by Carrie Asai
“Oh, no. To push off a cliff?”
“You got it.”
Hiro flipped me, but this time I grabbed him as I fell, and we ended up tangled together in the water, our bodies pressed together. Hiro shook the water out of his eyes and grinned down at me. It was the closest I’d ever been to any man. His face was only a few inches from mine. I could feel the strong muscles in his thighs, and my breasts, my non–Lara Croft, non–Reese Witherspoon breasts, were pressed against his chest.
“Bad move. Now I’m in the power position. Better to just go down and assume a defensive posture,” Hiro said, not moving. I could smell the salt water on his warm skin and a little of the tang that was just Hiro himself. I wished he would never move. He gently lifted a piece of hair off my face. If this was a movie, he would kiss me right now. I closed my eyes. Please, I thought, kiss me….
“Round three,” Hiro barked, standing up again. The moment had passed. I decided I would never watch another movie. They just made you feel all twisted up and excited and made real life completely depressing.
We practiced throws for almost two hours, until every muscle in my body felt like it was going to melt. It was fun being the thrower, though. Hiro was right—it was amazing what your body could do if you just taught it how.
“Good, Heaven. I think you may have found one of your strong points.”
“Really?” Hiro had never praised me before. Not once. I had been beginning to worry that he’d think I was untrainable. But he’d said “one of your strong points.” Maybe that meant that he thought I had others. My tutors at home weren’t easy to impress, either, but they’d given me enough compliments to keep me motivated. I wanted to make Hiro proud of me.
“Yep. But that’s not going to be enough,” Hiro answered. “Why don’t you go in and get some rest?”
So much for the compliment. Hiro waded out into the water and started swimming parallel to the shore with quick, assured strokes. I turned and looked out at the ocean.
The wind had picked up, and the waves rolling into shore were considerably bigger than they had been when we first arrived. The conditions weren’t too good for a swim.
Or were they?
My mission, I thought. I could achieve it today. It might be my only opportunity. I stood in the water, looking out to sea. The water was gray-green and seemed full of menace. I was tired from the workout, and the last thing I wanted to do was strike out on a long swim. But I had to face the danger. It was the only idea I had, and I owed it to Hiro to at least try.
I dove back into the water and kicked as hard as I could through the waves that broke near the shore, diving under them when they threatened to come down directly on top of me.
I was facing death. Only a crazy person would set out to sea in these conditions—after a two-hour workout, no less. So I’d do it. I wouldn’t keep myself safe and swim parallel to the shore the way Hiro was. He’d see that I wasn’t afraid of death.
Stroke, stroke, stroke. Just keep going, I told myself. When I turned my head to breathe, I heard faint shouts and the shrill whistle of the lifeguard, but I ignored them. I stroked to the beat of Ohiko’s name pounding in my head, in my veins—Ohiko, Ohiko, Ohiko. The water stung my eyes, my lungs felt like something was chewing on them, my arms and legs were filled with cement. But I wouldn’t turn around. Not yet.
I wondered if this was how Ohiko had felt when he was fighting the ninja, if he had sensed his arms and legs failing as the black figure continued to attack him, as his katana grew heavy in his hands. Did it hurt when the ninja’s sword pierced him, or was his body numb by then? Was he in agony when he lay in my arms, using his last breaths on words that might save me? I swam harder, putting all my energy into my strokes, all my desire to make Hiro proud, all my love for my lost brother.
Suddenly a wave rolled over me, and when I clawed my way back to the surface, my nose and mouth had filled with water. I coughed it out, but as soon as I dragged in a few much-needed gulps of air, another swell pulled me down and I was tumbling underwater.
I forgot about swimming. All I wanted was to get the oxygen my body was screaming for. But it was almost impossible to get enough control to even tread water.
The shore was far away. The lifeguard stand and the mothers and children looked like little toys. I stared up at the bright blue sky and tried not to panic. Nothing bad could happen under a sky like that.
But if I felt that way, I couldn’t really be facing death. Could I? I managed a few deep breaths and started swimming again, but the waves, heavy, so heavy, pulled me under. Maybe the sea was trying to tell me something. Maybe I’d gone far enough. Was this it? Had I completed my mission? All I knew was I wanted to live.
I battled my way to the surface and started for shore. But I soon realized that my energy was spent. My strokes didn’t seem to get me anywhere. The sea was too angry. I kicked desperately, willing myself to fight harder, move faster, but it was no good. I was growing more tired by the second, and I was still so far from land. I’d never make it.
No, I thought. It can’t end like this. I have to get back to shore. I can’t die. Not yet. It’s not fair! It’s just not fair! All at once I realized how stupid I had been. This wasn’t right. I’d made a mistake. I was terrified, and death was about to drag me down to the endless darkness at the bottom of the ocean. I didn’t want to die, but that was exactly what was about to happen.
“Heaven!”
Hiro? I blinked furiously, trying to clear my vision. There he was. Treading water about twenty feet away. My heart gave a kick in my chest. I raised my arm to signal him and felt myself start to slip under.
A strong arm looped around my chest. “Relax. I’m going to tow you in,” Hiro told me.
I lay on my back and watched the blue, blue sky as Hiro’s strong strokes pulled us toward shore.
“Where’s the lifeguard?” I asked as I coughed up a little water. I’d never felt more hopeless. I was a failure.
“Never mind,” snapped Hiro.
In what seemed like no time at all, I could feel rocks underneath my feet. I was safe. My muscles trembled as I crawled gagging onto the sand. I realized that we hadn’t even been that far out.
The lifeguard came over. “Playing games in this surf can be very dangerous. That was not smart.”
“I know,” said Hiro. “We both got pretty tired out there. Sorry.”
Mr. Baywatch walked away, shaking his head. I looked up at Hiro. His face was angry. “Just what the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“My mission, my mission.” I was crying now, with equal parts relief and shame. How could I have been so stupid? How had I managed to convince myself that facing danger was the same as accepting death?
“Your mission is not to behave like an idiot.” Hiro shoved his wet hair out of his face.
I sobbed so hard, I felt like I’d snap in two. Hiro was right. I was a screwup. Not only had I had been fooling myself all along about the mission, but I’d risked both our lives. And now Hiro would refuse to take my training any farther. I would be alone again.
Hiro grabbed a towel out of his bag and wrapped me up in it, keeping his arms around me.
“Heaven,” he said, his voice softer, “I’m sorry for yelling. But you scared me. I thought I’d lost you for a second back there. You dipped behind that swell, and I couldn’t see you.” He ran his fingers through his hair again. “I couldn’t see you.”
“Like you care. Like anyone cares.” I couldn’t stop crying. So much for Hiro being proud of me. It figured that I’d end up with his arms around me when I was so pathetic he could only be disgusted with me.
“I do care. Come on. Let’s get you home.” Hiro helped me up, and we climbed back to the car. I shivered and stumbled as I tried to make my legs and arms work right. When I finally got myself into the passenger seat, I felt like a dog that had just fallen out of a washing machine. I would have laughed at that image if everything hadn’t gone so horribly, horribly wrong.
I nodded, staring out at the bright sunshine. In movies the weather always reflects how the main character is feeling. In the movies it would have been pouring. But I finally had to accept that my life was never going to be a movie.
“You know you haven’t accomplished it yet, right?” Hiro asked, then went on without waiting for an answer. “The point is not to seek out a life-or-death situation. You need to broaden your mind.”
I wished I could turn back time to the moment I first met Hiro. I wished I could do everything differently. Now on top of being spoiled, and greedy and useless around the house, Hiro thought I was an idiot.
Karen never would have done something so stupid, I thought. Why, why couldn’t I have seen that before?
15
“Heaven, I have to go out of town,” Hiro announced when he returned from what seemed to be a top-secret phone call. Why else would he have rushed off to his bedroom and shut the door the second the call came in on his cell? “I’ll be gone until the day after tomorrow,” he continued. He grabbed his messenger bag, dumped the contents on the floor, then pawed through the pile, throwing a few things back in.
“Are you leaving right now?” I asked. I took a bite of my salad, feeling all the muscles in my back and shoulders. When Hiro had disappeared with the phone, I’d been afraid the call had been from Konishi. Clearly not. Hiro was barely even looking at me.
“No, first thing in the morning,” Hiro answered. “I just want to get this stuff packed so I can grab it on my way out.”
I frowned. “What about dinner?” I tapped my chopsticks on the salad bowl.
“I’m done,” Hiro said. His brows were pulled together with worry, and he was clearly thinking about something else.
I was itching to ask where he was going, but something told me not to. “Just for one night?” I asked, hoping he might offer up some more information on his own. What was wrong? Was he going to be okay?
“Yes. If I’m going to be longer, I’ll call, but that’s unlikely.” He grabbed the bag and headed to his bedroom. I trailed after him.
“What about training?” I asked, hovering in the doorway. Could this have something to do with his bike messenger job? I quickly dismissed the thought. If that was it, why wouldn’t he just tell me?
“I’ve arranged for Sami to pick you up, bring you to the dojo, and drop you back here at the end of the day.” The light from the lamp on his dresser cast a gold glow over his face as he tossed a pair of jeans into his bag. “You’ll have to skip aikido and the gym, though.” My stomach started making origami with itself. I didn’t want him to go. The thought that he’d be gone for a whole night was scary.
“Sami?” I’d seen her around the dojo. She was another instructor there, but I’d never even spoken to her. “Why not Karen?”
Hiro got very busy carefully folding a T-shirt. “Karen’s not going to be at the dojo tomorrow.” He shook out the tee and started folding it again. “It’s her day off.”
He was lying. Hiro was lying to me. I knew Karen had three classes to teach tomorrow. Why didn’t he trust me enough to tell me the truth?
The way you trusted him? The way you told him straightaway about that envelope of money from Konishi? a demon voice piped up inside me.
I ignored the evil little voice. This was different. “I’ve never spent a night alone in a house in my life. It’s weird to think you won’t be here.” I used the word weird instead of terrifying. I didn’t think a samurai-in-training should admit that she was freaking out over being left by herself.
“It’s only one night, Heaven. I’m sure you’ll be fine. Besides, it will be good practice.” Oh. It was true that the house was almost too small for two people, especially if either of them wanted some privacy. But did that mean that Hiro was just waiting for me to get a taco-slinging job and move out? Was he trying to tell me to get a move on?
I thought of Karen again, and my stomach dropped.
Maybe I’d been deluding myself when I decided she and Hiro weren’t together.
Suddenly I realized Hiro was staring at me. He had one hand on the doorknob. Oops. I had the feeling he’d asked me to leave. I backed up, and Hiro shut the door, probably getting ready to meditate and chant, the way he did every night.
I slowly washed the dishes, trying to come up with other reasons Hiro might have to go away. Something might have happened to someone in his family, I thought, but that didn’t make sense—as far as I knew, they were all in Japan. Could he be going to talk to somebody about me? That idea was like one of Karen’s kicks, staggering. I caught my breath and pushed the thought from my head. No. That was ridiculous. I trusted him. I had to.
Hiro was gone when I woke up in the morning. The dojo kept me busy all day. But finally I had to go back into the quiet house by myself. It seemed so large and empty without Hiro. I paced around restlessly. I couldn’t take this. Not even one more minute. But who could I go to? It wasn’t like I knew anybody. Just then I spied my old, worn pair of jeans and purple T-shirt that I barely wore anymore.
Aha. I did know somebody.
An hour later I was standing on the familiar front porch of Cheryl’s house, listening to the TV blasting inside as I knocked.
“Well, look who it is! I never thought I’d see you again.” Cheryl answered the door with her hair wilder than ever, wearing a tight orange tank top and ripped jeans rolled up at the ankles. The same rack of bracelets jangled on her arm as she leaned against the doorway.
“I came to return these,” I said, holding out a bag with the clothes she’d lent me inside. Cheryl grabbed them. Was she angry? Had I insulted her? But no, that probably wasn’t it—I just needed to relax. To let things happen.
“What are you waiting for? Come in.” I followed her into the darkened house. Cheryl hurled herself onto the couch.
“Is Otto here?” I asked out of curiosity, looking around.
“No, lucky for you. So what’s up? Did you find your friend—ooh…hold on. I want to see the new Avril Lavigne video. I kind of love/hate her, know what I mean? She nauseates me, and I still watch everything she does.”
I laughed. “I feel exactly the same way,” I said, sitting down. We watched the video, Cheryl bouncing to the rhythm of the song. When the clip ended, she flicked off the TV and turned to me.
“So. What are you up to? Tell, tell.”
“Not much. Actually, I was thinking of going to buy some clothes, if you could tell me where a good shop is.”
“Moi? A good shop?” Cheryl gave that great laugh of hers. It made me feel better just hearing it. I’d definitely come to the right place to fight off the lonelies. “Honey, I know every shop in this town. You got money?”
“Yes.” I’d taken seven hundred dollars out of the envelope for my spree.
“That should get you pretty far. Let’s go.”
“Where are we going?” I asked, watching her throw her wallet and makeup into a handbag.
“Just you stick with me, little lady.”
We hopped in Cheryl’s car, and after a knuckle-whitening drive during which Cheryl hurled insults out the window at no fewer than four drivers, we screeched to a halt on an unfamiliar shop-lined street. It was twilight, and the store lights were just starting to glow out on the sidewalks. “Where are we?” I asked.
“Magnolia Boulevard. This is vintage central. But you can also find great contemporary stuff. We’re going to get you outfitted in style.”
When we walked into the first store, I nearly fainted with happiness. Everything was ultracool and original, and the prices were ridiculously cheap compared to Japan. Cheryl held up a tank top printed with flames and a pair of black leather pants. “These are so you—like, the exotic avenger or something.”
Is that how she saw me? Not as some sheltered girl who could barel
y take care of herself, a girl who got buggy when she had to spend a few hours at home alone? I smiled. I liked being thought of as an exotic avenger. There was one problem with the clothes, though. “My father would kill me if I wore something like that,” I whispered.
Cheryl looked over her shoulder dramatically. “Do you let your father pick out your clothes? Are you seeing him today?” she asked. There was a serious look on her face.
I giggled. “Nooo…”
“Well, then, it’s all good.” Cheryl chucked the outfit at me. “Go try this on. I’ll root out some more combos. Consider me your personal stylist—and I won’t even charge you.”
A shop girl with short black bangs and a constellation of piercings showed me to a dressing room. I slipped on the leather pants. They fit perfectly. I looked pretty awesome, if I did say so myself. All those hours working out had some nice side benefits. I mugged in the mirror, striking a pose. Watch out, L.A.! Cheryl knocked on the door, and when I opened it, she whistled.
“Much better. A definite yes. Try these.” She thrust an arm-load of clothes at me, and I got busy. I tried on low-cut tops with little chunks missing, a variety of hipster pants (tight, very tight), and a black dress with a plunging V neckline.
“I can’t remember when I’ve had this good a time,” I told Cheryl as I modeled a comparatively conservative velvet jacket with fluted sleeves.
“Don’t get out much, do you?” asked Cheryl.
“Nowhere near enough,” I said, then changed the subject. “Hey—why don’t you get something? I mean, you’ve been such a big help to me.”
“No, no. You don’t have to do that,” demurred Cheryl, but her eyes were darting around the shop eagerly.
“Please. I’d really like to. It will make me feel better about this shopping binge.”
Cheryl grinned. “Well, if it’ll help you out…” I helped her pick out an electric pink skirt that ruffled out at the bottom and a red bandeau top. With her chunky black boots, Cheryl was every inch the punk princess.