The person who invented Green Scarf, whoever he is, doesn’t understand a bit about bottom student. They don’t need Green Scarf to remind them of their failures, they already have the big mark LOSER branded on their forehead.

I realized that soon after I was sent to X high school, the best of the best in city, to repeat my third year of high school after I failed my entrance test.

In my old school, although I was a mess-up, I was not completely labeled as loser. In public eyes, I was just “stray” not a helpless “failure”. However, in X school, I was one of the repeaters, a moth, someone dared to share the genius’ glory simple because of having a rich dad. I don’t have a rich dad. My father pulled some strings, and my mother spent all her savings to get me a seat in X school---what a pressure! And that’s far from the worst.

In X school, you could almost recognize immediately those who get themselves in through money and connections---loner, second- class and definitely no smug smile in their faces. Things might be different now, but in my days, that’s the picture. I was one of the worst---face it, I’m talking about the last year of high school. Everyone had worked into the ground trying to squeeze into their dreamy school. No one wanted to see a loser’s face, being constantly reminded of the doom might lying in front. In short, I was contagious—no one dared to come closer afraid of being infected with the bug called “Failure”.

In high school, every student shared clearning duty by turns. In the first week of X school, I was too occupied with my own misery that I completely forgot about that. No one bothered to tell me about the schedule neither. Consequently I skipped my turn. Our dear team leader was kindly enough to point that out. But it’s obviously too much for him to address me directly. So, one morning after self-study, he walked up onto the platform, in front of the whole class, he gave me a lecture on Consciousness, starting with: If someone think she could skip her duty because of having a rich dad, think it again….” I didn’t remember the rest. It took a few minutes for those words sank in, for me to realize that I was that “someone”. Then I was all burning up with humiliation for the rest of his lecture---honestly, it’s a great speech, so what a sheer waste.

What gave me the most unforgetable lesson about the mark branded on my forehead happened at the first writing lesson. My homework was chosen as model essay, reading loudly by Miss L, the Chinese teacher. Frankly, it’s not the first time that my works being read aloud in the class---in my old school, it had become a sort of custom. You see, I might sulk in many things, but comparably I am not bad at writing.  Anyway this time was different. This not happened in my old school, it’s in X school—the top one, the best of the best. Certainly it meant something being chosen out. Certainly it would a cheer-up gesture after my confidences had been blown into pieces. Miss L was a great reader, full of passions. I could almost imagine what it would like when my name finally came out of her mouth. It never happened. After finish reading my works, she flipped to the front page, and said: “This is written by…” she paused at my name, frown a bit and dropped the paper down.

The end of my brief glory. At that moment I finally realized that I had a Scarlet Letter attached so tightly to my chest that I might never tear it off.

For today, tomorrow continue….