A Love Story

A love story

It is said that the middle and high school period is the peak of being in love for the first time. My experience is not an exception. Everytime I remember that relationship I think maybe it's true : One's first love experience has a life-long effect on him.

When I was in sixth grade, my classmates used to couple me with a boy named Hao. This joke always made me mad, and, oh yes … I hated Hao even more. " Why him ? " I think angrily, "He must say something stupid and let people laugh at me (at him also, but who cares ?). I hate him bitterly!"

Hao, factually, was above decent-looking. He was a tall boy, used to wore dark colored pants and white shirts. His short hair and eyebowns were all black. His features were delicate yet pronounced, like a china doll. I remembered seeing him everyday when all students were standing in line in front of their classrooms, preparing to enter. Being the president of his fifth class, he moved up and down the lines, touched one classmate, give command to the other or yell at another to keep discipline. Radianlty and perfectly, his skin glowed like a sun gleaming, and we girls from a distance couldn't help but stare at his perfectly clear skin

It seemed to me now that his appearance lost all that appealingness. he was always with boys whose homework was not graded high in class. I did not see him handsome anymore. I felt extremely annoyed every time his figure caught my eyes - always at the least expected moment. And there was once I had a chance to show my deep hatred. On that day at school, walking through the hall I heard someone calling my name. Looking back I saw a gang of boys on the other end of the hall. They were laughing and pointing at me while shouting, "Hao, hurry up !There you go, isn't she your wife !" I was frighten, but my anger made me strong. I stopped, turned back, stood still and looked them straight in the eye. I did not shout, just glared at them furiously… My courage and determination worked. The boys stopped where they stood. There was no more unpleasant performance, not a word. Then, after a long while of silence, Hao was the first one who walked up to get through the hall. With his eyes looking down, he made steady steps to pass where I was standing. Obviously his attitude expressed an excuse. From then on, the boys seemed to behave themselves, although boys and girls still never made friends.

Poor Hao! I could see it clearly. He made strong efforts to perform something. So what? Yes, he never said or do anything to me, but the sorrow in his eyes or the weird, humble silence from his pale, thin figure still sickened me every time we happened to meet.

The seventh, then eighth grades passed by finally came the last middle school year. We are no more little kids. During this time, my classmates still kept