Massage 4

Section 3:

Readers have given feedback that they're more looking forward to "Her as a Massage Therapist" than "Her as My First Love."

But I can't leave "Her as My First Love" unfinished, so today I'm going to finish it.

"Her as a Massage Therapist" will be coming soon.

Trust me.

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We maintained this habit of finishing our cleaning duties together and leaving together until the day before our college entrance exam.

That was our last cleaning duty; the exam was in two days.

Everyone was nervous, and I was nervous too. I don't know if she was nervous, but I felt that those with good grades were more nervous than those with poor grades.

Her grades were much better than mine; we definitely wouldn't go to the same university.

Later, this was confirmed; my university was in Nanjing, and hers was in Beijing.

We were cleaning as usual, and just as we were finishing, she walked towards me.

She said, "I used to not know why you would sit in the back seat whenever I swept. Later, I sat down myself to watch you mop, but I still didn't know why. Can you tell me why?"

I said, "I don't know either."

She asked, "Do you like me?"

I was completely stumped. I had imagined countless excuses for why I was sitting in the back, why I was peeking at her, why I wasn't being honest.

But I never considered that she would ask me if I liked her.

I blurted out, "I don't know."

As soon as I said it, I regretted it, but my heart was pounding like a plane flying overhead, and I felt completely disoriented.

She stammered, "Do I have nice breasts?"

I was even more flustered. She was completely unpredictable, throwing off all my logical thinking.

I blurted out again, "Yes, they are."

As soon as I said it, I regretted it even more. As a high school student, I was overwhelmed with shame; my face burned so hot I wanted to bury my head in the sink.

She was probably embarrassed too. I hadn't finished mopping half the floor when she grabbed her bag and fled the classroom in a panic, leaving me, the lights still on, and the door open.

I didn't know if telling her this before the college entrance exam would affect her performance. I felt incredibly guilty and worried that she would tell the teacher.

Later I realized my worries were unnecessary. Until I entered the college entrance exam hall, I didn't receive any questions from the teachers, and until the exam was over, she didn't say a word to me.

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The next time we met was when we were filling out our college applications. Our homeroom teacher gathered us in the classroom. We all knew our scores then. That summer of 2007, I was 10 points above the second-tier university cutoff, and she was 50 points above the first-tier university cutoff. Academically, we were destined to be on different levels.

That day, neither of us wore our school uniforms. She looked especially beautiful that day. I remember she wore a long, light green dress, her hair untied. Walking on campus, she looked so refreshing and pleasing to the eye. She was truly beautiful. After the homeroom teacher finished explaining the precautions for filling out the applications, she gave us a day to go home and discuss it with our parents, and then the gathering ended.

I actually had many opportunities to talk to her, but I held back. I had prepared dozens of opening lines at home, but when facing her, I didn't even have the courage to open my mouth.

I was still a little insecure, and besides insecurity, I also felt ashamed towards her.

After filling out our college application forms, we went to hand them in to our homeroom teacher. As I entered her office, she came out, and we bumped into each other. I could clearly feel her gaze meeting mine, but I kept my head down, glancing around nervously to avoid her. That's just how I am; sometimes, to avoid awkwardness, I won't say a word or even greet her. But she spoke to me first.

She said, "I'll wait for you at the newsstand to the left of the school gate."

I hummed in response, unable to avoid it.

After handing in my application, I exchanged a few words with my homeroom teacher, turned and left his office. Closing the door, I ran quickly towards the school gate.

I felt like I was under a spell; my legs were incredibly strong, and I reached the newsstand to the left of the gate in no time. I stood there, panting heavily in front of her. The cicadas

were chirping loudly in the summer, and my breathing was equally loud.

I desperately wanted to yell at her, "I love you! Be my girlfriend!" But as my breathing subsided, I somehow calmed down.

She said, "I love you! Be my boyfriend!"

I was overjoyed. Being confessed to by my dream girl felt like a blessing from heaven, but I still couldn't utter many moving words. I let out a heavy "Mmm. "

We looked at each other and smiled. That was the most tense, the most stressful, and the happiest day of my summer in 2007.

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