Seven Days of You

by Cecilia Vinesse

  “Watch it,” he said, flipping through the pages. “You might think Ms. Dickinson is all about weird grammar and death, but there’s some seriously sexy stuff in here. Hold on. I’ll read you one.”

  Mika flipped him off, and he playfully ruffled her spikes. And I kept standing there, trying to breathe evenly, trying not to stare at his red, smirking mouth or his dark, styled hair.

  It always took a minute to acclimate to David’s presence. Not just because he was gorgeous—although let the record show that he really was gorgeous. Tall with lanky muscles and deliberately tousled hair and stupidly perfect clothes. He was also the son of the Australian ambassador, which meant he had an Australian freaking accent. I wished Mika hadn’t stopped him from reading that poem.

  “Anyway,” David said, putting the book down, “you need to get a move on, Sofa. We’re going out.”

  My attention snapped back. “I can’t. I have to pack.”

  “Screw that,” Mika said dismissively. “You can pack after my birthday.”

  “Your birthday’s on Friday,” I said. “That’s when the movers are coming.”

  “No!” She tossed a koala in my direction, and it landed on the floor. “Don’t you ruin my birthday and your going-away party by talking about movers. Boo and hiss.”

  “It’s not a party,” I said. “You just want to go clubbing in Roppongi.”

  “Duh,” she snorted. “Roppongi is the party.” The stud in her right eyebrow glinted in the light coming through the window. She’d gotten the piercing only a few weeks earlier, when she was visiting her grandma in California. She said she’d done it for the pure pleasure of seeing her parents’ faces when she landed back at Narita Airport.

  “Does my mom know you’re here?” I asked, feeling exactly as childish as I sounded.

  David cracked up. “Who do you think let us in? She had to leave, though. Something about dry cleaning.” He draped an arm around my shoulder. “Now, seriously, Sofa. Shoes on. Can’t you see Mika’s on the verge of a nervous breakdown?”

  “Here’s a thought.” Mika slammed the koalas down on the counter. “Shut up.”

  David pulled me closer. “Don’t get snippy with me. You’ve been peeing yourself with excitement all afternoon. All because Baby James is coming home.”

  “Rules!” Mika sent another koala sailing toward David’s mussed hair. He caught it and popped it into his mouth, then turned to me with both eyebrows raised.

  I laughed. That was his Inside Joke face. The face he made when we’d watch episodes of Flight of the Conchords in computer science instead of doing work. When he’d make up stupid songs about my hair and sing them in the lunch line. Or when we’d sit next to each other at school assemblies and he’d slip me one of his iPod earbuds. It never ceased to amaze me that David—funny, charismatic, outgoing David—wanted to spend so much time with me.

  “Rules?” David swallowed. “What rules?”

  “We went over this,” Mika said.

  David grinned. “Did we?”

  “Don’t be an ass,” Mika said. “No making fun of Jamie tonight. No strutting around and pissing on your territory, okay? Tonight is not going to be Middle School: The Sequel.”

  David walked over to Mika and picked up one of her hands, holding it in both of his. “Miks. You don’t have to worry about me. Baby James is one of us. We’re here to welcome him back into the fold. Aren’t we, Sofa?”

  My mouth dried up.

  “Christ.” Mika tugged her hand away and dusted it off on her shirt.

  David frowned.

  “I can’t go tonight!” I said, taking a step back, my shoulder bumping into the doorframe. “I have to pack.”

  Mika and David exchanged looks.

  “Pack later,” Mika said.

  “My mom will be pissed if I leave,” I said. “Besides, he’s your friend. You can all hang out together, without me.”

  Mika seemed wary. I waited for the inevitable grilling to continue—Why don’t you want to see Jamie? Why do you need to pack right now? Why are you incapable of maintaining eye contact?—but then Mika’s phone rang. As soon as she answered it, her whole face lit up.

  “Jamie!” she squealed.

  David gasped dramatically, and Mika kicked his leg, knocking over the box of kitchen stuff Mom had been packing earlier. “Damn it!” she said. “Sorry, Sophia! No, sorry, Jamie. I’m at Sophia’s, and I just knocked some shit over.” She laughed. “I’m crazy pumped you’re here!”

  David made a gagging face and glanced at me for ap-

  proval. I smiled, but it was halfhearted at best. There was a roaring in my ears. I wanted to open the fridge and crawl inside. I wanted to push my hands against the sides of my head until I couldn’t hear the tinny version of Jamie’s voice coming out of Mika’s phone.

  Jamie Foster-Collins.

  Mika’s best friend, who’d been shipped off to boarding school in North Carolina three years ago while the rest of his family stayed in Tokyo. Who I hadn’t contacted since then, who I hadn’t even contemplated contacting. Mika’s best friend. And my nothing at all.

  “That is so fucking great!” Mika said. “We’ll meet you there.” She hung up the phone, still grinning. “He got to his apartment basically five minutes ago, but he’s heading to Shibs now.”

  “Right, Sofa,” David said. “We’re leaving. The all-powerful Mika hath commanded it.”

  “I can’t go,” I said. “It’s impossible for me to leave this house.”

  “Of course it’s possible,” David said. “Here, I’ll show you. First, you walk to the door.” He looped his arm through mine and began leading me slowly toward the back door.

  I laughed and David smiled, just the corners of his lips curling up. We were standing close enough that I could smell him—the new-shirt smell of him, the dark, sweet smell of him. He looked so thrilled about making me laugh, like it was something he worked hard for. Like it was something he cared about.

  “God, he practically performs for you,” Mika had once said. “Whenever he makes some stupid-ass joke, I swear, he does it to impress you.”

  “Fine,” I said. “I’ll go.”

  David nudged my temple with his nose. “Of course you will.”

  CHAPTER 3

  SUNDAY

  BUT AS SOON AS THE TRAIN LURCHED away from Yoyogi-Uehara Station and toward Shibuya, I started to panic.

  What on earth was I doing? Why had I allowed myself to be sealed inside a metal container inching closer and closer to Jamie Foster-Collins? I didn’t want to see him. As it so happens, I never wanted to see him again for the rest of my life.

  At the beginning of May, when Mika had told me Jamie was coming back to Tokyo, I’d felt practically upbeat about moving to New Jersey. Until I found out he was flying in from North Carolina exactly one week before I left the country for good, and then I’d just been pissed. Couldn’t he wait a week? Did he have to ruin my life? And, on top of that, did he have to steal all my leaving thunder with his stupid arriving thunder?

  The train picked up speed. Outside the window, the late afternoon sun drooped heavily toward the skyline. There was a map by the door, showing all the Tokyo train lines looping around one another like a tangle of blood vessels. Flyers hanging from the ceiling flapped in the air-conditioned breeze. (At least there was freaking air-conditioning on this thing.)

  We changed trains. Eventually, a reassuring electronic voice came over the loudspeaker and said, “Tsugi wa, Shibuya. Shibuya desu.”

  Next stop, Shibuya Station.

  The train slowed, a familiar jingle playing as the door finally opened. We got off behind a group of women wearing yukata and walking slowly toward the ticket barriers. Their tightly bound robes were dark blue with undulating patterns on them like moving water. They had jeweled kanzashi pinned in their hair and wooden geta on their feet.

  “Come the frick on,” David muttered to their backs. “Do you think it’s possible to move slower than that? Or would you stand still i
f you tried?”

  “Shut the hell up,” Mika said.

  “What?” David asked, lifting his hands in faux surrender. “I’m not being an asshole. I’m asking an important question. About physics.”

  “You are kind of being an asshole,” I said. “And also, you should shut up. They might speak English.”

  “Doubt it,” David said, slinging his arm over my shoulder. The sleeve of his T-shirt brushed the back of my head, which, despite the heat and my perpetual sense of unease, was not unpleasant.

  “Would you assume I didn’t speak English if you saw me on the street?” Mika asked.

  “Of course not, Americano,” David said. “You’re way too obnoxious to actually be Japanese.”

  Mika punched him on the arm four times. “Stop! Being! Culturally! Insensitive!”

  David swerved us away from her and laughed, but I didn’t join in. The impending arrival of Jamie Foster-Collins had removed my ability to laugh. Which was a problem. I needed to calm down. I needed to focus my energy on being cool.… Oh, hello, Jamie. I almost didn’t see your big, smug face hovering right there in front of me.

  Maybe not like that.

  I reminded myself of Newton’s first law. I was not going to let external forces slow me down. I was not going to let Jamie get to me. After all, it had been a long time since I’d seen him. Three years and two months. Over two months, in fact. I was older, and my friends were awesome, and I’d gotten the best grades in my AP Physics class last year.

  Oh, hello, Jamie. Did I mention that I got the best grades in my AP Physics class?

  God, I really was pathetic. Of course I wouldn’t have friends when I started at a new school next week. Of course I would never have friends again. This was it. My final week of friendship, and I wasn’t going to get to enjoy it, because Jamie was here and I couldn’t avoid him anymore.

  We exited the station and ended up in the plaza that stretched toward Shibuya Crossing. The unabashed madness of the place forced me back into the present. My senses went into overdrive as I took in the crazy scramble crossing with currents of people rushing over it, the circle of buildings stacked with billboards and television screens blasting movie trailers and advertisements and music videos all at the same time. It was a whirlpool of energy. A thunderstorm of sounds colliding and humming. It was my favorite place in Tokyo.

  And soon I would be gone—and it would dim to nothing.

  We waited for Jamie by Hachiko, this statue of a dog that sits between Shibuya Station and the famous crossing. It was where my friends and I always met when we hung out in Shibs. Honestly, it was where nearly every young person in Tokyo met when they hung out there. Crowds from the station would flock toward it, almost like it was calling them home.

  The depressing but true story about Hachiko is that he was once a real dog who sat outside Shibuya Station every day waiting for his master to come home from work, even after his master died. And then, one day, the dog died, too.

  Like I said—depressing. But there was something about that story I liked. When I was a kid, I’d make Dad tell it to me as we walked past the statue on our way to the Tower Records bookstore. (I’d e-mail him later to ask if he remembered that.) And I still liked how the statue stared longingly into the crowd, constantly waiting for someone to appear. Which was exactly how I felt about Jamie—minus the longing.

  David dug a cigarette from his back pocket, so Mika grabbed my forearm and dragged me away. Her eyes were darting around. Searching, searching, searching. There were so many people. All of them searching. All of them waiting. A guy wearing enormous green headphones, a girl with a clump of brightly colored charms hanging off her cell phone, another huddle of girls waving wildly at someone across the plaza.

  It made me queasy.

  “You look so miserable,” Mika said. “Come on. You and Jamie used to be friends.”

  I shrugged, practicing my nonchalance. “He was always better friends with you.”

  She snapped her gum. Mika and I didn’t talk about Jamie, even though I knew she Skyped him a lot. And, thankfully, she still had no clue what had happened between us.

  Mika and Jamie had been friends since their Play-Doh-eating days, and she’d (probably) do anything for him. As evidenced by the fact that, on top of her usual screw-you black eyeliner, she was wearing… silver eye shadow. Mika was the first friend I’d made at the Tokyo International Academy, back when I was thirteen and a lowly newbie. She was a Lifer, someone who’d been there since preschool, but for some reason, she wanted to hang out with me. By now, we’d spent so much time together I knew practically everything about her. Like the fact that she was a secret Harry Potter nerd and that she was addicted to C.C. Lemon soda and that she never—ever—wore eye shadow. Especially not the sparkly kind.

  Her gaze caught on something across the plaza, and she pointed. “Hey! Look who it is.”

  My chest started to constrict.

  Oh God.

  Oh God.

  What was I going to do? I couldn’t be nonchalant. Nonchalant wasn’t even an option anymore. Neither was talking. Or breathing, apparently.

  But it wasn’t Jamie.

  It was Caroline, bedecked in a denim miniskirt and tank top, blond ponytail swinging behind her as she picked her way through the huddle of girls. David strode forward and started kissing her face and cheeks and neck. She squealed and kissed him back.

  “Avert your eyes,” Mika said flatly. “I’m already scarred.”

  The knot in my chest relaxed, then tightened in a different but familiar way. I let my arms fall by my sides and flexed my fingers until I felt the blood moving again. At least I’d found a conversational diversion. “Well. There goes David for the night.”

  “Whatever,” Mika said. “If it distracts him from being a dick to Jamie, I’m all for it. Keep making out with your girlfriend, D.”

  “Ugh, no, don’t.”

  “Oh, sorry,” Mika said. “I forgot she was your arch nemesis.”

  I felt myself blush. “Please. She is one girlfriend among many. We’re his real friends.”

  “But he doesn’t make out with us.” Mika leaned against the statue’s base. “Thank God.”

  I glanced in their direction. David’s arms were suctioned around Caroline’s waist, and Caroline’s hands were crammed into his hair. They might have been performing a complicated face-fusion procedure. “What the hell does he see in her, anyway?”

  Mika pulled distractedly at the spikes on the top of her head. “I don’t know, dude. You’re the one who’s all BFF with her.”

  “I am not,” I huffed, already hating how this night was going. “She’s just nice to me because I’m nerdy and unthreatening.”

  “Whatevs,” she said, eyes lost in the crowd.

  “Anyway,” I said, “she can’t be completely superficial. David wouldn’t like her if she was.”

  “Uh, have you met David?” Mika snapped her gum and looked disapproving.

  “Maybe things would be different,” I said, “if—you know—if I told him I liked him.”

  Mika pushed herself off the statue and grabbed both my wrists. “Please don’t take this the wrong way, but don’t do that. You are out of your fucking mind.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “I think so,” Mika said. “In fact, I know so. You do not want to tell David you like him. He will lord it over you for the rest of your life.”

  I glanced back at David and whispered, “He won’t get the chance. I’m moving.”

  Mika’s face was so full of concern, it was making me uncomfortable. I examined a bit of chipped nail polish on my thumb. “I’ve known him for six years, Sophia,” she said. “When shit gets serious, he turns into an insensitive A-hole.”

  “Oh, and I don’t know him?”

  Mika sighed and shook her head. She was always doing that, reminding me how romantically ignorant I was.

  And in a lot of ways, I knew she was right. I’d never so much as kissed anyone, and I�
��d definitely never had a boyfriend. Not in Japan and not in New Jersey, where the only boy I’d ever had a crush on ran the Anime Appreciation Club and said “Sorry, Sarah” the one time I bumped into him in the hallway.

  Still, I knew there was something between David and me. I felt it—even if Mika couldn’t.

  “God! Where is Jamie?” Mika pulled my wrist up so she could see the time.

  My airway constricted again. All the dark thoughts I’d been pushing down for the past three years floated to the surface. Jamie and his big, sad eyes and all the horrible things I’d said to him. I thought about it, and it felt like pressing a bruise. Like pressing and pressing and pressing it.

  “I’ll be right back,” I said, wrenching my hand away from Mika. “Okay?”

  “Be right back?” Mika repeated. “What do you mean? Where are you going?”

  “I… I need to make a phone call.”

  “You need to make a phone call? Are you secretly forty years old? Are you here on business?”

  I yelled over my shoulder, since I was already walking away, “From the station! I need to call my mom from the station!”

  Mika shouted back, “You’re not saying things a sane person would say!”

  “I’ll be right back!”

  No way in hell was I going back. I pushed my way through the closely packed groups of people coming and going, carrying shopping bags, fanning themselves with portable fans. It was early evening, and the sky was a hazy orange and purple. The neon lights were just starting to come to life.

  The farther I walked, the better I felt. This was the perfect time to leave. Right before the night went from sour to unsalvageable, right before I had to see Jamie again. Jamie in real life. In real time. I’d go home and send Mika a text telling her I didn’t feel well. It would be better this way. Better for everyone.

  By the time I started down the stairs into Shibuya Station, I felt pretty good. Less like the entire city was about to crash down on my head. Less like karma had a cruel sense of humor and was out to get me.