When I was 14 years old, the break time at school was just 15 minutes.
I walked into the female washroom alone and stepped into the toilet area one day. Then I heard a well-known voice: it was my friend and also my groupmates, her name was Anny. There was only one female washroom on this floor, so it was not surprising, I thought.
Anny was a talented student. Although her academic results were not as good as mine, she was good at art. She was 165cm tall, while I was just 155cm. She was proud of her height. She said she wanted to become the designer and model in the fashion show held at our secondary school. I thought she had a performative personality person as she was always tense, which is why I loved chatting with her. She was funny. She hated making PowerPoints, but she enjoyed doing the presentation. Moreover, she always started speeches interestingly and never used the phrase "today I am going to talk about…".
"She is crazy. She always urges and presses me to do that questionnaire for the project! Even on Sunday!" I heard Anny say to her friend, and I then heard my name. It sounded like I was the person that she said was crazy.
"Oh, that's difficult. You are pitiful." Anny's friend echoed to her.
I knew what she was talking about. She had not submitted the questionnaire until now. She should submit it last Friday, which was seven days ago.
"It was a holiday!" Anny said as she started to wash her hand. I heard the sound of the water.
But on my mind was: Anny still hadn't finished the questionnaire.
On that Sunday, I was doing my part of the project, and I remembered that Anny's part was not finished.
Then I messaged her, "Hey."
She replied very fast, "Hi."
"Did you remember to design the questionnaire?"
"Yes, I will finish it." She said.
"It should have been finished a week ago!" I was angry, and it meant that our schedule would be delayed.
"It's ok," she answered. Her words were like ice, just like her attitude.
"It's not ok!" I typed very fast, "You should do it now."
Today was Sunday, a weekend for doing homework. Nice.
But she said, "I am at my friend's home!"
You haven't finished your work. Then you still go out to play? I thought.
"It is not my problem," I spoke to myself. Then I threw my phone into the bed.
Standing in the toilet, I was furious. A few tears dropped from my eyes. Was I crying? I had done nothing wrong.
Why would I be "a crazy guy" in Anny's story? I don't know why she would share this tiny thing with her friends while her friends didn't even know me. So, my first impression on them would be that I'm crazy. In the toilet, a public place on this floor, other people could hear her too. And they maybe will also think that I am crazy.
I think that I was stupid. I believed that she will finish her part! She would not face any difficulties because we had discussed those questions. What she needed to do was just sum up it in the form of a questionnaire.
But now I became the crazy girl, and she was the pitiful girl.
In fact, I asked her this morning because we will have a meeting with the teacher after this break. If she submits it on time, we will receive feedback from the teacher. This teacher was teaching Putonghua, but my Putonghua was trash. I believed the teacher hated me very much. However, this project was not related to Putonghua. So, that is why the project was important to me.
However, the most stupid thing was that I saw her as my friend. My best friends had told me that Anny was untrustworthy before. That was the reason that she changed her boyfriends very frequently. She did not have many friends because of her capriciousness. I thought it would not affect our friendship. But seemed that this was not true.
At this moment, I knew that we were finished. I would never let someone that spoke against me be my friend. I even did not want to speak to her anymore. She was disgusting.
It sounded like they wanted to leave the washroom. I took a deep breath and opened the door. I smelled the lemon scent of the air purifier that our school usually used. It just smelt of heartache at this moment.
I must let Anny know that I heard her talk and end this fallacious "friendship". If she kept chatting with me, I could be sure that it would become more loathsome.
The toilet in our school was not bright enough, the ground and the doors were grey, like my gloomy mind. I wanted to beat her if I could, but I knew I couldn't. There were too many people there. I stood next to her, and she wasn't even aware. Then I started to wash my hands. Her friends saw me, but I didn't care.
Because of my tears, I said very bluntly, "You still haven't finished."
"What?" Anny was scared and surprised.
"As of now, you still haven't finished the questionnaire! You should have finished last Friday!"
I hated my tears. It looked like I was weak and inferior. She acted like she did nothing wrong, "I was almost finished!"
"But you still haven't finished!" I shouted.
"Crazy." She whispered and left with her friend.
I repeatedly washed my hand and cried, and then someone gave me a tissue. I just said, "Thank you". I don't even remember who she was.
Before I went back to the classroom, I washed my face and looked in the mirror. My eyes were red, and my face was ugly. Everyone would know that I had cried. I hated that.
In the end, she could not submit the questionnaire, and the teacher punished our group. I submitted another questionnaire to the teacher after a few days.
Our last exchange ended up being in the toilet.
As if we had never become friends. I went back to my best friends, and they said that they anticipated that.
I didn't care how Anny thought about me after this incident. Maybe I would become the crazy girl. However, I learned what kind of people I hate. I hate people who said something bad about somebody behind their back, especially those who were unable to tell the truth.
At least, I will never be late in submitting a group project.