When did she start being called "crazy"? Probably when everyone else was talking about their dreams of becoming a scientist, doctor, policeman, or some other great profession, while she said she wanted to be a beggar, sleeping under a bridge, the ground as her bed, the wind as her blanket, and the Milky Way as her tent. Alas, it's been so long, impossible to verify. But let's not dwell on that. Just know that from elementary school to middle school and now to her second year of high school, "crazy" has always been called "crazy."
The boy sitting in the second row of the first group by the window perfectly embodies the image of a prince charming in the eyes of the schoolgirls—perfect as someone's idol. "That'll be him," Crazy thought.
Although it's said that a girl pursuing a boy is easy, Crazy seriously considered what her math teacher said: becoming a top student before pursuing him.
The boy likes girls with waist-length hair. Crazy frustratingly scratched her head, handing her hair to the stylist with a straightener.
The boy likes to read and drink coffee at the bookstore near the school at noon. The madwoman started trying coffee that tasted like Chinese medicine and quietly sat down to read.
...
Throughout her senior year of high school, the madwoman unexpectedly blossomed into a beautiful figure on the path she longed for.
One day in math class, the math teacher, unusually, praised the madwoman who had repeatedly crossed his line. "When I first took over your class, the madwoman scored 9 points on the first test. I never expected her to score over 130 now. People with ambition are truly extraordinary when they put in the effort." He gave the madwoman and the boy a rather ambiguous look.
The madwoman lowered her head shyly, smoothing her hair with her fingers, inwardly thinking, "Teacher, are you insulting me or praising me? Don't you know my crush is here?"
The afternoon sun was somewhat lazy, and the madwoman felt that something was going to happen this afternoon.
Well, the person she cherished was standing right in front of her, looking at her with a hesitant expression; it would be strange if nothing happened.
The boy cut to the chase: "I heard you like me. Want to go out with me?"
In that instant, as if mountains crumbled and smoke billowed, the madwoman seemed to see the mirage that had always existed in her heart slowly dissipate, and behind the dissipating mirage lay a real building.
She said, "Sorry, you must have misheard."
The air seemed to freeze for a few seconds. "Maybe I really did mishear," the boy chuckled awkwardly. "Then I won't bother you anymore."
The madwoman calmly watched the boy turn away, but then another boy who had come with him couldn't stand it anymore. "You spent over a year declaring to everyone that you liked him. Now you say he got it wrong. Did he really mishear, or are you just playing hard to get?"
"You're overthinking it." The madwoman remained indifferent, unconcerned by the boy's harsh tone, opening her book to a new chapter, ignoring the boy's next comment, "A madwoman is a madwoman."
Did that boy really like her? For someone he'd never met and knew, the boy might feel a sense of vanity because of the crazy girl's passionate, unrequited love, or he might feel pity for her unrequited love, but he couldn't possibly develop feelings for her.
As for the crazy girl's feelings for that boy, she had said before that she was looking for a faith. Girls her age often like to use a beautiful boy as their faith to transform themselves.
When what is unattainable becomes readily available, preciousness depreciates to cheapness, and faith ceases to be faith.
The crazy girl thought: she should change her faith.
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