During military training, breaks were a lonely affair for her. She'd sit alone, hugging her knees, lost in thought. Sometimes she'd return to the classroom. Zhou Ye, sweating after his laps, would find her asleep at her desk, a few damp strands of black hair clinging to her flushed cheeks.
She seemed sensitive to heat, always developing a sheen of perspiration in her sleep. Yet, this unnatural flush only accentuated the pallor of her skin. Her delicate fingers rested on her arm, the skin of her fingertips glowing a warm orange in the sunlight. She always reminded him of the first snow of winter. The whole world, pristine and white, except where the sun, piercing the azure sky, quietly touched the earth with a warm hue, like her. He’d usually steal a few extra seconds to look at her, then turn back to the mindless chatter and banter of the boys around him. He’d laugh occasionally, but sometimes, when teased, he’d tell them to get lost.
The day after the class president elections, midday, after morning training, everyone returned to the classroom to rest. The boy who usually fetched water with him sat on the corner of his desk, his voice drawn out by the heat, laced with discontent. “Class president, you’re not secretly texting the girls in class, are you? You’re such a hottie, tons of girls must be adding you.”
“No,” Zhou Ye replied. Just starting high school, his voice was still changing, raspy, as if he had a mouthful of sand. “I’m dying of heat.”
The fans whirred, their creaking competing with the chatter and laughter of the other students. Their conversation blended into the general noise, becoming indistinguishable.
“Even if you don’t want to date, don’t reject them all! Introduce them to me! Just say I’m your bunkmate!”
Zhou Ye leaned back in his chair, tugging at his camouflage uniform, trying to create a gap between the scorching fabric and his skin. He glanced at the other boy, tilting his head, revealing a long, slender neck glistening with a thin layer of sweat. He really was hot.
“Dude, wake up. School ends, we go home. No dorms, no bunkmates.”
“You’re being weird. We’re all guys, what’s the big deal? Share the wealth, you know? Don’t hoard all the pretty girls’ WeChat contacts.”
The boy in front of him, bold as brass, draped an arm over Zhou Ye’s shoulder. The stifling heat and stagnant air amplified Zhou Ye’s impatience. He frowned, wanting nothing more than to obliterate the person touching him in this heat.
“Get your hand off me. Don’t make me hotter.”
“No way, I want to chat with girls.”
“Go get their numbers yourself. What good am I?”
“Who’d dare ask a pretty girl for her number without your face? I’m telling you, class—” The boy took a deep breath, swallowed, and looked at him with an almost unsettling seriousness. “I’m going to ask the girl in the sixth row, fifth seat, for her WeChat. You promise you won’t try to steal her. You’re my biggest competition.”
Zhou Ye slapped the hand off his shoulder, his lips parting slightly to utter a curt, “Get lost.”
The boy held up a finger as if making a pact, grabbed a notebook and pen, smoothed his hair, and walked over. The other boys watched intently. Zhou Ye leaned back, head tilted up, stewing in the heat, then suddenly his brow furrowed. He remembered something.
“—Damn it!” His throat tightened. He shot up from his chair and looked over, just in time to see the boy calmly leaning on her desk, watching her write something in the notebook. Her cheeks were pale with a touch of pink. As she handed him the notebook, her clear, dark eyes seemed veiled in mist. Sunlight filtered through her long, delicate lashes. Her eyes, now engaged in conversation, seemed brighter than before.
They exchanged a few more words, and the boy returned, notebook in hand, looking remarkably composed. Only when his eyes met his friends’ did his excitement burst forth, his ears turning crimson.
“Dude, she’s so soft-spoken! She asked me where the small cafeteria is. She followed the map but couldn’t find it. She said she has a sensitive stomach and can’t handle the oily food in the main cafeteria. I told her I’d take her tomorrow.”
“Oh! You dog—”
“Damn, I’m going with you tomorrow.”
“The hell? I’ll kill you if you try.”
Zhou Ye stared at the notebook clutched in the boy’s hand, a strange restlessness stirring within him. He pushed his way through the group of boys. Someone asked excitedly where he was going.
“To wash my face.” He left the words hanging in the air, his long, strong fingers yanking aside a chair that blocked his path. The scraping sound cut through the classroom noise. The veins on the back of his hand stood out, stark and prominent.