“That’s better. Today we’re going to be testing the pH of various substances,” Ms. Miller said. “I’ve already dosed out the solid ingredients you’ll be using, and I’ll bring around the liquids in a minute. Do not play with the materials - I’m looking at you, Brandon.” A boy at one of the front tables sat back in his chair, trying to look innocent. “You’re all going to want to pay attention, because this will be on the test next week, in some form or other. First, let’s go over some basic stuff. Who remembers what pH actually means?”
She held a sort of an interactive mini-lecture, covering what I assumed everyone else had already read. Having no textbook to speak of, I was about to follow Camille’s example and start doodling on my workpapers. Though I’m not sure the flowers I would draw would have teeth. I was trying not to stare, but she drew some weird things, and she was actually really good.
But then Ms. Miller announced that it was time to start the experiment, and I went to collect our little test tubes of liquid in their rack. I had learned about this stuff last year, but we’d never gotten to do this experiment.
I was getting kind of wrapped up in it - the careful measuring, sifting the powders into the liquid, soaking the strips, waiting for them to change color, marking them off a chart. It was soothing. Measurable. Predictable. I smiled down at my worksheet, feeling accomplished. One last sample to test. I picked up the final strip of pH paper and bent over the tubes, holding up the plate we were drying the paper on.
“You’re pretty good at that,” said a calm voice at my shoulder.
It was Him.
My nerves exploded. I dropped the plate and it shattered on the floor. My hand swung out reflexively as I stepped away from the breaking glass. I knocked over the beaker and the contents poured all over the table.
“Nan da - ?” Camille exclaimed, standing up as the liquid soaked through her worksheet.
My face flamed. Ms. Miller stood, grabbing a broom and a dustpan from the corner.
“I’m so sorry!” I babbled. “I was just startled, I didn’t, I-I...”
“Accidents happen,” Ms. Miller said to me, with an understanding smile. “I’ve learned to expect them. Kei, go back to your table and focus on your own work, please?”
He merely looked mildly amused. “I got bored,” he said, and returned to his seat.
From the corner of my eye I caught a glare from Hayley in my direction. Looked like I had officially lost her sympathies. When class was over, she promptly snatched Kei’s arm and the four of them left together.
So that’s how things were.
Camille was still gathering up her stuff. If we were going to be sitting together for the rest of the year, I should probably try to smooth things over.
“I’m um, I’m really sorry about the, you know, getting all your stuff wet,” I said.
She shrugged.
“The drawings especially.”
Her cheeks colored slightly. “It’s ok. I’ll make more.” Again I was struck by her unusual accent.
“So, um, where are you from?” I blurted.
“Tokyo.”
I laughed. “No, seriously. Where are you from? I can’t place your accent at all.”
Her brow creased. “Tokyo.”
I gaped. “What, you’re serious? I mean, not that you don’t, um, seem like a serious person.”
She snorted; I think it was a laugh. “I’m serious.”
I let that sink in a second. I’d thought I had it bad. Half a country away was nothing like half a world away. “So this must be like, some major culture shock, I bet.”
She considered that, and gave a nod.
Maybe I had been right after all. Maybe she really was like me. Heartened, I went on, “I’m definitely not any kind of expert about the area...or the school...or anything, really...but if you um, ever need help with anything...”
“I don’t need help,” she said flatly, hoisting her bag over her shoulder and striding swiftly out of the room.
“Oh. Ok then,” I said to her empty chair.
Chapter 5
Camille
They wanted her to stay after class. Camille was not happy about that. She didn’t care about completing evaluations for classes she didn’t want to take in the first place.
If she did badly enough, would they get to go home? She could just throw the evaluation. How mad would Gabriel be if they had to go back to Japan? It might be worth it. He could just start a cafe there instead. None of these people who hated him were there.
The other students had left for the day. The pretty, awkward girl. The boys who wanted to be near the awkward girl. The stylish ones who ignored her. She didn’t have time for any of them. All this social dancing seemed so pointless. And she was sick of all this English. The teachers - all but Charlotte, Gabriel had been right - hated her. All in all, this had not been one of her better days.
They had penned her in Rin Umino’s office. Awaiting the arrival of the principal, she slumped in her chair, arms folded into her hoodie. She shouldn’t have snapped at Jul. That had been rude. The other girl had clearly been trying to be kind and accommodating. Guiltily, Camille had avoided her for the rest of the day. In truth, Jul seemed like a really nice, friendly person. But friends complicated things. She didn’t need anyone else. She and Gabriel could handle whatever came at them on their own. She certainly didn’t want to be responsible for getting someone innocent like Jul hurt. She still didn’t know what had precipitated their leaving home -
The door opened, but it was not the principal who entered. The boy who’d startled Jul in science class stepped in, his eyebrows rising slightly when he caught sight of her. Kai? Kei? Something forgettable.
“Sent to the principal’s office already,” he intoned. “That might be a new record. What was your name again? Chamomile Tea?”
Camille would not dignify that with an answer, just returned to looking at the wall behind Umino’s desk. One of the frames held a blank piece of parchment, and she was trying to decide its significance.
“Oh yes, you’ll go far here,” he said. “Can’t even take a joke. I’m Kei, I’m sure you’re dying to know. Sakamoto. Don’t mind me, I’ve just come to pick something up.” He walked around the desk and opened a drawer. He rifled around in the papers for a moment, closed it, then opened another.
Camille frowned. Was he really supposed to be in here? It didn’t seem like he knew the principal’s office very well. He looked more like he was ransacking her desk than running an errand. But saying something was out of the question. She didn’t have the right words. Unless...
His name was Japanese. Maybe he spoke it? Everything here would be so much simpler if she had someone to talk to. She never knew she’d miss simple conversation so much.
“Are you really supposed to be in here?” she asked in Japanese.
“Hm?” he looked up from the drawer.
“Your actions are suspicious,” she said. “Explain yourself.”
His mouth quirked slightly. “Oh, I’m sorry. I don’t speak Chinese.”
What hope she had was summarily quashed. “Japanese,” she snapped.
“Oh, right,” he said lightly. “Yeah, I don’t really speak that either. I mean, I know some words here and there, like karate...ninja...kamikaze, that sort of thing.”
He was pronouncing them all wrong. He really was American. “Kamikaze,” Camille said, letting her irritation color her correction.
He shrugged. “Over here it makes no difference. Distinctions like that, you just have to learn to let them go. Sorry to disappoint. Did you want to run that by me in English?” His head tilted slightly, like a bird.
She was beginning to think that Kei Sakamoto was not the sort of person she wanted to talk to, in any language. “No,” she answered him, eyes firmly on the floor.
“Don’t be shy,” he said. “Shy never helped anyone.”
“I’m not shy,” she growled. “I don’t like you.”
He feigned offense. “
I don’t see how that’s possible. Me, I like everyone. You’ll never get along here if you can’t learn a few basic social skills. Here, I’ll show you. Step one is pointless conversation. You pick out something about the other person, and get them to talk about it. People love talking about themselves. Pretend you’re interested and they think you’re best friends. Like so.”
He settled into Umino’s chair, errand apparently forgotten. What was he still doing here? He should have left by now. She just wanted to be alone.
“I like that...metal...thing,” he observed, gesturing vaguely to the iron bracer on her arm. “Where’d you get it?”
She eyed him warily. That was none of his business. Pointless conversation or not, he’d landed on the one thing she wouldn’t talk about. Gabriel had tricked her into putting it on years ago, and it wouldn’t come off. She’d learned to forgive him for it, but the hunk of metal still gave her its share of annoyance. Just the mention of the bracer had her fighting the impulse to scratch at it. She’d worn it forever and even though it did no good, she still wanted to scratch at the skin beneath.
Kei Sakamoto leaned forward on the desk, steepling his fingers, like he belonged there. “Family heirloom?” he prompted. “Ebay? Found it in a dumpster? Ooh, I know, it was a gift from an old boyfriend.”
Camille frowned. Maybe he hadn’t been fishing for info on the bracer. Maybe he really was just an idiot. Americans were all the same.
“No?” he went on, undeterred. “On second thought, you don’t look like the boyfriend type. Old girlfriend?”
The bracer felt tighter and more restricting the more he made her think about it. Her mouth formed a grim line of disapproval.
“Still no? I guess that look would scare off just about anybody. You look like a mob boss. Ooh, did you steal it from the mob? Is it some sort of treasure from the Japanese mafia?”
She’d had enough of this. The bracer was digging into her wrist, and her right hand twisted at it reflexively.
“Go away,” she said.
“Just when we’re getting to know each other?” he objected. “No, I want to hear the story of how you broke into mafia headquarters and swiped their prized metal thing.”
She huffed. “I did not.”
“But what other explanation can there be?” he asked innocently.
“You’re an idiot,” she snapped. She could hear her own blood in her ears.
“That explanation makes no sense.”
She growled, “Get out.” She could hear footsteps approaching from the hall. She hadn’t thought she would prefer the Umino woman to someone, but Sakamoto had proved her wrong.
“That’s your best retort? Come on, you can do better than that,” he said.
The door clicked open. Rin Umino surveyed the scene, one eyebrow raised.
Sakamoto sighed and stood, pushing himself up from the desk.
“Well?” Umino said.
“Where do you find these people?” he asked. “She can’t talk. It’s hopeless. Probably.” With the barest smirk at Camille he made for the door.
He’d been testing her? A stealth English evaluation?
Umino blocked his exit.
“Sorry, super important teenage plans, gotta go,” he told the principal.
She held out her hand, otherwise immobile.
He shrugged and took a key out of his pocket and handed it to her. He’d tried to steal that from her desk?
Umino stood aside and let Sakamoto pass. She shut the door behind him and settled herself in her chair, her stiff posture a sharp contrast to his lazy lounging only moments ago.
“You are not like Miss Graham,” she said, “in many ways. You have been the ward of Mr. Katsura for how many years now?”
Camille licked her lips. What was she really asking? “Six.”
“Six? And all of that in Japan? Very uncharacteristic of him. I’m not sure he’s ever spent that much consecutive time with...anyone.”
Camille didn’t remember what ‘consecutive’ meant, but now seemed a bad time to mention it. She could guess close enough.
“I will assume that having been in his care for so long, you have come to understand certain truths that the general populace is uninformed of. I will assume that because of this, you do not trust me, a human.”
Camille’s eyes narrowed. “That’s not why.”
“The oblivious ones are much more pliant,” she commented. “Miss Graham, for example, could have a bright future with us. All we ask is a little obedience, a little loyalty.”
“I’m with Gabriel,” Camille stated.
“At present, it seems that Gabriel wishes you to be with us,” she bit off his name. “So. Tell me the days of the week.” Her eyebrow arched in challenge.
What? Huh? Right now? Uh... “Monday, Tuesday...” Camille’s brain twisted. “Thursday...”
Her lip twisted in distaste. “Remedial English,” Umino decreed. “If you can’t handle conversational English by the end of the semester, you’re out. I don’t care who your guardian is, we have standards to uphold. Also, you will only speak English on this campus, from here on out.” She passed Camille a sheet of paper.
Camille gazed up at her in horror.
“Immersion is the best teacher,” she said dryly. “Perform, or I will send you to public, and all your darling mentor’s efforts will have been wasted. Public has no idea what to do with someone like you.”
“Someone like me?”
“Surely it’s obvious,” Umino said. “We’re the only ones qualified to educate monsters.”
Camille stood abruptly, chair scraping.
“Don’t be so dramatic,” she observed, unimpressed, “or I’ll put you in theatre too.”
Gabriel picked her up outside the school, the powder-blue junker idling loudly. Mostly powder-blue - one of the doors was white. He would have been easy to spot even if he wasn’t the only one waiting up front. A couple of cars were parked in the back of the school lot - she assumed it was teachers staying late.
She slid into the passenger seat, letting her bag hit the floor and the door slam shut in one fluid motion. She didn’t even want to look at him right now. This was all his doing.
“I’ve never picked a kid up from their first day of school before,” he said, in his oblivious way. “I think you’re supposed to tell me all about your day. Tell me you made lots of friends and a cute boy asked you out and your idiot English teacher gave you too much homework.”
At least now she could speak her own language. “I am not going back in there,” she stated flatly, back to Japanese at last.
He sighed, putting the car in gear. “No, see, that’s not how it works. Talk about how you traded food with other kids in the cafeteria.”
“What am I, seven? And who cares about cafeteria food?”
“Well I do. If they’re not feeding you properly, I’ll have to put in a complaint with the school board. Wait, do I need to join a PTA now or something? Does Havenwood have a PTA...?” he mused.
“You are ignoring me,” Camille fumed.
“I’m distracting you. There’s a difference.”
“Either way you’re not listening. I don’t want anything to do with the other students. They’re either completely oblivious, or they’re tools of the principal. Sheep and wolves.”
Gabriel’s expression sobered at her metaphor. The light ahead changed to yellow, then red. The car slowed and came to a stop at the intersection.
“She called me a monster,” Camille said.
Gabriel took a slow breath and ran his hands through his fine, jet-black hair, looking up at the stoplight. “Damn. Already?”
“She wants me gone.”
“Ohhhh no, kiddo. Not in the slightest. Very much the opposite. She knows what her family would do to her if she let us get away. She may not like us, but by no means does she want to be rid of us.” He paused for a moment, and then a grin spread slowly across his face. That was the smile that meant they were about to do something dangerou
s, something outside the box, and it almost made her grin as well. He was a very difficult person to stay angry with.
“You know what would drive her crazy?” he said, as the light changed and the car inched back into motion.
“No,” she said, trying to maintain a solemn expression.
His eyes flicked to her and back to the road; they were glittering. “If you did really well.”
“Be serious.”
“That is what she’d hate,” he said emphatically. “Rin Umino’s idea of power is thinking that she and her pet students are better than everyone else. I’m a little...ah...notorious...in their circles. That makes you notorious by association. If you really want to stick it to her...follow the rules and destroy them doing it.”
“We’re destroying them?”
“Metaphorically.”
“Less interested.”
“Come on, it can’t have been that bad.”
“She called me a monster. One of her ‘pets’ tried to interrogate me about the bracer. My notebook is soaking wet. They’re making me take extra English classes, they won’t let me speak Japanese,” she said, and then added. “And no one talked to me.” That last was a lie, she realized as soon as she said it. Jul had tried. Several times. She frowned in recollection.
“That’s more like it,” he said. “First day of school stuff. Then I say things like, tomorrow will be better, and that maybe you should try talking to other people if they’re not talking to you first, and we can fix your notebook with a hairdryer. Wait, do we have a hairdryer? Honestly, extra English sounds like the worst part.”
“Why is that?”
“Because I know your English teacher,” he said, distracted as they pulled into the parking lot of the cafe, noting two cars there.
“Who’s that?” Camille asked.
“I was hoping you could tell me,” he said, bringing the car to a quiet stop. He rolled down the windows and turned off the engine. “Can you hear them?”
She concentrated. She could hear the wasp buzzing around the back of the car. The engine cooling down. The wind in the trees across the lot. She closed her eyes. The heat radiating off the shingles. The motorcycle two miles away. The two people arguing inside the church/cafe. Her senses were unusually dulled. She should have been able to hear them crisply from this proximity, but instead she had to strain to pick out their conversation. Voices new to her, but she could place them.
The Thief Page 6
