Chen Zhuo swallowed the watermelon.
He put down his fork.
He picked up the pencil with an eraser on the end, the one Zhang Qiang had tossed onto the coffee table.
He leaned forward.
He moved in close to Zhang Qiang’s sweat-stained test paper.
The tip of the pencil landed on the word problem about Car A and Car B meeting.
There was no lengthy explanation.
He didn’t write out any complicated equations.
Chen Zhuo simply drew a straight, vertical line on the simple diagram accompanying the problem.
He sliced off the half-hour Car A had spent on repairs.
"During the half-hour Car A was being repaired, it didn’t move."
Chen Zhuo’s voice was soft, but it carried clearly in the quiet living room.
"But in that same half-hour, Car B was still moving."
The pencil tip traced a short distance along Car B’s path.
"Calculate the distance Car B traveled in this half-hour."
"Subtract that from the total distance."
The tip of the pencil crossed out a section on the diagram of the total distance.
"The remaining distance..."
Chen Zhuo used the pencil to connect the two endpoints.
"...is the distance they covered together."
"And so, the ’meeting problem’ turns into a ’simultaneous departure’ problem."
Chen Zhuo finished speaking.
He placed the pencil gently beside the test paper.
He leaned back onto the sofa, picked up his fork, and took a second bite of watermelon.
Zhang Qiang was still chewing a piece of watermelon, his cheeks bulging.
He stared at the vertical line Chen Zhuo had drawn on the test paper.
He stared for ten seconds.
Without blinking.
Suddenly,
Zhang Qiang gulped down the watermelon in his mouth.
He slapped his thigh.
"HOLY SHIT!"
"It was that simple?!"
Zhang Qiang scrambled for the pencil, not bothering to wipe the watermelon juice from the corner of his mouth.
He quickly snatched up the pencil on the table.
He hunched over the coffee table, quickly scribbling equations on the scratch paper.
Total distance minus the distance Car B traveled in half an hour.
Divided by the sum of the two cars’ speeds.
Add that half hour.
In less than two minutes,
Zhang Qiang raised his head, his face flushed deep red.
"I got it! It’s two and a half hours!"
He looked at Chen Zhuo, his eyes wide, his face a mask of disbelief.
"I just set up three unknowns, made a system of linear equations with three variables, and spent forever on it only to get negative numbers. And you solved it just by drawing one line?"
Chen Zhuo pushed up his glasses.
"Arithmetic methods are sometimes more direct than algebraic ones."
"Algebra is machine thinking; arithmetic is logical thinking."
He looked at Zhang Qiang’s excited face.
"A middle school entrance exam tests your ability to think flexibly, not just brute-force calculation."
He stretched out his hand.
He pointed at the next word problem on the paper.
"Keep going."
Zhang Qiang stared at Chen Zhuo, his face beet-red, and bellowed with the gravity of a sworn oath.
"When school starts, I’m coming to your class, and I’ll be your deskmate! We’ll see who dares to push you around in the cafeteria then!"
Chen Zhuo was still holding the metal fork he’d been using to eat watermelon.
Hearing this, he paused his eating.
He looked at the pudgy kid in front of him—four-foot-eleven, over 140 pounds, sweating profusely, yet still worried about *him* getting bullied.
Chen Zhuo didn’t speak immediately.
He lowered his head slightly, and the corners of his usually straight-set mouth couldn’t help but curve upward.
He pulled out a tissue and wiped his hands.
His voice was very soft.
"At City No.1 Middle School, the first-years and second-years aren’t in the same building."
Chen Zhuo looked at Zhang Qiang.
"There’s a huge athletic field between them. We can’t be deskmates."
Zhang Qiang froze.
His passionate declaration died in his throat.
The flesh on his round face trembled for a moment as it suddenly dawned on him.
’Right. Brother Zhuo skipped grades and started junior high when he was nine. He’ll be a second-year this fall.’
’And here I am, after killing myself just to test in, only a brand-new first-year.’
’Always a grade apart.’
"...Damn."
Zhang Qiang awkwardly scratched his short, prickly hair, the tips of his ears turning bright red.
His grand declaration from moments before.
SPLAT.
It hit the ground and shattered into smithereens.
Without making a sound.
He lowered his head, deflated, and stared at his test paper. The pencil tip poked aimlessly at the scratch paper, making one black dot after another.
The room was quiet for two seconds.
There was only the hum of the air conditioner.
Chen Zhuo picked up the Zhonghua pencil with the eraser on the end.
He gently tapped the back of Zhang Qiang’s hand with the eraser end.
It wasn’t hard.
"But... City No.1 Middle School only has one main cafeteria."
Chen Zhuo’s eyes were on the test paper, not on Zhang Qiang.
"I like the sweet and sour pork ribs from the window on the second floor. The line is always super long after class. Second-years get out later, so I doubt I’ll ever be able to grab a spot."
Zhang Qiang’s hand, which had been poking at the scratch paper, stopped.
He snapped his head up, his eyes instantly lighting up.
"I can get a spot!"
All his earlier embarrassment vanished. His excited voice shot up an octave.
"The first-years get out early!"
"The moment the bell rings, I won’t even pack my bag. I’ll just sprint straight to the second floor!"
"With a build like mine!"
He thumped his own thick chest as he spoke.
"I’ll plant myself in front of the window and hold the line!"
"I’ll be a mountain! No one will be able to push me aside!"
The more Zhang Qiang spoke, the more excited he got, until he was practically dancing with excitement.
"From now on, the sweet and sour pork ribs at lunch..."
"I’ve got them covered!"
"I’ll get you as many pieces as you want!"
"Just come find me in the second-floor cafeteria after your class to grab the lunchbox. I’ll even have the chopsticks washed for you!"
Chen Zhuo pushed up his glasses.
His pencil drew a circle around the next word problem.
A perfect circle.
"Mm-hmm,"
he said.
"Then you’d better hurry up and solve this problem. The pork rib window doesn’t sell to people who can’t pass."
Chen Zhuo tapped the circle with the tip of his pencil.
Zhang Qiang let out a couple of goofy chuckles, snatched up his pen, and bent his head so low it nearly touched the paper. He wrote with so much force it seemed he was trying to tear right through it.
He didn’t mention the school construction fee again.
The pencil made a rustling sound as it moved across the scratch paper.
The sound was heavier, more determined than before.
Chen Zhuo watched his hunched back.
He swallowed the last piece of watermelon.
He didn’t speak.
He just reached for a blank piece of paper and picked up a pen.
He began to prepare the topics for the cram session he was going to put Zhang Qiang through that evening.
The breeze from the air conditioner made the corner of the scratch paper on the table curl up slightly, carrying with it the faint, sweet scent of watermelon.
Outside the window,
the May sunlight slowly began to fade.

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