by Amanda Sun
The blouse wasn’t in quite as good shape. The bleach had helped, but it looked pretty battered. The stains weren’t no-ticeably blood, though—mostly ink or mud. It’s not like I had a choice anyway, so I buttoned it up and tied the satin handkerchief around my neck. At least the long ends of the ribbon covered some of the shirt. I combed my hands through my hair and pulled on my kneesocks, practically brown with stains. Then I hurried back downstairs, where Tomohiro rolled two sausages out of the pan and onto my plate.
“Thanks,” I said, pressing my palms together. “Itadakimasu.” He nodded and put the pan back in the kitchen. There were two bowls of miso soup, two sausages each, a piece of lettuce, and a cut-up tomato.
We ate in silence, but between bites I peeked at him, dressed sharply in a clean uniform. His bangs fell into his eyes as he leaned down to scoop tofu out of the soup, the motion a little sloppy with his left hand.
“Um, so you cook,” I said, after the silence became awkward. He looked at me, a smile curving onto his lips. I hated him for being so cool and collected again when I was still a mess. I couldn’t even look him in the eye without feeling his lips against mine.
“My dad’s cooking is pretty bad,” he said. “So I thought I’d better learn before we starved to death.” I hesitated, not sure how to react to that. But then Tomohiro laughed so hard the tofu fell off his spoon back into the bowl. “You always look ready to pick a fight,” he grinned.
“Sorry,” I said. “I was just thinking about your mom, that’s all.”
“She was a great cook. She used to make sweet egg for my bentou every day. Not exactly a gourmet dish, but comfort food, you know? I’m pretty good now, but my sweet egg never tastes like hers did.”
“I miss my mom’s cooking, too,” I said. “She used to make this awesome pasta. Mushrooms and some kind of white sauce.
It tasted like heaven. God, I’m glad I can talk to you about it.”
“Of course,” he said. “I hope you took my very good advice and let yourself be changed.”
“I did.”
“The first time the ink attacked me was about a year after I lost her. It’s like the Kami bloodline realized she was gone, so it moved on to me.”
“Does it work like that?”
“Nah, coincidence, I think. Hits when you’re not a kid anymore. Otherwise there’d be some big ink-related disasters.”
“Makes sense,” I said.
“Hell of a genetic parting gift she left me.”
He tipped the bowl of miso soup into his mouth, clawing with a spare chopstick at the seaweed stuck on the bottom.
“You told me I could be angry, Tomo. That she’s gone.”
“You can feel any way you want to,” he said, clanking the bowl down on the table. “Any way you need to.”
“Are you angry?”
“Angry as hell.”
It shouldn’t have, but it made me smile. Tomo smiled, too, and stood up suddenly, pushing his dishes to either side.
He reached across the table and pressed his lips to mine. He smelled of tofu and seaweed and miso paste, his hair gel like sweet vanilla.
When he pulled away, I said quietly, “What happened to her, Tomo?”
He frowned, tracing circles on my jaws with his thumbs.
“The nightmares,” he said. “They can be so bad. It’s not like I have them all the time, but when I do—god. Things made of shadow calling for you, chasing you, forcing you into corners and revealing the darkness inside you. Telling you horrible things they say they know you want, the things you don’t want, so when you wake up you don’t know what’s real anymore. And you— Never mind. I don’t really want to talk about it, but they’re sick.” He looked jittery, his eyes staring at something far away. I couldn’t believe anything could shake him up like this. “I know. They can’t really hurt you, right? They’re just dreams. But even dreams can kill you if they’re scary enough. Heart attack in your sleep, and that’s it.”
“They killed her?” I whispered. Was it just like what had happened to Mom? But he shook his head.
“She couldn’t sleep at night,” he said. “She couldn’t face them. She’d wake up screaming all the time but wouldn’t tell me why. She’d stay up as late as she could, terrified to close her eyes. Sometimes she’d be awake for days at a time. She was a wreck. And then—”
He slumped down into his chair.
“I forgot my lunch. She was bringing it to me. When she heard the crosswalk chime, she didn’t even check which direction it was. She didn’t even look before she stepped out.”
My hand went to my mouth. “Oh god.”
“I remember running to the window of my classroom, the sound of all the sirens. The rice and sweet egg all over the road.”
My eyes filled with tears. “I’m so sorry.”
“So you bet I’m angry. And that’s why I won’t lose anything else to the ink. Not my life, not my mind—not you.”
The table was a barrier, Tomohiro so far away. I skirted it desperately and wrapped my arms around him, sinking into his warmth.
“I’m okay,” he said. “It was almost eight years ago.”
“It’s horrible.”
“Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t want to make you sad. I’m fine, just changed. And mad.” He brushed the hair out of my face and tucked it behind my ears with his good wrist. “And now we need to get to school before we’re both late.”
I dabbed my eyes, nodding, and I felt a small thrill then, that I knew Tomohiro better than anyone at school, that he trusted me more than Myu or Ishikawa or anyone. It was a stupid thrill in the face of such a story, but I couldn’t help feeling it.
I left the house first, walking south a few blocks before turning west. That way I would still come from the south side of Shizuoka Station and wouldn’t stand out. Tomohiro would ride his bike north and come along the stone wall, the one he often jumped over to look badass, to cover that he was really sneaking off to draw.
The rain had cleared some of the humidity, and the crisp morning air felt refreshing against my bare arms. I passed OLs—office ladies—in suits on their way to work, salarymen and schoolteachers, students wearing other uniforms. One of them, a guy from another school, walked the same way I did for a while; I got a little paranoid. If he hadn’t been in front of me, I would’ve sworn he was following me. I wasn’t sure about which school uniform he wore—from behind I couldn’t see the tie, and the white shirt and dark pants were pretty basic—but then he turned his head to look across the street, and I saw the shock of blond hair tucked behind his ears, the silver earring glinting in the sunlight.
Jun.
He saw me, too, and stared at my Suntaba uniform. He smiled broadly, lifting his hand and bobbing his head.
“Good morning!” he said.
“Morning,” I stammered. He stopped and waited for me.
“You get caught in the storm last night?” he said.
“What?” Oh god, how did everyone know? Did I radiate guilt or something?
“The mud,” he said, pointing at the stains that pretty much covered me head to toe.
“Oh. Yeah.” Jeez, Katie. Can we bring the tension down a notch?
He stared at me another minute. “So you’re on Suntaba’s kendo team, huh? I was surprised to see you at the tournament.”
Of course he’d noticed. I was the only blond-haired girl in the school, for god’s sake.
“Yeah,” I said politely, stifling my inner monologue. “So you’re the famous Takahashi.”
“I guess I am.” He grinned. “Just a sport I’m into, right?”
His hair slipped from behind his ear and he tucked it back again. “This weekend is the kendo retreat with some kendouka from your school. Are you going, too?” We were walking together now, but I wasn’t sure how it had happened.
“I’m not going,” I said, waving my hand in front of me.
“I’m not good enough. Mostly the seniors are going.”
“Ah,” he said
, tilting his head backward and looking up at the bright blue sky. “Too bad.”
He was just being polite, I knew. But somehow his subtle compliment made the hairs stand up on the back of my neck.
“That ink thing was weird, huh?” he said.
“What?”
“At the tournament.”
“Oh,” I said. “Yeah, that was super weird.”
“Made me think of that story you told me at the station.
You know, with that boy at your school who was drawing things.”
Not good. Not. Good. Get out, get out now!
“Oh, yeah, he transferred,” I said. “Haven’t seen him since.”
Jun paused. “Oh. Guess it wasn’t him, then.”
Thank you, Brain. For once.
“We always run into each other, but did you know we’ve never been properly introduced?” he said, swinging his book bag back and forth. The green-and-navy tie on his neck bounced against his shirt as he walked. “You know I’m Jun, but after all this time I still don’t know your name. After a while it was kind of embarrassing to ask.”
“Really?” I said. But when I thought about it, it was true.
I’d never told him. He looked at me with genuine, friendly interest, and I don’t know why it made me blush. Okay, I did know. He was gorgeous. And he’d saved me in Ishida and plucked that cherry petal from my hair. But Tomohiro was right about Jun keeping his thoughts hidden; he smiled, but his piercing eyes didn’t give away any emotion at all. They felt like they could reach deep inside you.
Why was I staring into his eyes? I looked away, self-conscious. “I’m Katie Greene.”
“Greene-san,” he said. “Ah, like the color of spring, ne? ”
Yeah, or puke. Now he was just overdoing it. I wondered if I should hint around that Tomohiro and I were…well, whatever we were.
“So are you looking forward to the prefecture tournament?” I said, feeling stupid for asking. What would he say, no?
“I am, but there’s a lot to do. I’m looking forward to training with Suntaba’s best.”
“I think they have more to learn from you.” I laughed.
But then I felt like I’d betrayed Tomohiro somehow and bit my lip. Jun smiled.
“My school is just east of yours,” he said. “I thought it would probably be too wet to take my bike today. I’m glad we can walk together, and I can get to know the competition.”
“Ha,” I said. But really I was trying to come up with some reason not to walk together. The sidewalk narrowed and we ended up squished together, like we were some kind of couple. Already some students and salarymen had passed by and looked us over, and I wondered if they would get the wrong idea. I didn’t want a rumor going around Suntaba in case it got back to Tomohiro.
It’s not like I’m doing anything wrong, I thought, but Jun still made me uneasy.
“Ano sa,” he said as we descended the stairs into the underground walkway below Shizuoka Station. “Who’s your favorite composer?”
“What?” I couldn’t have heard him right.
He laughed. “You know. Do you like classical music?”
“Yeah, but…that’s a strange question.”
“Sorry. I guess I’m a strange guy.” He grinned, and his bangs tumbled from behind his ear. He tucked them back again. “I’d still like to know.”
I thought for a minute. “I guess Tchaikovsky,” I said. “I used to dance ballet back in New York. Not seriously or anything, just for fun. But as a kid I was pretty obsessed with Swan Lake and Sleeping Beauty. ”
“Ah,” he said. “Good choice.”
“You?”
He smiled. “I like Beethoven,” he said. “His songs are often mournful, but there’s always a glimmer of hope in them. I like that, the belief that there’s hope for this world.”
“Of course there is,” I said, but he was silent. “So…you must play, then, to ask me a question like that.”
He nodded. “Music and kendo,” he said. “My two passions.”
“They’re fairly opposite,” I said.
“Not really. They’re both composed of intricate patterns, both movements of great artistry, ne? ”
“I guess they are, if you think of it like that.”
We walked in silence for a minute, then resurfaced from the tunnels near the entrance to Sunpu Park. “Do you miss dance?” Jun said.
I shook my head. “I wasn’t that good.”
“I think you’re lying.” He grinned. “I saw how you moved in the kendo match. I’m not surprised you’ve danced before.”
My cheeks blazed red. I hadn’t thought about him watching my kendo match. I’d done all right, but I was nowhere near his level of grace.
We rounded the corner, and I was suddenly very glad not to be alone.
Ishikawa stood in the middle of the bridge leaning against the cement railing, two guys standing with him. They weren’t dressed in school uniforms—they were definitely older, with jagged haircuts and bulging arms. One of them smoked a cigarette, which he stepped on as we approached. My heart almost stopped. Were they…could they be Yakuza?
Ishikawa stared at me and narrowed his eyes. The night came back to me, his frightening text to Tomohiro. Did I look suspicious? But he didn’t know I’d been with Tomohiro when it happened. My heart pounded in my ears and I thought my legs would give way underneath me. I’d never seen Ishikawa with actual Yakuza members, if that’s who they were. I slowed down, almost stopped, but remembering the plan to deny everything, I knew stopping would give away more than walking ahead.
Jun noticed my hesitation, and his face crumpled with concern.
“Is that… Are they waiting for you?” he asked quietly.
“I don’t know.”
As we got closer, a snide smirk crossed Ishikawa’s face.
“Oi, Greene!”
“Ishikawa,” I said, my throat dry and thick. I hoped he wouldn’t notice my hands shaking.
“Where’s Yuuto?” he said gruff ly, stepping toward me with his hands in his pockets. His bleached hair bounced a little as he walked.
“Why would I know?” He walked too close, the way Tomo hiro always did, but he smelled different. He smelled of tobacco and soba.
“You can’t fool me,” he whispered. “I saw it.”
“Saw what?” I said through gritted teeth.
He sighed. “I’ve known Yuuto longer than you have, and I know what he’s capable of. And I bet you were there. You think he’d do something like that just for fun? No, he was trying to impress someone. Don’t hang out with him. He’ll get you in big trouble.” Ishikawa placed his hand on my shoulder and I shrugged it away.
“Hey, hey,” Jun said, stepping in front of me. “Ishikawa, isn’t it? From the kendo tournament?” Ishikawa’s eyes skipped from me to him, sizing him up.
“You,” he said. “From Katakou School.”
Jun nodded, his cold eyes searching Ishikawa’s face. “Yeah, Takahashi Jun. I’m looking forward to competing with you and Yuu again.” Ishikawa’s eyes shifted from Jun to me, then to the two ghastly companions who waited on the bridge.
Panic shuddered through me as I watched him struggle with the intrusion.
“Look, Takahashi, I’d just like to have a talk with Greene for a minute. I’m sure you understand.”
“Of course,” Jun said. “I’ll wait for her.”
Ishikawa blinked. “Are you two friends?”
I opened my mouth to speak, but before I could, Jun said,
“Yes, of course. Ne, Greene?”
“Yeah,” I managed, staring at the men on the bridge. One of them spat into the moat below. Well, that’s attractive.
Ishikawa stood, stunned into silence. He looked like he was going to explode.
“Let’s go,” he said to the men suddenly, and they skulked toward him. As they passed us, the one who’d spat into the moat spat again, this time at the ground just beside Jun’s shoe.
“Lucky he was here,” he drawle
d at me. “Watch your back.” My blood turned to ice, and as he walked past, the guy bumped his shoulder harshly into Jun.
Jun blinked his cold eyes and suddenly grabbed the guy by his shirt collar. The guy let out a cry of surprise.
“Don’t threaten her,” Jun said.
“Jun,” I said, and Ishikawa stopped walking, his mouth dropping open and his hand reaching for his pocket.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” the guy said, pulling Jun’s hand off him. “You want a fight, is that it, pretty boy?” He swaggered toward Jun.
“Hey, break it up,” Ishikawa said, looking rattled. “What the hell, Sugi? It’s broad daylight. Forget it.”
“Shut up, Satoshi,” Sugi growled.
“Jun,” I said, tugging on his arm. “Let’s go.” His eyes were frost. Ishikawa looked around, his eyes wild. So much for controlling his own goons.
“Sugi, we’re going. Right now.” Sugi raised a fist and lunged at Jun, but Jun sidestepped and pulled on the goon’s arm, spinning him around in a circle so he nearly lost his balance.
“Call your friend off, Ishikawa,” Jun warned.
And then Ishikawa pulled his closed knife out, tracing his fingers over it like he was reassuring himself he was in control. Except we all knew he wasn’t. His hands were shaking.
“Sugi! Leave them alone, damn it!” Sugi’s whole face was red, and he lunged toward Ishikawa, grabbing the knife out of his hands and snicking it open. Oh god. A scream died in my throat as he thrust the weapon toward Jun.
Jun stepped away, grabbing hold of Sugi’s shirt with one hand. In a fluid movement, he detangled the knife from the thug’s hand and pressed it against his throat. Sugi took a sharp breath, his skin touching the blade.
“Don’t ever threaten us again, got it?” Jun said coolly.
“Damn it, Sugi! I’m sorry,” Ishikawa said, his eyes flicking between Jun and me. “I just wanted to talk to her. I swear.”
“I don’t care,” Jun said. “If you can’t control your thugs, then leave them at home.” His eyes f licked to Ishikawa.
“Now, get out of here.” He closed the knife, dropping it into Ishikawa’s hand.
Ishikawa stared at me, a cross between horror and embarrassment. Then he and the two guys took off running.