Pick your memory

“Class is over.” The teacher said, hearing the music that calls the students to go outside to do exercise. (In Chinese “上操”)
We come out of the classroom and start to go downstairs.
“Understanding the math class?”
“Nonononono, too complicated. We can discuss it later.”
Suddenly, I saw him. The handsome senior student. I crushed on him before, but the only way I can have a connection with him is on the way that we go downstairs to do exercise every day, for our classrooms are all just beside the stairs.
I start to talk louder.
“Yeah, I think this song is good. I’m learning it these days.”
“Oh I really like that novel, but it is somehow difficult to read.”
I hope he can learn more about me.
The students are noisy. Everyone talks about their own things to their friends. I know it’s impossible for him to hear me. But I still keep talking.
The road to the playground is short, but we repeatedly walk through it, which makes this road meaningful. This road bears our beautiful high school memories.