chapter six
In the restaurant, Mr. Akimoto tells us that a food buffet is called a Viking in Japan. Maybe the Japanese think Vikings eat this way. Whatever, the food looks great. There is a long counter covered with different things to choose from. The plates and bowls are smaller than the ones in restaurants at home. I heap different kinds of noodles, sushi, tempura and various mystery foods onto a plate.
Melissa and Zach are at one end of my table. As I walk by, I notice that Zach is trying just about everything, while Melissa only has a few small things on her plate.
I sit down and prepare to dig in. The waitress has given us forks as well as chopsticks. I pick up the chopsticks and start with some sushi.
A man sitting nearby picks up his bowl with one hand and uses chopsticks to scoop up long noodles. The noodles stretch between his mouth and the bowl. I can hear the slurp as he sucks up the noodles. This seems like a fun way to eat, so I try it with my own noodles.
“Gawd!”
I look up and see Melissa looking at me with disgust. How long has she been watching me? Staring right at her, I scoop up more noodles and suck them noisily into my mouth. She turns away with a huff. Zach laughs. He catches my eye for a second, nods his head in Melissa’s direction and rolls his eyes.
That was weird.
After we have finished eating, we wait outside for our host parents. The Stepwagon pulls up with Mrs. Seto at the wheel. I’m disappointed that Fumiko isn’t with her. Mrs. Seto tries to tell me something about Fumiko and Kenji. Since she doesn’t have much English and I have no Japanese, it takes most of the drive for me to figure out that they are at a place called a juku. It has something to do with school.
When we arrive at the house it’s starting to grow dark. Mr. Seto is kneeling on the front steps trimming the branches of a miniature tree in a pot. Several small potted trees are arranged up one side of the stairway. Mr. Seto stands up to greet us. We stop to admire the trees.
“Bonsai,” Mr. Seto says, and I nod. I recognize the word.
“You make them small?” I ask.
“Small, yes.” He nods. I’m not sure if he’s agreeing they are small or if he’s saying that yes, he’s the one who prunes them.
Mrs. Seto opens the front door and holds her hand out, indicating I should enter first. A sound catches my attention, and I hesitate.
Creak, creak.
It’s the same sound I heard when I arrived. It’s coming from the flooded rice paddy across the street.
“Kaeru,” Mr. Seto says, noticing my curiosity.
“Frogs?” I ask.
He nods and smiles.
“Kaeru. Frogs.”
I grin back. It’s a little thing, but it feels like a big breakthrough in communication.
“I want to take a look,” I say, waving toward the other side of the street.
Mr. Seto’s smile disappears, and he says something in rapid Japanese. It goes straight over my head. So much for the breakthrough.
I gesture toward the rice paddy again and take a step in that direction.
Mr. Seto sets down his clippers and follows me.
“I’m just going across the street,” I try to tell him. But it’s no good. I have an escort.
We walk the short distance in silence and stand at the edge of the field. It’s almost dark now, but there is still a tinge of pink in the sky. The croaks have stopped. We stand stiffly, waiting for them to start again. I scan the edge of the water and the rows of green plants but see no sign of frogs.
“It’s okay, we can go back,” I say with a sigh, figuring Mr. Seto will understand.
“I guess going for a walk by myself is out of the question,” I comment under my breath as we walk back to the house.
I hope Fumiko will be home soon. I feel out of place in the Setos’ house without her. I can’t talk with her parents, but they don’t want me to be on my own. I try watching television with them but can’t follow anything. I feel an overwhelming urge to speak to someone in English. I wonder what my family is doing right now. Of course it’s the middle of the night there. They are all still sleeping. Maybe I should e-mail them and let them know I’m still alive.
The Setos understand me when I say I’d like to use the computer—konpyuta, as Mr. Seto says. Mr. Seto sets me up in Fumiko’s room, switching her computer to English characters. I’m afraid he’s going to stay in the room with me, but he leaves after I thank him.
I type a quick note: The Setos are nice, the food is good, etc. It’s just the usual meaningless stuff that parents want to know. I’m just finishing when Fumiko and Kenji come home.
“Hi,” Fumiko says when she finds me. “Did you have a good day?”
“Yeah, it was pretty good,” I tell her. “You were getting tutored?”
“Tutored?” she asks. “Oh, you mean juku, cram school. I have much studying to do and get help there. So does Kenji. Do you have cram school in Canada?”
“Ah...” I have to think. “Not exactly. Last year I had a chemistry tutor for a while...someone who helped me study.”
“You don’t have help now?” she asks.
“No, I don’t really need it anymore,” I say.
“You must be a very good student,” Fumiko says wistfully.
“I’m not that great a student,” I tell her, “but I do okay.”
“I see,” she says, frowning. “In Japan, everyone who wants to go to university goes to juku. I am afraid I will not get into a good university if I do not study and do well on exams. Don’t you want to go to university?”
“I guess. I haven’t thought much about it yet. I’d like to study art, but maybe I’ll do computer graphics or something.”
“I want to be a translator,” she says. “I want to translate English books into Japanese or work for a company with English clients.” Her eyes meet mine for a moment with a look of intensity, and then they flick away. “But I don’t know if my English will be good enough.”
“It seems really good to me,” I tell her. I’m surprised at how worried she is. I had pegged her for someone who avoided anything more serious than choosing which Hello Kitty barrette to wear.
Before bed, I have a hot bath again. It’s a routine I could get used to. In my room afterward, I pick up my sketchbook and flip to the manga character I’ve been working on. She stands legs apart, arms across her chest as if she is blocking out the world. But she’s daring it to come at her at the same time. I pick up my pencil and begin to sketch. She needs some kind of power, like a magic sword or a jewel pendant...
I start to sketch a sword hanging at her waist, but it doesn’t seem right. I try a dagger instead...Maybe it should be something more futuristic—some kind of gun...no, that’s not right, either...
I can’t just come up with a character on her own. I need to figure out what kind of world she lives in. I try to imagine where my character is, who her enemies are. But I can’t concentrate.
I toss the sketchbook onto the bed and sigh. Did Zach Bellows look at me like he was sharing a joke about Melissa tonight? Nah, that couldn’t be right...I walk over to the window. Across the street, the rice paddy is dark. I can hear the frogs croaking.
So far, Japan is not what I expected. I feel like I have seen so much but just touched the surface. There is still a whole hidden world out there.
chapter seven
The next morning I ask Fumiko if I can borrow a couple of her manga books.
“Sure,” she says, “but wouldn’t you rather borrow some from Kenji?”
“No, that’s okay,” I say quickly. “I should give Doraemon a try.”
We head down to breakfast. I have Doraemon and another manga under my arm.
“Ohayo gozaimasu,” I say to Mrs. Seto.
Kenji is at the table eating what looks like miso soup. He’s using his chopsticks to pick things out of the bowl.
“Hi,” I say, sitting down and setting my books on the table beside me. Fumiko sits next to me.
Kenji looks
up, grunts something and then goes back to eating. He is wearing a blue T-shirt under his uniform. I wonder if that’s against the school rules.
On the table in front of me is a bowl of soup, a bowl of rice and a small dish with a piece of fish and something else. I pull my soup closer and look for a spoon, but there are only chopsticks. Out of the corner of my eye I see Kenji pick up his soup bowl and drink from it. I pick up my bowl and do the same.
“Is this a typical Japanese breakfast?” I ask.
“Yes,” Fumiko says. She explains that the stuff with the fish is natto, fermented soya beans.
The pink plum I recognize from my lunch yesterday. I pick it up with my chopsticks and pop it in my mouth. Sour, but good.
I notice Kenjo sneak a look at me from under his bangs. His glance lingers on the manga beside me, but I can’t read his expression.
We have less time to get ready for school this morning since we have to walk to the train station. Mrs. Seto hands me my lunch.
“Arigato gosaimasu,” I tell her. Japanese words are starting to feel more natural.
We leave the house with Kenji, but as soon as we are out the door, another boy hails him. The boy is thin with longish hair. He pushes his hair away from his eyes to get a better look at me.
“Hi,” he says carefully. “My name is Takeshi. What is your name?” He grins, pleased with himself.
His smile is infectious. I can’t help smiling back.
“Hi, my name’s Dana,” I tell him.
He laughs and looks at Kenji as if it is hilarious that I answered. Like I’m a talking animal or something. This gets me annoyed.
“Hey, I’m still here,” I snap. “And yes, I can talk.”
He looks back surprised. Fumiko laughs, her hand over her mouth. Kenji scowls, but I ignore him. Takeshi grins at me again, and I smile back. He seems like the kind of guy you couldn’t stay mad at for long.
“Hey, you’ve got a blue T-shirt on too,” I say, seeing blue at his collar. “Isn’t that against the school rules?”
He continues to smile, but he obviously hasn’t a clue what I said. He turns to Kenji, who looks away. Fumiko translates.
“Ahh!” Takeshi’s grin broadens. He stops walking and begins to unbutton his shirt. Kenji looks embarrassed.
“Japan soccer team!” Takeshi says. He opens his uniform shirt to show me a blue soccer jersey with a black and white crest. The crest is a crow with three legs. The center leg is kicking a soccer ball.
“Cool,” I say.
“Cool,” Takeshi repeats. “Sugoi.”
“Sugoi means cool?” I ask.
Takeshi nods and grins broadly.
“Why does the team crest have a three-legged crow?” I ask.
This time Takeshi turns to Fumiko right away. She translates my question. The two boys talk for a minute. Then Takeshi turns back to me and shrugs. Kenji looks away.
“I don’t know, either,” Fumiko says, embarrassed.
“That’s okay,” I say and change the subject. “So, they don’t get in trouble for wearing a T-shirt under their uniforms?”
“They’ll get in trouble if they don’t button their shirts over top,” Fumiko says.
Kenji is a few paces ahead of us now, and Takeshi hurries to catch up to him. Kenji and Takeshi walk on together, their backs to us. Takeshi turns around briefly to include us with a grin. If I’d thought Kenji’s unfriendliness was a Japanese boy thing, Takeshi has proved that wrong. I step closer to Fumiko.
“Why doesn’t Kenji like me?” I whisper.
Fumiko stops walking and looks at me with surprise. Then she looks down, embarrassed.
“Kenji likes you,” she says, but she won’t meet my eyes.
“He doesn’t talk to me,” I say.
“He thinks he can not speak English well. He does not want you to know,” she whispers. This time she does meet my eyes.
“You’re kidding?” My mouth drops open.
“No.” She shakes her head. “It’s true. It hurts his pride to admit his English is not good.”
I want to ask her more, but the boys have stopped to wait for us.
As we catch up, Takeshi gives me a teasing smile.
“Girls talk so much, they forget to walk,” he says, looking proud of his joke.
“Just giving you a chance to stop and admire us,” I say. I give him my best mocking imitation of a flirty Melissa smile.
He laughs. He may not understand what I said, but he knows at least that I’m teasing him. Kenji has turned away and started to walk again, so I can’t tell if he’s cracked any hint of a smile. If he does like me, he’s sure keeping it secret. Takeshi’s English isn’t very good, but it hasn’t stopped him from being friendly.
We funnel into the small train station, joining the line up in front of the ticket machines. Fumiko buys our tickets, and we push through the turnstile. We don’t wait for the boys. The platforms are crowded with kids in school uniforms and adults dressed for work. I don’t see any other Canadian kids. I am the only person in the whole crowd with red hair. Several people sneak looks at me.
We manage to find seats on the train. Some people have to stand. Takeshi and Kenji squeeze in to stand in front of us. As the train starts, a couple of students nearby get up the courage to ask Fumiko and the boys about me. Soon all the kids on the train start to shift toward our end of the car. They call out questions and press close to listen. I feel like a celebrity—though Fumiko does most of the talking.
When we get off the train, we walk a few blocks to the school. Most of the train crowd is with us. I walk with Fumiko and the other girls. Kenji and Takeshi drift off with the guys. The girls press close, giggling and excited. One taller girl is encouraged to stretch to her full height next to me while the others compare us. The girl is still a couple of inches shorter than me. They all exclaim over how tall I am.
It’s weird to have all these girls buzzing around me. I wonder if this is what it feels like to be part of the Melly Mob—to have everyone pay attention to you instead of pretending you don’t exist.
chapter eight
As we approach the school, I find myself hoping Melissa and the others will see me. Me, being popular. But then I catch myself. How lame. I don’t care what Melissa and her so-called friends think. Unlike her, I don’t need a bunch of groupies hanging off me to feel good about myself.
A bus is already parked in front of the school, and Mr. Crawford and Ms. Delucci are standing in front of it.
Ms. Delucci waves me over. I say goodbye to Fumiko and the others.
“We’re getting an earlier start on our tour today,” Ms. Delucci tells me. “If you can help me round up the others, I’d appreciate it.”
I look at her blankly. Me, round up the others? I don’t think so. Interpreting my look correctly, Ms. Delucci sighs.
“Well, we’ll have to wait until the homeroom teachers announce it, then,” she says.
“We could always leave without the others,” I suggest.
“Right,” she says sarcastically. Then we catch sight of DJ and a couple of other boys. “Though it is tempting,” she adds.
When our group has assembled beside the bus, Mr. Crawford holds up his hands for our attention. Before he can say anything, DJ calls out.
“Are we going to the racetrack today?”
“No, Derek, we are not going to the racetrack,” Mr. Crawford says with forced patience. “You can do those things on your own time. Today we are going to a Japanese historical site.”
There are a few groans.
“What kind of historical site?” Zach asks from near the front.
“We’re going to visit an old town called Seki-cho,” Mr. Crawford explains. “In the old days, Japan was ruled by the Shogun, the head of the samurai lords. He lived in Edo, which is now Tokyo. The emperor was only a figurehead then, and he lived in Kyoto. All the lords had to have homes in Edo as well as on their own land. They had to spend every second year in Edo, so the Shogun could keep contro
l over them.”
Mr. Crawford is in socials-teacher mode. “So, there was always a lot of traffic flowing to and from Edo. The main route between Kyoto and Edo was called the Tokaido road. There were stations or rest stops all along the route. Seki-cho was one of those stops. It hasn’t changed much in two hundred years.”
“That’s just great,” Melissa grumbles. “I guess they don’t have Starbucks or McDonald’s, then.”
A few people snicker.
“And we have one more surprise,” Mr. Crawford continues. “Mr. Akimoto can’t come with us today. He’s making arrangements for a special trip tomorrow.”
“Where? Where are we going?” Several interested voices interrupt.
“I’m not going to tell you until we know for sure,” Mr. Crawford says. “I’ve got a cell phone with me, and Mr. Akimoto will call as soon as all of the plans have been confirmed.”
He holds up his hand for attention as talk ripples through the group.
“Now, since Mr. Akimoto can’t be with us, the school has decided to let its two top English students join us.” He pauses to let this sink in. “Some of you will know them: Fumiko Seto and Aki Nishikawa.”
I’m one of the first people on the bus this time. I find a seat near the front where Fumiko will see me. After about fifteen minutes, Fumiko and Aki show up. They climb on, and Ms. Delucci introduces them.
Fumiko looks pleased but shy as she smiles at all of us. She sees the empty seat beside me and gives me a grateful look when I gesture for her to join me. I feel weird to be actually saving a seat for someone.
“See,” I whisper to Fumiko. “Even your school thinks you’re a good translator.”
Fumiko shakes her head and hides her smile behind one hand, but I can tell she is pumped.
The drive to Seki-cho takes about a half an hour. The bus lets us off in front of a temple.
Mr. Crawford gestures down the narrow street of wooden buildings. Many have curved roofs and wooden bars over the upper story windows.
“As I was telling you earlier,” he says, “this street has hardly changed in over two hundred years. I’d like you to imagine for a minute what it would have looked like with the street full of samurais and ladies in kimonos...”
Manga Touch Page 3
