by Rachel Cohn
School is good but hard. I am finally catching up with the workload. I really like Akemi, the girl who lives in my building and goes to ICS-Tokyo. We exchange English and Japanese phrases with each other. She thinks “Cool as a cucumber” is the silliest expression she ever heard. My new Japanese favorite is tsume no aka wo senjite nomu, which literally means “brew and drink the dirt from under someone’s fingernails.” It means you should brew the dirt from under the fingernails of someone smart and worthy of respect and then drink it like a tea so that person’s qualities will transfer to
you.
At school, I hang out most with Imogen. Her other two best friends at school, Ntombi and Jhanvi, are okay, but maybe if Imogen didn’t hang out with them, I wouldn’t either. They’re kind of snobs. So is Imogen, but she’s a fun snob, LOL. There’s this guy named Nik who is also in Imogen’s crowd, and he could probably have any girl he wants. He likes me, and I was flattered but honestly not that into him. He keeps texting me and sending me cat memes, and I’m hoping a cute new girl shows up to ICS-Tokyo soon to divert his attention. Kenji thinks I should hang out more with Nik because it would be
“good for business,” but I said I was too busy with
school to have a boyfriend. Kenji laughed at that and
said, “When did I say you should have a boyfriend?”
Did I tell you in my last letter about the moody boy on the swim team named Ryuu? He’s the team’s best swimmer. I hang out with him on the after-school bus
but don’t tell Imogen because she doesn’t like him. He’s really funny.
Most nights I have dinner with Kenji, but that’s pretty much all the time I spend with him. His mother and sister also live in the building. His mother is not very nice and whenever I see her, I duck into a corner so she won’t notice me. His sister is okay, but I could never imagine her as an auntie. She’s only politely interested in me, so I’ve decided to be the same to her. When I see her in the elevator, we talk about the weather.
I miss you so much, Mom. I miss my real family. I think about you all the time, and I hope you are surviving okay. Uncle Masa said maybe during my spring break next year we could take a trip to Washington and I could visit you.
Love,
Elle
PS—Remember how on my thirteenth birthday you made me promise I’d tell you when I had my first kiss? Okay, I kissed that guy Nik once and it wasn’t all that. He’s acting all weird now. Boys are stupid.
“Are you sick?” Ryuu asked me from his seat on the other side of the aisle on the ICS-Tokyo after-school bus. Unlike back home, most of the boys on this bus were well-behaved. They preferred to play video games on their phones rather than do homework, have IRL conversations, or bully other kids on the bus. The exception to screen time was Ryuu. He was usually either reading an actual book (and never one that was part of the school curriculum—he read for pleasure, what a unicorn) or scribbling in his swim journal. Yes, his swim journal. Ryuu kept a notebook to analyze his swim times in various strokes, measured by time of day and foods eaten that day. No computer spreadsheet or phone app for his analysis. Instead, he wrote in a binder with ruled pages, using different colored pencils to signify different types of data. The method was so Japanese of him. These people at the forefront of technology loved their stationery supplies, so much so that I wouldn’t be surprised if I stumbled on a vending machine filled with different kinds of Post-its, notebooks, pens, and pencils next to their infinite supply of beverage vending machines. I secretly loved that Ryuu even kept his colored pencils in a pencil case that he tucked into a hole-punched zippered sleeve at the front of his nerd binder.
“Why would you think I’m sick?” I asked Ryuu.
I moved from the window side of my seat to the aisle side; he did the same. This seating arrangement seemed to happen every time we were both on the after-school bus. As usual, I took a furtive sniff now that he was sitting closer. With his after-swim hair still wet, he smelled like chlorine and intensity, my favorite boy smells. His trusty ukulele was at his side. He said, “You’re always drinking apple juice. Do you have a Vitamin C deficiency?”
“The only deficiency I have is the sixteen years I spent on this planet not knowing how good apple juice could be.”
“Isn’t it the same everywhere?”
“That’s what I would have thought, till I tried it here. The apples here are just next-level delicious and perfect. The juice is naturally sweet, refreshing, and satisfying.”
“You sound like a commercial.” With his flop of blue-black hair falling in front of his eyes, I saw only his mouth. It was smiling at me. I grinned back. Ryuu looked at his Apple Watch. “The driver’s late. We should have left campus five minutes ago.”
“Maybe not everyone here operates on Japanese time efficiency?” No American student would notice or care about a driver’s tardiness.
“The later the driver leaves, the worse traffic will be.” He glanced down at his swim notebook and then back up at me. “Are you ready for the practice meet this weekend? We lost last time to the British International School, but I think we have a chance this year.”
“Are they that good?”
“They were. But their best swimmers graduated. And now we have you.”
I felt a blush on my cheeks. I didn’t understand why the Ex-Brats iced him out. Could I get him thawed and back in with the gang? Would I even want to? Maybe I liked not sharing him.
I said, “Does the team go somewhere fun to celebrate if they win? When I was on the Y team back home, Coach took us to Ledo for pizza after a good meet.”
“Sometimes. But it’s usually some touristy place in Shibuya where everyone acts stupid because sushi comes on a moat, and they think they’ve had some authentic Japanese experience.”
“Sushi on a moat sounds pretty fun to me, actually! What do you think would be an authentic Japanese experience?”
“I don’t know, but it’s not going to Robot Restaurant, where Coach Tanya and her boyfriend took us at the end of last season.”
“I liked the Robot Restaurant,” I said.
“Yeah, I mean, it’s okay,” he said quickly. “But there’s more interesting Japanese experiences that aren’t so touristy.”
“Like what?” I asked.
“Well, tourists love to go to Akihabara, the ‘Electric City’ where all the buildings are lit up with advertisements, and the stores sell all the latest Japanese technology. It’s cool and over-the-top. But my favorite place is in the same area, but completely opposite in vibe. It’s Book Town in Jimbocho, which is a small neighborhood in Chiyoda. It’s where the Tokyo publishing business is. Lots of secondhand bookshops there. It’s a great place to browse vintage magazines and find good deals on used books.”
“That sounds like a really nice place to escape all the go go go energy of Tokyo.”
“It is. I’ll take you sometime if you want to go. But most of the books are in Japanese. Maybe that’s why there aren’t a lot of tourists there.”
I really wanted to see Book Town with him, but Imogen wouldn’t approve. It was pretty bold of him to ask me, knowing that I hung out with the Ex-Brats. I liked that he didn’t care at all about their hierarchy. But I was too chickenshit to accept his invitation. I only just got elevated social status. I wasn’t ready to blow it.
“How come your English is so good?” I asked him. I’d met many Japanese people who spoke excellent English, like Kenji, but their English was usually accented, and sometimes their phrasing was awkward. Ryuu’s was confident and without accent.
He said, “I was born in New York. I went to ICS-New York from kindergarten to sixth grade. I only spoke Japanese at home. All other times was English.”
“New York! I’ve always wanted to go there! Did you like it?”
“Loved it. It’s a lot like Tokyo, with the crazy energy and lights and tall buildings. We lived in the West Village, where the buildings are old and there aren’t skyscrapers and it really did feel like
a little village in the middle of a huge city. I hope to go back to Manhattan for university. Maybe Columbia or NYU.”
“Really? How come you don’t want to go to college here? Tokyo is amazing.”
“But my family is suffocating,” he said, laughing.
I didn’t get a chance to ask him more, because Nik Zhzhonov came barreling down the aisle. “Move over,” he said to me. “Make room for Daddy.” I never knew with Nik whether he was being flirty or crude or was just a dude who was clueless about how ridiculous he sounded.
The bus finally moved; the driver must have been waiting for Nik.
I didn’t budge from my seat. I said, “The row ahead of me is empty. Sit there.”
Nik made a sad face but sat down on the seat in front of me. He leaned over and said, “Is that Ryuu guy bothering you?”
Ryuu was sitting right there. Why’d Nik have to be such an a-hole? I said, “No. And it’s not really your business if he did.”
“You’re feisty, Elle-san. That’s why there’s hope for us.”
There wasn’t hope for us. I thought he’d said he got it, but clearly he didn’t, as evidenced by all the text messages he sent me, and him showing up on the after-school bus when I knew for a fact he had a private driver to shuttle him home. That night at karaoke, when Nik’s mouth landed on mine, it was a surprise. I wasn’t expecting it, but since the kiss was already happening, I went along with it. I was the new girl in Tokyo making out with a tech billionaire’s son in a karaoke bar. I wasn’t so new anymore, but I didn’t know how to tell Nik to fuck off without jeopardizing my friendships with the other Ex-Brats.
If I was going to make a go of it with a boy, I wanted romance, not a sudden lurch make-out. I’d been through enough in life already. I didn’t want to settle for less than.
Ryuu picked up his ukulele from his seat. He strummed it and sang aloud, “ ’Cause I want the one I can’t have, and it’s driving me mad.’ ” My eyes widened and my heart wanted to burst. Mom’s favorite Smiths song!
“Shut up, Kimura,” said Nik.
I didn’t care if he was iced out.
I liked Ryuu Kimura.
That night I went up to the Sky Garden to do homework. Kenji wasn’t free for dinner, and it had become a habit to take my studying and dinner up there when he wasn’t available. Tonight, Akemi joined me. We had sushi delivered up to us from the Ikebana Café as we pored over the books, surrounded by the garden’s rosebushes, looking out over the twinkling Tokyo skyline.
I liked these study times with Akemi. She was so much easier to hang out with than the Ex-Brats. She loved gossip, but she was never bitchy. She appreciated my help with her English grammar exercises, and she’d taught me more about the Japanese language than my own Japanese father.
A text flashed on my phone from Nik Z.
What’s up, gorgeous?
Should I change my phone number? I didn’t answer him, but Akemi saw the text on my screen.
“He likes you,” she said.
“I know,” I said, and sighed.
“You don’t like him?”
“He’s annoying.”
“Arabella Acosta didn’t like him, either. Oscar’s sister. She was also part of that group.”
Intriguing. “How do you know that?”
“I heard her and Jhanvi arguing about him once. Arabella said Nik acted one way in front of all the friends, like a cool guy, but when he was just with her, he was too intense.” Exactly! “Jhanvi said Arabella was being dramatic and Nik was a good guy. She warned Arabella not to spread rumors about Nik, because his father is very powerful.”
That was precisely my fear of telling the other Ex-Brats about my own experience with Nik. That they wouldn’t believe me or that they would automatically take Nik’s side.
Since Akemi seemed to know all the dirt, there was another issue on my mind.
“Can I ask you a question?”
Akemi nodded.
“Promise not to tell anyone I asked you?” Akemi nodded again. “How come Ryuu Kimura really got iced out?”
Akemi placed her hands around her mouth and leaned over to whisper into my ear. “Because he got Arabella Acosta pregnant. Please don’t tell my mother I know that word!”
“She’s popular. I never see her. She’s always with her school friends,” Kenji said that night to Uncle Masa while we were at dinner in Fantasy League. I hadn’t seen Uncle Masa outside of FaceTime chats since he’d first delivered me to Tokyo not quite two months earlier, but what felt like a lifetime ago. Now he was in town for a business trip. “The son of Alexei Zhzhonov likes her!”
“We’re just friends,” I lied. Kenji really knew nothing about how I spent my time when I wasn’t at dinner with him. “And I don’t hang out with friends after school. I have Sailfish practice.” I turned to Uncle Masa and explained, “That’s the swim team.”
Uncle Masa said, “When’s your next meet?” His simple question stung. Kenji had yet to ask me when the team would have a competition, or let me know if I should expect to see him there if I did have one. Kenji lived in a prison of work, and sometimes I felt like I lived in a prison of wishing he would try to be more involved in my life, but not challenging him about that because I didn’t want to lose my cushy living situation. Tokyo offered so much opportunity for me. But I felt like a coward living here, enjoying all its privileges but not being the person I wanted to be—someone who had the guts to demand her father be a father to her.
“We have a scrimmage next weekend,” I said.
Uncle Masa inspected his calendar on his phone. “I’d love to see you compete, but I’ll be back in Geneva. When is your next meet after that?”
I told him the date. “But it’s in Taipei, Taiwan.” Even if I’d gotten comfortable living in a penthouse, it still seemed unreal that I was a member of a school swim team that took international flights to travel to meets against other schools.
“I have a trip to Shanghai a few days before. I’ll join you in Taipei that weekend, if you want the company?” Uncle Masa said.
“Great!” I looked at Kenji. His face gave no indication that he was going to jump onto this party bus, so I mustered my courage and asked him, “Will you come, too?”
He looked at the dates on his calendar. “I can probably make it to your competition this weekend, but I have to go to Sydney the weekend you go to Taipei.”
That was something! But I couldn’t help asking, “Maybe Emiko could reschedule you for another time? It would be so fun to travel somewhere with you and Uncle Masa.”
Kenji said, “She could. But we don’t reschedule him.” He looked in the direction of Takeo Kinoshita, Akemi’s father, who’d just entered the restaurant with Akemi’s mother. He was an old man, probably in his seventies, who walked with a slight hunch and held on to Akemi’s mother for balance. “Mr. Kinoshita’s company handles the construction loans. We go to Sydney when his schedule says we go.”
Akemi’s parents stopped at our table to share greetings with Kenji in Japanese. They were a clichéd pairing—a short, old man with wrinkled skin, and his tall, much younger paramour who looked like a fashion model. When the Japanese discussion finished, Mr. Kinoshita said to me, “Akemi got A on her English test. She said you’ve been helping with her grammar exercises in the car to school. Good job.”
Fuck yeah, Akemi! Her father patted my shoulder in a friendly manner, and Kenji beamed brightly. I wonder if he knew about Mr. Kinoshita’s other family in Osaka. But of course Kenji knew. Akemi had once shown me an online article about her father. Mr. Kinoshita was a benefactor of the arts scene in Osaka. The article showed a photo of him at an opera gala with his wife and grandchildren, who were all older than Akemi. His other life wasn’t a secret.
When they spoke in Japanese, I wondered what secrets Kenji and Mr. Kinoshita shared. About secret business dealings, and having secret daughters.
After dinner, we were granted an audience with Mrs. Takahara in her suite. She wanted to see Un
cle Masa, who was her nephew. Of course no mention was made that she wanted to visit with her granddaughter, too, but I was part of the group-visitors package tonight.
I had a hard time imagining being old enough to be a grandmother, but if I was one, I couldn’t fathom meeting my own granddaughter that I’d never known and not wanting to suffocate her with attention. I’d want to make up for lost time. I’d want to take her to museums and find out what books she liked and what she felt passionately about. I’d care. I’d try.
“You look well,” Mrs. Takahara said to me when Kenji, Uncle Masa, and I sat in her living room, along with Kim. She poured tea for me. I don’t really like tea. “Tokyo agrees with you.” She sounded disappointed by that admission.
“Thank you,” I said politely. I pretended to sip a spot of tea, trying not to squirm in my seat. Was I supposed to cross my legs or my ankles? I looked toward Kim, whose ladylike legs were turned to the side. I did the same.
Kim said, “I had dinner with Chloe Lehrer last night. She said you’re doing very well at ICS. She said your teachers appreciate how hard you’ve been working to catch up.” I knew I was being flattered, but I felt like I’d been gently slapped in the face, reminded of the inferior schools I came from. And why was the Upper School dean talking about me to my indifferent aunt? It felt like an invasion of privacy.
Uncle Masa said, “Elle was always an excellent student. Teachers always commented in her report cards that she was eager to learn and a delight to have in class.”
I looked toward Kenji, who did not make eye contact with me. He’d never seen a single one of the report cards I brought home as a kid. I knew Uncle Masa was boasting about me for Mrs. Takahara’s benefit, and I felt glad to have one longtime connection to my old life here to support me.
“When are you finally returning to Tokyo?” Mrs. Takahara asked Uncle Masa.
“My embassy assignment goes through the end of the year,” he said. “Then, maybe.”
