My mother drove me to the airport with the window open. At 25°C, Celestial Dragon City, the sky is clear, and there is no trace of cloud shadows in the blue. I wore my favorite shirt - sleeveless, with white mesh lace. I wore it as a farewell ritual. The item I carried with me was just a leather jacket.

In the Olympia Mountains of northwestern Washington state, there is a small town called Victoria that is forever shrouded in gloom. There is an incredible amount of rain here, more than anywhere else in the United States. It was from this town that my mother took me out of the oppressive gloom that filled the town, when I was only a few months old. In this small town, every ringing I was forced to go there for a month until I was fourteen. That year I finally made it clear that I didn't want to go. A few times later, my father, Chuck, had to take me to California for a two-week vacation instead.

Now I have banished myself to Vidonia, an act that I consider very noble. I hate Victoria.

I love Draco City. I love the sun and the heat. I love this vibrant, ever-expanding city.

"Imia." Before I got on the plane, my mother said to me the thousandth time, "You really don't have to. ”

My mother and I looked very similar, except for the short hair and laugh lines. As I looked into her big, childlike eyes, I felt a sudden surge. How could I leave my beloved, unstable, careless mother and leave her to fend for herself? Of course, now she has Aiken, someone to pay the bills, someone to refill the fridge, someone to refill the car, and someone to call for help when she gets lost, but ......

"I really want to go." I lied. I'm usually a crappy liar, but I repeat this lie so often that it sounds convincing now.

"Say hello to Chuck for me."

"I will."

"I'll be coming to see you soon," she stressed. "Whenever you want to go home, you can come back - and I'll be there if you need it."

But I could see in her eyes the sacrifices she would make for it.

"Don't worry about me," I tried to persuade. "Everything will be going well. I love you, mom. ”

She hugged me tightly for a minute, then I got on the plane and she left.

It's a four-hour flight from Draco to Seattle, then an hour to a small plane to Port Auxiang, and finally an hour's drive to Victoria. Flying didn't affect me, but I was a little scared of the hour I spent in a car with Chuck.

Chuck was quite receptive to the whole thing. He was really happy because it was my first time and almost permanently moved in with him. He even got me through the high school enrollment process and planned to help me get a car.

But it's still undoubtedly awkward to get along with Chuck. Neither of us is good at talking, and I don't know what we can talk about without fear. I know he is still a little confused about my decision, as my mother had shown in front of me, for I have never concealed my dislike for Victoria.

When I arrived at Okusho Port, it was raining. I'm not going to take this as a symptom - it's just an inevitable reality. I've said goodbye to the sun.

Chuck was waiting for me next to a patrol car, which was what I expected. Chuck is Sheriff Swayn of a good citizen of Victoria. My main motivation for buying a car, even though I was shy in my pocket, was that I didn't want to wander around town in a car with red and blue lights on the roof. The police are the first to cause traffic jams.

After I stumbled off the plane, Chuck only reached out a hand and hugged me awkwardly.

"Nice to meet you, Elijah." He smiled and said, grabbing me without thinking to keep me steady. "You haven't changed much. Is Tia good? ”

"Mom was fine. I'm glad to meet you, Dad, too. "They wouldn't let me call him Chuck to my face.

I only brought a few bags of luggage, and most of my laundry in Arizona was too thin for the climate in Washington State. My mother and I pooled our money to buy me some winter clothes, but it wasn't enough. These bags of luggage easily slipped into the trunk of the patrol car.

"I've got a good car for you, pretty cheap." He declared as we fastened our seatbelts.

"What kind of car?" I was very skeptical that he didn't say anything about a simple "good car", but deliberately said it was "a good car for you".

"Well, a truck, a Chevrolet, to be exact."

"Where did you get it?"

"Do you remember Bellingham's Black Boy Blue?" Bellingham is a small town on the coastline.

"I don't remember."

"He used to go fishing with us when it sounded." Chuck prompted me.

That explains why I don't remember him. Erasing those painful, unnecessary memories is my forte.

"He's in a wheelchair now," I didn't say anything, and Chuck had to continue, "so he couldn't drive anymore, and he offered to sell me his truck cheaply." ”

"What year is the car?" I could tell from the sudden change in his face that it was a question he didn't want me to raise.

"Well, Blue put a lot of effort into the engine - it's only a few years old, really."

I hope he doesn't underestimate me like this, thinking that I will give up easily. "What year did he buy it?"

"I think he bought it in 1984."

"Was it a new car when he bought it?"

"Well, no, I think it's from the early sixties -- and the fifties." He readily admitted.

"Cha - Dad, I don't know anything about cars. If it breaks I can't fix it myself, and I can't afford to hire a repairman......"

"Really, Ilya. This guy ran awesomely. They never produced a good car like this again. ”

This guy, I thought to myself...... It could be -- a nickname, very likely.

"Alright, baby, I've pretty much bought it as a gift to welcome you home." Chuck peeked at me hopefully.

Ha, it's free.

"You don't have to, Dad. I'm going to buy my own car. ”

"I don't mind. I just want you to have a good time here. He said this as he stared straight ahead at the road. Chuck isn't good at being honest about his feelings. I am inherited by him in this regard. So in response, I looked straight ahead.

"Awesome, Dad. Thank you. I really appreciate it. "Needless to say, it's impossible for me to be happy in Vidonia. He didn't have to endure the long hours he spent with me. What's more, the gift horse doesn't look at the tooth - or the engine.

"Well, now, welcome back." He muttered, embarrassed to thank me.

We exchanged a little bit of our views on the weather, including whether it was a bit wet today. After there were no more topics to discuss, we all looked out the window in silence.

Of course, it's beautiful. I can't deny that. Everything was green: the trees, the trunks were covered with moss, the green leaves hung from the branches like a dome, and the ground was covered with ferns. Even the air is filled with greenery as if it has been filtered by leaves.

It's so green here - like an alien planet to me.

Eventually we arrived at Chuck's house. He still lives in that small, two-bedroom house. That's the house he bought when he and my mother were newly married. Their marriage lasted only those days - the earlier ones. There, parked on the street in front of the house, there was no doubt that it was my new – well, new to me – truck. It was a faded red truck with round fenders and a bulb-shaped cab. To my great surprise, I liked the car. I don't know if it can move, but I see myself in it. It's the kind of hard guy that never breaks—the kind of car you see at the scene of an accident, with half of the paint peeled off, and it's surrounded by pieces of foreign cars that it destroyed.

"Wow, Dad. I love it! Thank you! "Now my terrifying tomorrow won't be so scary. I no longer have to face the dilemma of whether to walk two miles to school in the rain or to go to school in a patrol car driven by a sheriff.

In just one trip, all my luggage was moved upstairs. I live in my bedroom on the west side facing the front yard. This bedroom is no stranger to me, it has belonged to me since I was born. Wooden floors, pale blue wallpaper, pointed floorboards, pale yellow lace curtains on the windows – these are all part of my childhood. The only change was that as I grew older, Chuck changed the bassinet to a bed and added a writing desk. There was now a second-hand computer on the desk, connected to a long telephone line that dragged across the floor and connected to the nearest telephone interface. It was an agreement with my mother so that we could contact more conveniently. The rocking chair from my childhood is still in the corner.

The Lycée de la Vidonia has an astonishing number of pupils, 357 - and now 358 pupils; In my home, there are over 700 students in the middle school alone. All the children grew up together – their grandfathers were together as toddlers.

I'm going to be a girl from the big city, a fresh, quirky presence.

Perhaps, if I looked like a girl from Draco City, I would have an advantage. But in fact, I don't fit in anywhere. I should be tan, athletic, light-haired -- a volleyball player, or a cheerleader.

But on the contrary, I had ivory skin - not because of blue eyes or red hair - and the constant abundance of sunlight did nothing for me. I was slender, but a little thin, and obviously not an athletic figure; I also don't have enough balance to play sports without shame on myself – without hurting myself or anyone who is too close to me.

After stuffing all my clothes into the old pine closet, I grabbed my toiletry bag and went to the bathroom I shared with Chuck to wash off the dust from my body. As I washed that tangled, damp clump of hair, I stared at my own face in the mirror. Perhaps because of the light, I looked yellow and haggard. My skin could have been beautiful - it was bright, almost transparent and snow-white - but it needed to look good. I don't look good right now.

Looking at my dim figure in the mirror, I was forced to admit that I had been lying to myself. I just can't accept the reality. If I can't find my place in a school of 3,000 people, what opportunities do I have here?

I don't get along well with my peers. Maybe the truth is that I can't get along with people. Even my mother, who is the closest person I have on this planet, has never been in harmony with me, at least never in lockstep. Sometimes I wonder if the world I see through my eyes is the same as what they see. Maybe there's something wrong with my brain. But it doesn't matter. It's the results that matter. And tomorrow is about to begin.

I didn't sleep well that night, even after I cried. The sound of wind and rain pierced through the roof, showing no sign of abating into background music. I pulled the faded old quilt over my head, and finally pressed the pillow on. But I couldn't sleep until midnight, when the rain finally turned to a quieter drizzle.

In the early morning, when I looked out the window, all I could see was a thick haze. I could feel claustrophobia coming at me. You won't get a chance to see the void here. It's like a cage.

Breakfast with Chuck was a quiet affair. He wished me a great stay at school. I thanked him, but knew that his hopes were in vain. Good luck always eludes me. Chuck left first and went to the police station, which was more like his home. After he left, I sat down on one of the three mismatched chairs resting on the old oak square table and surveyed his small kitchen. Gray wall panels, bright yellow closets, white oil blanket floors. Nothing has changed. The closet was painted by my mother eighteen years ago, and she wanted to bring some sunlight into the house. Above the small fireplace, next to the family room, which is only the size of a handkerchief, is a set of photographs. The first was a wedding photo of Chuck and my mother in Las Vegas, and then a photo of the three of us at the hospital, which was taken with the help of a kind nurse. This was followed by a series of photos of me at school afterwards. It's embarrassing to see — I wish I could convince Chuck to put the pictures elsewhere, at least while I'm living here.

It's hard to stay in this house without realizing that Chuck never really forgot about my mother at all. It made me feel uncomfortable.

I didn't want to go to school too early, but I couldn't stay in this house any longer. I put on my jacket - which felt more like a biohazmat suit - and rushed headlong into the rain.

It was still drizzling, but not enough to drench me when I took the key hidden under the eaves and locked it. The sound of my newly bought waterproof boots splashing muddy water was irritating. As I walked, I missed the creak that should have been on the gravel. I couldn't stop and confirm my truck as I expected. I was in a hurry to get out of this foggy dampness, and it made my head dizzy and my hair clinging to my hood.

Comfortable and dry in the truck. It's either Blue or Chuck who cleans it up. But the leather-upholstered seats still smell faintly of tobacco, gasoline and mint. I was relieved that the engine was running fast, but it was loud and loud, reaching its highest volume when idling. Well, this age truck will inevitably have a little flaw. The fact that the old antique radio was still working was a bonus.

Finding a school wasn't difficult, even though I had never been there before. The school, like most other buildings, was built right next to the highway. But as a school, it's too inconspicuous; Except for the sign, which stated that it was Victoria High School, I was told to stop the car. It appears to be made up of a set of identical red brick buildings. There are so many trees and shrubs here that I can't tell the size of the campus at a glance. Where is the feeling of an educational institution? I thought with nostalgia. Where is the high wall with iron quinoa? Where are the metal detectors?

I parked in front of the first building, which had a small sign on the door that said General Affairs Office. No one parked here, so I'm sure it's not allowed here. But I decided to leave it alone and walk straight in instead of going around in circles in the rain like an idiot. Reluctantly, I left the warm and comfortable cab and walked down a pebble path surrounded by dark hedges. I took a deep breath and pushed the door open.

The room was brighter and warmer than I had hoped. The office was small, with a small waiting area with folding chairs, an orange-flecked commercial carpet on the floor, and a mix of notices and awards plastered all over the walls, where the clock was ticking and sounding. Green plants are everywhere in large plastic containers, as if they weren't green enough outside. The room was cut in half by a long counter cluttered with silk baskets full of papers and with colorful ribbons tied at the fronts. Behind the counter are three desks, one of which belongs to a large, glasses-wearing red-haired lady. She was wearing only a pink t-shirt, which immediately made me feel like I was overdressed.

The red-haired lady looked up, "What's the matter?" ”

"I'm Allymia Rien." I told her, but her eyes lit up. Without a doubt, I am the long-awaited gossip headliner. The sheriff's frivolous ex-wife's daughter finally comes home.

"Of course." She said. She rummaged through the crumbling stacks of papers on her desk until she found the ones she was looking for. "Here's your class schedule, and a map of the campus." She took a couple of forms to the counter and showed them to me.

She discussed my lessons with me, marked the best route on the map, and then gave me a note for the subject teachers to sign and I brought back to her at the end of the day. She smiled at me, like Chuck, and hoped I was going to enjoy it here. I smiled at her too, smiling as convincingly as I could.