Eighteen's Bed

Chapter 17.4

I think of the shortest things in the world.

My father's thumbnail, Sunday evenings, and summer break.

The shortened summer vacation, courtesy of the school’s new policy, slipped by without leaving room for anything.

Before I knew it, the homeroom teacher was standing at the podium, explaining the second semester's college entrance process. The white chalk struck the blackboard with a sharp snap.

"First, the final stretch. If you can't secure an early decision spot, throw everything into the regular admissions."

"Second, make a realistic plan. Figure out which colleges you can actually get into."

"Third, don’t get obsessed with a college’s name. Sometimes, the major is more important. And of course, my door is always open for counseling."

“You guys are the type to actually study, aren’t you? I’ve seen this entrance exam game play out a few times. You kids—the ones who study just enough—are always the biggest problem. You know that only a few at the top can break through to the best schools, right? Ever heard the one about a camel passing through the eye of a needle?"

I turned my head.

And met his eyes—Go Yohan.

The second he caught me looking, he stretched his mouth wide in an exaggerated grin and mouthed the words:

‘I

did

nothing.’

Then, he pulled a mock crying face.

I was floored.

That damn face—so smug, so punchable.

I narrowed my eyes at him, then forced a smile back, my lips barely curling compared to his exaggerated grin.

‘Yeah.’

Without another glance, I turned away.

No one cared about us anyway.

The whole class was neck-deep in the same dilemma:

Shoot for the stars and risk burning up—or play it safe and aim low, letting pragmatism win over pride.

I glanced down at my desk.

Three sentences scribbled on the surface.

I was rereading the third one when I felt the teacher’s eyes on me again.

He smiled faintly and, almost playfully, drew a small ‘X’ in the air with his finger.

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