Monday at Yunjiang No. 1 High started the same way every war did: with territory.
The bike rack was the border, and at 7:38 AM it already belonged to Lu Jingchen's Ducati. He was leaning against it with his earphones in and his eyes closed, looking like he personally invented Mondays just to suffer through them. I dropped my bag on the concrete and let it make a sound.
"Move your motorcycle," I said. "This is my spot. Left side. I've parked here since First Year, and unless Lu Holdings bought the actual ground this weekend, you don't own it."
He didn't open his eyes. "There are no rules. Only consequences. Coach lets me park here because I bring the school medals, and you bring arguments with inanimate objects."
"Your Ducati is not art, and your dad can't appraise his way out of this." I stepped closer. "I'm not asking again."
He finally looked at me. "You're very loud before 8 AM. It's impressive, in a noise-violation kind of way. But no."
The first bell rang at 7:45 and saved him from whatever I was about to say. I wasn't going to key his tank. I wasn't a criminal, and Tang Tang would never let me live it down if I got suspended before the Arts Cup. So I locked my bike two slots down, right on the white line, with my front tire practically kissing his exhaust pipe.
He saw it and called it a declaration of war. I told him Geneva approved and walked away.
---
Homeroom was worse. The PA system crackled to life at 8:00 AM with the kind of announcement that made half the room groan. "All violinists for the Youth City Arts Cup report to the Music Hall at lunch for final instrument check. The competition is this Friday, and the school expects first place."
Jiang Wanyue flipped her hair from the front row and said "Obviously" like the word had been invented for her.
Jiang Wanyue was perfect. Grade 10 piano, Grade 9 violin, and Grade 12 at smirking while everyone else failed. Her father donated the new Steinway that lived in the auditorium, her mother ran the PTA with an iron fist, and her face was on the school brochure under the word Excellence. She also hated me, and she'd been consistent about it since Second Year, when I beat her at the Children's Palace finals by half a point. She told the judges I "cheated with feelings." I told her she played like a robot that had a trust fund, and we hadn't spoken since except to say "move" and "no."
Gu Yanche slid into the seat next to mine while Wanyue was still preening. Yanche was my childhood best friend. We learned violin together at the community center when we were six because his grandma taught lessons for free and our moms traded buns for tuition. He was kind, quiet, better than me at vibrato, and much worse at fighting, which was why he looked nervous now.
"You ready for Friday?" he asked, keeping his voice low.
"As ready as I'll be," I said. "You?"
"Nervous. Wanyue's been posting practice videos at 2 AM. Her ayi films them. Hashtag blessed, hashtag prodigy, hashtag nobody-sleeps-in-that-house."
"She can play Paganini in her sleep and I'll still eat breakfast," I said.
"You don't eat breakfast," Yanche pointed out.
"Exactly. I'm dangerous."
Wanyue turned around in her seat like she'd been waiting for an opening. She looked at me, then at Yanche, then back at me with the kind of smile that never reached her eyes. "Hope your violin's tuned, Shen. Would be a shame if something happened to it before Friday."
"Hope your personality's tuned, Jiang," I shot back. "Would be a shame if you had to win without someone else losing first."
Her smile didn't move. "See you at lunch."
---
The Music Hall at noon smelled like rosin, ambition, and cheap floor polish. Mr. He had three violins lined up on the inspection stand, each with a name tag.
Jiang Wanyue – Stradivarius Copy, Private Collection.
Gu Yanche – Yamaha YVN500, Community Center.
Shen Xingruo – Beginner Model, Name Scratched Off.
That last one was mine. Dad bought it for me when I was nine from a pawn shop near the bus station. It was used, the neck was loose, and he re-glued it himself at the kitchen table while Mom held the clamp. It was worth 400 yuan on a good day. It sounded like 400,000 when I played it, because I knew every scratch and every sharp edge.
"Cases open," Mr. He said, clapping his hands. "We check for damage, strings, and bridges. No one touches another student's instrument. Rule one. Rule two: see rule one."
Wanyue's violin gleamed under the lights. Yanche's was worn but cared for, with new tape on the fingerboard that his grandma probably put on last night.
Mine was broken.
The bridge was cracked clean down the middle, and the A string had snapped and curled up like a question mark. The break was fresh. The wood inside was pale and raw, not yellowed from time. I touched it and my fingers came away with splinters.
The room went quiet in the way rooms do when something expensive goes wrong.
Mr. He frowned. "Shen Xingruo. What happened?"
"I don't know," I said, and my voice came out smaller than I wanted. "It was fine this morning. I checked before homeroom. I always check before homeroom because the case doesn't lock."
"Maybe you should buy a case that locks," Wanyue said, examining her nails. "Mine's biometric. From Italy. Like my shoes. It's very secure."
"You were here first," Yanche said quietly, only to me. "For morning practice. I saw you leave at 7:20. The hall was empty."
"Wanyue has independent study first period," someone whispered from the back. "In the Music Hall. Alone."
Wanyue's head snapped up. "Are you accusing me of touching your thing?"
"It's a violin, not a thing," I said, and now my voice wasn't small. "And yes, I'm accusing you, because you're the only person who wants me to lose and had the time to do it."
"Proof," she said, calm and cold. "Or it didn't happen. You love math. You know how proof works."
Mr. He rubbed his temples like we were giving him a migraine. "Enough. Both of you. Shen, can you repair it by Friday?"
A new bridge was 80 yuan. A new A string was 15. I had 22 yuan in my pocket after buying sugar on Saturday. Rent was due in three days.
"Yes," I lied.
---
I went to the roof at 1:00 PM because if I stayed in the Music Hall I was going to say something that would get me expelled, and then Lu Jingchen would have to explain to Coach why his parking rival was a felon. The door was supposed to be locked. It wasn't.
It opened again five minutes later. Lu Jingchen, obviously.
"This is my roof," he said, like he'd been rehearsing it.
"No it's not. It's the school's. Which your dad doesn't own yet, unless the auction was this morning."
"I'm avoiding Yanze. He's here for lunch with the disappointment, which is me, to gloat about the mall walk-through I skipped on Saturday." He looked at me and stopped. "What happened? You're doing the eyebrow thing."
"I'm not doing a thing."
"You are. You do it when you're lying or mad. Right now it's both. So what happened?"
I didn't want to tell him. He was the enemy. He parked in my spot and called me Valedictorian like it was a disease. But I was also out of options and 95 yuan short, and he was already here.
"My violin's broken," I said. "Bridge cracked. String snapped. Competition is Friday. Jiang Wanyue probably did it. I can't prove it."
He didn't say 'that sucks' or 'buy a new one' like everyone else would. He just asked, "Who?"
"Jiang Wanyue. But—"
"How much to fix?"
"95 yuan."
He snorted. "I spend 95 on breakfast. Chef Wang's protein shakes cost more than your whole instrument."
"Good for you," I said, and I meant it to sound mean. "Some of us spend 95 on food for a week because our parents aren't Lu Zhiyuan."
He went quiet at that. Then he asked, "Where is it?"
"The violin? Music Hall."
"No. Wanyue."
"Why? Lu Jingchen, if you go down there and do something stupid—"
"I won't touch her," he said, rolling his eyes. "I'm not stupid. I'm rich. There's a difference. Rich people don't leave fingerprints. And I'm going somewhere else. I don't have your time."
Before he left, I called him after thinking through how much I needed to participate in this competition because it meant everything to me and my late dad.
"Jingchen, can you borrow me 95 yuan I promise to pay you back before this month ends." Tears welling out of my eyes. Ignoring what he said 'That he doesn't have my time.'
---
I didn't see what happened in the hallway. I heard it from two classrooms away because Yanze doesn't have an indoor voice.
Yanze: "Dude, you can't just threaten her."
Jingchen: "I'm not threatening. I'm asking. Politely. With business context."
Wanyue: "Oh! Lu Jingchen. To what do I owe the honor?"
Jingchen: "You play violin. Grade 9. Competition Friday. You want to win. Shen's is broken. 95 yuan to fix. You have a Strad copy, a trust fund, and biometric shoes."
Wanyue: "And?"
Jingchen: "And it would be a shame if the school found out the Steinway donation came with conditions. Like 'my daughter gets first place.' My dad hates bad PR. Especially during mall openings. It affects stock."
There was a long silence. Then Wanyue's voice, very quiet: "I don't know what you're talking about."
Jingchen: "I don't either, I'm just talking about business and bridges. I mean the violin bridges. And other kinds of bridges. Like the ones you don't burn if you want to keep the Steinway."
Wanyue: "Brother jingchen, I really don't understand what you are talking about, Are you trying to threaten me and my dad because of the business?"
Jingchen: "Jiang Wanyue, listen I don't want us to go further so, after your competitions you have to come out clean or else."
Footsteps. He walked away.
---
Mr. He called me back to the Music Hall at 3:00 PM. He pointed at my case without saying anything.
Inside was a new bridge, already fitted. A full set of strings, still in the package. A receipt taped to the lid: `Paid in cash. No name.`
On top of the receipt was a note. Not my handwriting. Not Wanyue's.
`Truce doesn't cover violins but Geneva covers war crimes. Fix it. – Lu Jingchen `
I looked up. The window was open. The roof was across the yard, and he was up there with his back to me, eating something from one of Chef Wang's trays. The label probably said PROTEIN.
I didn't go thank him. Enemies didn't do that. But I tightened the new A string and it held. My emotions got the better of and from nowhere eyes welled into tears.
---
At 4:00 PM the school gate was empty. My bike was alone, and my spot was empty for the first time since September. His Ducati was gone, but on my seat was a new duck sticker. Not the one Tang Tang gave me. This one had a tiny helmet drawn on it in black marker.
I peeled it off and stuck it inside my violin case, next to the note.
We were still enemies. The Arts Cup was still Friday. Jiang Wanyue was still glaring at me from across the hall. But now he knew about the 95 yuan, and the rent, and the fact that my dad re-glued my violin at the kitchen table when he was still alive.
Friday was coming. So was he. ( Jingchen and Yanze), probably with another stupid note and a motorcycle that took up two spaces.
Although Jiang Wanyue did everything to ruin my highschool I always had my way. She's doing this because of Jingchen.