那年我们13岁。那个夏天的午后,我一个电话就把你从凉爽的空调房喊到了烈日下的球场。空气里弥漫着塑胶跑道被烤到近乎焦糊的味道,我们像风一样奔跑、跳跃。沉寂了很久的网球场像是被我们唤醒,球落地,又弹起,网抖动,不停息。汗水浸湿了我们的白色T恤,一串串滴落在浅色地面上,你却只顾着问我:“我的头发是不是乱了?”微风捎来栀子花的清香,我们并肩坐在操场边的树荫下,不知是谁先开口唱起了《红豆》: That year we are 13 years old. That afternoon of the summer, I called you from a cool air-conditioned room to a stadium on a hot day on a phone call. The air filled with plastic runway was roasted to almost scorched taste, we run like a wind, jumping. Long silence of the tennis court was awakened by us, the ball landed, and bounced, the network jitter, do not stop. Sweat soaked our white T-shirt, a string of dripping on the light-colored ground, but you just ask me: “My hair is not chaos?” “Breeze brings fragrance of gardenia, we Side by side sitting in the shade of the playground, I do not know who is the first to sing the ”red beans":