Electronic Nezha

Chapter 2 The Teacher's Phone Call

Around 11 a.m., I was busy at my fruit market stall when I suddenly received a call from Liu Zhenhua's homeroom teacher asking me to come to the school, which left me completely confused.

Liu Zhenhua is my son, and he's in the second year of junior high school this year. This is the first time I've received a call from his teacher. Since he was little, he's always seemed like someone who's "okay in his studies, nothing special." Ever since elementary school, every time I've attended a parent-teacher conference and privately asked the teacher about his situation, it's almost always the same evaluation: "This child is pretty good." Then I'd end up staring at the teacher. Liu Zhenhua doesn't fight, his grades are stable, he passes physical education, and he's never late or absent. For a group, he's practically the embodiment of collective consciousness. Apart from being a little childish at times, he has that reassuring "ordinary child" stability that makes parents feel at ease. What could his teacher possibly want to call me for?
I had just finished counting the 20 boxes of frozen persimmons that had just been delivered. I took off my white cotton gloves and told Lao Wang.

"You got into a fight with your classmates?" That was Lao Wang's first reaction when he heard the teacher was calling me over. He's been working at this stall for almost ten years. People in the market jokingly call him our family's long-term laborer, which is pretty much true. There are usually just the two of us at the stall. I pay his salary. When I'm not there, he's the boss. When I want to slack off, he has to be in charge of purchasing goods, handling near-expiry fruits, and acting as both accountant and cashier. He's practically watched Liu Zhenhua grow up.

Unexpectedly, the walls have ears. Li Ping, who was sitting in the doorway of the stall next door wrapped in a military overcoat and sunbathing, casually remarked, "On the bright side, maybe he wrote a love letter to a female classmate?"

Old Wang limped out of the house, shouting, "What kind of talk is this? Writing love letters is an honor?"

I said unhappily, "Can't you two be a little more hopeful for Zhenhua? Is it not allowed for female classmates to write love letters to him?"

Then the three of us looked at each other and chuckled.

After the joke was over, Old Wang noticed my eyes lingering on the stall and picked up two kiwi gift boxes, saying, "Take these. They're not suitable if they're too expensive or too cheap. Just say you're treating all the teachers in the office to them."

I thought about it and realized he had a point. These days, high-end kiwis are sold in boxes of four, sealed in plastic shells. A box contains 16 kiwis in four rows, and they look about the size of a briefcase. Two boxes together cost less than a hundred yuan, which is perfect as a small gift. I can't go to see my teacher empty-handed, since I'm at such a big fruit stand.

Old Wang pulled a jingling keychain from his pocket and tossed it to me: "Go ride my bike."

Although the school and the market are nominally only separated by a road, it takes 15 minutes to walk there. I turned on Lao Wang's dirty, cheap electric scooter, put two boxes of kiwis on the footrest, and told Lao Wang, "I'm going straight home at noon. You can watch the stall by yourself."

Old Wang nodded and began to comfort me: "Don't overthink it. What bad things could Zhenhua possibly do?"

Li Ping remained seated as still as a mountain, uttering three words: "Wear a helmet."

Old Wang grinned lewdly: "Divorced women still know how to care for someone." He turned and went into the house, and Li Ping rolled her eyes at him.

When I saw Lao Wang actually going to look for a helmet, I yelled at him, "It's only a three-minute thing, don't waste your breath!" I twisted the switch and was already out of the market.

I'm just making things up, but I'm genuinely unsure. The problem is that Liu Zhenhua is such an ordinary kid. I dare say this is the feeling of parents all over the world: the quieter you are, the more afraid you are of receiving a call from your teacher. It's like the panic you feel when a doctor suddenly keeps you behind for a routine physical exam at work.

What could it be? I calmly analyzed it. For kids this age, it's really just one of the two things Li Ping and Lao Wang mentioned—fighting or puppy love. Liu Zhenhua has always been kind to others, and sometimes I even feel he lacks the wildness of a boy. Fighting... wait, could he be being bullied at school? My heart raced, and I lost my grip. The bike lurched forward. Lao Wang had modified the speed limit on his bike; it could easily reach 40 mph. I often saw him riding it recklessly through the market, a major hazard for traffic accidents.

Speaking of puppy love, I think this is the most likely scenario. After all, adolescence doesn't happen just because you're ordinary. I don't know if Liu Zhenhua and the female classmate were mutually attracted or if it was one-sided. If it was consensual, should the female classmate's parents be present? If they are, should I, as the male's parent, show a guilty and apologetic attitude, or should I remain a neutral observer, not judging the situation, but actively seeking solutions to nip it in the bud and leave Liu Zhenhua with a scar he can look back on in his youth?

I composed myself for a while at the entrance of No. 3 Middle School before registering at the security office and entering the school. It was already the fourth period, and several classes were lining up to run on the playground for PE. Walking into the teaching building, the door to the eighth-grade office was open. I immediately saw Mr. Wang, Liu Zhenhua's homeroom teacher, sitting sideways at his desk, with another male teacher grading papers against the wall. I knocked twice on the door, and Mr. Wang turned around: "Are you Liu Zhenhua's father?"

It seems that Teacher Wang only invited me as a parent; otherwise, she wouldn't have been able to match so many students together. I only know her because I attended a parent-teacher meeting when I enrolled, but we've never spoken privately.

"Hello, Teacher Wang."

Teacher Wang nodded, and reached out to push out a chair diagonally opposite her: "Sit down and let's talk."

I sat down cautiously, my heart pounding with apprehension. Ms. Wang was my age, around forty, wearing a stiff-looking shirt with a wavy collar. She used skincare products but didn't wear makeup. Her expression was aloof; her long tenure as a homeroom teacher had instilled in her a stern, authoritative aura. Sitting opposite her, I could feel the pressure. From Liu Zhenhua's descriptions, I knew she was a rigorous and strict teacher. Judging from her serious expression, the matter about to be discussed was no small thing. I wouldn't be surprised if she told me the next second that Liu Zhenhua had burned down the Louvre.

Teacher Wang pushed a densely filled table in front of me with her finger: "You've seen this before, haven't you?"

This is the overall ranking list for the second-year junior high school students' mid-term exams. Liu Zhenhua's name is marked with a small triangle, ranking 323rd. There are approximately 1200 students in their entire grade.

"Oh, I've seen it." Liu Zhenhua took a ranking sheet back. Seeing that it was related to academic performance, I felt somewhat relieved. Perhaps noticing my relaxed state, a sharp glint flashed in Teacher Wang's eyes: "What do you think of these grades?"

"It's alright." I told the truth. Out of 1200 students, I ranked 323rd. I wouldn't dare say it's excellent, but it's definitely good by any measure.

Teacher Wang asked, "Do you have a plan for your child's next stage of learning? Which high school would you like them to attend?"

I blurted out, "Of course, the best would be No. 1 High School." No. 1 High School is a key high school in our city, full of top students. Getting into No. 1 High School means that, barring any unforeseen circumstances, one foot is already in a 985 or 211 university.

"The idea is good," Teacher Wang said, "but don't even think about Liu Zhenhua's score. Based on past experience, someone from our No. 3 Middle School would have a chance to get into No. 1 Middle School if they ranked around 230 or 240. Besides, kids these days are so competitive. If they get a big question wrong or have a bad essay, we have to take that into account. 320 or so, huh!"

"Teacher Wang, tell me how to work hard, and I will fully cooperate with you!" I expressed my sincere gratitude, and I was truly moved. There were 323 students in the grade, only a dozen or so in my class. The fact that the teacher talked to me privately showed that she cared about Liu Zhenhua.

Unexpectedly, Teacher Wang waved his hand and said, "The main reason I called you here today wasn't about this issue."

“That is…” I was a little confused.

Teacher Wang pushed a math test paper towards me: "Take a look at this first."

This is their midterm math test, and it's a blank sheet. These days, students take exams with both a test paper and an answer sheet. The answer sheet is full of answers, including multiple-choice and essay questions, while the test paper is kept by the student. Faced with such a blank sheet, I don't know what she's showing me.

Teacher Wang pushed another answer sheet over: "This is Liu Zhenhua's answer sheet."

The answer sheet shows that he got 3 multiple-choice questions wrong and 1 essay question wrong, scoring 85 points. This score means that it is impossible for him to be in the top third, which is above average and consistent with Liu Zhenhua's ability.

I was looking back and forth between the two sheets of paper when Teacher Wang, seeing that I was not getting it, said emphatically, "Look carefully!"

Then, following the teacher's gaze, I immediately spotted the problem—on Liu Zhenhua's blank answer sheet, one of the multiple-choice options had faint scratches, as if it had been carelessly drawn with a pen. Below the essay question was a simple answer, also only marked with scratches. Comparing it to the answer sheet, the crossed-out answers to the three incorrect multiple-choice questions were different from those on the answer sheet.

I looked up in surprise, and Teacher Wang nodded vigorously: "The answers on the test paper are all correct."

"Then why did he—"

"That's why I called you here," Teacher Wang said. "He should have gotten a perfect score, so why did he deliberately answer the questions wrong?"

"Could it be that he checked the answers with his classmates after he came down?" That was my first logical conclusion.

"Do you have to be so secretive about asking your classmate for answers? Or is it that your family is struggling financially and all his pens have run out of ink?" The usually serious Mr. Wang joked with me.

"That...that..."

"There's only one explanation: he's controlling the score."

I said speechlessly, "Controlling it at 323rd place? Is he crazy?" I asked, "How did you find out about the toilet paper incident?"

Teacher Wang said to the male teacher who was busy working by the wall with his head down, "Teacher Gao, you go ahead and say it."

Teacher Gao straightened up from a pile of homework and said calmly, "I went to their class to go over the test and temporarily took Liu Zhenhua's one—" He concluded, "It was a coincidence. I wouldn't have noticed if I hadn't been so observant."

The fact is: Liu Zhenhua could get 100 points on a test by just scribbling down answers, and then he deliberately filled in a few wrong answers to get 85 points. So what's the point of him controlling his score? Could it be that he calculated that the girl he liked would be ranked 322nd this time? A huge fog filled my mind, and I realized that I had encountered an extremely complicated and difficult problem—it's better to fall in love early!
(End of this chapter)