by Amanda Sun
And seeing things, hallucinating that drawings were moving. God, I’d be sent to a therapist for sure.
I told Yuki about the fight the next day during lunch, although I left out the part about the moving drawing. I still wasn’t sure what I’d seen, and I wasn’t about to scare off the only friend I had. But I couldn’t get it out of my mind, those sketched eyes glaring into mine. I wouldn’t imagine that, right?
But the more I thought about it, the more dreamlike it felt.
Yuki turned in her seat to eat her bentou on my desk. I wasn’t used to the food yet, so Diane had packed my bentou box from side to side with squished peanut-butter sandwiches.
Yuki gripped her pink chopsticks with delicate fingers and scooped another bite of eggplant into her mouth.
“You’re kidding,” she said, covering her mouth with her hand as she said it. “I still can’t believe you went in there.”
She’d pinned her hair back neatly and her fingernails were nicely painted, reminding me of Myu’s delicate pink-and-silver nails. I wondered if they’d chipped when she hit him.
“You didn’t even wait for me to come out,” I said.
“Sorry!” she said, pressing her fingers together in apology.
“I had to get to cram school. Believe me, I was dying inside not knowing what happened.”
“I’m sure.” Yuki did like her share of drama.
She lifted her keitai phone in the air. “Here, send me your number. Then I can call you next time I abandon you in the middle of the biggest breakup of all time.”
I turned a little pink. “Um. I don’t have one?”
She stared at me a minute before shoving the cell phone back into her bag, then pointed at me. “Get one. Maa, I never realized Yuu Tomohiro was so mean.”
“Are you kidding? You told me he was cold!”
“I know, but I didn’t know he was cheat-on-your-girlfriend-and-get-someone-pregnant cold. That’s a different level.” I rolled my eyes, but secretly I tried to break down the number of words she’d just used. I loved that she had faith in my Japanese, but it was a little misplaced. We switched back and forth between languages as we talked.
Across the room, Yuki’s friend Tanaka burst through the doorway, grabbing his chair and dragging it loudly to our desks.
“Yo!” he said, which sounded less lame in Japanese than English. He tossed his head to the side with a friendly grin.
“Tan-kun.” Yuki smiled, using the typical suffix for a guy friend. I looked down into the mess of peanut butter lining the walls of my bentou. Tanaka Ichirou was always too loud, and he always sat too close. I needed space to think about what I’d seen yesterday.
“Did you hear about Myu?” he said, and our eyes widened.
“How do you know?” said Yuki.
“My sister’s in her homeroom,” he said. “Myu and Tomo-kun split up. She’s crying over her lunch right now, and Tomo didn’t even show up for class.” Tanaka leaned in closer and whispered in a rough tone, “I heard he got another girl pregnant.”
I felt sick. I dropped my peanut-butter sandwich into my bentou and closed the lid.
That curve of stomach under the sketched blouse…
“He did!” Yuki squealed. It was all just drama to them.
But I couldn’t stop thinking about the way her head turned, the way she looked right at me.
“It’s just a rumor,” said Tanaka.
“It’s not,” Yuki said. “Katie spied on the breakup!”
“Yuki!”
“Oh, come on, everyone will know soon anyway.” She sipped her bottle of iced tea.
Tanaka frowned. “Weird, though. Tomo-kun might be the tough loner type, but he’s not cruel.”
I thought about the way he’d snatched the paper out of my hands. The sneer on his face, and the curve of his lips as he spat out his words. Don’t you speak Japanese? He seemed like the cruel type to me. Except that moment…that moment where he’d almost dropped everything and kissed Myu. His hand reaching for her chin, the softness in his eyes for just a second before it changed.
“How would you know?” I burst out. Tanaka looked up at me with surprised eyes. “Well, you called him by his first name, right?” I added. “Not even as a senior senpai, so you must know him pretty well.”
“Maa…” Tanaka scratched the back of his head. “We were in Calligraphy Club in elementary school—you know, traditional paintings of Japanese characters. Before he dropped out, I mean. Which sucked, because he had a real talent. We haven’t really talked much since then, but we used to be close.
He got into a lot of fights, but he was a good guy.”
“Right,” I said. “Cheating on girls and making fun of foreigners’ Japanese. What a winner.”
Yuki’s face went pale, her mouth dropping open.
“He saw you?” She put a hand over her mouth. “And Myu?
Did she?”
I shook my head. “Just Yuu.”
“And? Was he angry?”
“Yeah, but so what? It’s not like I meant to spy on them.”
“Okay, we need to do damage control and see how bad your social situation is. Ask him about it after school, Tan-kun,” Yuki said.
I panicked. “No, don’t.”
“Why?”
“He’ll know I told.”
“He won’t know,” Yuki said. “Tanaka’s sister told him about the breakup, remember? We’ll just slip the conversation in and see how he reacts to you.”
“I don’t want to know, okay? Drop it please?”
Yuki sighed. “Fine. For now.”
The bell rang. We tucked our bentous into our bags and pulled out some paper.
Yuu Tomohiro. His eyes kept haunting me. I could barely concentrate on Suzuki-sensei’s chalkboard math, which was hard enough considering the language gap. Diane had been so set on sending me to a Japanese school instead of an international one. She was convinced I’d catch on quickly, that I’d come out integrated and bilingual and competitive for university programs. And since she knew how much I wanted to move back with Nan and Gramps, she wanted to hit me over the head with as much experience as possible.
“Give it four or five months,” she said, “and you’ll speak like a pro.”
Obviously she didn’t realize I was lacking in language skills.
When the final bell rang, I was relieved to find out I didn’t have cleaning duty. I had a Japanese cram school to go to, so I decided to cut through Sunpu Park and get on the east-bound train. I waved to Yuki, and Tanaka flashed a peace sign at me as he rolled up his sleeves and started lifting chairs onto the desks. Pretty sure that counts as two friends, I thought, and in spite of everything, a trickle of relief ran through me.
I headed toward the genkan to return my slippers—I wasn’t going to make that mistake again—and headed out into the courtyard.
School began in late March at Suntaba, and the spring air was fresh but cool. Green buds had crept onto each of the spindly branches of the trees, waiting for slightly warmer weather to bloom. Diane said everyone in Japan checked their cell phones daily to find out when the cherry blossoms would bloom so they could sit under them and get drunk.
Well, okay, that wasn’t exactly what she said, but Yuki said a lot of the salarymen turned as pink as the flowers.
I was nearly at the gate when I saw him. He slouched against the stone entranceway, hands shoved deep in his pockets. The sun glared off the neat row of gold buttons down his blazer and splayed through his hair, gleaming on the copper streaks.
Yuu Tomohiro.
My footsteps slowed as dread leached down my spine.
There was no other way off school grounds; I’d have to pass him. The back of his hand curved over his shoulder, his book bag pressed against his back. He stared straight at me, as if he was waiting for me.
He wasn’t…was he?
Maybe he wanted me to keep my mouth shut about what had happened. But he hadn’t understood what I was saying, right? He didn’t sp
eak English.
His face was turned down in a sour frown, but his eyes shone as he stared at me, like he was trying to figure me out.
A bluish bruise was set in his cheek, and the skin looked a little swollen. I looked down first and then straight at him, but I couldn’t stare at him long. Nothing could settle the pit I felt in my stomach, like I was going to be sick.
If he did make that drawing move… No, that was impossible. I’d been tired, that’s all.
I stood there ten feet from the gate, unable to move, squeezing the handles of my bag as tightly as I could. My navy skirt felt short and ugly against my bleached-out legs. I was out of place at this school and I knew it.
Move! Just walk past and ignore him! Do something! my brain screamed at me, but I couldn’t move.
I let out a shaky breath and took a step forward.
He uncoiled from his slouch like a snake, rising to his full height. I wondered why he always slouched when he could look like that, but the thought sent prickles up my neck. He was a jerk anyway, even if I hadn’t seen the drawing move.
He’d cheated on Myu, got someone else pregnant and still had the nerve to laugh at it. Except that he looked like he’d been lying that he didn’t care about her. And Tanaka had said he was a good guy deep down.
Must be really deep down.
His shoes clicked against the cement as he stepped toward me, and despite all my common sense, I couldn’t stop shaking. His eyes burned as he stared me down. He was only two feet from me, and now only a foot. I’m sorry, was I the only one at the school who worried he was psycho?
His eyes flicked to the ground suddenly, his bangs slipping forward and fanning over his face as he walked straight past me, so close that his shoulder grazed mine. So close that I could smell spices and hair gel, that I could feel the warmth radiating from his skin. The heat sent a shudder through me and I stopped walking, listening to the click, click of him walking farther away.
He’s screwing with me, I thought. Trying to intimidate me or something. Shame flooded through me as I realized I’d let him get away with it. He’d reeled me in, and despite everything I knew, despite drawings staring at me and pregnant girlfriends and humiliating language barriers, I’d still let my heart twist at his gorgeous eyes.
When did I become so shal ow? I scrunched my hands deeper into the leather of my book bag, until the zipper dug into my knuckles.
“Ano!” I said to get his attention, squeezing my eyes shut as I said it. The clicking of his shoes stopped. Around us the noisy chatter of other students buzzed in my brain, fading into background noise like ringing in my ears. All I could focus on was the silence that had replaced his footsteps, the sound I imagined of his breathing.
Now what? I wanted to ask why he’d been staring at me, why everything felt off when he was there. And about the drawing, the memory sitting unsettled in my gut. But how could I ask him that? He’d think I was nuts. The limits of my Japanese shoved against me, which only proved his point and pissed me off more. What was I thinking to confront him? And what exactly could I say that wouldn’t make me look like an idiot?
A moment passed, and I heard a single laugh under his breath. Then the click, click, click of him walking away toward the eastern wall. The clicking suddenly sped up, and I turned to look. He ran at the wall, leaping up the stone face and grabbing the branches of the momiji tree above, slipping over the wall and out of sight.
I’d let him do it again, let him tip me off balance for the second time in five minutes. I shuddered with anger as I stared at the branch, still swaying, dusting the wall with maple leaves.
The branch.
I didn’t spend my summers hiking in the woods for nothing.
My shoes pounded against the cement as I raced toward the wall. Students backed out of my way just in time, breaking apart their little groups out of curiosity about what I was about to do next. Slippers were about to take a backseat.
I threw my hands around the tree trunk and pressed my feet against the slippery bark. My book bag clattered to the ground as I reached for the branches, hoisting myself up.
Leaves and twigs tangled in my hair, but I climbed higher and higher, until I cleared the wall and the street on the other side came into view.
I scanned the sidewalks for the Suntaba uniform—there, behind the line of salarymen. He was combing a hand through his copper hair, his blazer draped over his arm.
“Yuu Tomohiro!” I shouted at the top of my lungs. He jerked to a stop, but didn’t turn around. I stared at the curve of his shoulder blades under the white dress shirt as he breathed in and out slowly.
Then he turned, looking up in slow motion when he didn’t see me on the street.
“That’s right, Tarzan, look up!” I screamed in English. “You’re not the only one around here who can make an exit!” My lungs burned with adrenaline as I watched him stare at me.
I couldn’t help it. The grin spread across my face, knowing I’d beaten him at his own game.
He waited a minute, completely still, and I wondered if he hadn’t understood a word I’d said. Not that it mattered.
He’d still get the point. I was the winner.
“What do you have to say now?” I shouted.
Still nothing.
And then he slowly raised his arm, his finger pointed.
“I can see up your skirt,” he said.
Oh god.
I’d totally forgotten I was wearing my short uniform skirt.
Crap, crap, crap!
I twisted to look down at the ring of students gathered around the tree trunk. They were starting to giggle, and if they hadn’t been looking up my skirt before, they definitely were now.
A couple of squealing girls reached into their bags. They better not be bringing out cell phones to immortalize my humiliation.
I let go of the branches with one hand to press my skirt tight against my legs. I turned back to look at Yuu. He was smiling, beaming even, like this was some sort of amusing moment we were sharing. Like it was just the two of us. And worse, the smile made my stomach twist. Then he beat his fists against his chest a couple times Tarzan-style and turned, walking out of sight.
My fingers tightened around the branch. Why did he act like two different people? A giggle from below and my anger surged up again.
All right, Mr. Creepy Sketch Guy. You want war?
You’re on.
The maze of Sunpu Park calmed me down a little. It always did, with the twisting hedges and the murky moats in deep channels. An old castle towered over the eastern side of the park, but I didn’t see much of it on my way home. I headed south over a long concrete bridge above the water teeming with koi, and then twisted past the underground walkways to Shin-shizuoka Station.
I scanned my pass, and the little metal doors slammed into the sides of the barriers to let me through. I walked slowly to the platforms, my eyes squinting at the signs of scrolling kanji.
The train was coming in three minutes, so I sat on one of the light blue benches and rested my bag on my lap.
I noticed a twig caught in the wool of my skirt, and I pulled it from the fabric.
“Why did I do that?” I groaned, slumping my chin on my bag. As if fitting in wasn’t hard enough, I had to go and climb a tree to yell at a boy and flash my underwear to half the school population.
Maybe I should be sick tomorrow.
A group of girls suddenly rushed in front of me, laughing as they punched out texts on their cell phones. One of them tripped over my foot, and her friends caught her by the shoulders as she stumbled.
“Sorry!” I burst out, tucking my feet as far as I could under the bench.
The girl looked at me for a minute, and then the three of them shuffled away, mumbling loudly to each other. Their green-and-blue-tartan skirts showed me they were from a different high school, so why should I care if they were being snobby? I wanted to stick my tongue out but stopped short. It was too much—I didn’t fit in at school, and I couldn�
��t even blend in at the train station. How the heck was I supposed to survive here anyway? Without Mom, without anything familiar. The tears started to blur in my eyes.
I heard a muffled greeting as a boy called to the girls. They didn’t answer him. Typical. Rude bunch of—
He said hello to them again. They still didn’t answer. What was their problem?
“Domo,” he tried again, and this time I looked up.
His dark eyes caught mine immediately. He had black hair that flopped around his ears, with two thick blond highlights tucked behind them. His bangs trailed diagonally across his forehead, so they almost covered his left eye. A silver earring glinted in his left ear as he nodded at me.
Wait. He’s talking to me.
“Hi?” I managed. It came out like a question.
He smiled. He wore the same uniform colors as the girls—
a white dress shirt and navy blazer, a green-and-blue tie and navy pants—and he leaned against the pillar near the bench.
His body was turned away from the clique, and they seemed a little pissed that he was talking to me. From the smile on his face, I wondered if that was the point.
“You go to Suntaba?” he said, pointing at my uniform.
“Yeah,” I said.
“You must speak Japanese well, then.”
I smirked. “I wouldn’t say that.”
He laughed and walked toward me. “Can I sit?” he said.
“Um, it’s a free station.”
“What?”
“Nothing.” Okay, so when did hot guys from other schools start trying to pick me up on train platforms?
He leaned in a little, so I leaned back.
“Don’t let them get to you,” he mumbled. “They’re just airheads anyway.”
“Them?” I said, looking over at the girls. They pretended they weren’t staring, which only made it more obvious.
“Yeah,” he said.
“It’s fine,” I said. “I’ve been through worse.”
He laughed again. “Rough day?”
“You have no idea.”
“Jun!” one of the girls squealed at him—an ex he was trying to make jealous, maybe? He leaned in closer and winked like we were coconspirators. And then a little chime flooded the station, and the train roared past, the brakes squealing as it slowed.
