In a Daze

by Jin (Shizen no Teki-P)

  “Can I help you?”

  “Oh, hello! Momo Kisaragi, year one…I’m late to my remedial classes, but would I be able to get in…?”

  I couldn’t guess how many times I’ve spoken with this office receptionist.

  It’s been about four months since I came here, but this may be the woman I’ve spoken to the most. It was sad to think that these little intercom chats were taking up more than ninety percent of my school conversations.

  “Ah, yes, Miss Kisaragi. I’ll unlock the door, so head over to the faculty room for me, please.”

  If there was anything I could take comfort in, it lay in how she didn’t ask me why, or get angry at me, or even make any unusual note of it any longer.

  “Thanks…Sorry.”

  The lock made a clunking sound, and I pushed open the door to the school grounds.

  The door closed automatically, locking itself shut with another clunk.

  The school grounds were infused with a sort of cool, refreshing atmosphere you never found outside. It was summer break, but the place was still open for club activities and summer-school students.

  —I had only just enrolled this spring.

  The school building, freshly renovated two years ago, had a fetching Western-style design to it, almost too gaudy for its intended purpose. It wasn’t quite up to the level of the glittering all-girl private academies you saw in shoujo manga, but it had everything from a needlessly elegant clock tower to little creeks, fountains, and nude bronze statues dotting the grounds.

  As if that weren’t enough, these weird tunnels made out of vines and grass and so forth seemed to be everywhere you looked.

  I don’t know who came up with this, but setting up this mistaken attempt at a fancy boarding school in the middle of a crowded cityscape was, I thought, just adding more chaos to the landscape. But—and it should have been expected—it was apparently a hit with young women, enough so that the school was constantly near the top of the prefecture in application count.

  This school caught my attention for very non-fairy-tale reasons (it was close to my house), but really, for someone like me with an overwhelming lack of study skills, getting accepted was nothing but pure coincidence.

  There were already a hopeless number of absences and tardies in my record, so I was going to summer school to make up for it. But even if I won the perfect-attendance award yearly, I’d probably still be forced into these remedial courses. That much, at least, I was confident of.

  I was also out of time.

  Scrambling for the faculty room as fast as I could, I clambered up three flights of stairs before reaching the glass door. Opening it brought me back to a blissful world of air-conditioned comfort once more. Standing in a chilly room made me all the more aware of how much sweat was dripping off me.

  I picked up my bag and slippers next to the shoe locker and hurriedly changed into my indoor footwear.

  “Agh! It can’t be that late already!…Oww!”

  As I folded up my slipper bag and bent over to remove the one for my outdoor shoes, something hard hit me on the head.

  Surprised, I looked up at a large man in a lab coat carrying an attendance ledger.

  “Uh…Ha-ha-ha! I…um, good morning?”

  “Was that meant as a question? If so, then yeah, it is still morning. Barely.”

  “Y-yeah…”

  Oh, no. I forgot that my first period today was taught by my homeroom teacher.

  I could slip past the other teachers, but this was one man I couldn’t fool.

  “You know, I’m not the sort of guy who likes to quibble about lateness, but I think you should have a look at this.”

  “Hmm? What’s this…? Whaaaaa?!”

  He took a paper out from the attendance ledger and handed it to me. It was enough to make me turn white.

  “You know what this is, right? Is that much clear enough?”

  “It’s my Biology I test…The one from last week.”

  “Ah, good. Glad that’s understood. Now, do you know what the number written next to your name means?”

  “Um…heh-heh. I’m not sure I do, actually…Ow!”

  He hit me with his ledger again. His expression never changes, so I always have to stay on my guard around him. He’s impossible to dodge, too.

  “Look. Your handwriting’s a bit…unique. Nonscientific, I could say. That I don’t mind, but after two weeks of remedial courses, you get a two? Are we gonna have to be here a hundred weeks before you get a perfect score?”

  The result of the test in my hands was devastating.

  I made the effort to write an answer down for every single question. Not a single one went unnoticed. But, save for one, there was a red X next to each response.

  The sight was unreal. I could feel myself getting dizzy.

  “But…but I studied and everything…”

  “What? Are you kidding?! You call this ‘studying’?! Look at this. ‘Question: Name one type of mammal. Answer: Crab or salmon.’ That’s studying?!”

  “W-well, my mother ate a lot of those back when she grew up on the coast in Hokkaido, so…I, I mean, I was wavering between that and ‘Deer or bear,’ so…”

  “Yes! Them! That’s right!…Why are you going on about your mother’s homeland in a bio test?! And why are you giving me pairs?! It says only one!”

  “What’s wrong with that? That’d be too lonely, having only one of them!”

  “Why are you trying to get all fancy with your test answers? You’re making no sense at all! Besides, if you put a deer and a bear together, the deer’s gonna get eaten!”

  “E-eaten…?!”

  Wavering against this barrage of criticism, I took another look at my test paper.

  I was completely befuddled by what could have caused this. I put every fiber of my body into taking this test, and the results were just brutal. What would my mom say if I showed this to her…? I didn’t even want to imagine it.

  —It’s always like this.

  No matter what I do, I wind up with these crazy results. And every time, I can feel people’s eyes honing in on me.

  Back in fourth or fifth grade, I drew a picture in class that happened to catch the eye of a famous author. He put it on the cover of his novel, and that novel wound up being a huge bestseller.

  Once I reached middle school I was recruited by the art club, and the work I submitted to a contest held at the beginning of my first year completely dominated the club president’s submission on its way to winning first prize nationwide. It was around that time when I began to feel the eyes of people around me gathering around not just my work, but myself.

  In my second year, I quit the art club; it was getting too uncomfortable for me and the other members. My afternoons were suddenly free, and while on a meandering after-school shopping trip, I began to get scouted more and more often by talent agents. I turned them down at first. The agency that reps me now just happened to call me up while my mother was having a few problems with work. I figured I would try to help keep the lights on a little.

  That was really the only reason. I had no particular interest in television or music. But even I had to admit it—I adored the idea of being a pop idol, going onstage and singing for the masses.

  My first gig as a would-be idol was to serve as the warm-up for one of the more established acts at the agency, basically chatting with the audience for a little bit. Even now, I don’t think I’m exactly gifted when it comes to public speaking but, at the time, the only thing running through my mind was “our household is riding on this; I’ve got to keep from getting fired, no matter what.”

  Once up onstage, I was so nervous that I honestly don’t remember what I talked about, but I suppose you could say I was an instant success. A perfect ten, results-wise.

  I had revved that audience to unheard-of levels of excitement, to the point where I was the subject of feature articles in magazines and tabloids. If there was any negative aspect, it was that I wound up becoming the main t
alking point of the show, not the main act I was supposed to be fronting.

  So there you have it. This girl chatting onstage, not singing or dancing or anything, an anonymous rookie idol, suddenly earning a massive, rabid fan base. The agency couldn’t have been happier with me, but ever since that day, the number of job offers has grown to positively scary levels, barely giving me time to breathe in between phone calls.

  It defied any measure of logic or common sense. There was no reason for it. I had no attractions to speak of. But everybody’s eyes grew increasingly fixated upon me.

  It made me realize all over again that I was far from a “normal” girl.

  “Hello? Are you listening to me?”

  “…Huh?! Uh, yes, sir!”

  “No, you weren’t. I’m not blind, you know. Is the summer heat making you faint or something?”

  “No, uh, it’s just that…that test was just, like, too much for me, so…Ha-ha…”

  “That much I could tell, yes. I’ll give you a chance at a retest next week, so…just try your best, okay?”

  He looked at me with the downtrodden eyes of a man looking at a pitiful, wayward child.

  “Next week?! Ughh…I’ll try…”

  I thought I’d tried hard enough with this test.

  How am I supposed to try even harder…?

  “Try not to get too tense or anything, all right? I’m sure you’re still getting used to things around the school…and you’ve got a concert next week, right?”

  “Ah…! Y-yes…I do…”

  My face could not have been a very healthy-looking shade at this point. I held it down as much as I could, to not much avail.

  The teacher sighed and looked at me again, this time with gentle eyes that belied his exasperation.

  “Well, try not to work too hard…You can go home now, if you like. You mentioned you were shooting that TV drama today, didn’t you?”

  “Y-yes…Wait, no! I’ll go to class, okay? There’s still lots of time!”

  “Didn’t you see the remedial-course schedule? It’s the Obon holiday, so the first-year students are only here for first period today. Class will start up again in three days. You should really be keeping track, you know.”

  “Whaaa?! Oh, right…”

  I took out my schedule sheet. He wasn’t lying. I was only scheduled for the first period today.

  Of all the shameful ways to reveal to my teacher that I had been going to summer school without even looking at my schedule…

  “Uh…Well, okay! See you in three days!”

  “Yep. Hang in there. It can’t be fun, getting no rest during the holiday like that. I need to get back to work, so be careful on the way home, all right?”

  “Of course! I’ll be just fine! See you later, sir!”

  After a short bow, I crammed the test paper deep into my cubbyhole and stuck my slippers on top of it. Throwing on the outdoor shoes left abandoned on the faculty-room floor, I made my way out the door.

  Once outside, I was greeted with a chaotic symphony of cicadas.

  The sunlight I was suddenly reacquainted with mercilessly slung its murderous rays of heat upon me.

  The thought of having to walk the whole way back home from here caused me to let out a dejected sigh.

  “Ooooh…I should at least get something to drink first…”

  There was a vending machine on the path between the faculty room and the main school grounds. Once the mere thought of thirst entered my brain, it was impossible to drive it back out. Listlessly, I proceeded down the colorful gravel path to the vending machine.

  Next to the machine was one of those large, open public spaces, the kind you see in parks a lot, with an open roof made out of tree branches and vines and so on. Around the tables dotted underneath, several prim-looking female students were giggling with one another over something. They had probably just returned from watching one sports club or another hold a practice game.

  The gravel path ended underneath the open space, turning into plain dirt. The moment I set foot inside, every one of the girls immediately turned toward me.

  “Ah…!”

  I shrank back for a moment, but they didn’t appear to regard me with too much enmity or excessive interest. They gave me light smiles, then briskly exited the open space, whispering to one another in hushed voices.

  They were already gone by the time I tried to smile back at them. I could feel the sweat flow out of me, out of embarrassment or whatever else it was.

  With a sigh, I walked up to the vending machine.

  All the charmingly colorful labels pulled my attention in multiple directions, but I was firmly resolute. Only one drink could possibly wipe away the emotions I was dealing with right now.

  My eyes lit up when I caught sight of the black soda inside the plastic bottle, one whose shape was particularly unique among all the other selections.

  I took the pig-shaped change purse I had used for many years from my bag’s side pocket, flipped open the rear, and checked to make sure I had the right amount.

  Sticking my hand inside the pig’s back, I thrust the coins I found into the machine slot.

  The moment they fell inside, the buttons all lit up red, almost like a “go” sign for my throat.

  My aim was focused on one button in particular. Like the first alien-encounter scene in that one Western film I saw as a kid, I slowly brought my finger forward. When I pushed the button in, there was a beep, and in too short a time for me to measure or comprehend, the bottle appeared in the receptacle.

  I resisted the urge to glug down the entire bottle right there, one hand sassily resting on a cocked hip, every inch the lovely sixteen-year-old sitting down to enjoy her drink. The shaken-up bottle of carbonated drink product dangled from my fingers—but when in Rome, you know?

  Sitting at a table a distance removed from the vending machine, I unscrewed the cap on my much-anticipated soda.

  I had managed to keep my expression neutral up until now, but for this instant of bliss, there was nothing I could do. With the light psshh, my nostrils instinctively flared at the trademark lightly sweet scent from the lip of the bottle. If I had a mirror to look at right now, my face probably would have been unfilmable, something that would’ve horrified my agency. With that, I let the soda flow down my throat.

  Ahh…Whoever invented this drink must have absolutely hated summer…

  In fact, it seemed almost insulting to call this something as common as “soda.”

  It was mankind’s only tool for defending itself against the looming rage of the season’s heat.

  I felt something hot well up around my eyes. The first sip was complete.

  It would’ve been refreshingly satisfying to then slam the bottle on the table, a low, guttural groan of delight escaping my lips. But that, at the very least, I had to restrain myself from.

  An impartial observer would have noticed nothing unusual. Just an innocent girl having a drink and replacing the cap on the bottle. But my heart was filled with a sense of achievement, like a bent-over old man polishing off a pint of strawberry milk after a soak at the local public bath. I felt an urge to shout “Ooh, that really hit the spot!”

  Once my refreshment session was complete, I took a deep breath. Here, in the shade, the heat seemed more tolerable than before. I began to think about my plans for the rest of the day.

  “I’ve got some free time now, so I…um…?”

  I looked at my watch. It still read fifteen minutes after eight. I recoiled for a moment, then remembered that it was stopped when I woke up this morning. My mother bought it for my birthday last year. I kind of liked it. It was far too soon for it to die on me, and I didn’t recall abusing it to the point where it’d break on me, so the batteries must have been dead. I could have my idiot brother look at it when I get home.

  Reluctantly, I took out my touchscreen phone, pink cover attached. I always carried it around, but it saw use almost exclusively for work-related contacts.

  I su
pposed I would be using this phone like a pro-level high schooler if I spent every night talking with my besties about my favorite TV programs, or what true love is, or whatever. But I didn’t watch much TV—samurai dramas were about it—and I would need to make some friends first before I could start talking about love.

  I was fully aware of why this was so, but it never struck me as a particularly inconvenient state of affairs. Still, I never liked using this phone much. Every time I picked it up, my mind would fill up with this sort of abject emptiness. I didn’t know why.

  “Nine thirty…We start shooting at two, so I need to be home by one, but…”

  Tapping the schedule app on my phone, I was rewarded with a dizzying array of business appointments.

  August 14th was busy as always. I had the TV drama shoot at two p.m., an appearance at a live talk–radio show starting at six, and a concert rehearsal after that.

  My manager was scheduled to drive over and pick me up at one.

  I was used to it, but the sheer congestion of my schedule as of late was enough to trigger my depression. After that first stage act, I was bombarded with all kinds of offers. The work that arose from that single appearance had completely changed my life. My concert next week was meant to commemorate the single that launched today. Apparently it was almost unheard of for a singer to score a solo show so soon after her CD debut.

  It was all great. It made me happy and everything, but that song was filled with all kinds of bad memories for me.

  Chiefly, this was because I caught a terrible cold on the day of recording. My manager chewed me out, and as if that wasn’t bad enough, the extremely nasal voice I had to use during recording made my producer explode with glee. I had “beautifully expressed the dilemma of a young girl’s unrequited romance,” he told me, and that was the take they used on the CD.

  I was too dazed by the fever to really notice anything at the time, but later on, when I heard my nasal-voiced song start to play across town, my appetite immediately dropped to half its normal level. Summer vacation is one thing, but thinking about how I was supposed to go around school once the new semester started made me grow even more morose.