At the age of 17, there was an art student in the class. On the day of school opening, the teacher led him to report. He reluctantly hung his eyes and stood on the platform, sparing words like gold to introduce himself: my name is manor mu. I saw the beautiful eyelashes of fine arts students with beautiful and proud curves, like a bottle of soda pop in the heart, and constantly foaming with tiny bubbles. How can a boy have the eyelashes of a doll like that? It doesn't make sense. Art students are tall and big. They like to wear loose White Jerseys and sit quietly in the corner of the last row of the classroom. He didn't have to take math classes, because he was exempted from the college entrance examination. In fact, he seldom took all subjects, which was basically a grazing type of reading. Whenever he hung some proud long eyelashes and walked across my desk, he would make a loud noise all the way. 1, 2, 3, 4, I often count silently like this. When I count to 6, the clatter stops, and then the table, chair and bench make a huge noise - the art student arrives at the seat. There are art students in the classroom, my back is extremely tense and sensitive. I can't help pretending to turn around and take a quick look, but I can't always detect his movements successfully. It's a long and long road with many obstacles. Once I helped the English teacher to distribute the test papers during class. When I saw his test papers, the scores were in a mess. The dealer wrote three words in a very smart and elegant way. He wasn't in his seat, and I dawdled there. There was a red iron stationery box with only transformers printed on the desk. Unexpectedly, there was a familiar crash. I couldn't help opening it to see: a whole box of sharpened drawing pencils! I was inexplicably excited, as if I knew a great secret that no one knew. Yes, I fell in love with art students and didn't want to hide it at all, even at the age of 17. I went to the art supplies store to buy half a dozen imported drawing pencils and put them in the side bag of my schoolbag. Every day, I dreamed of meeting the art student in a certain place. Then I took out the pencils and gave them to him. I said happily and gracefully, "I'm Li Xi'en. Can you come to class every day? " I've fantasized about this plan too many times, but before it can be implemented, the art student Chuang Jiamu suddenly disappears. No one knows what he did. For a time, I was so melancholy that I even wondered if he felt that I liked him, so he deliberately hid from me. When I was on duty, I went to clean his desk and chair, which was an old thing dragged out of the school warehouse. The sound of slight movements made the world shaking. I quietly changed my stool to him, and a little crazily wanted to buy a bucket of blue acrylic paint to help him paint the old and mottled desk. I've never thought of being good to a person like this, just being good to him, even forgetting to care about the response.