Lemon Soda Candy - 1

Chen Luobai

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Friday afternoon.

The setting autumn sun had set half the sky ablaze.

The classroom windows of Class 2, Grade 10, looked out onto the basketball courts. The last window had the best view.

When Zhou Anran’s cleaning brought her near that last window, she paused, her movements slowing, glancing up to look outside.

The teaching building stood a good distance from the courts. The boys running wild down there were blurred from this distance, their features smoothed away by the space between; like little blue-and-white stick figures in constant motion.

She thought she knew that boy's frame and silhouette by heart. But from here, among those clusters of stick figures, she couldn't find him.

She looked away from the window, her gaze drifting once more to the left seat of the sixth desk in the second row.

Empty.

Books lay across the desk in disarray, yet not quite messy.

Much like their owner.

He was a teacher's idea of a perfect student.

But not by the book, rule-following kind.

The moment class was over, he was often the first one out the door. 

His black backpack always hung loosely from one shoulder. 

Thinking it was a hassle, he'd refused to be a class monitor, or even a subject representative.

"Ranran! Are you done yet?"

Yan Xingxi’s voice cut through her thoughts.

"Almost."

They dumped the trash together, and with that, their cleaning duty was done.

Back at their desks to grab their bags, Yan Xingxi turned back. "He Mingyu, you're not leaving?"

The boy behind them, glasses perched on his nose, was bent over a practice test. He looked up briefly. “In a minute.”

"Alright, we're off then." Yan Xingxi didn't press. "Let's go, Ranran."

Their classroom was on the second floor.

Zhou Anran walked arm-in-arm with her down the stairs.

Her parents and Yan Xingxi’s were longtime friends; they lived in the same residential complex and had grown up together since they were little.

To get the bus back to their complex, they had to take it from the school’s east gate.

And the walk from the teaching building to the east gate meant passing the basketball courts.

At the thought of seeing him again, Zhou Anran’s heart lifted. Her steps felt lighter, and even the heavy bag on her shoulder seemed to have shed a few pounds.

On that court, he was always the most captivating sight.

Many students passing by, boys and girls alike, would often find themselves looking over without meaning to.

Tucked among them, Zhou Anran was just another face in the crowd.

It was one of the few times all week where she could watch him openly, without drawing attention.

Halfway down the stairs, Yan Xingxi was about to ask if she wanted to grab milk tea before heading home. She turned her head and caught sight of the girl beside her; her long, curled eyelashes, the faint curve of her lips, and a small dimple blooming on her almost translucently fair cheek.

Even after all these years, Yan Xingxi was still sometimes struck by how sweet she looked. 

The school had rules about hairstyles and appearance, Zhou Anran, ever the obedient one, never tried to push the boundaries or dress up. Her face still held a touch of baby fat, and her quiet, unassuming nature meant she never stood out much in class.

Yan Xingxi found herself staring for a few more seconds.

With every downward step, Zhou Anran's almost-shoulder-length hair kept falling over that dimple, then swinging away. 

And every time it swung away, the dimple was still there.

"Ranran." Yan Xingxi tugged her hand. "What's up with you? You're extra happy today."

Zhou Anran's heartbeat skipped. "Aren't you happy the weekend's here?"

"Sure, but..." Yan Xingxi studied her. "You seem, like, happier than usual."

Zhou Anran looked away. "My mom said she’s making tiger-skin chicken feet tonight. I’ll bring some over for you later.”

Yan Xingxi's favorite thing in the world was Zhou Anran's mom's tiger-skin chicken feet. The distraction worked. "Waah, Ranran, I love you! And love Auntie, too!"

Out of the teaching building, they chatted idly as they walked.

Soon, the courts came into view.

No. 2 High's courts stretched wide and open, sectioned by red and white lines into six standard court.

Two rows, three courts per row.

He and his friends usually took the third court in the first row.

Her gaze instinctively sought out that court first.

As the distance shrank, the figures on the court sharpened from blue-and-white blurs into something more distinct.

The tall, lanky ones with long limbs. The stockier ones. The ones whose hair was long enough to earn a scolding from the teachers, the one who’d saved himself the trouble and just buzzed it short.

But he wasn't there.

None of them were him.

Even though she couldn't see their faces clearly.

She knew, easily, that he wasn't on the third court in the first row.

She checked the others, hopeful.

He wasn't on the first court in the first row. Not on the second.

The first court in the second row was empty. He wasn't on the second. The third was also empty.

A small piece of her heart felt like it had gone empty, too.

Her schoolbag grew heavy again.

Ahead, two girls lingered by the courts for a few seconds, then walked on. Probably boarders not going home for the weekend, heading back toward the school buildings, toward them.

As they passed, Zhou Anran caught their conversation.

“Why isn’t Chen Luobai here today? Doesn’t he always stay after on Fridays to play?"

"Right? I thought I'd get to see him today. Haven't seen him in, like, days."

"Liar. Weren't you just 'passing by' his classroom to sneak a peek at him yesterday?”

“Well, yeah. And I didn’t see him yesterday, did I?”

Their tone mirrored Zhou Anran’s feelings right now.

A little lost. A little wistful.

She'd thought she'd see him again today, too.

Clearly, she'd heard him telling his friends he was going to play after class.

Certain now that he wasn't on the court, she dropped her gaze, staring blankly at the ground until Yan Xingxi’s hand waved in front of her face.

"Ranran."

Zhou Anran blinked. "Hmm?"

"What's up with you? You were all sunshine a minute ago, now you're all wilted. I've been talking to you and you're spacing out."

Zhou Anran bit her lip. "Sorry... what did you say?"

"I asked if you wanted to get milk tea before we head back."

Guilt pricked at her for spacing out on her best friend. She nodded. “Yeah, let’s. My treat.”

"Awesome!” Yan Xingxi was her complete opposite; outgoing, a little loud, and not one to overthink things, "Perfect timing. My allowance is almost gone for the month."

They kept chatting as they walked.

Soon, they passed the court.

Despite herself, Zhou Anran looked up again at the third court in the first row. She recognized the faces there. One boy from Class 3, the rest from her own class.

All guys Chen Luobai hung out with.

Because he was friends with them, their faces had become familiar to her.

His friends were here, why wasn't he?

Her thoughts started to drift again.

So when a distant shout of "Look out!" reached her, it took her a second too long to look up.

A bright orange basketball was hurtling straight for her face.

It was happening too fast. There was no time to process it. Dodging seemed impossible. She just stood frozen, bracing for the impact.

And then—

At almost the same moment, a cool, clean scent of laundry detergent invaded her senses. A long, cool, pale hand shot out from her left side, intercepting the ball from her face.

It was just inches away. 

So close she could see the fine hairs on the back of that large hand, the veins bulging out slightly from the effort.

And just above the wrist bone, was the small mole she'd glimpsed from varying distances before, the mark that let her recognize the owner instantly. Now, it was right there, in front of her eyes.

It wasn't black, she realized. It was a tiny, brownish speck.

Her heart slammed against her ribs.

Through the roar of blood in her ears, the owner of the hand spoke. His voice was familiar, too, a little deeper than most boys their age, but still carrying that clear, youthful timbre.

"Hey. You almost hit a girl. Apologize."

Voices from the court tumbled over each other.

"Luo-ge! Finally! We’ve been waiting forever. You still playing?” The tone was warm and eager.

“Sorry about that, classmate!” This one was a little perfunctory.

"A-Luo, what did Old Gao want?" Curious.

So he’d been called away by the homeroom teacher.

Her heart was still hammering. Her fingers curled at her side. She wanted to turn her head, to look at him properly.

Yan Xingxi, finally recovering from the shock, pulled Zhou Anran back a couple of steps and yelled at the court, "Hey! Watch where you're throwing the ball!"

Zhou Anran gave her arm a reassuring pat, then, unable to help herself, turned her head to look at him.

In Nancheng, the seasons were all blurred together.

It was already late October, but the weather was still brutally hot. Almost everyone was still in summer uniform.

But some people seemed born blessed by God.

Tall and lean, the baggy blue-and-white school uniform looked crisp and cool on him. His profile, gilded by the setting sun, was sharp and defined. His lashes were dark and long, his eyelids deeply creased.

The ball that had almost hit her was now in his hand. He spun it lazily, a relaxed smile on his face. His gaze was fixed on the court, it didn’t once flicker in her direction.

Zhou Anran’s heart, held high, crashed hard back to depth.

A dense wave of disappointment filled the space it left behind.

She shouldn't be disappointed.

She should have foreseen this.

She should have known that his act of helping her was simply the good manners etched into his very bones. And as for who he helped—passerby A, B, C, or D, probably did not matter to him.

After all, this wasn't the first time he’d helped her.

---

The day of freshman registration happened to coincide with Yan Xingxi’s grandfather’s seventieth birthday, so her family had arranged for her to report to school a couple of days late. 

Zhou Anran's parents both had to work that day. She told them not to take time off to accompany her and went alone. 

Registration was on the second floor of the administration building. She'd arrived early, there was no one else on the stairs.

It was pouring rain that day.

Zhou Anran took the stairs slowly, one at a time.

Reaching the top, she glanced around to look for the right room. Some inconsiderate person had left a banana peel on the ground. She didn't see it, and with the rain-slicked floor, she lost her footing completely, tumbling backwards—

And fell into a firm, warm embrace. That same clean scent enveloped her.

A low voice, a boy’s, spoke near her ear. “Careful.”

Zhou Anran turned her head, her gaze met a pair of narrow, dark eyes.

Then, a head poked out of the railing on the third-floor landing, yelling down, "Chen Luobai! Hurry up!"

Catching sight of them, the guy’s face split into a teasing grin. "What the hell, man? I've been waiting forever, and you're down here flirting? Already got your arm around her? Damn, nice speed."

Zhou Anran’s cheeks warmed slightly.

She didn’t know if she was blushing.

But the boy beside her didn't seem to notice her reaction. As soon as he'd steadied her, he let go. He looked up at the head on the third floor, laughed, then cursed. "Are you sick? She almost fell. I caught her. Is that the only thing that your mouth is good for, talking crap?”

He was wearing a simple white t-shirt and black sweatpants, short black hair fell across his forehead. Clean and sharp. When he laughed, an irrepressible youthful vitality radiated from him.

"Well, hurry up, then."

Only when the voice from the third floor spoke again did Zhou Anran remember she should thank him. The boy, however, gave her no chance.

He didn't linger, didn't look at her again. He simply turned and took the stairs two at a time.

A sudden gust of wind rustled the camphor trees just outside the second-floor window, raindrops showering down from the lush green leaves.

Amidst the sound of wind and rain, Zhou Anran looked up, catching only a glimpse of the tall, retreating back, the corner of his white shirt billowing in the wind.

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