Ink

Chapter 19

Nan sent the ticket express mail, and by Friday it was poking out of our mailbox in the lobby, the printed address of the travel agency in glaring black English letters. There was a little picture of a plane circling a globe in the corner.

Tomohiro left for a second kendo training camp the Saturday morning, and even though I begged him not to attend, freaked out that the Kami would surround him, Jun never showed up at the retreat. Guess he couldn’t do much with a broken wrist.

I spent the weekend sorting through my things, while Diane made phone calls to both schools to make sure my en-rollment and withdrawal were under control. Tricky, considering neither school was well staffed in early August.

The sweat of the Japanese summer clung to my skin as I packed up my purikura album with photos of Yuki and Tanaka, and my headband from my kendo uniform. The Twofold Path of the Pen and Sword, it read, the motto of our club. I folded it neatly, the kanji collapsing in on themselves, smaller and smaller.

Mostly I left my room the way it was, because neither Diane nor I could bear to see it pared down to the spare room it had been before I arrived. Not that we were going to admit it to each other.

Not that it needed to be said anyway. It was obvious.

Tomohiro sent me a couple of texts from the training camp, mostly passing on messages he got from Ishikawa that the Yakuza were going to rethink their plan of dealing with Tomohiro. I guess an artist who draws a gun that fires on him isn’t the most useful to have around. The Kami were too quiet, though, and I found myself peering out my window at night, wondering if they were watching us, waiting to make a move.

Yuki and Tanaka came over in the afternoon with little parting gifts. Yuki dabbed her eyes and said over and over again how she couldn’t believe I was leaving. I tried to comfort her, but how could I? I couldn’t believe it, either.

She gave me a cartoon teacup, to remember our time in Tea Ceremony Club, and Tanaka gave me a DVD set of Lost, his favorite American series, one we’d watched over and over again in English Club. His cheeks turned a deep red when I hugged him at the door, yet another casual mistake that showed I didn’t belong in Japan. I probably should’ve bowed or something.

I mailed off a parcel to Nan and Gramps, mostly omiyage souvenirs for them and for friends when I got there. I stuck in a few curry-rice mixes, not sure if I could buy them in Deep River, not sure if I could survive life without the comfort-ing smell of Japanese curry wafting from the steel pot in the kitchen. I studied Diane’s nikujaga and meat spaghetti, willing myself to remember all the details, eating thick toast for breakfast every morning slathered in honey. Buying purin puddings and green matcha cream horns from the conbini stores until my stomach felt satisfyingly ill. If I had to leave Japan, I’d go out with a five-pound bang.

While I was folding clothes for the suitcase, my keitai rang with an unknown number. I picked up, hands trembling.

“Hello?”

Nothing but the sound of breathing.

I started to panic, wondering how they got my number.

“Greene,” Ishikawa said quietly. “Ki wo tsukete na,” he managed before a rattling cough started up. Halfway through the coughing fit, he hung up. Take care. A peace offering, I guess.

Well. He wasn’t my best friend, so I could still be pissed at him. Even if he’d saved Tomohiro’s life.

The day before my flight, I was supposed to meet Tomo in front of Shizuoka Station, so I was completely shocked when he knocked on our front door. Diane answered it, a bizarre look on her face. I peeked around the corner from the bathroom, my heart drumming in my ears. Now I’d have to explain everything. As the door swung open, I imagined the worst: Tomohiro slouching in the doorway, hand pressed to the back of his head and his scars fully visible. Maybe a split lip from some fight he got into on the way over here. What if Diane somehow knew the rumors about his pregnant girlfriend? Oh god, my life would be over.

But he was standing normally when she opened the door, and he gave her a crisp, overeager bow, flooding the genkan with superpolite Japanese. I didn’t think I’d ever heard his sentences end in all those masus before. But Diane raised her eyebrows at his copper hair, the thick silver chain around his neck and the rips in his jeans. She probably thought he was a bit of a cleaned-up punk, which I guess he was.

She turned around and I ducked back into the bathroom, my face totally red and the heat rushing up the back of my neck.

“Katie,” she called out. “Um, Yuu Tomohiro is here to see you.”

“Thanks,” I said. She filled the frame of the doorway.

“He’s not Tanaka,” she said slowly.

“Um,” I said. “For the record, I always told you Tanaka and I are just friends.”

“You also never mentioned Tomohiro.”

“It slipped my mind?”

Diane gave me a stern look.

“Sorry,” I said. “I just didn’t want you to be worried.”

“Why would I be worried?”

“Because of his reputation?”

“Okay, now I’m worried.”

“He’s not really like that,” I said. “Trust me, Diane.” She frowned.

“Trust you because you’ve been lying all this time?”

“Touché.”

“If you were staying, we’d have a talk about this.”

“I know. I’m sorry. But I swear, he’s nice. And our planned activities are PG, I promise.”

“That doesn’t fill me with confidence.”

From the hallway, Tomohiro cleared his throat.

“Diane!” I whined.

“Home by nine,” she said. “Or I get a shotgun.” And then she couldn’t help herself and grinned.

Small victories, I guess. It wasn’t like she was going to pull the staying-for-a-boy line on me, because I wasn’t staying.

“We’re going for kakigori, ” I said. “Um. I have my keitai with me.”

“Okay,” Diane said, but she kept staring at me. “Have a good time. I’ll call you.” She emphasized that part.

“Um, okay,” I said and closed the door behind us. I tried to punch Tomohiro in the arm, but he sidestepped it, a bright grin breaking onto his face.

“What’s that for?” he said.

“Like you don’t know! Couldn’t you have dressed like a normal person?” I swung again. He jumped back, his arms up in the air and the smirk plastered on his face.

We walked to the food floor of the department store off Miyuki Road, debating which café had the most impressive spread of wax desserts in their f loor-to-ceiling windows.

We ducked under the cloth noren hanging from the doorway and sat down at a table. We ordered kakigori, shaved ice, mine melon and his strawberry with extra condensed milk.

“That’s disgusting,” I said, watching him drown the syr-upy ice with runny cream.

He shrugged. “I’m not sharing.”

“I wouldn’t want any. One bite and I’ll give my grandkids cavities.”

The nightmare of the Kami and the Yakuza hovered on the edge of our memories, and I found myself wondering if it had really happened or if it had all just been a bad dream.

“Ishikawa’s getting out of the hospital this week,” he said.

“Oh.” Back to reality.

“I’ll be careful,” he said.

I mashed the melting ice with my spoon. “I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to.”

He finished the last bite of his kakigori and then reached across the table for mine.

“Hey!” I said, but all I could think about was the softness of his wristband against my skin as he pulled the dessert toward him.

“Don’t complain,” he said, scooping a huge bite into his mouth. “I’m saving your grandkids hundreds in dental bills.

And do you know how many calories are in this?” He squirted more condensed milk on top.

“About a hundred more now?”

“I need to bulk up for the kendo tournament.”

“With kakigori. ”

“Never say I don’t sacrifice for my sport.”

We walked around Sunpu Park, avoiding the castle. The cherry blossoms were long gone, but a few cicadas still whirred in the hot summer air. He reached for my hand, his wristband pressed against the inside of my wrist, the scars up his arm scraping against my skin as we walked.

It was almost dinnertime and the sky started to streak with colors; our last day was ending. Tomohiro pulled me into a conbini store and bought bentous for us, which the clerk heated up in a silver microwave. We boarded the puttering Roman bus, the smell of teriyaki and katsu curry flooding our noses.

I didn’t have to ask where we were going. I knew.

They’d finished the renovations at Toro Iseki, and most of the chain-link fence lay stacked in piles ready to take away.

A couple of university students walked around the site, the girl with her arms wrapped tightly around the guy. Near the Toro Museum at the other side of the forest edge, a group of elementary school students laughed and joked.

I stared, feeling like something was slipping away from me.

“Guess I’ll have to find a new studio,” Tomohiro said, but his voice sounded as hollow as I felt.

We stepped through the trees in silence. The wagtails called to each other, ready to roost in the ume trees for the night. The ancient Yayoi huts stood against the orange sky, the once long grasses around them trimmed neatly for the tourist season.

An ugly patch of brown grass was shorter still where it had burned under the dragon’s looped corpse, but that was the only mark left of what had happened to us.

Tomohiro squeezed my hand and pulled me forward. We ducked into one of the huts before we could get caught. Above us, the sun gleamed through the gaps in the thatched roof.

“We’ll get in trouble,” I hissed.

“What’s new?” He grinned and then leaned over to kiss me.

We sat pressed against the walls a long time, staring up at the sky as the colors twisted and darkened. We watched as our last day together faded, as life grew over the shape of what had once been.

I turned the wrong way when we walked back to the bus stop. That’s how much my world was shifting under my feet.

Tomohiro couldn’t make it to the airport in Tokyo, but at my front door—Diane’s front door—he’d stuffed an envelope into my hand and made me promise to read it on the plane.

Then he’d pressed a kiss onto my lips, deep and hungry and sweet, and pulled away before I could say goodbye, his hand raised to his face as he turned the corner for the elevator. I’d leaned against the wall, listening until the elevator doors slid shut. And then ink had dripped back down the hallway toward me, leaving inky trails that looked like fingers grasping, stretching.

Never quite reaching me.

“Want a sandwich for the flight?” Diane asked at the airport. I shook my head. My stomach felt like it was pressing in on me. There was no way I could eat. “Tea? Anything?”

It was like we were strangers again, like she was shoving hors d’oeuvres at me at Mom’s funeral, keeping a silver plate between us. And yet I’d really started to think that looking for ourselves on the other side of the world, we’d found each other. She wasn’t the piece that didn’t fit—she was the piece that completed everything.

We stood at the security gate, as far as she could take me.

“Well,” she said.

Well.

“Say hi to Nan and Gramps for me,” she said. She reached up and stroked my hair. She had that same wavering smile Mom always had when she was pretending not to be sad.

“They’re going to be so happy to see you.”

“Thanks,” I said.

“No problem,” Diane answered.

“No,” I said, looking her right in the eye. “I mean, thanks.

For everything.”

She looked at me, her eyes filming over with tears. Then she hugged me tightly.

“Oh, hon,” she said, her eyes squeezed shut. “If you need anything, you call me, okay? Don’t worry about the time difference.”

“Okay,” I said. She stepped back and looked at me, her eyes shining.

“Your mom would be so proud of you,” she said, and my eyes filled with tears. “It was always so hard for her to put down roots outside her comfort zone. And you managed it in a different language, even.”

“It’s no big deal,” I said, which meant don’t say any more or I’ll start bawling in the middle of Narita Airport.

I guess she got the message, because she closed her mouth and stepped back.

“Bye,” I choked.

“You’ve always got a home here,” she said. “Okay?”

“Yeah.”

I turned and went through the security check. Once I stepped through the metal detector, I turned to look back at Diane, but she was lost in the crowd.

I adjusted my backpack and rolled my carry-on toward the empty benches near my gate. I wished the floor would open and swallow me up so I wouldn’t have to feel anything anymore.

I sat down on one of the hard leather benches by the door. Clusters of gaijin and Japanese tourists sat in the rows around me, while two flight attendants talked in hushed tones. I stared out the giant windows at the planes moving slowly around the concrete plaza.

The whole thing felt surreal. To think that five months ago this was what I had wanted. To go home.

But home wasn’t there anymore, and it wasn’t even Japan, really.

I think it was inside myself

And it was in him.

And that’s why I had to leave. Because I couldn’t stand to break him.

I pulled out the envelope and tapped it against my top lip, staring at the luggage trains and the clumsy maneuvers of the planes. They looked so awkward on the ground, big, flailing machines that tipped from side to side as they stumbled forward.

I looked down at the envelope in my hands.

I was practically on the plane. It was close enough.

I pulled the edge of the envelope up and slid my finger

along the top, the paper ripping into litde puckered edges. I pulled out the note, a plain piece of white paper, and unfolded it carefully.

I’d wondered what he would say to me, agonized over what he would write and what it would mean. And here in red pen was a single word at the top of the page.

いてい てい

Itterasshai.

Go and come back safely.

Like I was leaving on a vacation and returning to him.

A sketch spanned the rest of the paper, a haunting black-and-white rose chained to the page by five thick X marks, the lines scribbled and rescribbled to bind the drawing. Even then it was risky, but it was only pen, and he’d always managed to keep tabs on his school notes and doodles.

The rose barely moved as I looked at it, its petals fluttering softly in the drafty airport. It almost looked normal. In fact it was beautiful, the same beauty I saw in Tomohiro’s eyes when he gazed at the wagtails or the sakura trees, when he gave them life in his notebook. The look in his eyes when he gazed at me.

The tears rolled down my cheeks, curving under my chin and dripping onto the paper. The ink ran where they fell, smearing into blots on the leaves and the petals.

But it was done now. He wanted me to go, to be safe. I wanted to be safe, too. The Yakuza and the Kami scared me.

Tomohiro scared me. And by leaving, I was keeping Tomohiro’s power under control and out of Jun’s hands.

I traced the rose with my fingers, trying to imitate the movements of his pen. I’d never been much of an artist, and I pretended that each stroke was mine, that I could capture the soul of a rose the way he had.

My hand ran down the stem, and a hot pain seared through my fingertip.

I yanked my hand backward, flipping it over to inspect the paper cut. A dark bead of blood pooled on the pad of my index finger. It stung like crazy.

I looked down at the sketch.

A thorn. It wasn’t a paper cut—I’d cut myself on the thorn.

“Okyaku-sama, we apologize for the wait. This is your boarding call for Flight 1093 to Ottawa.…”

The blood trickled down the side of my finger and fell onto the page with a sound like someone flicking the paper.

Tak, tak, tak.

The other guests rose around me, businessmen with leather bags on wheels, mothers with sprawling infants wrapped to their fronts, carry-ons of every color whirling by the glass wall where our bulky, awkward plane waited on the concrete.

Tak.

I couldn’t do anything now. Nan had bought the ticket.

Diane had left for the bullet train back to Shizuoka.

Tak.

I’d promised Tomohiro I would leave.

If I stay, I might die.

I stared at the blood, stark red on the paper—the only color on the page, except for the single word Tomohiro had left me with.

Itterasshai.

Come back safely.

Come back.

But it was last call for the airplane. I couldn’t just run out of the airport. That wasn’t the way real life worked. Maybe in Japanese dramas, or the bad Hollywood flicks we watched in English Club. But I had a ticket in my jeans pocket, a suitcase on the seat beside me. You can’t just pick up and leave in real life.

Tak.

Can you?

I rose to my feet slowly, my whole body shaking. My pulse thumped in my ears, drummed through every vein in my body.

It wasn’t running away. If the decision to leave was wrong…

changing it wouldn’t be running away. Would it?

Please…live.

Come back safely.

I balled my hands into fists, the stickiness of the blood against my palm.

It wasn’t about what Tomohiro said or wanted. It wasn’t ever about him, not really.

It was my life and my choice.

Because running away, giving up the life that mattered to me, wasn’t living.

There’s only one chance. I only get one life. If the ink reacts to me, then maybe I can stop it. And if I don’t, then we’re not the only ones who are going to suffer.

I stepped forward, my legs like stone. I walked away from the row of seats, away from the gate where a few stragglers fumbled with their passports and carry-ons.

I stumbled and then began to run through the mono-chrome pathways of the airport, Tomohiro’s note crumpled around my fingers. I felt alive, the power surging through me stronger than any fear that had pulsed there.

It was my destiny.

I was going to face it.

It was my life.

I was going to live it.

Amerika-jin:

An American

Ano:

“Um,” a filler word telling the speaker you have something to say

A-re:

A word expressing surprise

Bai bai:

“Bye-bye” pronounced just like the English

Baka ja nai no?:

“Are you stupid or something?”

Betsu ni:

“Nothing special” or “nothing in particular”

Bogu:

The set of kendo armor

Chan:

Suffix used for girl friends or those younger than the speaker

Chawan:

The special tea bowl used in a Tea Ceremony

Che:

“Damn it!”

Conbini:

A convenience store

Daiji na hito:

An important person, big shot, etc.

Daijoubu:

“Are you all right?” or “I’m/it’s all right”

Dango:

Dumplings made of rice flour, often sweet and eaten dur-ing flower viewing

Domo:

As used in Ink, “Hi” or “Hey” Dou:

The breastplate of kendo armor

Faito:

An encouraging phrase meaning to fight with one’s might or do one’s best

Furikake:

A seasoning to sprinkle over white rice

Furin:

A traditional Japanese wind chime

Gaijin:

A person from a foreign country

Ganbare:

“Do your best,” said to encourage one in academics, sports or life

Genkan:

The foyer or entrance of a Japanese building. Usually the floor of the genkan is lower than the rest of the building, to keep shoes and outside things separate from the clean raised floor inside

Gomen:

“I’m sorry”

Guzen da:

“What a coincidence!”

Gyoza:

Dumplings

Gyudon:

Sauced beef on rice

Hai?:

“Yes?” but used as it is in Ink, it expresses surprise, such as “I’m sorry?”

Hakama:

The skirtlike clothing worn by kendouka

Hana yori dango:

“Dumplings over flowers,” meaning substance over appearance

Hanami:

Flower viewing, in particular cherry blossoms

Hanshi:

Special paper used for calligraphy

Hazui:

“Embarrassing,” slang form of hazukashii

Hebi:

Snakes

Hidoi na:

“You’re cruel!” or “That’s mean/harsh!”

Ii ka:

“Okay?”

Ii kara:

“It’s okay (so just do it)”

Ikemen:

A good-looking guy

Ikuzo:

“Let’s go,” said in a tough slang

Itadakimasu:

“I’m going to receive,” said before a meal like “bon appétit”

I-te/Itai:

“Ouch” or “It hurts”

Ittekimasu:

“I’m leaving (and coming back),” said when leaving the home

Itterasshai:

“Go (and come back) safely,” said to the one leaving home

Jaa ne:

“See you later”

Kado:

The tradion of flower arranging, also known as ikebana

Kakigori:

Shaved ice with syrup, much like a snow cone

Kankenai darou:

“It’s none of your business” or “It doesn’t concern you”

Karaage:

Bite-size fried chicken

Kata:

A series of memorized movements in kendo or other mar-tial arts

Keigoki:

The soft top worn under the kendo armor

Keiji-san:

Detective

Keitai:

Cell phone

Kendouka:

A kendo participant

Ki wo tsukete na:

“Take care”

Kiai:

A shout made by kendouka to intimidate opponents and tighten stomach muscles for self-defense

Kiri-kaeshi:

A kendo exercise drill

Koibito:

“Lovers,” dating couple

Kote:

Gloves worn during kendo

Kun:

Suffix generally used for guy friends

Maa:

“Well,” but it can be used as a subtle way of affirming something (“Well, yes”)

Maji de:

“No way”

Manju:

Small Japanese cakes, usually with some sort of filling inside

Matte:

“Wait”

Men:

The helmet warn during kendo

Migi-kote:

The right glove

Mieta:

“I saw it”

Momiji:

Maple tree

Moshi mosh(i):

Said when answering the phone

Mou ii:

“That’s enough”

Naaa:

“Hey” or “You know,” a filler word that indicates the speaker is going to say something

Nasubi:

Eggplant

Ne:

“Isn’t it?” It can also be used as “Hey!” to get someone’s attention (like “Ne, Tanaka”)

Nerikiri:

A sweet white-bean-paste cake eaten during a tea ceremony

Nikujaga:

A Japanese dish of meat and potatoes

Noren:

An awning hung over the doorway of a shop

Ohayo:

“Good morning”

Oi:

“Hey”

Okaeri:

“Welcome home,” said when one arrives home

Okonomiyaki:

A Japanese pancake or pizza-type dish where diners choose the ingredients that go into the dish, such as cabbage or other veggies, noodles, meat or fish

Okyaku-sama:

Guests/customers

Omiyage:

Souvenirs

Onigiri:

Rice balls

Ore sa, kimi no koto ga...(suki):

“I like you” or more literally “About you, I, you know… (like you).” This is a common way for a boy to confess he likes someone

O-Torii:

The giant orange Shinto gate at Itsukushima Shrine

Peko peko:

“I’m starving,” usually said by younger children or girls to be cute

Purikura:

Print Club, little sticker pictures taken and printed by machines at arcades or department stores

Purin:

A popular Japanese pudding

Sado:

The tradition of tea ceremony

Saitei:

“You’re the worst,” something despicable

Sakura:

The cherry blossoms

Sankyu:

“Thank you”

Sasa:

A bamboo tree used for Tanabata festivities

Seifuku:

Japanese school uniform based on the look of old sailor uniforms

Senpai:

A kneeling stance used in kendo

Senpai:

A student older than the speaker

Shinai:

A sword made of bamboo slats tied together, used for kendo

Shinkansen:

The bullet train

Shoudo:

The tradition of calligraphy

Shouji:

A traditional rice-paper door

Sonna wake nai jan:

“It’s not like that!”

Sou da na:

“I guess that’s right.”

Sou ka:

“Is that right?”

Sou mitai:

“Looks that way”

Sou ne:

“You’re right, aren’t you?” or “That’s right, isn’t it?”

Su-ge:

“Wow,” slang form of sugoi Suki:

“I like you”

Sumi:

An ink stick, ground against the suzuri to make ink Sunpu-jou:

Sunpu Castle

Suzuri:

An inkstone, used in making liquid ink

Tadaima:

“I’m home,” said by one arriving home

Taihen da ne:

“That’s tough” or “That’s a difficult situation.”

Tanabata:

A holiday celebrating the stars Altair and Vega reuniting in the sky

Tatami:

Traditional mat flooring made of woven straw

Te m e :

A really foul way to call someone “you.” Usage is not ad-vised!

Tenugui:

A headband tied under the men helmet Tomodachi:

“Friends”

(Ton)katsu:

A breaded, deep-fried (pork) cutlet

Tsuki:

A kendo hit to the throat

Ume:

Plum tree

Unagi:

Eel

Warui:

“Bad,” sometimes used as an apology

Yamero:

“Stop”

Yatta:

“I did it!” or as a general “Yay!”

Yosh(i):

“Good” or “Okay”

Youkai:

A demon

Yuu Tomohiro desu ga...:

“My name is Yuu Tomohiro…”

Zabuton:

A cushion used for sitting on the floor

Zenzen:

“Not at all”

I am so grateful to everyone who put their heart, soul and energy into making Ink a reality. Without all of you, this book would never have become everything I had hoped it to be.

Mary Sheldon, this book would not exist without you. The passion and conviction with which you live your life and ad-vocate for reading are an inspiration to me. You are a spark of color in this life, a vibrant example of what the world should and can be. I continue to aspire to the faith you place in me, for the world is changed because of you.

Thank you to my family at Harlequin TEEN, to Natashya Wilson for believing in Katie and Tomo from the start, to Adam Wilson for my first fan mail, to Giselle Regus for your hard work behind the scenes, to the digital and sales teams and copy editors, and to those who inspire me—Debbie Soares, Amy Jones, Erin Craig and Lisa Wray. Thank you to Gigi Lau for the gorgeous cover, and for taking so much care in breathing life into the book of my heart.

To my fantastic editor, T.S. Ferguson. TiduS, you have loved my world and characters as your own, and your thoughtful and brilliant advice allowed me to take the story to a level I didn’t know was possible. Your wit and kindness continue to inspire me, and I’m so fortunate to have you as my editor and friend. I look forward to the great things we will accomplish together.

Thank you to my agent, Melissa Jeglinski, for your advice, confidence and support. I am so grateful to you for your hard work and passion, and for saying what I need to hear when I need to hear it. Thank you for believing in me, and in Ink.

Without my family’s support, I could never have reached this point. Thank you, Mum and Dad, for always believing in my writing and in me. Kevin and Emily, thank you for those trips to the park so I could meet my deadlines, and for the long plot discussions you were always willing to have with me. Thank you, Nathan Conquergood, for reading my early novels and doing book reports on them in school, and Bridget Ball, for passing around a petition at school to publish my book. I so appreciate your enthusiasm and faith in my work.

Thank you, Mio Matsui, for making sure Tomohiro speaks like a real Japanese teen. Thank you, Harumi Sugino and the Hasegawa family, Nobuko, Yoko and all my friends in Japan.

Because you opened your arms to me, I can now share that love through Ink. ありがとうございました。

Thank you to Caroline Schmeing and Diana Jardine, who read every piece of fan fiction, every full notebook passed under the table in class. To Terry Lim, Clélie Rich and Wal-ter Davies for cheerleading every step of the way. To Alex Neary for my beautiful author photo, and my fellow Lucky 13s for their support. To Nerdfighteria for being a haven where I am understood.

And finally to my readers. Thank you for sharing this journey with me. Wherever you may go in life— itterasshai.

Q.

Q What inspired you to write Ink and why did you choose to set the story in Japan?

A. I lived on exchange in Osaka during my time in high school. Even after I returned from the exchange, the culture and mythology stayed an integral part of my interests. I wanted to make the experience of living in Japan accessible to anyone. At the same time, I was devouring piles of YA books. While watching Japanese dramas for language practice, the two interests merged in my head.

Ink is also inspired by my study of the history of writing. Ancient Chinese characters were originally written down to communicate with the gods. And in ancient Egypt, the snake hieroglyphs on tomb walls were often sliced through the middle by paint or a chisel to pre-vent them from becoming real snakes in the afterworld. I started wondering what would happen if what we wrote and drew came to life in such a dangerous way, and then I realized that the Tomohiro I’d envisioned would do just that.

Q.

Q How did you come up with the Kami and their abilities to control ink and make drawings come to life?

A. Something I really enjoy about multicultural YAs are the new and sometimes unfamiliar mythologies the authors draw on for their books. I’ve always found the myths of the kami fascinating because the spirits’ reactions and sense of justice are so different from our modern-day thinking. The kami were unpredictable and dangerous, perfect for a darker paranormal. I thought about how the emperors claimed lineage to Amaterasu and how they were forced to deny this divinity during World War Two.

And combining that with kanji characters’ original use as a way to interact with the spiritual world, I started wondering what would have happened if Amaterasu was real. What if the emperors really were descended from her? And what if kanji still held some sort of power? And, like Jun, I wanted to blur the lines between whether that power was being used for right or wrong, just like in the old myths.

Q.

Q What artistic abilities, if any, do you have, and what would you create if you could make your creations come to life?

A. I’ve always wanted to be able to draw, but my sketching skills are lacking! I find other ways to express myself through art—I make costumes. Other than writing, my main hobby is cosplay, which is a Japanese term that combines costume with play. I make elaborate costumes from scratch, learning a little of everything along the way, includ-ing sewing, props, armor, wig-styling—you name it! When the costume is complete, I usually enter competitions and perform onstage. I’ve won a few awards so far, but what I like best is the community and all the wonderful people I meet through cosplay.

If I could make my sketches come to life, though, I’d want to make impossible things, things that aren’t and should be. I’d be tempted to sketch a dragon of my own that I could ride around on—a friendly one, of course!

Q.

Q What do you think are the best qualities of your main characters?

A. I think Katie’s best quality is her bravery. Here she is without her mom, in a country she doesn’t fully understand, and she’s doing her best to keep moving forward.

Even when Yuki gives her the option to speak English, Katie keeps trying to speak Japanese, to push herself and rise to the challenge. She knows there’s more to Tomohiro, too, and won’t let anything stop her from reaching the truth. I also admire that she’s a kindhearted person and a loyal friend who does the right thing simply because it’s right.

For Tomohiro, I think it’s his perseverance. Despite the struggle with his Kami power, he keeps fighting. He doesn’t want to be a monster. He’s living under a dark shadow and yet he wants to do good with his life. He wants his life to matter and to belong to him, and he won’t let anything or anyone stop him. I know how hard it can be to keep going when life looks bleak, and Tomo’s courage inspires me—

and I hope it inspires you, too!

Q.

Q Was it hard to write about a culture you didn’t grow up in? How did your stay in Japan inform what you wrote, and how did you fill in the knowledge gaps as the story started taking shape?

A. I wanted to be as accurate as possible in Ink, so I did as much research as I could. While living in Osaka, I kept a daily journal of all my experiences there, from the temples and shrines I visited to daily life and meals with my host family. I’ve kept in close contact with my friends there, and also hosted students from Shizuoka. While writing Ink, I visited Shizuoka again and took numerous photos, wander-ing through Sunpu Park, touring one of my host students’

schools and sitting in the grasses at Toro Iseki.

Katie was an ideal protagonist for me because she is an outsider looking in, and so it was a POV I could iden-tify with and write with confidence. For school life and Japanese culture, I made sure to check with my friends in Japan as much as possible. I also watched every Japanese school-based drama I could get my hands on to see school life in action.

Q.

Q What was the hardest scene for you to write?

What was the most fun scene to write?

A. I think the hardest scene for me to write was the love hotel.

Beneath the facade he constructs, I know Tomohiro is a kind, gentle person, and I didn’t like to see him acting that way toward Katie. I wanted to shove him in a corner and tell him to think about how he acted! So while it was hurting Tomohiro to act that way to Katie to save her, it was hurting me, too. Poor guy.

The scenes that are the most fun for me to write are when Tomo and Katie interact. From one snarky comment to the next, they have that attitude where they want to one-up each other, but never in a belittling way. Sometimes their replies to each other are so snappy that I have to rush to type them down and I have to separate them in my mind to catch up! I love that they’re competitive in a friendly way.

And of course I love writing the ink scenes. It’s fun to see what sinister way the ink will twist in next.

Q.

Q What are some of your favorite books and/or authors, and did any of them in particular inspire you to become a writer?

A. I always wanted to be a writer. Growing up, my biggest influences were Jane Yolen, Bruce Coville, Lloyd Alexander and C.S. Lewis. I loved traditional fantasy, but then TV

shows like Gargoyles and Beauty and the Beast, where an impossible thing was happening in our world, became so ap-pealing to me. I loved Narnia because it made the fantasy world accessible to me, and I started to search out similar stories that were possible in our world.

I took a turn into slightly darker-edged YAs after reading books like the Chaos Walking trilogy by Patrick Ness, Half World by Hiromi Goto and The Graveyard Book by Neil Gaiman. I love those books because they aren’t afraid to take you into the darker places, to let the worst possible things happen before they lead you out again. Also, reading lighter fantasy by Terry Pratchett reminded me to keep my books both realistic and human. I didn’t want flat characters. I wanted bad guys who were likable and had good traits, good guys who had flaws and reasons why they were shaped that way. I love complex characters because we learn so much about ourselves from reading about them.

Q.

Q Without giving away spoilers, can you tell us a bit about what’s going to happen to Katie and Tomo in Book Two?

A. Katie and Tomo are going to have to face some serious con-sequences to their decisions in Ink. With Katie returning to understand her connection to the Kami, her closeness is going to cause Tomo further loss of control unless he figures out how to contain his power. The Yakuza aren’t going to take their embarrassment lightly, and Jun isn’t going to give up on recruiting Tomo to his idea of the future. It’s going to take everything Katie and Tomo have to save each other. I hope you’ll look forward to it!

1Q. At the beginning of Ink, Katie has to leave everything familiar and move in with her aunt in Shizuoka. Have you ever been in an unfamiliar situation out of your comfort zone? How did it make you feel? Did you learn something from the experience?

2Q. Imagine you have the Kami power to draw anything and it will become real. What would you draw? What if there was the possibility that your drawing could turn against you? Would you still take the chance?

3Q. Shiori, Tomohiro’s sisterlike friend, finds herself the target of bullying because of her pregnancy. Did it surprise you that she’d be bullied for keeping the baby? How did you deal with an instance in which you were bullied? Is there any effective way to stop bullying?

4Q. Ishikawa is always calling Tomohiro to bail him out of bad situations with the Yakuza. Do you think Tomohiro is really helping Ishikawa by rushing to his aid? How else could Tomohiro help him? What would you do to help a friend like this?

5Q. Tomohiro struggles against his powers, determined to shape his own fate. Is there something you wanted to achieve that you had to struggle for? What sort of obstacles did you face, and how did you motivate yourself to keep going? What is something you would fight for until the end?

6Q. What did you think of Tomohiro’s decision to push Katie away to protect her? Have you ever had to step away from someone or something you cared about? If you were a Kami, how would you protect your loved ones?

7Q. At the end of the story, Katie says, “It was my life. I was going to live it.” Have you ever gone against expectation for something important to you or acted in an unexpected way? What was the reaction of others around you?

8Q. What do you think of Jun’s goal to rid the world of the Yakuza, criminals and corrupt governments, no matter the cost? If you were a Kami, how would you feel about being used as a weapon of war for a peaceful goal? Does peace require war? Is force justified to reach an important goal?

“Hold still,” Yuki said, threading the thick obi ribbon through the back of the bow. She pulled the loops tight. “Okay, now breathe in.”

I stared down at my keitai, flipping through the call history.

“Katie?”

“Hmm?”

“Breathe in.”

I took a deep breath and she shifted the bow to the center of my back. “How’s that?”

“Looks great,” I mumbled, flipping through my messages.

Empty.

“You didn’t even look up,” Yuki said.

“Mmm-hmm. Hey!” Yuki snatched the phone out of my hands.

“Ano ne,” she said. “Listen. Yuu will call you—I’m sure of it. You don’t want to be the panicky girlfriend, right?”

I didn’t say anything. How could I? Yuki didn’t know that not being able to get ahold of Tomohiro could mean the Yakuza had him, or the Kami had kidnapped him, or that he’d drowned in an ocean of his own sketching.

Yuki grinned and sidestepped, tugging the creases out of the sleeves of my yukata, the summer kimono she was lending me. “Now look,” she commanded, pointing at the mirror.

I looked.

The yukata made me look elegant, the soft yellow fabric draped and folded around me like an origami dress. Pink sakura blossoms floated down the woven material, which Yuki had complemented by lending me her pink obi to tie around my waist.

“Dou? How is it?”

“It’s beautiful,” I said. “Thank you.”

She grinned, smoothing her own soft blue yukata with her hands.

“Yuu is a jerk for not calling,” she said. “But let’s forget about it for now. It’s Shizuoka Matsuri, and you’re still here with us. So let’s go celebrate!”

Was he being a jerk? I hadn’t been able to get ahold of him since deciding to stay in Japan. It didn’t make sense, unless he was in trouble. Or avoiding me, in which case he’d clearly learned nothing from the first attempt and I would pound the lesson into him tomorrow when school started again.

It didn’t matter if he was avoiding me. Sooner or later, I’d have to get in touch with him. Because as much as I’d wanted to stay in Japan to be with him, I’d also had no choice. If Jun was right, Tomohiro was a ticking time bomb, and I was the only one who could defuse him.

Diane entered my room carrying a tray of glasses filled with cold black-bean tea. The ice clinked against the sides of the cups as she set them down. A pink spray of flowers unfurled in a corner of the tray.

“Don’t you girls look beautiful,” she said. “Katie, I picked this up for you on my way home.” She lifted the spray of pink flowers off the tray, the little plastic buds swaying back and forth on pink strings. She tucked it into the twist Yuki had pulled my hair into.

“Kawaii.” Yuki grinned. “You look so cute!” I turned a little red as Yuki stood next to Diane, both of them with their hands on their hips as they looked me up and down. They were starting to fuss a little too much.

“Thanks,” I said. “Um. We should get going.”

“Yes, I think Tanaka’s starting to sweat a little out there,”

Diane said.

Yuki took a gulp of tea and slid the door to my room open, where Tanaka was waiting in jeans and a T-shirt.

“You guys are taking forever,” he said. “Can we go now?”

“Let’s go,” I said, the long yellow yukata sleeves tangling around my wrists as I slipped on my flip-flops and shoved my keitai into a pink drawstring bag I’d bought at the depato store.

“You look cute,” Tanaka said to us with a smile.

“So do you,” Yuki said. She stuck her tongue out at him as he turned red. She grabbed my hand and we headed out the door.

“Itterasshai!” Diane called after us.

Go and come back safely.

The only word Tomohiro had written on his letter, the word that had sent me running from the airport, that had me tripping over my own feet to catch Diane at the Narita Express platform on the way back to Shizuoka.

Tanaka pushed the button for the elevator.

We’ll find out together, Tomohiro had said to Jun. Tomohiro and I would find out what the ink wanted and how to control it together, without the help of his society of Kami who wanted to overthrow the government and kill off anyone who stood in their way.

It didn’t make sense. Why would Tomohiro push me away again now, when I was so determined to help?

The light was fading outside as we stepped into the heat. It was the last week of summer holidays, before school started for the second semester, and the hot weather wasn’t going to give up easily. We clattered down the street in our zori, or in my case flip-flops, hopping onto the local train for Abekawa Station.

“We’re gonna be late,” whined Tanaka.

“It’s fine,” Yuki said. “We’ll still be in good time for the fireworks.”

The train lurched around the corner and I tried not to press into Tanaka’s side.

“If the takoyaki’ s all gone by the time we get there, I’ll blame you.”

“How would that even happen?” I said. “They won’t run out.”

“Right?” Yuki agreed. “Tan-kun, you and your stomach.”

By the time the train pulled into Abekawa the sun had blinked below the horizon. We stumbled through the musty train air toward the music and sounds of crowds.

It felt like all of Shizuoka was here, the sidewalks packed with festivalgoers while dancers in happi coats paraded down the street. Lanterns swung from floats and street signs glowed, and above everything, we could hear about three different songs competing for attention above the crowded roads. It was a little claustrophobic, sure, but filled with life.

“What should we do first?” Yuki shouted, but I could barely hear her. She grabbed my hand and we pressed through the thick crowd toward a takoyaki stand. Tanaka rubbed his hands together as the vendor squeezed mayonnaise over the bite-size batter stuffed with octopus.

“Anything’s fine with me,” I said. Translation: no idea.

“I’m good, too, now that I have my takoyaki, ” Tanaka said.

“Want one?” The bonito fish flakes on the hot batter shriveled as if they were alive.

“Um, maybe later.”

“We should try to get a good spot for fireworks soon, though,” Yuki said. “Near the Abe River bridge would be best.”

“What’s the big deal about the fireworks?” I said. “You keep bringing it up.” I mean, I loved fireworks as much as anyone, but she seemed a little fixated on it.

Yuki pulled me over, whispering in my ear. Her voice was hot and smelled of the fishy batter.

“Because,” she hissed, “if you watch the fireworks with someone special, you’re destined to be with them forever.”

“Oh.” Jeez, I could be so stupid. So this was some big scheme for her and Tanaka. “Do you want space or something?”

“No, no!” She waved her hand frantically. “Not like that.

Let’s stick together, okay?”

“Sure,” I said. As if she’d tell me if that was the plan anyway.

We rounded the corner to two rows of brightly lit tents.

All the thick, fatty smells of festival foods filled the air. Fried chicken, fried squid, steaming sweet-potato fries, roasted corn, strawberry and melon kakigori ice. My stomach rumbled and I moved forward, heading for the baked sweet potatoes. I handed over the yen and pocketed the change. Then I pulled back the aluminum foil to take a bite, the steam flooding my mouth. Beside me, kids dipped red plastic ladles into a water table while an old motor whirred little plastic toys round and round. The toys bobbed in and out of the ladles while the kids shrieked with excitement.

A flash of color caught my eye, and I turned. I strained to hear the sound above the music and chatter of the crowd, but it was there—faintly. The tinkle of the colorful furin, the delicate glass wind chimes like the ones Tomohiro had sketched into the tree in Toro Iseki.

Across from me, the furin booth glowed with electric light, catching on the gleaming chimes as they twirled in the night breeze.

“Hello!” The vendor greeted me in English, but his welcome barely registered as I stepped into the tent. Almost a hundred of the chimes hung suspended around me in a rainbow of glittering colors, spinning above my head in neat rows.

Tomo’s furin had been black-and-white, like all his sketches, but they’d held the same magic, the same chorus together that my ears could never forget.

“You like the furin? ” The vendor smiled. He had a kind, worn face and the early startings of a gray beard.

“They’re beautiful.”

“The sound of summer, ne? The sound of possibility.”

I reached out, cradling a glass furin in my hand. Possibility.

“Yuki-chan, look—” I turned.

I’d lost her to the crowd.

Panic started to rise in my throat. She wasn’t one to abandon me on purpose. Even if she did want alone time with Tanaka, I knew she wouldn’t leave me stranded.

Anyway, it wasn’t like I couldn’t get home safely. Taking trains around Shizuoka wasn’t a big deal anymore. Festivals just weren’t as fun by yourself, and the loneliness stung a little.

I clutched my fingers more tightly around the furin.

“You looking for someone?” the man asked.

“I’m okay,” I said, stepping back into the darkness between the bright tents. I pulled out my keitai, ready to call Yuki, and then stopped with my finger on the button. She’d wanted time with Tanaka anyway. I should just grow up and do something for her for a change, even something little like this.

I slipped my phone back into my bag and pulled the drawstring tight. I watched the water table a little longer and then strolled down the row of tents.

I stared at the different festival games interspersed with the food. Eel scooping, pet bugs, yoyo tsuri balloons on strings floating in the water. I finished my sweet potato, balling up the aluminum with a satisfying scrunch. In the next tent a pool of goldfish darted around, slipping out of the way of the paper paddles dipped into the water to catch them. I watched for a minute as the fish snaked out of the way, their scales shining under the hot, buzzing lamps of the tent. The paper paddles broke and kids shouted in dismay, while the vendor gave a good-natured laugh.

I shuffled closer to the tent as the group of kids left, now just a teen couple left trying to catch a fish. The girl followed a goldfish slowly with the paddle, her movements deliberate and cautious, her giggle sounding when the fish caught on and sped away. She crouched on the ground beside the pool, paddle in one hand and bowl in the other, her red-and-gold yukata crinkling around her zori sandals.

And then I realized I knew this girl.

The pregnant bump of her stomach under the light cotton of the yukata.

And the boy beside her. Tomohiro.

Not kidnapped. Not falling apart. Not dead.

Scooping goldfish with Shiori.

I stepped back. He hadn’t noticed me yet, the two of them laughing as Shiori tried to maneuver a different fish into her bowl.

I knew right away he wasn’t cheating. It had only been two weeks since I’d returned, and he wasn’t like that. Maybe that was the attitude he portrayed at school, but I knew better. I knew he was with Shiori as a friend, supporting her.

But it still bothered me. I felt stupid then, tall and ugly and awkward in my borrowed yukata. Flip-flops on my feet because I couldn’t find zori sandals large enough to fit me.

Maybe Tomohiro wasn’t as dangerous as Jun had led me to believe. He seemed normal enough squatting beside Shiori, eyes following the goldfish, a smile on his face. He wore jeans and a dark T-shirt, the usual thick wristband around his right wrist. I could still see faint ink stains streaking up his arms, the scars hidden on the other side, but it was the only trace of what had happened. He looked so…normal.

Maybe staying in Japan had been the wrong choice. Maybe I wasn’t useful to the Kami after all. Maybe they didn’t need me—maybe he didn’t need me.

“Yatta!” Shiori shouted. The fish had slipped from her paddle into the bowl. The vendor smiled and filled a plastic bag with water, ready for the new pet.

“Yatta ne.” Tomohiro grinned, reaching his fingers into the bowl to chase the fish. It swam between his fingertips, the ones that had trailed along my skin, the ones that had tucked my hair behind my ear.

I stepped back and my flip-flop scraped against the street.

Tomohiro and Shiori looked up.

I stared into Tomohiro’s dark eyes. I couldn’t look away, like prey. I felt ridiculous.

Shiori stood up, a hand on her belly. “Oh! It couldn’t be…

Katie-chan? Is that right?” Tomohiro stayed crouched on the ground, unable to move.

I opened my mouth, but no sound came out.

“I thought you returned to America,” Shiori said.

“Canada,” I said. My throat felt sticky and dry.

“Hai,” the vendor said, thrusting the newly bagged goldfish at Shiori.

“Thank you.” She smiled, reaching for the bag. And all this time, Tomohiro and I couldn’t move.

“Katie,” Tomohiro said finally, his voice deep and beautiful and just how I’d waited to hear it. My mind broke.

“Sorry,” I whispered and turned to walk away. I pressed my way through the thick crowd, desperate to get away. I knew I was being stupid. I knew it was nothing between him and Shiori. But it stung, and I had to get away from it.

Behind me, even in the midst of all the festival noise, I was sure I heard Tomohiro call my name, but I kept walking.

I wanted to see him, but not like this. I thought he’d been losing his mind, that he’d been in danger of the ink taking over—what had happened that now he seemed just fine, as though I’d never even existed in his life?

I pushed past the takoyaki stand and the rows of roasted corn, turning down a darker street where shrine-goers rang a bell and carried lanterns. I wove in between them toward the big Abe River bridge. It was late, probably almost time for the fireworks. If I could just find Yuki and Tanaka, maybe I could forget all this had happened.

“Katie!” Tomohiro called out. I kept walking, but I could hear his footsteps in the quiet alleyway, the soles of his shoes clicking as he ran toward me. His fingers wrapped around my wrist and pulled. “Matte!” he said. Wait, like Myu had said to him in the genkan.

I stood for a moment, staring at the swaying lanterns as the small group of shrine pilgrims walked past. He held my wrist gingerly, and I knew I could shrug him away if I wanted to.

“Why?” he panted. “Why are you here? In Japan?”

“Good to see you, too,” I said.

“Hey, that’s not—”

“Hey nothing!” I turned to face him. “You’ve had your keitai off for two weeks! I thought you were taken by the Yakuza or the Kami or something, and you’re just scooping goldfish with Shiori?”

“Shiori showed up at my house crying. I’m just trying to be a friend. It’s nothing!”

“I know.” This time I did pull my wrist out from under his fingers. “I know that already.” I walked toward a nearby bench and sat down. Tomohiro followed and crouched in front of me.

“I didn’t know you were here,” he said. He ran a hand through his hair, the wristband snagging on the strands.

“How the hell didn’t I know? The ink didn’t—it didn’t react at all.”

“I chose to stay,” I said. “I couldn’t do it—I couldn’t get on the plane.”

Tomo’s eyes turned dark. He sat still for a minute, then buried his head in his hands.

“Shit, Katie!”

“It’s not your choice!” I said. “I need to stay. You’re not okay by yourself. You’re going to need help—my help. I’m linked to the Kami, remember?”

“What are you going to do if the Yakuza get involved again?”

“Look, I thought about it, okay? But there are people I care about here, Tomo. Diane, Yuki… Do you even think I’ll be safe on the other side of the world if things blow up here?”

Tomohiro stood and paced back and forth in front of the bench. Then he swung out a fist and slammed it against the garbage can. The hollow echo made me jump.

“Shit!” he said again.

“Would you cut it out?” I snapped. “You’re right, okay?

Maybe it was better for me to leave. But it was my choice!

It’s got nothing to do with you. I’m not leaving, so just get it through your head.”

He looked at me, eyes blazing. “And what if what you choose is selfish?” he said. “What then, Katie? If it hurts others, if it puts others at risk?” I felt sick. How had this happened? All I’d wanted was to come back to his open arms.

He collapsed in a slump on the ground. In a quiet voice, he added, “What choice do I have? I’m a Kami. Anything I choose will hurt others. I have no choices.”

This was not going at all how I’d envisioned. “I didn’t stay to hurt you,” I said, my voice wavering. I was not going to cry in front of him, but already my eyes were starting to blur.

I held on with everything I could.

And then he snapped out of it. He heard the tremble in my voice. He rose slowly to his feet, his eyes deep and lovely and melting everything else away.

“Katie-chan,” he whispered. I stood with my arms folded, biting my lip to keep the tears from welling over. I grasped for the last of my anger.

“I didn’t stay to ruin things for you,” I managed.

And then his arms were around me, my face buried in the warmth of his shoulder. His heart beat rapidly under my cheek, his breath labored as he clung to me as if in a storm.

“Hontou ka?” he said. “You’re really here?”

“I’m here,” I whispered.

He stepped back, tilting my face up to his, and he kissed me gently, as though he thought I might break or disappear completely. Like I was a ghost, a dream. I closed my eyes, drifting on the moment. His warmth, his touch, the smell of his hair gel. Everything the same as I’d remembered.

“Tomo-kun!” shouted Shiori, and the moment ended. We stepped back as she walked toward us, her new goldfish swim-ming round and round the plastic bag as it swayed in her hand. I didn’t like to hear her call him Tomo-kun, especially knowing that Myu had never been allowed to call him such a close name. He’d held her at a distance and made her call him by his last name, Yuu. Was Shiori really only a friend?

But that’s stupid of me, right?

“Shiori,” Tomohiro said. “Katie’s staying in Japan.”

“Ah, really? You’re not going back?” She smiled. “I’m glad! I was so sad to not even meet you after we talked on the phone that time.” She squeezed my hand, and I thought, She really means it. She is really clueless about the awkwardness of this.

“On the phone?” Tomohiro asked.

Shiori pointed her finger at him, poking him in the chest.

“The time you decided to be an idiot,” she said.

“Oi,” he stuttered, annoyed.

Shiori smiled. “Katie, are you hungry? We could get some yakitori before the fireworks start.”

“Oh, um…”

“Shiori,” Tomohiro said, his voice flat. The seriousness of it made me shiver a little.

“Nani?” she said. “What is it, Tomo-kun?”

“I’ve just discovered my girlfriend is staying in Shizuoka.

Permanently. Do you think maybe we could…you know, meet up in a bit?” The words hit me like a wall. Did he actually just ask that?

“Oh…oh, no problem. I’ll get something to eat and meet you after, okay?”

“Shiori,” I said, reaching my hand out.

She waved it away and shook her head. “No, no, it’s okay!”

she said. Her voice was far too cheerful. “I’ll catch up in a bit. This baby is always hungry.” She circled her stomach with her fingers, smiling too widely. Then she turned, and she was gone.

Tomo reached for my shoulders, wrapping his arms around them from behind, but I sidestepped his embrace.

“Don’t you think that was kind of rude?”

“Yeah, it was,” he said. “But I just want to be with you right now.” And he leaned in to kiss me again, and this time was not fragile at all, but filled with hunger. “You look beautiful in that yukata. ”

I felt my cheeks go hot. “It’s Yuki’s.”

“Come on,” he said, squeezing my hand. “Fireworks start soon, and I know a great spot.” He took off running and dragged me along for a couple paces until my feet started working. I let him pull me around the side streets, Tomo laughing when we almost crashed into some serious-looking lantern carriers on their way to the shrine. It was a nice change, running but not for our lives. Maybe things weren’t really as serious as I’d thought.

We rounded another corner, and there was a cast-iron bridge looming over the Abe River. A few small boats blinked with lanterns as they bobbed in the darkness. Tomohiro pushed his way along the crowds near the metal stairs down to the beach and grabbed a spot against the railing.

“Well?”

“Beautiful,” I said, looking out at the lights on the water.

Lanterns in a rainbow of colors hung from the railings, and the opposite shore gleamed with matching strands of lights.

The humidity of the air and the close-pressing crowds weren’t so bad here by the freshness of the river.

“Too muddy on the beach, but you’ll get a great view up here. Do you want a drink?”

“I’m okay.”

“You sure? I’m thirsty. There’s a vending machine over there. Iced coffee? Milk tea? Melon soda?” With each sug-gestion, he pressed his lips closer and closer to my neck until I laughed nervously.

“Okay, okay,” I relented. “Milk tea.”

“Got it.” And then he was gone, and the humid air felt colder.

I looked out at the lights on the boats, still bobbing. Everyone was chatting and laughing, waiting for the fireworks.

I hoped Yuki and Tanaka had managed a good spot, too, and Shiori—god, she’d made me feel awkward but I hadn’t wished that on her. Watching the fireworks alone, snubbed by one of the only friends she had. Maybe it wasn’t too late.

Tomo could call her and—

“Katie?”

My name, deep and velvet on a familiar voice.

Except it wasn’t Tomo’s.

I clasped my hands tightly around the railing, clinging to the cool metal as I turned slowly. Black T-shirt, black jeans—

he almost faded into the darkness. Blue lantern light glinted on his silver earring as he moved forward.

“Katie,” he said again.

My whole body seized up with fear. I stepped backward, pressing my back against the railing. “Jun,” I whispered.

“It’s okay,” he said, lifting a hand to calm me. “I’m not going to hurt you, remember?” And then I saw his other hand, wrapped in a ghostly pale cast at his side. His broken wrist, the one Tomohiro had shattered with his shinai. I stared at it, trying to figure out if I should run. “I’m on your side,” he said.

“Look, I don’t want to be friends with you,” I said. “I don’t want anything to do with your little society.”

“You’re right,” he said. “I didn’t mean for it to happen like that. I wasn’t sure what kind of showdown we’d have with the Yakuza, so I called a few friends. I just wanted to be prepared.”

That gave me pause. I’d been so wrapped up in his weird Kami cult that I’d forgotten how he’d saved me and Tomo.

That without his help, we might have been—

One of the blond streaks in his hair fell forward into his face, and he lifted his hand to tuck it behind his ear. The motion brought back the memory of him plucking the cherry blossom from my hair. And then the way he’d protected me from Ishikawa on the Sunpu bridge. I felt so confused. Jun was the enemy—right?

“I’m your friend,” he said, as though he’d plucked the thought from my mind. I shivered—he could read me too well.

“Then don’t stalk me,” I said. “Stay away and give me space.”

“Katie,” he said. “I just want to help. You know as well as I do that Yuu is dangerous. But I’m not here looking for you, if that’s what you mean. You make that choice—if you want help, I’m there.”

“So why are you here?” I said. “Out of all the places in Shizuoka, why are you right here?”

Silence, and then he smiled.

“Because this is the best place to see the fireworks,” he said.

“Oh.”

“Katie?” Tomo arrived from the other side of the road, a can of milk tea in each hand. When he saw Jun, his eyes narrowed. “Takahashi.”

“Yuu.” Jun grinned, his eyes gleaming. He lifted his arm so we could see his bandaged wrist clearly. “Want to sign my cast?”

Tomohiro pressed the milk tea into my hands, his eyes never leaving Jun. “If you don’t get out of here, I’ll give you another to match.”

“I’m just here to watch the fireworks, Yuu. I can go somewhere else if you want.”

“Yeah. You can go to hell.”

Things were escalating, and I felt powerless to stop it. So much for being linked to the Kami. I couldn’t even handle two idiot guys tripped out on testosterone.

“Tomo—”

“No, it’s okay,” Jun said. “I’ll leave.”

And then boom!

I jumped a mile, terrified. Did he shoot him?

Another boom, and the sky flooded with light.

The fireworks. I breathed out shakily.

We all stared into the sky, the fight momentarily dropped, as bursts of color spread across the city. The crowd around us swelled, pressing the three of us closer together against the railings. I became the barrier between Tomo and Jun, and it was not comfortable. Not at all.

And then I remembered Yuki’s words, that whoever I watched the fireworks with would be there for me forever.

Could I really trust Jun? Even Tomohiro was unpredictable. He’d treated Shiori like a jerk tonight. What if he did that to me—again? Who was really telling the truth here? I needed a better hand of cards to compete. I had to learn what it really meant to have ink trapped inside me, to be linked to the Kami.

Another burst of sound in the sky, but no color, just a brief oily shimmer as it splayed across the sky. And then suddenly everyone was screaming and scattering across the road.

Ink descended on us like a black rain, warm as the drops splattered down my face and stained the sleeves of my yukata.

Another firework burst, all ink instead of color, raining down on the crowd with a faint sheen. A woman ran past, covering her head with her hands. She bumped me into the railing and I fell forward. I dropped the milk tea, trying to grab at the railing before I fell headfirst onto the beach. And then two sets of strong hands grabbed me by my shoulders and pulled me back.

Tomo. And Jun. Saving me together.

“Let’s get out of here!” Tomohiro shouted. I nodded and he grabbed my wrist, pushing his way through the crowd. I turned to look at Jun. He stood there silently watching me leave, the ink dripping down his cast, running down his skin in trails of black. When I looked back again, he was gone in the frantic swarm of people.

“Was it you?” I shouted, but Tomo didn’t answer. I couldn’t have heard him over the screams anyway. The black ink pounded down as we ran for the train station, as we were soaked by the very truth of it.

Nothing was normal, and I’d known it, deep down. It wasn’t something I could run from. The ink hadn’t forgotten me.

My fate was raining down from the sky.

MEET THE COVER ARTIST, PETRA DUFKOVA

HOME:

Petra was born in Uherské Hradišteˇ, Czech Republic, and currently lives in Munich, Germany, where she is busy with her new son, Maximilian.

EDUCATION:

Petra studied art at a technical school for applied arts. She earned her modelist/stylist degree from the international fashion school ESMOD in Munich, with a prêt-à-porter collection.

AWARDS:

2008 Best Illustration Award for her collection at the China Fashion Week, in addition to numerous design awards.

MORE ABOUT THE ARTIST:

Today Petra works as a freelance illustrator, stylist and as a fashion designer for Marcel Ostertag. Her illustration style is a combination of traditional method and modern look with a focus on fashion, beauty and lifestyle. Her inspiration comes from many areas—books, magazines, art exhibitions and fashion shows, and just walking around her city with her eyes open.

Petra developed her art style after experimenting with aquarelle, a traditional technique of painting in transparent, rather than opaque, watercolors. From there, she developed her own art style, which often combines watercolors with ink. The cover art for Ink is an example of this style.

A Q&A WITH ROSS SIU, INTERIOR SKETCH ARTIST

WHERE WERE YOU BORN AND RAISED?

I was born in Hong Kong and lived there until age seven. I was then raised in the very rainy but beautiful city of Vancouver. Right now I reside in Osaka, Japan.

WHAT IS YOUR EDUCATIONAL BACKGROUND?

I am a graduate of the IDEA Program of Capilano University in North Vancouver.

WHAT MADE YOU WANT TO BE AN ARTIST?

I don’t think I ever actually decided to be an artist. Creating art was always a part of my being. It has been that way probably since I was first exposed to drawing, which, as far as I can recall, began when a family friend taught me how to draw robots when I was around four years old.

WHAT MATERIALS DID YOU USE TO MAKE THE DRAWINGS FOR INK?


I used pencil crayons to sketch; a bit of tracing paper; then finished with fine-liner, oil-based markers and Chinese calligraphy ink.

TELL US A BIT ABOUT THE PROCESS OF CREATING
THE DRAWINGS.


The creative process was very pleasant. We had good communication; the author and creative team knew what they wanted and were very encouraging to me. I am pleased that they are happy with the results.

WHAT ELEMENTS OF JAPANESE CULTURE HAVE INFLUENCED YOU AS AN ARTIST?


Their modesty and humbleness, respect for tradition, attention to detail, obsession with perfection, and their loyalty to those things have always influenced me as an artist.

YOU CURRENTLY LIVE IN OSAKA—ARE THE CITY OR PEOPLE AN INSPIRATION FOR YOU?


The people here do inspire me, because their attitude is more laid-back and casual. They laugh and joke around a lot more than people do in other parts of Japan, which is important to me.

DO YOU IDENTIFY WITH BEING A FOREIGNER
IN OSAKA? IS IT A PLACE YOU COULD STAY AND
MAKE YOUR HOME?


I enjoy many things about Osaka. The convenience of trans-portation; the abundance of great restaurants; the truly convenient convenience stores; the great routes for bike rides; the beautiful, unique scenery—all these things have made the city really easy to get comfortable with. That said, the space feels too confined here for me to want to make it a per-manent home. But who knows what the future will bring!

WHERE HAS YOUR WORK BEEN ON EXHIBIT?

My exhibitions include:
Vorld (2008)—Chickennot Gallery (Kyoto, Japan)
Personal Circles (2009)—iTohen Gallery (Osaka, Japan)
Can I Have an Easy Life (2012)—Galaxy Gallery (Osaka, Japan)