In the beginning, she was always the one ranked first in our class.
Then one day, my total exam score came within a single point of hers.
She marched right up to me and started talking trash：“Even if it's only one point, I'll always be better than you. Just like how I'm class president and you're only the vice.”
I had no idea why she felt the need to provoke me like that.
But she lit a fire in me that wouldn't go out.
I started spending every spare minute studying. Late at night, often past eleven, I'd text her asking if she was still awake.
That wasn't me being thoughtful.
It was reconnaissance.
I wanted to outwork her by one more minute, outscore her by one more point, and prove myself.
She seemed to be thinking the exact same thing. She'd text me too, asking if I was still up. She was a girl, sure, but she was every bit as competitive as I was.
We'd push each other past midnight, both of us determined to squeeze in one more minute than the other.
But everything taken to extremes eventually breaks. Our vicious cycle of one-upmanship, with no real sleep, left us drowning in exhaustion during the day.
A day or two was manageable. Weeks of it were not.
Finally, she caved and came to find me：“We need ground rules. Lights out at ten-thirty every night. No sneaking in extra study time, not even one minute!”
I looked at her skeptically：“Fine by me. I just hope you don't cheat.”
“Please.”
She scoffed：“You think I'd stoop that low? When I beat you, it'll be fair and square.”
I didn't keep my end of the deal.
Every night at ten-thirty on the dot, we'd text each other, confirming we were done for the night.
But I'd keep going for another half hour after that. Even if it was just thirty more minutes of reading, I believed down to my bones that every extra minute of effort would pay off.
The next round of exam results came out.
No surprises.
I beat her by two points.
She was furious. After school, she told me to meet her at the bubble tea shop outside campus.
The second she walked in, she ripped her test paper to shreds right in front of me, then threw the pieces in my face and demanded to know if I'd been studying past the cutoff.
Faced with her interrogation, I felt a twinge of guilt and admitted that I'd been sneaking in an extra half hour every night.
I expected her to explode. Instead, she went completely silent and walked out without a word.
By the time the next mock exam rolled around, she still hadn't overtaken me. She cried in the classroom that day, really cried, and our teacher and classmates all gathered around trying to comfort her.
That evening, she asked me to meet her at the little park nearby.
She confronted me again about whether I'd been cheating on our deal. I admitted it openly: yes, I was still studying an extra half hour every night.
She burst into tears.
That was when I finally understood. She was crying because she'd been secretly studying until one in the morning every single night, and she still couldn't beat me.
We were both so young and naive back then. I just stood there watching her pour out all her frustration, with absolutely no idea how to make it better.
Another exam came around.
I deliberately got two questions wrong and let her win.
The mistakes were painfully obvious. My teacher called me out in front of the whole class and hauled me into the office for a lecture.
While I was getting chewed out, Serena slipped over to my desk, looked at my test paper, and realized I'd thrown the exam on purpose.
She asked me to meet her that weekend.
But when the time came, she never showed. She wasn't answering her phone either. I went looking for her and finally found her cornered in an alley by two punks.
I threw myself in without thinking. I got her out of there, but I took a beating bad enough to land me in the hospital.
For the next few days, she came to see me every afternoon after school. She'd bring her class notes so I could catch up, and we'd sit together doing homework and studying side by side.
