她的心乱如麻。一会儿从这间屋跑到那间屋,一会儿拿起书本,一会儿又拿起手机,坐立不安。奶奶叫她吃早餐,她假装没听见;炉子上的水开了,咕咚咕咚地煮,她也假装没看到。管它的,它烧它的,关我啥事儿,她想。可她还是忍不住一次次站在门口,朝门前的那条公路上张望,看有没有车停下来,有没有人从那条路上走过来。望来望去,只看到白花花的太阳下,公路烤得像是冒起了烟,亮闪闪的,浮在路面上空。山上的树叶晒得起卷,一层一层地在公路两旁翻起了波浪。最讨厌的就是那蝉声了,大热的天,不知道它们哪来的精神,在树上长一声短一声地 Her heart is in turmoil When I ran from this room to that room, I picked up the book while I took up my cellphone again and restlessly. Grandma told her to eat breakfast, she pretended not to hear; the water on the stove was open, gurgling boil, she pretended not to see. Take care of it, burn it, shut me off, she thought. But she could not help but stand in the door again and again, looking toward the door in front of the road to see if there is no car stopped, no one came from that road. Looking around, only to see the white sunshine, the road is roasted like a smoke up, sparkling, floating in the air over the road. The leaves of the mountain sunk up and waved up on both sides of the road layer by layer. The most annoying is that cicadas, hot days, do not know where they come from, the tree soon as soon as the sound