She and I have only been at the same table for a month.
She was an art candidate and was tall, with 175.
The class is arranged by grade, I was quite mixed in high school, sleeping in class, homework is not written, basically contracted the last row of positions.
The day after the results of the March monthly exam came out, she finished her last interview and went back to school, where she was assigned next to me because she didn't take the exam.
I was really not very familiar at the time, because my previous class teacher was pregnant, and I was merged into her class with several other classmates.
I went to school, she stayed; ten minutes between classes she was busy making up for sleep, and I just woke up and looked down at my mobile phone; after school I packed my bag and greeted a few buddies who were passing by to wait for me for a while, she had already run to the canteen, and when I left the teaching building, she was likely to pass by her with a burnt cake and rushed back to make up notes.
After about a week at the same table, I arrived at school once in the morning, and there were only a few day students in the classroom who were making up for homework and boarding students who got up at 5:30 and were lying on the table to catch up on sleep.
I adjusted the angle of the stacked books on the table to cover for myself to sleep in class, but found that the desk pocket that had been messed up by me with rolls and notebooks had been sorted out,—— and the rolls were divided according to the subjects and placed on the left side with clips, and the notebooks were stacked on the right from large to small. The pile of books on the table was also rearranged according to subjects and book sizes.
Before in order to facilitate the class to play mobile phone was dug a hole in the thick book glued to a sticky note: the book on your desk a night self-study collapsed several times, help you pack up, remember to keep good ha.
She wrote it, and after each sentence was written, she had to focus on the last point, which was her writing habit.
Looking at the homework on the blackboard that had not yet been wiped, I pulled out a math workbook that was clean like a new one, and poked her awake from sleep with a pen: "Borrow me for math homework." ”
She propped herself up slightly, squinted slightly at the things on her desk, drew out the exercise book and handed it to me, and the next second she lay back on her stomach.
"If you want to collect it in a moment, help me pay it." The sound is obviously not awake yet, a little cute.
Her workbook and mine together are a world apart. My workbook is cleaner than my face, and her workbook is full of puzzles and notes, and even multiple-choice questions are written in pencil in the blank space.
I had a rare math assignment that day, and the first time I checked the completion of my homework before class, I was not penalized for standing/squatting (standing for one class or squatting for half a lesson).
Later she seemed to get used to asking me to help her with her homework, to unscrupulously taking away half of the snacks she had hidden in her desk pocket, and to me, a day student, asking her to borrow a power bank from a boarder.
I was also used to the exercise book that appeared on the table every day, used to bringing a breakfast for her to make up for her sleep at breakfast time, and used to the end of the sentence with a little bit of a childish ending note when she asked me to help her charge the charging treasure.
In the last week at her table, I started not writing math homework again.
On Monday I almost stepped on the pre-bell to enter the classroom, the homework had long been collected, and I was rightfully punished by the math teacher with the blank paper.
The xy, ellipse, and hyperbolas in the teacher's mouth were like hypnotic incantations, and I simply took a piece of paper and cushioned it, and sat down between our seats with my back to her chair and fell asleep.
After about twenty minutes, my head jerked forward, startling myself awake.
Finding that the math teacher hadn't noticed the last row, I closed my eyes and tried to go back to sleep, but suddenly realized that something wasn't right, and that my back seemed to be leaning against something.
It was her chair, and it seemed that because of embarrassment, she sat on only a very small corner of the chair, but as long as my head was slightly tilted back, I could still rest on her thighs.
She didn't seem to notice that I was awake either, frowning, and in a strange gesture copied the steps on the blackboard. After looking at it for a while, I found that her left hand was between my head and the leg of the table, and she was writing with her right hand while pressing the roll.
Before I could figure out how to deal with the situation, the teacher called for me to sit up, she quickly pushed my shoulder, and I sat down in the chair as if I had just woken up.
For the following week, I didn't write a single math assignment, leaning against her chair every day to close my eyes and recuperate.
Soon it was April, and there was no doubt that I was still in the last row, and she moved her table to the middle, three rows apart.
I still used to bring her a breakfast every day and take the workbook from her desk. When the class representative woke her up, she flipped around her desk and then called back to me with a confused expression that had just woken up.
"I'll hand it over to you in a moment." I looked up from the numbers and letters I couldn't see: "I didn't wake you up when I saw you fall asleep." ”