by Amanda Sun
“I drew water, not poison,” he said. “It would probably make you really sick. But at the end of it, you’d be all right.”
Hesitant, I touched the glass. If Tomohiro had drawn it, I would’ve gotten a sharp cut. I knew I would’ve. But Jun’s glass was smooth to the touch, and except for the sprawling ink in the water, it looked almost normal. Why did I feel guilty thinking that?
“The thing is,” he said, “if you drink something that makes you sick, there’s a good chance you’ll come out of it okay. But what if it’s not just you? What if, say, the person who drank this was pregnant?”
My eyes widened, and I lifted my hand to my mouth. I got it. I got what he was saying. My voice wavered. “You think my mom ingested ink when she was pregnant with me.”
“If someone drinks the ink, they don’t acquire the abilities of a Kami,” Jun said. “Not even by blood transfusion. But if that ink got trapped somehow, got pumped into you as you were forming...your body might think it was natural.”
“Oh god.”
Jun’s voice was gentle, quiet. “Katie, when you were about ten or eleven...is that when you noticed the ink reacting?”
“No,” I said. “I didn’t notice anything until...” My voice dropped away. “Until I came to Japan. When I first arrived, I felt like something was coursing around inside me. The plane—there was this turbulence, and I could’ve sworn it moved in time to my pulse. It happened again when I started at Suntaba, and then I started seeing Tomo’s drawings move.”
“That makes sense,” he said. “It was probably dormant until it returned here. Until it could sense the other Kami around. Not that it’s alive, but...it’s the power given by Amaterasu. And that power will seek its own like a magnet. It’s like how people are driven to a certain calling in life. The Kami are driven to protect Japan.”
“But how did the ink get to my mom in the first place?” It was horrifying to think about. I was shaking now, and I rested my arms on the table to steady them.
“What about your aunt?” Jun said. “Did she send any omiyage gifts from Japan?”
I shook my head. “She didn’t move to Japan until I was eight. And Mom’s never been. Diane could never convince her to visit, and I doubt she would’ve gone before I was born, either. She doesn’t like traveling outside the country.” Didn’t like, I meant. I still couldn’t think of Mom in the past tense.
Jun looked away. “What about your dad?” he said, reaching to fiddle with his silver earring. I was starting to notice he did that when he was anxious.
“My dad wasn’t in the picture,” I said. “He left Mom before I was born.”
“Sasuga,” he said. As expected.
“What?”
“Nothing,” he said. “Just...my dad was a deadbeat, too.”
“He ditched you guys?”
“Sort of. He’s dead now.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “My mom’s dead, too.”
It was news to him, which just reminded me that we really didn’t know each other. So why did I feel like we did?
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“It was a heart attack, a year ago now. What happened to your dad?”
Jun’s eyes were dark and cold, more than usual. He lowered his hand from his earring and tightened it into a fist. He didn’t say anything.
I knew that look, that pain. I wanted to reach out to him, like Tomo had reached out to me. The death might have happened a while ago, but Jun’s wound was fresh. He hadn’t dealt with it.
I rested my hand on his wrist and he looked at me, surprised. “I want to help if I can. I’ve been through the same thing, you know?”
He’d always looked so controlled—I’d never seen him look shaken like this. “Yakuza,” he said. “It was the Yakuza.”
Oh my god. No wonder he wanted to take them all down. I remembered now, what he’d said when Ishikawa’s henchman had threatened me. Jun had wrestled the knife from the thug and stopped him. I don’t like gangsters, he’d said. I’ve had run-ins with them before.
“My dad was a Kami,” he said. “He used to work for Hanchi.”
My eyes went huge. “Hanchi’s the one who tried to get Tomo to work for him.”
He nodded. “They asked me, too. But there was no way in hell I’d work for them. They destroyed our life. Mom and I had to move back in with her parents. We lost our house, our car, everything.”
“After your dad died?” I said. He nodded, closing his eyes. His skin was hot beneath my fingers. I wanted to hug him, but it felt awkward. What if he got the wrong idea? So I just clung to his wrist while he sat there, still, silent.
“Those bastards,” he said, his voice dark and unforgiving. “That’s why I’ll use the ink to get rid of them. So they can’t hurt anyone else.”
I understood his suffering and his longing for justice. I couldn’t agree with the way he wanted to achieve his goals, but at least it was something...at least he was coming from somewhere.
“Anyway, never mind,” he said, looking up. He looked composed again, in control. “What’s important is I think we’ve figured out how you’re connected to the ink. Next is how to control it.”
“Control it?” I said. “I’m not a Kami, though.”
“You are, in a way. You’re like a manufactured Kami.”
“That’s creepy,” I said, and he laughed.
“Sorry,” he said. “I thought it was cool. Your drawings don’t move, but you can manipulate the ink.”
The art studio was getting darker, lit by the dim glow of the sunset.
I glanced at my watch. “Yikes. Diane will wonder where I am. I was supposed to be home for dinner half an hour ago.”
“Ah, gomen!” he apologized. “Let me drive you.”
“No, it’s okay,” I stammered. I didn’t really want him to know where I lived.
“At least to the station,” he said. “Until we know the Yakuza will leave you alone, it’s dangerous for you to wander Shizuoka in the dark, don’t you think?”
He had a point. Anyway, he seemed less intimidating than before. I didn’t feel like he was out to get us. He had his own agenda, and it was a little twisted, sure. But his heart seemed in the right place.
“Thanks,” I said. I helped carry the paint bottles back to the cabinets as he scratched out the water-glass sketch. The paint made a murky black swirl in the sink as we poured it out.
“Mazui,” he said, grossed out. He looked away, sticking his tongue out as he made a face.
I laughed. I couldn’t help it. “Thirsty?” I said, imitating his deep voice.
“I knew you wouldn’t actually drink it,” he said, “or I wouldn’t have asked.”
We stopped by his locker in the genkan to get an extra helmet and our shoes. “Sometimes I drive Ikeda home after music practice when she doesn’t bring her motorbike,” he explained. I couldn’t figure out their relationship—he called her by her last name, she used his first—but I guess it was none of my business anyway. His sleek black motorcycle was parked beside the bike racks. The sun was setting fast, and the air was crisp. I guess fall was on its way after all.
I straddled the bike behind him, resting my hands on his waist. It was awkward, holding him like that. It was a closeness that was embarrassing and thrilling at the same time. Get over it, I said to myself. Yes, he’s pretty. But you’re taken. So forget it. It was stupid to feel this way. I was just holding on to him so I wouldn’t fall off the bike. He knew that, and I knew that.
Jun revved the bike to life and we took off down the street. Thank god I was sitting behind him, because the wind held a sharper bite as we sped through it. The road led past Sunpu Castle and I stared at it, its towering white walls lit up by strategic spotlights on the bridge. Then past the police station, the perfect cover for the Kami against t
he Yakuza.
I couldn’t forget how Tomohiro and I had brought that shinai down on Jun’s wrist, the sound of the bone as it snapped.
What the hell am I doing? I thought. But with Jun’s help, maybe Tomo and I stood a chance of getting the ink under control.
I didn’t have a choice.
And telling myself that helped ease the guilt that sloshed around in my stomach.
I got off the bike the minute Jun pulled into the station. The air felt cool against my fingertips as I lifted them from the warmth of his waist. It was like he’d left an impression of warmth on me, and now it felt bare.
“Are you sure you’ll be okay the rest of the way home?” he said, lifting the visor on his helmet. I could barely hear him over the engine of the bike, revving with life.
I nodded. “Thanks again.”
“I mean it, Katie. I’m not the enemy. I’m worried about Yuu and you. Come by Katakou anytime, okay? And you have my keitai number.”
I nodded.
“Good night, Takahashi,” I said. It sounded weird and awkward, and I wasn’t the only one who noticed.
“Takahashi?” he repeated. He smiled unsteadily, the word warm in his throat. “I’m Takahashi now?”
“It’s not that,” I said, turning beet-red. “I just... Isn’t it kind of...not right to call you Jun?”
“Is it bothering you?” Jun said. “Or is it bothering him?”
My whole body shivered. I felt so stupid.
“Katie...you don’t have to feel weird about it. Ikeda calls me Jun. Almost everyone in the school calls me Jun.”
Ikeda probably wasn’t the best example he could come up with. And Hana and the junior students hadn’t called him Jun at all.
“Listen,” he said, “it was awesome when I placed so high in the nationals last year. But Takahashi...I feel like he’s the kendouka, you know? All the reporters, the newspaper articles, the fame and the scrutiny. I felt like I kind of lost part of myself, like people forgot I was just me. That’s why Takahashi feels distant to me now. It’s not really me.” He smiled, his eyes gleaming. “That’s why I like to be called Jun. I get to just be me, you know?”
“I get it,” I said, relieved. He wasn’t taking it in the way Tomo thought at all, then.
“Exactly. You don’t have to feel strange about it. I ask everyone to use it. I prefer it.”
“Okay,” I nodded. Thank god that’s all it was.
Jun revved the handle of his bike, reaching a hand up to tuck a stray blond highlight back into his helmet. He hesitated a moment and then leaned in toward me.
He smiled. “If it bothers him, it can be our secret.”
My stomach flipped over, my confidence fading away. His eyes shone as he looked at me. I pushed the feeling down, the thrill of having a secret together. No, the guilt.
He winked and flipped the visor of his helmet down, speeding away from the station.
The walk back from Shin-shizuoka was lonely and a little cold. I wondered if I should’ve let Jun drive me the whole way, but it just felt too weird. Sure, he was acting nice now, but I couldn’t turn my back on what had happened. And anyway, I felt off-balance about the “secret” we were sharing. Where exactly was the boundary with him?
I felt my keitai buzz in my book bag, so I pulled it out and checked. Two missed texts and a missed call from Tomohiro. I hit Redial right away, like I had something to prove, like I hadn’t been sneaking around doing the opposite of what he’d asked me to.
The tinny ring echoed in my ear for a minute before Tomo picked up.
“Moshi mooooosh,” he answered with a drone.
“Hey, goofball,” I said in English.
“Huh?”
“Never mind,” I said, switching to Japanese. “What’s up?”
“So...you know how I’m a jerk and an idiot all the time?”
I smiled. “Yep.”
“Oi,” he said. “You could at least pretend to refute it.”
“Sorry. I meant, you’re never a jerk.”
He gave an awkward laugh. “Okay, the thing is, I screwed up again. What I said at Nihondaira... I’m glad you stayed in Japan. I’m just...”
“Scared?” I suggested. He didn’t answer, but I wasn’t surprised. He wouldn’t want to admit it. Pride, like Yuki had said. “I’m scared, too, Tomo. When you collapsed at Nihondaira, when I saw that look in your eyes again... I just don’t want to see you lose yourself to the Kami, you know?”
“I know. I have to stay in control.”
“Right. So if you ever need me to back off, fine. It’s better than turning into some kind of unleashed monster, right?”
Silence.
Shit. I’d overdone it.
“Tomo, I didn’t mean it like—”
“It’s okay,” he said. “I am a monster, Katie. But I’m tired of running.”
“Well, maybe soon you won’t have to,” I said. He started to answer, but his voice cut out. “What happened?”
He sighed. “Shiori’s calling me on the other line.”
The jealousy twinged in me. I couldn’t help it. “It’s fine. Just answer her.”
“No,” he said. “I want to talk to you, Katie.”
I smiled. I felt guilty for being happy about it, but I was. I couldn’t lie. “It’s just that...what if she’s in trouble?”
By now I’d reached my mansion, so I walked through the automatic doors into the warm lobby. “I gotta go anyway. I’m late for dinner. Just answer it.”
“You sure?”
I couldn’t let Shiori rattle me. I couldn’t trust her, but I could trust Tomo. I knew that. “Sure.”
“Okay,” he said. “I’ll see you at kendo practice tomorrow.” The phone went silent, and I tried to think about other things.
I rode the elevator up, thinking how much control Jun had had over his sketch. Tomohiro could have that, too. I knew it. And I could help him.
I stared at my hands, flipping them back and forth. There was ink running in my veins. There always had been.
“Tadaima,” I called out, opening our front door. I tapped my school shoes off and stepped up onto the raised floor of the hallway.
“Katie,” Diane shouted from the kitchen. “You’re late.”
“Sorry,” I said. “Stayed after school to hang out.” I could hear something frying, my nose flooding with the delicious smell of rice and egg as I walked toward the stove.
“Lucky for you I left school late, too,” she said, a spatula in hand. “Dinner’s just ready.” There was a pot of fried rice mixed with enoki mushrooms and chicken, all glistening in a tomato sauce, and an omelet sizzled in the frying pan.
“Omurice?” I said.
Diane grinned. “Your favorite, right?”
“Thanks,” I said. I was so glad I could keep living with Diane. She always noticed the little things that mattered. I watched her spoon the rice into the center of the omelet, wrapping the sides of the egg around the filling.
I opened the cupboard and grabbed a plate for her.
“Since you’re home just in time, you get the first one,” she said, taking the plate from me. In a quick motion she flipped the filled omelet upside down and onto the plate. It came out only slightly unshaped, so I grabbed a napkin and pinched the ends together.
“When did you suddenly become interested in cooking?” Diane joked, watching my handiwork. She cracked another egg into the empty frying pan.
“Tomohiro cooks,” I said. And I didn’t want to let him down as his girlfriend, but I felt silly saying it out loud.
“You’re pretty serious, huh?”
“I don’t know,” I shrugged. It still felt awkward to talk to her about it, but I was trying to be a little more honest. There was so much of my life I
couldn’t share with her—the Kami, the Yakuza, the ink—it made me want to share what I could.
The ink.
“Diane,” I said suddenly.
She looked at me, noticing the urgency in my voice. “Everything okay?”
Tone it down, Katie. Casual is what we’re going for.
“Fine,” I said, taking my plate to the table and pulling out a chair. I grabbed the ketchup bottle and started writing kanji on my omurice. Why stop practicing?
Diane flipped her filled omelet and sat across from me, taking the ketchup bottle and drawing a smiley face on top of hers.
“We’re doing a unit in biology,” I said, feeling guilty for lying yet again. “About, you know, how foods affect the body and all that.”
“Oh, a nutrition unit?” She dug a hole in her omelet and the steaming rice spilled onto the plate.
“Kind of,” I said. “Like, how if you’re pregnant, you shouldn’t eat soft cheeses, stuff like that.”
“Mmm-hmm.”
“So,” I said, poking the omurice with my spoon, “I guess I was wondering if Mom did that kind of stuff with me. I mean, avoiding dangerous foods and all that.”
“I guess,” said Diane. “I don’t really know about that stuff much, Katie. I never had kids, you know.”
“Yeah,” I said. Shoot. I had to find another way to get at the question. “So I guess Mom’s pregnancy with me was pretty typical, huh?”
Diane’s face went pale. Her spoon stopped digging into the omelet. I’d hit on something.
“What is it?”
“Well...truth be told, Katie, she almost lost you.”
“What?” I thought Jun had said the ink wasn’t dangerous to ingest. Had it been that bad?
“She got really ill about four months in. She was in the hospital, hooked up to machines and IVs... It was awful. They were monitoring your heartbeat constantly.”
“Holy crap,” I said. “Why didn’t anyone ever tell me this?”
“She didn’t like to talk about it,” Diane said. “She never told you?”
I shook my head.
