near the window, in front of the battered grass with shrubs of moderate height and opposite the office, where the sun would shine in and the words on the open books would be hard to read. I hold chin secretly glad: class can finally not be the teacher's saliva baptism.

It used to be the underachiever in the back, and now I'm here. "Mo Ziqing, you have to bring up their results." The head teacher said to me earnestly at that time. I looked down and laughed.

And you have a lot of faith in me.

Nino, who was sitting in the second row from the bottom and near the window, never spoke to others, and others spoke to her in an indifferent manner. As a result, she was marked as "unsociable and transparent". Besides, her grades were not good, and the teacher said, "The child will be lost if she continues like this." Nino didn't care. She never did. Maybe in her eyes, a child who studied hard and made progress was ridiculously naive.

She had a lovely little habit of keeping a diary, a thick book of all sorts of things about herself, which was widely circulated in the class by her best friends. I have looked over, young but do deep text, I feel a jump in his temple, this hypocrisy to disgusting. So she became the butt of everyone's jokes, pointing fingers where she could not see. When Ninow finally realized it all, she just sat in her seat with the novel in her arms and looked out the window, her back straight as the golden light fell on her.

A few days before the final exam, Nino came right up to my desk, pulled the work I was working on out from under my arm and threw it at the blackboard. I saw the ballpoint pen in the word half suddenly draw a long trace, the book has not reached the blackboard when it fell, "bang" a hit on the head of some unlucky ghost, the person screamed immediately after a roar: "which littering?" Everyone burst into laughter. Smiling, I pushed Nino's desk to the floor, scattering comics, cell phones, and potato chips. The corners of my mouth widened as I caught sight of a 35-point paper. Ninno's face contorted and went white. I waved away the hand she was using to pull me, lifted her bag and threw it through the window. "Up in the middle of the night, looking in the mirror? Whisper the past into the blue sky? The girl is in a good mood!" There was another burst of laughter, and Ninot, biting her lower lip hard, ran out of sight. She skipped class that afternoon, which made me a little scared. The teacher should have known what I had done, but didn't ask, so I was happy to play dumb.

All I remember is that she later threw over a little note in class that said, "You may despise my jealously guarded treasure, but you must not tread on IT!!" I smiled and wrote in black ink: "I have no idea." She suddenly opened the window, the cold wind blew in, my papers were blown to the ground, the teacher frowned to see over, and then continue the class. I pretended not to see the note she threw out of the window, with the wind to the unknown place.

I haven't seen Nino since the second year of junior high, but I heard he transferred schools.

Only occasionally study late into the night, pouring milk when a glance at the mirror to see their image, found that they are actually the same as her.

Looking down from the top floor, the people coming and going are like ants. Is it true that some of them are looking up and laughing at my ignorance while I am mocking? Maybe the universe is just dust on another world, just vast to us. Relatively speaking.