Perhaps today is the last day I will ever be a junior high school student. After just one more entrance exam, I will step through the gates of high school. The recent graduation ceremony was truly overflowing with emotion. Our class had stayed closely knit together for four full years. Everything became even more meaningful because our homeroom teacher had accompanied us since the seventh grade—the year we all began plunging into the awkward, turbulent waters of puberty. From screaming until our throats were hoarse to cheer on the school football team, to our outdoor field trips... Throughout those four years, we had shared every single one of the most beautiful moments of our youth.
After the ceremony in the school courtyard, we returned to our classroom to host a party—the final gathering of our junior high school lives. Forty-nine members of our class shared countless memories of our gentle, tranquil youth. At first, everyone smiled and chatted as usual; no one wanted to burst into tears during this final parting. But then, our homeroom teacher was the first to let her tears fall. She reminisced with a quivering voice about the very first day she met and talked to all of us. She recalled the spring fairs where teachers and students sold goods together before Lunar New Year, and all the joyful parties we had shared. She cried so much that it wrenched our hearts; she loved us as if we were her own flesh and blood. She had always been gentle, or perhaps that was simply her inherent nature. Even when she scolded us, it was only out of a desire for our own good, to guide us with the right advice. That must be why everyone loved her so dearly. It was just a pity that those junior high years had slipped away too fast, forcing us to part ways so soon.
The classroom was adorned with balloons and fresh flowers. The desks were piled high with pastries, candies, milk tea, and lemon iced tea. On the blackboard, the words "Class B9 Year-End Summary" were neatly, clearly, and boldly written. The girls gathered around the teacher's podium for a final chat, a few boys tried to comfort her, while others bustled about preparing for the party. Some didn't hesitate to burst into loud sobs, while others, putting on a brave front, harbored a deep, churning sorrow within.
When the party began, everyone returned to their seats. Standing at the podium, the teacher choked back tears as she shared her innermost thoughts with us—her graduating students. She projected images and videos onto the screen, recreating every single memory we had created together, including our arts and performance practices. She had saved all of them in a dedicated folder on her computer. Everyone in the classroom was choked with emotion, each wishing they could pour out everything in their hearts to those around them. We signed our names on our homeroom teacher's class T-shirt. The signatures of all forty-nine students, alongside our teacher's signature right in the middle, became an indelible memory. The class shirt was now covered from top to bottom, with her signature anchoring the center—a symbol of our boundless gratitude for her care.
After the party, the class stayed behind to clean up the classroom one last time before leaving. Contrary to the initial tears, the room was suddenly filled with soft giggles. I wondered if I would ever have the chance to hear those familiar sounds again. Suddenly, a knock on the door made us all turn around in unison.
CHAPTER 2: AN UNFORGETTABLE TRIP
This was perhaps the final trip of our junior high school days with the full attendance of all members. Our class had about forty-seven students; a few had transferred in or out over the years, which had undoubtedly etched unique memories into my heart. As a collective, we were quite active in school movements, excelled at sports, and maintained a respectable academic standing with twenty-four honor students this year. Regarding interpersonal dynamics, even if we disliked someone, we still treated them normally. Perhaps because of this, our class rarely experienced friction; and when we did, it was usually quite scandalous or utterly hilarious.
We gathered at the school around 5:30 AM, while the sky was still pitch black. To be honest, I was running a little late. Sitting in my mother's car, I panicked and begged her to drive faster so we wouldn't miss departure time. But my mother insisted we wouldn't leave until 6:00 AM anyway, based on her past experience with her own classes. In the end, I lost a third of my spending money for the trip just from a bet with my mom over whether I would be late. When we arrived at school and saw students standing around chatting in small groups rather than forming up, I finally understood the truth in my mother's words: "I gave birth to you; do you think I don't know you?" I scurried off to find my class's gathering spot, and moments later, a few friends spotted me and dragged me into their circle. How should I describe that moment? Ah, it was a delightfully comical chaos. We had to wait quite a while until everyone arrived before we could board the bus. I sat next to my best friends; we wanted seats near the front to avoid motion sickness. As the bus began to roll forward, I realized the sky had brightened completely. Checking my watch—it was exactly 6:00 AM. Looking back, it probably wasn't worth rushing like my life depended on it.
The bus rolled smoothly down the highway. Once everyone had settled into their seats, the class tour guide stepped out from the front passenger seat. She looked like a fresh intern, quite young and dressed in a standard guide uniform, looking rather comfortable in the winter air. Holding a microphone, she smiled radiantly and introduced herself: "My name is Tran Hoang Thanh. I hope we'll have a wonderful time together, class!"
Our class erupted into light chatter, but our homeroom teacher immediately barked, "Quiet!" The noise subsided into whispers, making it easier for the teacher to coordinate with the guide. The beginning of the trip was genuinely fun. My best friend and I coaxed our homeroom teacher into singing karaoke with us, another classmate brought a stuffed animal, and someone else carried a one-kilogram box of pastries to share with everyone. We even pulled a few pranks, like tying shoelaces to chair legs. Those moments were filled with pure joy.
Upon arriving at an amusement park, we were issued electronic wristbands resembling smartwatches. They all looked identical and functioned as digital watches, but their primary purpose was to pass through the ticket gates. Strangely, the security guards insisted that everyone wear these wristbands to enter; if anyone refused, they would receive a full refund and be barred from entry. Since it was the mandatory rule, we all complied. A few students attempted to protest, but the teachers silenced them with stern reprimands. It was park policy—no wristband, no entry—so we had no choice but to follow along.
The amusement park was breathtakingly grand. Comparing it to Alice's Wonderland or Peter Pan's Neverland would be a neck-and-neck race. It featured colossal, majestic mansions alongside zones modeled after oceans and mountains. It was an utterly enchanting place. The guide led us to a designated luggage storage area. This week-long trip leaned heavily toward relaxation and leisure. According to the schedule, we had to divide ourselves into rooms. You know that alphabetical room-assignment method? We had to follow it, but could it really be true that thirty people shared a single room? Yes, it was true. We were divided into groups based on our names and grade levels rather than our specific classes to ensure fairness—mixing athletic students, academic achievers, and so on. And each group of thirty would have a designated manager. Just imagine thirty young men and women of this age living together in one space for an entire week... That felt rather peculiar out of the total 237 eighth-graders in our cohort. As I pondered this, I realized my group contained quite a few familiar faces, including people I liked and people I despised. Fortunately, we weren't sharing one massive room; instead, the accommodations were divided by floors, meaning each person had their own designated level. My exact room assignment, however, had yet to be decided.
Although we belonged to the same large team, the competitive games would be fought on a class-by-class basis—a direct head-on clash. Our tour guide remained in charge of organizing the games for our class. The first game was tactical laser/paintball shooting, set in a rugged mountainous forest area. The guide instructed us to divide our forty-seven-student class (she would also participate since our headcount was odd) into squads of 6, 8, or 12, according to our preference. We opted for squads of eight, splitting the class into six teams. The rule was simple: once the number of active players dropped to around twenty-four, the game would end. Each of us participated in a sort of manhunt, equipped with a short-barreled rifle loaded with dummy rounds. We were given five minutes to find hiding spots before the mutual hunt began. This was a game where physical stamina reigned supreme.
My squad consisted of me, Ethan, and seven of my closest friends: Lyra, Theo, Blake, Amber, Duke, and Tessa. Despite being close friends, the initial process of electing a squad leader sparked a fierce argument, as everyone wanted the role except for me and another female classmate who immediately stepped down. Eventually, we decided to pick Lyra as leader via a game of rock-paper-scissors, since she was already a class officer. That process alone burned through three precious minutes, leaving us scrambling to find a rendezvous point. The terrain was quite desolate, though not entirely ruined.
The game kicked off with the distant crack of a gunshot, though we couldn't tell where it originated. We left our assembly point and split into four pairs to scout, secure the base, or scavenge for supplies. I was paired with Blake. Since we were on the same main team, this made total sense. Perched on a tree branch and monitoring everything via walkie-talkie, I could easily communicate with my teammates, though they didn't seem terribly responsible. After five minutes, a voice crackled over the public address system:
"Every five minutes, we will announce the list of eliminated players and the remaining headcount. Status update: 4 players eliminated, 44 remaining."
The voice rattled off the names of the fallen. Only a few minutes had passed, and an entire squad had already been wiped out. That didn't worry us much, as my group was packed with veteran gamers—except for me; I was a terrible player. Suddenly, I heard gunshots nearby. It was a skirmish between Team 1 and Team 7. They probably hadn't dared to shoot to kill yet, so Blake and I spotted an opportunity and ambushed both sides, taking them down.
Strangely enough, they suddenly collapsed unconscious. We thought they were just acting and kept our guard up, but then I remembered the guide's warning: when a round was fired, the casing would burn and release a chemical agent that knocked players out instantly upon impact. To ensure our safety, the forest was heavily monitored by surveillance cameras. We confiscated their gear and moved on. The loot was quite rewarding: a pair of binoculars, plenty of ammunition, and a suppressor. Since there was only one suppressor, we decided to take it back to share. However, because the area was so vast, we lost our way and accidentally wandered into Team 7's base. It was a lavishly set-up compound, heavily guarded by four players. It seemed they were pouring all their efforts into defense. Did this game really demand such rigid battle lines?
I called my squad over the walkie-talkie. Lyra assigned me to stay and scout Team 7's base while Blake carried the equipment back. I followed orders. Fortunately, the trade-off was that I got to keep the binoculars and the suppressor. Physical stamina wasn't my strong suit, but my slow, cautious movements turned out to be a lifesaver, keeping me undetected. The suppressor made stealth and infiltration much easier. I even had to crawl through a small "dog hole" to slip inside.
Just as I was dusting off my clothes, a gunshot zipped past. I dodged it through pure, unadulterated luck. After returning fire and dropping the shooter, I realized it was none of than our class vice president! I rummaged through his gear, uncovering a few more interesting items.
"Number Four, what's your status?" a voice suddenly crackled from his walkie-talkie, followed by a series of clicking sounds. A short click, silence; then a long one, a short one, two longs... Morse code. 'A', 'Y', 'S'... probably "Are you sure?" I tapped back a Morse code 'Y' for "Yes," and miraculously, they cleared me to pass.
Just as I was hunting for their weapons cache, my luck began to fray. I was spotted the moment I stepped into the room. In the darkness, I used the glow of my watch as a tactical advantage to blind and subdue a sentry. I realized my glowing wristband had become a liability, so I pulled my sleeve down to cover it. But the noise from the scuffle attracted another guard. Hiding behind the door, the suppressor allowed me to take down yet another player with ease.
By then, my luck had likely run dry as elimination announcements began echoing again. Without pausing to listen, I scooped up as much gear as I could carry and made a break for it. It was no easy feat; I hadn't anticipated the crushing weight of the loot.
Once I cleared the safety boundary, I was utterly exhausted. Hearing rustling nearby, I dove headfirst into a thicket. Several pursuers had spotted me. Sprinting away, I hurled some equipment into an open clearing to serve as bait. It worked—two players rushed out; one chased after me while the other stopped to pick up the gear. Oh... did I mention that I happened to find a live dummy grenade in that loot pile?
Just as I managed to disable my pursuer, a deafening blast echoed from the distance where I had left the bait. I had no idea where I found the energy to sprint that fast. Before I could process what was happening, a cold blade pressed sharply against my throat.
"Game over!" the loudspeaker boomed.
I let out a heavy sigh and pushed the person away. Glancing up in shock, I realized it wasn't anyone from my class at all. It was Mason from Class E!
