Phew. That was close.

For the maths test, I penciled answers inside my strawberry eraser's sleeve. I needed ninety so Mum would buy the lace dress I wanted. The teacher didn't notice! Such a good trick. I taught Zhou Jiayi too.

Honestly, his grades are bad, but following Li Heng means people treat him well. Li Heng's temper scares me. There are so few of us in the club. If I don't play with them, what if they turn on me? I don't want to have no friends.

As long as I follow, never lead, teachers can't blame me if something happens. Clever, right?

...I know. I'm not clever at all.

I'm just afraid. Of not getting ninety. Of not getting the new dress. Of sitting at another holiday meal while grown-ups smile and say:"Look at your cousin. Such pretty clothes, and top of the year again."

"Eighty-nine? Not bad. Your cousin only got ninety-one at your age. That's already very good."

Even when I do well, Uncle has to say it. My parents stay silent, their faces falling a little more each time. Home feels worse afterward. I tell jokes until their tired faces finally smile, and only then can I stop being tense.

My cousin is Uncle's daughter, two years older. At Saturday dinners she sits opposite me, smiling gently, speaking softly, hair perfectly neat. Never below ninety-five. Her essays are always read aloud as examples. And me? I'm the one they call""such a lively child, that Song Yuming""- lively really means""nothing else to praise, so say lively""doesn't it? I know.

I've never told anyone. It's my secret. I don't want people to know I have a cousin who's supposedly better at everything. I don't think she is.

I behave, fit in, make people like me. Then adults won't compare us and classmates won't leave me alone. I'd rather copy answers than embarrass Mum at dinner. I'd rather say things I don't mean than become the child with nobody beside her.

Being alone is more frightening than failing an exam or being scolded.

If only someone would stay with me even when I wasn't making them happy or making them look good.

Enough of that. Mum bought me a flip phone. Typing takes several presses. The keys 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8 and 9 each have several letters.

The thing I want most, but never dare ask for. One English word. I matched each letter to its number key on the phone and wrote the keys down: 2667264667447. That word will open my next entry.

(A reminder: 2=abc, 3=def, 4=ghi, 5=jkl, 6=mno, 7=pqrs, 8=tuv, 9=wxyz)

My hands are still shaking.

Yesterday went too far. They dragged him to the roof and beat him badly. Blood and bruises everywhere! What if he goes to the police? What if they investigate? I don't want a disciplinary mark. Mum would kill me!

Liu Shu said she'd tell a teacher. She wouldn't listen. What am I supposed to do if she tells? Playing the saint!!! Yes, I went to the roof. They kicked him, laughing, and told me to laugh too. I was afraid they'd look down on me. To show I was one of them, I picked up a tiny stone and threw it at him, laughing. Just one little stone! It didn't even draw blood!

Anonymous in the forum says they saw me throw it! Who is that?! What's wrong with them!

...But as I threw it, he looked up. I can't forget that face. I dream about it. Dirt, blood, swollen eyes. Was it sadness, or disappointment?

How did it become this? I never imagined... Last autumn, all nine of us squeezed into the back of the bus, sharing crisps. He was great at maths. When I failed a test, he lent me homework and patiently explained my mistakes for a whole break.

He didn't say much, but he was kind. We were all friends.

Is it my fault? I should have stopped them, but I couldn't. I know it's selfish, but I keep thinking: he's too weak, it's not my fault, I had no choice!

I make myself believe it. Otherwise I'll fall apart.

If teachers investigate, I'll blame everything on them. Yes. Nothing to do with me...

Writing that makes me sick. I want to throw up.

I'm afraid of being found out, punished, beaten by Mum. But maybe I'm more afraid of how my grown-up self will remember this.