Chapter 8: The Fence and the Janitor’s Closet

The car started moving. In the jostling, I dozed off and had a short dream.

The soft rumble of the engine was oddly comforting, the world blurring out as I slipped under.

In my dream, I was back in the last row of the classroom.

The hum of fluorescent lights overhead, the chalk dust in the air. I watched the clock tick down, slow and steady.

The homeroom teacher had set up peer tutoring—one-on-one support. I, second-to-last in the class, was supposed to help Ryan Carter, who was dead last.

Back then, Ryan was the school troublemaker everyone avoided, always sleeping or causing trouble.

He wore trouble like a badge, daring anyone to try and fix him.

As group leader, I tried everything to get him to study. Every day, I got mad at him.

I left notes in his locker, quizzed him at lunch, even bribed him with candy bars. Nothing stuck.

A month later, after the monthly exam, the results came out.

He was second-to-last. I was dead last.

I cried so hard that day.

Ryan was fed up with me, so to shut me up, he took me out for burgers after school.

We sat in a booth at Jake’s Diner, the Formica table sticky, the milkshake melting between us. Grease hung in the air, and the fry cook’s radio played old Springsteen. He handed me a napkin, awkward but sincere.

“Just eat. You’re already last—can’t get any worse.”

“Me? I don’t care. Doesn’t matter if I study or not. My old man only cares about his other kid.”

His voice was flat, resigned. I wanted to reach across the table and shake him.

“Enough. Why apply to a music conservatory? I quit playing that stupid guitar ages ago.”

I remembered his guitar case gathering dust in the corner of the music room.

“Not listening, not listening, turtle chanting.”

He’d plug his ears, trying to tune me out, but I could see the war in his eyes.

“Natalie, whether I study or not is none of your business. Regret treating you to burgers—pay me back.”

He grumbled, but he always paid for my fries.

...

Ryan always asked why I forced him to study. He never knew.

Because long ago, I’d seen another side of him: great grades, writing his own songs, full of passion.

I wanted that Ryan Carter to come back.

What a shame. What a shame.

If only I’d tried harder. If only he’d let me in.

Ten minutes later, the car arrived at our destination.

I slept the whole way, so I didn’t know Ryan had been watching me the whole time.

He’d always been a mystery—even now, I couldn’t read his thoughts.

The live broadcast resumed.

The other guests entered the school through the main gate.

The old Maple Heights sign looked smaller than I remembered, the paint peeling at the corners.

Only Ryan—as the “slacker,” even entering the school required a challenge.

Solve a puzzle or do fifty push-ups—choose one.

The comments were full of sympathy for him:

[Pick the puzzle! Push-ups will use up all your energy.]

[But puzzles take too long. Ryan’s strong—just do the push-ups!]

The camera lingered on Ryan, as if this was a major decision.

He looked at the puzzle, then at the push-up mat, lips twitching. The crowd held its breath. Then, with a shrug, he headed for the fence.

He did it so casually, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Slackers should use slacker methods.”

His voice carried across the lawn, dry as ever. The crowd burst into laughter.

On camera, he sat atop the fence, wild and bold—just like he used to be.

For a heartbeat, the old Ryan was back. The one who didn’t care what anyone thought.

In a flash, he looked at me, his eyes flickering.

“Give me your hand,” he said.

His voice was soft, but there was an urgency in it I hadn’t heard in years.

As his VJ, I had no choice.

The moment our hands clasped—

Time seemed to slow. The world narrowed to the warmth of his palm against mine.

“Ms. Chen, you remind me of someone.”

My breath caught. “Who?”

He gazed at me, his eyes full of a gentle, nostalgic warmth. “No one. Just feels like today might be lucky.”

His words lingered, heavier than they should’ve been. Was he talking to me, or someone I used to be?

What’s gotten into him?

I suddenly felt light-headed. He’d already pulled me up.

We hit the ground running, laughter bubbling up despite myself.

The director’s team was thrown off by his move. After a while, the PA playing the security guard finally ran over.

He chased us down the corridor, badge askew, but couldn’t keep up.

We jumped down from the fence and hid in the janitor’s closet, crouching together in the cramped space for a long time.

The closet smelled like old pine cleaner and forgotten textbooks. Ryan’s shoulder brushed mine every time he shifted.

The PA wandered around for ages before finally leaving. I let out a sigh of relief.

Turning my head, I found Ryan looking at me, as if deep in thought.

There was a softness in his gaze I’d never seen before, something close to longing.

In the dim light, we were very close—close enough to hear each other’s heartbeats.

I swallowed. “...Mr. Carter, is something wrong?”

He smiled quietly, then reached up and took down the secret treasure stuck on top of the cabinet above my head.

“Ms. Chen, I told you—today would be lucky.”

He held the token up like a trophy, his grin lopsided and boyish.

At that moment, the comments went wild:

[Ahhh help, why is this so flirty?]

[I’m dying laughing—Ryan’s first time on a reality show and he’s flirting with the VJ.]

[I’m kind of shipping these two, is that okay?]

My face flushed. I ducked behind the camera, pretending to focus.

...

I don’t know what’s gotten into Ryan Carter.

Maybe it was the old school bringing out the kid in him. Or maybe he just liked breaking the script.

I can only chalk it up to him being weird.

After the crisis passed, we left the janitor’s closet and ran into Lillian at the intersection.

She was originally headed for the library, but seeing that I was Ryan’s VJ, she changed her mind and decided to go with him.

She sidled up, smile bright for the cameras, eyes sharp as ever.

In the hallway, she squeezed past me, deliberately blocking my camera.

“Ryan, I’m actually your fan, you know? I’ve listened to all your songs so many times.”

What a lie—she doesn’t even like music. What kind of fan is that?

I remembered her skipping music class to smoke by the bleachers. She couldn’t carry a tune if you gave her a bucket.

“Is that so.”

His reply was polite, but you could tell he wasn’t buying it.

“Yeah! You should cast me in your next music video. I can act and shoot, you know? I used to work behind the scenes.”

She batted her eyelashes, working every angle.

“Sure.” Ryan smiled politely. “If there’s a suitable opportunity, I’ll definitely consider you.”

He was a pro at handling people like her.

He stopped outside a classroom, paused, and pushed the door open.

The hinges creaked—some things at Maple Heights never changed.

Lillian didn’t follow. When another VJ was filming b-roll, she deliberately blocked me, then turned off her chest mic and whispered:

“I remember you’re a fan of Ryan Carter, right? Didn’t you camp out for days just to get tickets to his seven-year anniversary concert?”

She curled her lips in a smile. “What now? I can talk to him easily, and you can only watch from afar. So sad.”

Her words slid over me like oil. I forced myself not to react.

“How about this—apologize to me, admit you were wrong, and I’ll tell him to give you a concert ticket. How about that?”

No thanks.

I quietly pointed the camera at her face.

If she likes to talk, let her talk to the camera.

Her expression stiffened, but she quickly turned her mic back on and smiled. “Are you a professional VJ? Following the wrong person, right? I’m not Ryan Carter.”

She then hurried into the classroom.

I shook my head, letting her drama roll off me like water. There were more important things to focus on.

Ryan was searching the corners, focused.

He moved with purpose, the old slouch gone, every step deliberate.

Lillian looked around, bored, and perched on a desk. “Hey, Ryan, you look like a good student. You must have been popular with teachers, right?”

“Wrong.”

Ryan didn’t even look up. “I was a notorious slacker. Even the school dogs didn’t like me. Only got a bit better later.”

His honesty made the crew chuckle.

“Really?” She widened her eyes in surprise. “Then why did you change? Was it really because of that girl in the rumor—the one who had leukemia?”

Ryan’s hand suddenly paused.

No one expected Lillian to bring up the rumor so bluntly.

There was a collective intake of breath on set. The director shot a warning look her way.

Ryan had always avoided talking about it, and her question was extremely out of line.

Lillian herself froze for a second, realizing what a dumb thing she’d just asked. She quickly covered her mouth. “Sorry...”

She sounded genuinely shaken for once.

Everyone gasped, waiting for Ryan’s reaction.

But—

He was silent for a moment, his eyes flickering, then answered: “Yes.”

His voice was barely above a whisper, but it echoed through the silent room.

As if to confirm it, he straightened, looked at the camera, and said slowly:

“If it weren’t for her, I probably would’ve stayed a loser forever.”

“So, I’m very grateful to her.”

His voice broke just a little at the end. My throat tightened.

The comments exploded:

[Oh my god, it’s true!]

[Ryan is so tragic—he worked so hard for the girl he loved, but she’ll never see it. I’m crying.]

[He’s been donating to leukemia patients all these years, all for her. He must feel so guilty for not keeping her back then. I can’t take it, sob sob...]

The live broadcast hit a new peak.

Fans spammed the chat with crying emojis and virtual hugs. Donations to the charity ticked upward.

I stood there in shock, my heart tightening.

So it really was for that girl.

He finally became what I’d hoped for—but it had nothing to do with me.

There was a strange relief in that. Maybe now I could finally let go.

Memories overwhelmed me.

I seemed to be back in that dim classroom.

The air smelled like old chalk and linoleum. I saw myself—nervous, hopeful, trying to be brave.

“Ryan Carter, today’s my birthday.”

He sounded casual: “Your birthday? Why didn’t you say so earlier? Then I’ll wish you to stay eighteen forever. I’ll give you your present tomorrow.”

“I don’t want anything else. I just want you to start studying hard from today, okay?”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

Eighteen-year-old Ryan looked at me for a long time, then nodded. “Okay.”

I can’t describe how happy I was in that moment.

It felt like the start of something—like maybe we could both become better people.

...But when we were supposed to study together, he was at the pool hall, workbook torn to pieces.

I cried and begged him: “Ryan Carter, stop fighting. Do your homework before you fight, okay?”

He was just annoyed.

He said, Who do you think you are?

Yeah, who did I think I was?

What was I worth?

The memory stung, sharper than ever.

Sunlight flickered as Ryan looked down and unlocked his phone.

His hands shook as he tapped the screen. I saw the lock screen image flash for a split second.

The studio lights felt hotter. My ears rang. I could see the pixelated edges of my old yearbook photo—my own face, staring back from his lock screen.

“But she’s already gone.”

His voice cracked, the words barely making it out.

“If I’d known, I never would have wished her to stay eighteen forever.”

I looked up, my temples throbbing.

What did he just say?

The producer’s voice buzzed in my earpiece: “Give us a close-up, what are you waiting for?”

I snapped out of it, hurriedly zoomed in, and swept the camera over his phone screen.

But when I saw the photo, I froze.

It was me. Maybe blurry, but unmistakably me. My heart hammered in my chest.

Ryan Carter stared at me, his eyes glistening with tears.

“Ms. Chen, I heard you went to school here, too. Have you ever seen her?”

His voice was so raw, I almost forgot we were live.

The air was dead silent.

Lillian curiously leaned over to look at the photo.

“Huh? You used to have a mole on your nose? When did you get it removed? The girl’s face is so blurry, I can’t see clearly, but if you look closely, she kind of looks like...”

She stared, her pupils suddenly dilating, as if she’d seen a ghost in broad daylight.

The whole room seemed to freeze. Lillian’s jaw dropped. And in that charged, breathless silence, I realized—my past wasn’t as buried as I’d hoped.