Jiang Yu, Please Take Good Care of Me

My name is Qiao Anxia, and I'm the Chinese class representative for Grade 11, Class 3. I live by three rules: One, math can go to hell. Two, school heartthrobs are for admiring from afar, not getting close to. Three, even dogs shake their heads at Jiang Yu's essays.

All three rules fell apart the day we were assigned to new classes in Grade 11. Jiang Yu became my deskmate. "You teach me Chinese, I'll teach you math. We'll both benefit," he said.

I believed him. Then I found out that when he explained math problems, he deliberately wrote out the steps so slowly that I had to watch his hands; the custard buns he "happened" to buy extra every day at lunch were always the flavor I wanted most but could never get; and in his essay about "the person I admire most," he never once wrote the name Qiao Anxia, but the whole class figured it out anyway.

The most infuriating part was that it took me an entire semester to realize one thing: when he said, "I look forward to learning from you," he wasn't just being polite. It was a plan.