deskmate in the painting

IV. Class Monitor, You're the Best

The school bell finally rang, and the buzz of chatter faded as the last students found their seats. Mr. Zhang entered the classroom.

"What's going on here? Class is starting! Monitor! Why haven't you told everyone to stand?" Mr. Zhang's voice was low and gruff, reminiscent of my father's mumbling before a scolding.

"Teacher, Xiaojing stole our class hammer," Zhang Jun was quick to speak up.

"That's nonsense," Xiaojing stood up. "I didn't steal the hammer. I borrowed it. I didn't steal your pencil or eraser either. I didn't-" Her voice broke, and she burst into tears. She tried to wipe her eyes, smearing coal dust across her face, which made everyone laugh. The cheerful atmosphere filled the classroom.

"Enough! If you can't focus on class, then keep quiet!" Mr. Zhang banged a bamboo stick, about the thickness of a thumb and as long as his arm, on the desk. The classroom fell silent, except for Xiaojing, who continued crying, her face smeared with soot. The laughter continued.

"Tan Xiaojing, sit down and start the lesson!" Mr. Zhang ordered, his face flushed red, but Xiaojing continued to cry.

Mr. Zhang approached Xiaojing, muttering angrily. I feared the worst for her, and sure enough, the bamboo stick swung down on Xiaojing with a sharp crack.

"Not studying properly, disturbing others-what right do you have to cry?" he scolded.

"Ah, it hurts, teacher! Please stop, I won't cry anymore..." Xiaojing rubbed her arms and slowly sat down.

"Always the last in class. Get your father to come and take you away. I can't teach a student like you." Mr. Zhang's anger was still evident.

The other students whispered among themselves, casting knowing glances: "Xiaojing is a 'three-hands.'"

I felt a strange heaviness in my chest. There she was, sitting alone at a small desk, her red floral cotton jacket seemingly offering no protection against the teacher's cane. Could it ease her pain, or at least lessen it? I didn't understand why she gave in. Had she admitted to the theft? Was it really her?

Hesitantly, I raised my hand, wanting to explain the situation to Mr. Zhang. I knew Xiaojing had come early to return the hammer, and I wanted to tell Mr. Zhang this.

I saw Mr. Zhang notice me, but he ignored my attempt to speak and said, "Look at Jiang He. Always in the top three of his grade, bringing honor to our class. Everyone should learn from Jiang He..."

My hand dropped in defeat. Yes, I was the top student, always first in class, competing with the best from the neighboring classes. I regularly won awards in math competitions, and my essays were used as model papers by other schools. Mr. Zhang had even said I would attend the best university. Yes, I would go to the best university. How could I be seen with someone like her?

"Three-hands," I thought to myself. Mr. Zhang clearly favored those he liked and dismissed those he didn't.

I touched my red scarf, feeling a comforting warmth spread through me. I called out, "Stand up!" As my voice rang out, everyone quickly stood. "Good morning, teacher!" "Good morning, classmates, please sit!"

The stove next to me crackled and popped as the coal burned brightly, its fiery heat transforming into a pile of ash.