The music was deep and raw, not a polished recital piece but something angry, something searching. It came from the rotunda. She crept closer, licking the last of her popsicle, and peered through a shattered window.
That evening, she heard a sound she’d never heard in the Meteor Garden before: a cello. meteor garden -2001-
“We’re going to lose,” Si said, his forehead against hers. The music was deep and raw, not a
Shancai should have been terrified. She was. Her hands shook as she read the note for the fifth time. But beneath the terror, a hot, stupid coal of anger began to glow. She thought of Si, crying over a broken cello. She thought of his mother, who had never once asked him what he wanted. She thought of her own father, who worked eighteen hours a day and still smiled when he handed her a warm baozi. That evening, she heard a sound she’d never
“You followed me,” he said, but it wasn’t an accusation. It was a question.
She didn’t know where she was going until she got there. The Meteor Garden. The rusty gate. The rotunda.
She almost smiled. Almost.