I was a top student in America.

"Clang!"

The school bus doors popped open, and the two squeezed into the carriage with the flow of people, the stench of sweat hitting them.

DeMarcus, taking advantage of his physique, managed to grab a seat in the last row, while Li Ao could only hold onto the swaying handrail.

"Honestly, if you want to improve your grades, you can borrow Lin Jinni's notes."

DeMarcus put his backpack behind his head. "That nerd may have a grumpy face all the time, but he's still the only weirdo in our class who can get an A."

He pursed his lips and added, "However, I think it's a complete waste of time."

"How so?"

Li Ao casually chimed in.

DeMarcus pointed to the graffiti wall passing by outside the window and made a gun gesture:

"Probability, bro, look at Wyndham, how many college graduates do we get in a year? You can count them on one hand."

"The rest of you either go to McDonald's to fry fries, or go to Walmart to carry boxes, or—"

He spat out the window and didn't say anything more.

Li Ao knew it in his heart.

The only other option is to join a gang, engage in street brawls, and end up dead in an alley.

He didn't speak, glanced at DeMarcus, then turned his gaze to the rows of abandoned shops and waist-high weeds outside the window.

After seeing so many dilapidated street scenes, people will resign themselves to their fate.

DeMarcus's mother works as a caregiver at the hospital, raising three teenagers on her own.

Li Ao swallowed back the nonsense he was trying to say to him.

Talking about the future to someone who can't even afford to eat is just a waste of time.

DeMarcus glanced at Li Ao, then suddenly lowered his voice and said with a hint of excitement:

"I need to tell you something. TySean asked me to run an errand for him this weekend."

Li Ao's brow twitched.

TyShaun Jackson.

A 12th-grade student at Wyndham, one year ahead of them, is ostensibly the starting power forward on the school basketball team.

Privately, he was a minor figure in the "Deacon's" circle at Wyndham High School.

It is said that he manages a lot of people, most of whom are high school students, who specialize in doing things like lookout and running errands.

"Why are you running?"

Li Ao gripped the handrail tightly.

"Just delivering a package." DeMarcus rubbed his palms together. "Pick it up on 63rd Street and throw it behind the trash can on 71st Street."

"Thai Shawn swears it's absolutely not contraband. Fifty dollars in cash for one trip."

Fifty dollars.

Buying a minor's first criminal record is a pretty good deal in the Southern District.

The "Deputy Archbishop" tactic used by this Southern District faction to recruit peripheral members is no different from pyramid schemes in China.

They use errand fees as bait, and by the time you realize you've been criminally charged, it's too late to back out.

Don't go.

Li Ao looked him in the eyes and said nothing more.

"Dude, that's fifty dollars! That's half my salary—"

"Fifty bucks for a juvenile detention center record, or getting shot in the street..." Li Ao interrupted him, "Is it worth it?"

DeMarcus was speechless for a moment, wanting to refute but not knowing what to say. After a long while, he scratched his hair in frustration:

"What's wrong with you today? You never used to meddle in my business."

"I was out of my mind before."

Li Ao looked away and stopped talking.

In Chicago's South Side, the poor don't even have the right to refuse.

With a hiss of the brakes screeching, the beat-up school bus came to a stop at the sixth intersection.

Before getting out of the car, Li Ao bumped fists with DeMarcus.

"See you tomorrow."

See you tomorrow, Dork.

DeMarcus grinned, but his eyes looked somewhat unfocused.

As he jumped off the school bus, the cold October wind rushed down his head, and Li Ao immediately tightened his thin collar.

He braved the wind and quickly entered an old apartment building with blackened exterior walls.

The hallway reeked of urine and mildew, and the motion-activated lights had been broken for ages.

He climbed to the third floor in the dark, and the door to room 306 was ajar.

Pushing open the door, a faint smell of Chinese medicine wafted through the room.

In the living room, which is less than ten square meters, there is an old sofa, an old TV, and a plastic folding table.

The sound of a spatula scraping against metal came from the direction of the kitchen.

"Grandma, I'm home."

In front of the stove, a thin old woman with a slightly hunched back was holding a long-handled ladle and stirring a chipped aluminum pot.

Grandma Liu Guifang is 72 years old and in relatively good health, but she suffers from diabetes, and insulin alone is a significant expense every month.

The family's income depends entirely on her meager salary as a cleaner at a Chinese church. Occasionally, the church and the Chinatown Chinese mutual aid association will provide some relief, but there are no government benefits whatsoever.

People who come illegally have no identity and dare not apply for anything.

"There's porridge in the pot," Grandma said without turning her head.

Li Ao ladled out a bowl of yellowish white rice porridge, pulled out half a jar of pickled vegetables he bought in Chinatown, and sat down in a folding chair.

"Grandma, have you eaten?"

"have eaten."

The old lady turned around and glanced at him, her cloudy eyes seeming to show a hint of surprise.

"You came home early today, didn't wander around the streets?"

"Yes, I'll come back earlier from now on."

Li Ao shoveled a mouthful of porridge into his mouth.

"It's better to come back early; it's chaotic outside, and you could easily get robbed."

"I know."

While they were eating, the slightly ajar door was pushed open from the outside.

A small, thin Black boy peeked in, his gray hoodie pulled up over his head, revealing a pair of bright, darting eyes.

He wasn't tall, had a baby face, and was as thin as Li Ao.

"Grandma Liu, can I have something to eat?"

He spoke fluent Black neighborhood English, except for the three words "Grandma Liu," which he pronounced in Chinese with a slightly awkward tone.

Li Ao glanced at the little black boy and recognized him as Jamal from apartment 201 downstairs. Jamal would come to their house every few days to freeload meals, even more often than his own grandson.

This kid's father is missing, his mother is an alcoholic, and he has a younger brother who is still in elementary school. The refrigerator at home is often empty.

Grandma sighed and gestured towards the aluminum pot.

Jamal immediately grinned, expertly opened the cupboard, took out a bowl, ladled himself a full bowl of porridge, and then looked longingly at the pickled vegetable jar on the table.

Li Ao pushed the jar over.

"Thanks, Leo."

The little guy grabbed a few salted dried radishes and stuffed them into his mouth. He then squatted down next to the old sofa with the bowl in his hand and started slurping them down like a stray cat.

Li Ao glanced at him but didn't say anything.

This kid looks harmless, but he's actually been working as a street informant for various organizations since he was twelve years old. He's been doing it for two or three years now, and he's quite the seasoned veteran.

He finished the rest of the porridge in a few gulps, threw the bowls and plates into the sink to rinse them clean, and helped the old lady sit on the sofa to watch TV.

Then he turned the doorknob of his small bedroom.

The five-square-meter room, besides a single bed and a peeling desk, barely had any room to put your feet down.

He pushed the messy items on the table to the corner of the bed, opened the book "Algebra II," and, by the dim light of the lamp, continued his afternoon's work.

Quadratic equations, inequalities, exponential functions...

Without external interference, his efficiency was even higher.

After an unknown amount of time, a notification popped up on the panel.

[Focusing on studying... Intelligence +0.1]

Suddenly, a sharp police siren blared outside the window, approaching from afar before quickly disappearing into the deeper streets.

By the time Li Ao looked up from the pile of formulas, it was completely dark.

The sound from the television in the living room stopped.

Grandma should be asleep now.

The entire apartment fell silent, save for the rustling sound of him turning the pages of his book.

Li Ao continued reading for a while, then closed the book.

The progress is still too slow.

At this pace, he should be able to handle the midterm exams for Math 2 in three weeks, but aiming for the AMC12 (American Mathematics Competition for 12th Graders) next February is just a pipe dream.

As a qualifying competition for the American Invitational Mathematics Competition (AIME), the AMC12 is far more difficult than high school textbooks, involving a large amount of combinatorics, number theory and complex geometry.

The knowledge learned in high school is far from enough.

He needs better learning materials.

Wyndham's perpetually leaky school library is out of the question; aside from a few middle school textbooks with torn covers, you'll most likely only find condoms.

If you want to find professional study guides, you can only go to the public library on 61st Street.

Once he had made up his mind, he pushed the math book away and pulled out a rough-edged English literature textbook from the bottom of his bag.

After studying math all day, I need to give my brain a break.

After all, a necessary reference for applying to college is the standardized test score SAT, also known as the "American college entrance exam".

The SAT doesn't just test math; reading and writing are also major components.

In his previous life, he helped students revise their application essays for six years, and he was already very familiar with all sorts of tricks for English writing, but those were just tricks to deal with admissions officers.

If he were to compete with top American students in analyzing complex sentences on the SAT reading section, he wouldn't have much of an advantage.

Although the original owner spoke fluent Chicago street English, he probably knew less than 500 of the three or four thousand advanced words on the SAT.

He opened the textbook to the first page and began to read it word by word, biting his nose.

The process was slow, but I would stop to look up every new word in the dictionary, write it down, and memorize it by rote.

The base of the old table lamp began to heat up, and a line of new text appeared at the edge of my field of vision:

[Studying intensely all night... Stamina +0.1]

The quartz clock on the wall ticked to twelve.

Li Ao rubbed his aching neck and pushed open the door.

The living room was pitch black, with only the faint snoring coming from the old lady's bedroom.

He crept into the narrow bathroom and washed his face with cold water.

When I came out after wiping the water stains, I could see several pieces of paper under the water glass on the folded table by the light of the street lamp outside the window.

One of them is a payment reminder from Illinois Power Company for $47.

Next to it was a printed receipt from the pharmacy: Regular insulin, $86.

Li Ao stared at the two numbers for a few seconds, then silently put the bill back in its place.

Back in my room, I threw myself onto the creaky single bed.

Moonlight streamed through the iron bars of the window, casting a grid-like shadow on the ceiling.

He closed his eyes, but his mind kept racing.

Electricity costs 47, medicine costs 86, and next month's rent is 350.

Grandma's salary was barely over four hundred yuan. The church and mutual aid society's relief was intermittent. In good months, she could get about one hundred yuan, but in bad months, she got nothing.

Even with the few hundred dollars the original owner earned each month from odd jobs, after deducting rent, utilities, and daily expenses, it was barely enough to make ends meet, leaving almost nothing.

Winter is coming soon, and we'll need to add some money for winter, like paying for heating and such.

We need to find a way to make money.

but not now.

There is only one most important thing right now—

Learn.

Raise your IQ to over 100, prove yourself by passing the midterm exam, and then try to convince your teacher to write you a letter of recommendation for your college application.

We'll take it one step at a time.

After studying all day, the feeling of exhaustion finally overwhelmed me.

Strangely enough, although I was sleepy, I didn't feel the palpitations and shortness of breath I had after staying up all night in my previous life.

……

The next day.

When Li Ao opened his eyes, the room was still pitch black.

I reached for the digital watch on the bedside table and turned it on—it was 5:10 a.m.

It was a full twenty minutes earlier than the alarm was set.

My mind was unusually clear, and I didn't have the usual difficulty getting out of bed.

"Now that you're awake, don't waste any more time."

He rolled out of bed, quietly put on his clothes, and went out of the room to take a look.

Grandma was still sleeping in the living room.

Li Ao returned to his room, picked up his textbook and pen from the table, turned on the desk lamp, and opened Chapter 7 of Algebra II.

The South Side of Chicago outside the window was still shrouded in night, with the occasional bark of a stray dog.

He has already begun his new day of learning.

……