Ink

Chapter 2

“Okaeri,” Diane said in a singsong voice when I opened the door.

“I’m not saying it,” I said, kicking the toes of my shoes against the raised floor until they slipped off my feet.

“Oh, come on,” Diane whined, appearing around the corner. She’d draped her navy-and-pink-flowered apron over her teaching clothes, and the smell of curry rice wafted from the kitchen. “If you want to learn Japanese, you have to use it all the time.”

“Not interested,” I said. “I’ve been speaking it all day. I need some English right now.” I strode past her and collapsed onto the tiny purple couch in the living room. It was ugly, but definitely comfortable.

“So how was school?”

“Fine.” Other than the part where half the school looked up my skirt.

I picked up the remote and started flipping through variety shows. Bright kanji sprawled across the screen in neon pinks and greens, quoting outrageous things guests said. Not like I could get the joke, of course.

“It’s curry rice again. I got held up with the Drama Club meeting.” Diane stepped into the kitchen and lifted the lid of the pot, the spicy fragrance wafting around the room as she stirred.

I flipped the channel, looking for something English to watch, some reminder of the fact that I was still on the same planet.

“And how was cram school?” The rice cooker beeped and Diane shuffled over to turn it off. I leaned back so my head faced the kitchen upside down.

“It was crammy,” I said.

“Could you at least set the table?” She sighed, and then I felt guilty.

“Sorry,” I mumbled. I flipped the TV off and tossed the remote onto the couch, setting plates on either side of the flimsy table.

I hadn’t known Diane much before Mom’s funeral, but she’d never struck me as the motherly type. She’d spent most of the service shoving hors d’oeuvres at everybody with a fake smile, like she was a balloon ready to pop. She’d insisted on my calling her just Diane. I think “Aunt” emphasized the fact that her sister was gone, and made her feel like we were some sort of dysfunctional family, trying to keep going after the fact. Which, of course, we were.

She’d picked me up at the airport with the same over-excitement, waving wildly at me to make us even more of a spectacle. “Katie!” she’d screeched, like this was some kind of fun vacation, like we weren’t terrified of each other.

The bullet-train ride made my ears pop and sting, and once we got to Shizuoka, I stood out even more. There were a lot of gaijin in Tokyo, but in Shizuoka I rarely saw anyone foreign.

Diane lifted the lid of the rice cooker, and steam swirled out, fogging up her glasses. She reached for my plate and paddled the rice on, and then dumped a ladle of curry on the side.

“Great,” I said.

“You mean ‘ itadakimasu. ’”

“Whatever.”

“So any new friends yet, or are they still being shy?” Diane sat down and mixed the curry and rice together with her chopsticks. I pushed my rice into a sticky mound and dug my fork into a carrot.

Well, let’s see. Cute guy on the train from another school, and annoying senior who has it out for me at my school. But friends?

“Tanaka, I guess. He’s Yuki’s friend.” Big mistake. Diane clasped her hands together and her eyes shone.

“That’s great!” she said.

“It doesn’t matter,” I said. “I figure it won’t take too long to settle the whole will dispute. I’ll be in Deep River before we know it.” Diane frowned, which looked almost clownish in her thick plum lipstick.

“Come on, it’s not that bad here with me, is it?”

“Why would it be bad in a country where I can’t even read where the bathroom is?” Speaking was one thing; even writing phonetic hiragana and katakana had come without too much study. But learning two thousand kanji to read signs and newspapers was a slow, grueling process.

“I told you, it’ll take time. But you’re doing great. And you know Gramps still isn’t in the best of health. It’s too much of a strain on them right now, at least until we know the cancer is in remission for sure.”

“I know,” I sighed, pushing my potatoes around in the thick curry.

“So tell me about Tanaka.”

I shrugged. “He’s into calligraphy painting. Tall, skinny, pretty loud when he comes into a room.”

“Is he cute?”

“Gross, Diane.” I slammed my fork down in disgust.

“Okay, okay,” she conceded. “I just wanted you to know that we can talk boys, if you need to.”

“Noted.”

“Do you want some tea?”

I shook my head. “I’ve just got some kanji sheets to write out and some math homework. Then I’m going to bed.”

“No problem. Do your best. Ganbare, as they say.” Diane’s cheerful tone had returned. I rose to take my plate to the sink.

“Like I give a shit what they say.”

“Hey, watch it. You know your mom wouldn’t be impressed with that kind of talk.”

I paused, thinking of Mom. She was always a prude, which is why I was stunned to find out she’d dated someone unpredictable like Dad. Maybe he’d set her on the straight and narrow after he ran out on her. Kind of like Yuu Tomohiro was doing to Myu now.

“Sorry,” I mumbled. “I just had a crazy day.”

“I just… I hope you’ll be a little happier here with me,”

Diane said gently. It was about the most serious voice I’d ever heard from her, and I suddenly felt like a jerk. She’d always been the piece that didn’t fit, Mom said, the one searching for herself on the other side of the world. Kind of the way I felt now. And even then she’d opened up her tiny world here for me when I’d needed her the most.

“You’re right,” I said. “I’ll try.” Diane smiled, and I wondered if she realized we were both lost now, adrift together but somehow alone.

The moment over, I headed to my room to suffer writer’s cramp copying pages and pages of kanji.

I was sure Yuu Tomohiro would be waiting the next morning, leaning against the Suntaba plaque on the gate. I’d flipped through my dictionary after cram school, perfecting what I was going to say to him. When he wasn’t there, I wondered whether I felt more relieved or disappointed.

I slid into my seat behind Yuki, putting my book bag on the ground and reaching in for my textbooks.

“Ohayo,” Yuki said, twisting in her chair.

“Morning,” I said. “You didn’t see Yuu come in, did you?”

Okay, so I was just a little anxious to know. I was ready to take him on and get some answers.

Yuki shrugged. “Probably early morning kiri-kaeshi, ” she said.

“Early morning what?”

“You know, for Kendo Club.”

“Morning!” Tanaka sang as he burst into the class, strid-ing toward his seat.

“Okay,” I said, “he’s got way too much energy for the morning.” I lifted my hand in a feeble wave. Tanaka nodded at us and broke into a huge grin. The conversation with Diane surfaced like bad heartburn, and I turned to look at my desk, desperately ignoring the fact that Tanaka was a little cute. Jeez, thanks, Diane. I did not need to be looking at one of my only friends like that. What if I lost both friends over a dumb crush? Life was complicated enough right now.

I shoved the feeling down and concentrated on the cover of my textbook.

Advanced Mathematics. Fascinating.

“Did you decide which clubs to join?” Yuki said.

“You should at least join English Club,” said Tanaka, inviting himself into the conversation. Yeah, English Club wouldn’t make me stick out. But Tanaka looked so sincere and I really only had the two friends… .

“Okay, okay.”

“Yatta!” Tanaka said, throwing his fist high in the air.

“No fair!” whined Yuki. “You have to join at least one club with me. Sado? Kado? ”

“Kado?”

“Flowers.”

“I have allergies.”

“Then Tea Ceremony. You get to have cakes and learn the roots of Japanese culture…?” Yuki sounded like a brochure, but I was starting to crack under the pressure. Anyway, it wasn’t like I wasn’t interested in Japanese culture—just homesick, disoriented. Orphaned.

“Okay,” I relented. “Sado it is.”

Suzuki-sensei stepped into the room. We stood, bowed our good-mornings and opened our books.

I scribbled notes from the board but pretty soon got bored and started doodling. And as I sketched flowers and snails down the margins, the eyes of the inky girl from Tomohiro’s drawing flooded my thoughts. I didn’t think I was coming apart at the seams—why would I be seeing things?

The look on Tomohiro’s face when he’d grabbed the drawing out of my hands still bothered me. Half anger, half worry.

What was he trying to hide? He’d got some girl pregnant and humiliated me in front of the school. But I was pretty sure he’d also lied to Myu about how he really felt. And the smile he’d given me when I was up in the tree—like we were on the same team, like we were friends…

I felt itchy suddenly, my head throbbing the way it had when I’d stared at his sketch. I kept picturing the inky girl looking at me, the way her hair curled around her shoulders. I could hear the birds singing in the park, the water in the moat sloshing along. I could feel the breeze on my skin.

The corner of my notebook flipped up, lifted by a cool spring wind. Wait, that couldn’t be—we were indoors, and the windows were shut. Then the whole side of the book started to ripple.

The f lowers I’d doodled started to bend in the breeze.

One of the petals fell to the little bit of ground I’d sketched.

A snail tucked himself into his shell.

Is this happening? Is this real?

The pen was hot in my hand and I gripped it tighter, watching the pages of my notebook f lutter in the wind, watching the snails leave glittering trails across the page…

Watching as they turned and came toward me, mouths full of sharp, jagged teeth I didn’t know snails had, teeth that I hadn’t drawn… .

The pen shattered beneath my fingers, drowning the doodles in ink. Shards of plastic flew across the room and scattered on desks and floors. Students shouted in surprise, jumping back from their desks to their feet. Suzuki-sensei whirled around from the board.

“What happened?” he snapped.

Tanaka and Yuki stared at my hand, covered in ink.

“Katie?” Yuki whispered.

“I—I’m sorry,” I said, my throat dry.

And then I saw Yuu Tomohiro standing in the hallway, his startled eyes watching me, his fingers wrapped around the door frame. He looked almost afraid. Had he seen it, too? Or maybe—maybe he’d caused it.

“Go clean up,” Suzuki-sensei said, and I forced my head to nod. My chair squeaked as I pushed it back to stand up, the whole class staring at me. Ink dripped off the side of my notebook and onto the floor.

“Sorry,” I choked again and ran into the hallway.

When I got there, Tomohiro was gone.

I ran to the washroom and scrubbed my hands, splashing water on my face.

I stared at myself in the mirror. I looked thin and frightened, barely there.

The ink spiraled down the drain. I carved lines through it with my fingertips.

There was no way this was a hallucination. The whole class had seen the pen explode. And the drawings definitely moved. I could still smell the murky moat water; the breeze had left tangles in my hair.

And Tomohiro had been there when it happened, just like before.

I splayed my inky fingers under the rush of clean water.

He was doing something to the drawings. I just didn’t know what.

“Ready to go?” said Yuki.

We stepped out of the genkan door and into the courtyard, Yuki and Tanaka laughing about something Suzuki had said—I’d missed that joke, too. The sunlight was streaming down, and a gentle, warm breeze blew through the branches of the momiji and sakura trees.

I took a deep breath and looked up at the gate to the school.

He wasn’t there.

Relief flooded through me. At least I could put off my planned confrontation for now. I just needed time not to think, time to forget everything that had happened.

Except I couldn’t. It was all I saw every time I closed my eyes.

I wanted my life with Mom back. I wanted to be normal and not see drawings move.

I started to giggle along with Yuki, pretending I understood the joke, pretending I wasn’t shaking inside. But Tanaka suddenly shot out his arm.

“Oh!” He pointed. “It’s Tomo-kun!”

You’ve got to be kidding.

I looked up, and there he was, leaning against the stone wall and chatting with a friend. The other guy had bleached his hair so white it looked like he was wearing a mop on his head.

“Introduce us!” Yuki squealed. “We can get the whole story about Myu!”

“Please don’t,” I whispered, but Tanaka was already running across the courtyard. Yuki grabbed my arm.

“Come on!” she said, squeezing my elbow and rushing us forward.

“Oi, Tomo-kun!” Tanaka shouted.

Yuu Tomohiro looked up slowly, his eyes dark and cold.

His friend sagged back against a tree trunk, watching us approach with mild amusement.

“It’s me, Tanaka, from Calligraphy,” said Tanaka, panting as he stopped beside them. He placed his hands on his knees and then gave Yuu a thumbs-up.

Yuu’s face was blank at first, but then remembrance flickered into his eyes.

“Oh,” he said. “Tanaka Ichirou.”

“This is Watabe Yuki and Katie Greene,” Tanaka said.

He didn’t reverse my name because gaijin never put their last names first. Yet another way I stood out. Yuki bowed, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I squeezed my hands into fists and tried to do the same with my fear—I tried to squeeze it into anger.

Tomohiro didn’t bother to introduce his friend or say hello to us. He leaned his head forward slightly so his bangs fell into his eyes, then exchanged a side glance with Bleached Hair. I got the message—they wanted us gone.

But Tanaka didn’t clue in. He laughed, nervous, grasping for things to say.

“It’s been a long time, huh?” he said.

Tomohiro nodded, his bangs bobbing curtly. “You got taller, Ichirou.”

“Well, I had to fend for myself after you left.” Tanaka grinned before turning to us. “Tomo-kun used to get into fights over everything.”

Tomohiro smirked. “That hasn’t changed,” he said, staring directly at me.

So he was picking a fight with me. But over what? He was the one doing creepy stuff, not me. He ran a hand through his hair and looked over at Bleached Hair, who rolled his eyes.

Yuki spoke up. “Sorry about you and Myu.”

Tomo’s eyes snapped back to mine. I bet he was wondering how much I’d told. Was he worried I’d spilled about the drawing, too?

“Maa,” he said with a dramatic sigh, pressing his slender fingertips to his forehead. “Some people don’t know when to keep their mouths shut.”

Fire spread through me. “I didn’t say anything,” I blurted.

“My sister told me,” Tanaka said quickly. “Keiko’s in Myu’s homeroom.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Tomohiro said, rubbing the back of his neck. “You don’t have to cover for her. The whole school knows anyway.”

But it did matter. I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of being right when he wasn’t.

“He’s not covering,” I said. “I have better things to do than gossip about you.”

“So you have a new girlfriend now?” Yuki piped up again.

She was determined to drag the gossip out at any cost.

Tomohiro tilted his head. “Why? Are you confessing?”

That’s what they called it here when you admitted you liked someone. Yuki turned bright pink.

“It’s—it’s not like that,” she said, waving her hand back and forth.

“Oh, her, then?” he said, motioning at me.

My heart almost stopped. “Excuse me?”

“It’s a joke,” Bleached Hair said. “Calm yourself.”

“Um,” Tanaka said, looking from Tomohiro to me and back with wide eyes. “Um, so are—are you going to join the Shoudo Club this year?”

A dark look crossed Tomohiro’s eyes. “I don’t do calligraphy anymore,” he said quietly.

“Tan-kun told us you were really talented,” Yuki bubbled, but Tomohiro took a step toward her, glaring at her from behind his bangs.

“I don’t paint anymore,” he said, and I wondered why he had to get so uptight about it. “It doesn’t interest me.”

“Oh, that’s too bad,” Tanaka said, laughing politely to smooth things out. “With me in the club, they need all the help they can get.” Tomohiro let out a small laugh, which only egged Tanaka on. “God help us if they put my drawings on display!”

“You did always draw the lines too thickly.” Tomohiro grinned. The storm in his eyes looked as if it had passed. I could see a faint image in my mind of what he must have been like in elementary school, when he and Tanaka had been friends.

“Sou ne…” Tanaka trailed off, staring into the distance, deep in thought. He tapped his fingers against his chin. “How do I fix it?”

Tomohiro gripped his fingers together, as if he were holding a paintbrush. “If you hold it like this,” he said, “with the right support here, and move like this…” His arm moved gently through the air, making light brushstrokes, and even I, who had no background in calligraphy—heck, even my school notes were illegible—could tell there was something more going on here.

“Try to load less paint on the tip of the brush,” Tomohiro said. “And move like this.”

Tanaka smiled and crossed his arms as he watched. “You’re really good, you know? A natural.”

Tomohiro’s arm stopped suddenly like a dance cut short.

It hung there in the air, rigidly, until he dropped it down to the side and shoved his hand into his blazer pocket.

“I told you,” he said sharply, “it doesn’t interest me anymore.”

Tanaka’s face fell while Bleached Hair leaned back into the tree, grinning. What the hell? I thought. Tanaka and Tomohiro used to be friends, and now he treated him like this?

“You don’t have to be a jerk about it,” I snapped. “Tanaka’s just trying to be nice to you.”

“Katie,” Yuki whispered, urgently squeezing my arm.

Tomohiro sneered. “You’re always sticking your nose in, aren’t you?”

“So are you. You’re everywhere I turn. What, are you a stalker, too, or something?”

“If I was, I wouldn’t stalk you.”

“Oh, I’m not your type, huh? You don’t like gaijin? ”

“I don’t like annoying girls who think they know everything.”

“Unless they have a skirt to look up, right?”

Tomohiro grinned, and my nerves flipped over. It was that same secret-alliance look. I almost expected him to wink like Jun had at the train station. I took a deep breath.

“So if you hate art so much, how come you had a sketchbook full?”

The grin vanished.

“And how come they move?”

“Move?” Bleached Hair said.

“That’s right,” I fumed. “I know you’re doing something.”

I looked at Tomohiro, and did he ever look pissed!

Good. I’ll finally get some answers.

“Oh, are you working on another of those animations, Tomo?” Tanaka said.

Tomohiro smiled.

No.

“He used to do these really neat ones on the edges of his notebooks.”

No! Don’t give him an escape hatch!

“Right, Ichirou. Animation.”

“On one page?” I sneered.

“On lots of pages,” he said. “That’s why I had so many drawings. It’s a project for my cram school. I didn’t want to draw, but I have to if I want full credit.”

Yuki nodded knowingly.

The answers were slipping through my fingers like sand.

“But I saw you in the hallway,” I said, “when my pen— I know you’re trying to freak me out with all your ink stuff.”

Tomohiro stepped toward me, his eyes studying mine. He was a little taller than me, and his bangs feathered around his eyes like the hairs of a painter’s fan brush. My stomach twisted and I focused hard on hating him.

“Why would I want to freak you out?” he said in a smooth voice.

“I don’t know,” I said. I could hear my pulse in my ears.

Tomohiro smiled, his eyes gleaming from behind his bangs.

So he could look normal after all, I thought. Okay, more than normal. Damn it! Focus!

“Greene-san,” he said in accented English, giving me just about the politest suffix he could, “I assure you, I don’t have the time or the intention to scare you. I’m third year, yes? I have two cram schools to go to and I have university entrance exams to take. If you don’t want to see me, then don’t look for me at the school gate every morning.”

English. He was speaking English. Not only that, but calling me by my last name like I wasn’t some outsider, as if I belonged. I felt off balance, like he’d rolled a single marble to my side of a plank and the sudden change of weight might cause me to topple over. He’d turned this into a game, and he was winning.

Bleached Hair grinned. “I didn’t know you spoke English so well, Yuuto.”

“You understood me that day, in the genkan, ” I whispered.

I felt nauseous and wished he would stop looking at me and turn away. “You told me you didn’t speak English.”

He smirked, but his face was pale. “And you told me you didn’t speak Japanese,” he said. “So we’re even.”

“I don’t—” Wait, was he complimenting my Japanese?

“Look, we’re already late for kendo practice.” He turned to his friend and snapped, “Ikuzo.” Let’s go, trying to sound like a tough guy. He took off toward the genkan, followed by Bleached Hair.

There was more to it all—I knew it. How could he hate something that had made him come alive? I saw the way his arm arced through the air, the graceful way he moved, the look in his eyes and the softness of his voice as he sketched the kanji with his fingers. And he hadn’t denied the ink moving. He hadn’t said no.

My head flooded with questions, too many to handle. I wanted him to leave me alone—didn’t I? I never wanted to see him again—right? I just wanted things the way they were before. My whole world was shaken up. I didn’t want to see things that weren’t there. I didn’t want to lose whatever it was I had left without Mom. And every step he took away from me was a step away from normal. I needed answers and I needed them now.

I panicked and grabbed his left wrist with my hand. He turned, his eyes wide with surprise.

His skin felt warm beneath the shirt cuff, and time felt like it stopped.

“Katie,” Yuki whispered. Tanaka’s mouth was half open, half shut. I guess you didn’t just grab someone in Japan. I was making a spectacle of myself again—but it was too late.

I clung to the softness of his skin, unsure what to do next or what I had been thinking.

“Oi,” Bleached Hair said, annoyed. The whole courtyard was staring at me. Again. Tomohiro looked at me, face flush-ing pink, his eyes wide and gleaming. He even looked a little frightened. I opened my fingers and let his wrist slip away.

“I—”

“Stay away from me,” Tomohiro said, but his voice wavered, and his cheeks blazed red as he turned and took off. I looked down at my hands.

Stay away from me.

Isn’t that my line?

And then I saw the pads of my fingers, covered in dark ink.

I screamed and wiped them on my jeans. But when I lifted them to look, the ink was gone. There was nothing on my jeans, either.

“Katie.” Yuki, looking worried, grabbed my arm and steered me away from the scene I was making. “Let’s go, okay?”

I followed, my mind racing.

I hated myself for the heat that flushed through me when I thought of the warmth of his wrist against my fingers. I tried to crumple up the feeling and toss it away like I had with Tanaka, but when I thought I’d crushed it, it dripped back into my thoughts like black, sluggish ink.

I walked silently through Sunpu Park, Yuki with a sym-pathetic arm around me.

“Don’t worry,” she said. “It’s not like everyone saw. I mean…um.”

“You okay?” Tanaka said.

“I don’t know,” I said. “I didn’t like how he was talking to you. He said he’s your friend, and then he goes all crazy when you ask him about calligraphy. I just feel like he’s hiding something. Sometimes he looks so pissed, and other times he looks worried or like I’m in on some kind of secret. I don’t get it—I want to know what’s going on.”

“Katie,” Yuki said, squeezing my arm. “That’s just how Yuu is. I’ve been talking to the second years, and he’s just touchy like that.”

“Right,” said Tanaka. “He likes his space. My sister told me he’s always disappearing somewhere—a loner or something, right? I know he’s cold, but don’t take it personally.”

Disappearing somewhere? So he is up to something.

Yuki flipped her phone open to check the time. “Listen, I have to go. They’ll kick me out of cram school if I’m late again. Later, okay?”

We waved as she took off ahead of us.

“Tanaka,” I said quietly as we walked.

“Hmm?” he said, tilting his head to the side.

“Why did Yuu quit Calligraphy Club?”

“Eh? Oh,” Tanaka said, looking a little embarrassed. Maybe I’d hit a sore spot. “He was getting into a lot of fights, and sensei warned him he’d have to quit the club if it continued.”

“So he got kicked out.”

Tanaka shook his head. “He was doing all right for a while.

We had a big show coming up, our winter exhibit. Tomo-kun was working so hard on his painting. He chose the kanji for sword, and it was supposed to be our feature piece. Anyway, he practiced so many times and then went to paint the one for the display.”

“And?”

“Somehow he cut himself on it. Some sharp nail in the back of the frame or something. It was a deep cut, and he bled across the canvas. After all his hard work, his painting was ruined.”

I struggled to imagine it, Yuu Tomohiro throwing himself into creating a work of art. It didn’t mesh with his tough image, that was for sure.

“So, what, he just quit?”

“When I came into the arts room the next day, his canvas was ripped in two in the garbage. I still remember the sound of the ink dripping into the trash can.”

I stopped walking. “Ink dripping…”

Tanaka nodded. “He must have used a lot of pigment. It was really thick. I remember how weird it looked, kind of an oily sheen with dust or something. He never came back to Calligraphy Club. And shortly after he switched schools.”

“Switched schools? Isn’t that a little drastic?”

Tanaka laughed. “Different reason,” he said.

Ink dripping in ways it shouldn’t, with sparkling clouds of dust. So Tanaka had seen weird stuff, too. “Kanji only have so many strokes. If he’s so talented, why didn’t he start over?”

“I thought so, too. But after that, the fights started getting worse. When I asked what was going on, he said his dad made him quit. Of course, he wouldn’t want to admit it if he just gave up. Probably the ruined painting was the last straw for him.”

“Why would his dad make him quit?” I said, incredulous.

Tanaka grinned and his whole face lit up. He looked hand-some, but not in a way, I noticed, that distracted me.

“Well, I didn’t really hang out with Tomo-kun outside of school,” he said, “but I wouldn’t be surprised if his father was pushing him to study harder and spend less time on the arts, even the traditional ones. My mom is always pushing my sister and me to study harder.”

“Hmm.” I wondered what sort of home Tomohiro went to at night, where he slipped off his shoes, whether he had curry waiting for him, too. “So why did he switch schools?”

“You like him.”

My heart stopped. “What?”

“Trust me, I can tell. But you should probably keep your distance. Tomo switched schools because he was almost ex-pelled. There was a really bad fight with his best friend, Koji.”

“The white-haired guy?”

“No, no, I don’t know him. I haven’t seen Koji since…well, since it happened. It was bad. There was a lot of pressure to expel Tomo. So he withdrew and went to a different school.”

“How bad is bad?”

“Enough to put Koji in the hospital. But don’t freak out or anything, okay? I mean, no one’s really sure what happened, and knowing Koji, he probably started it.”

I felt a chill as fear replaced the memory of Tomohiro’s skin against my fingers.

“Anyway, this is as far as I go,” Tanaka said, and I slipped out of my thoughts.

“Oh, of course. Thanks,” I said.

“Don’t fall for him, Katie. Choose someone less complicated. Like me, okay?”

I stared at him until he clapped me on the arm.

“I’m joking.” He laughed. “Jaa ne,” he said, waving.

“Jaa,” I said, but my mind was far away. I wandered the maze of pathways and moats of the park. Sunpu Castle loomed above the tree branches, entangled like crosshatching around its base. The arching castle bridge gleamed in the crisp sunlight, and the moat below bubbled in its murky, thick movements.

The castle had seen generations rise and fall, had even burned down and been rebuilt. I bet from the roof you could almost see the whole park, paths and moats and bridges crossing, the buds on the trees almost ready to burst.

Maybe living in Shizuoka with Diane wasn’t that bad.

Once it was time, cherry petals would fall gently into the cloudy water, swirling on its surface and painting the park pink and white for spring. Dancing across the sluggish water-ways, dripping slowly down their channels, almost oozing like ink…

Shit.

Why did all my thoughts have to turn to him? He wanted to mess with my head and he’d managed to do it. I decided to kick him out. Thank god it was the weekend, where I could go home and not have to see him for two whole days.

The castle vanished behind me as I twisted down the pathways. I ended up walking way too far—all the paths looked the same. Students from different schools always cut through the park on their way home from after-school clubs, so when I saw the couple standing by the wooden bridge out of the park, it wasn’t unusual. At least, not at first.

The girl wore a deep crimson blazer and a red-and-blue-tartan skirt. Definitely a uniform from another high school, but I wasn’t sure which one. She was sobbing, quick, hiccupy breaths stifled by the back of her hand. She looked familiar, but I couldn’t place her.

The boy with her was from my school, dressed in our dark navy blue. His copper-dyed hair gleamed in the sunlight.

Give me a break. Not here, too. Didn’t he say he had kendo practice, or was that just another cover so he could disappear, like Keiko said?

The girl with him wasn’t Myu—that’s for sure—and her stomach curled outward under her skirt in a way that it shouldn’t.

I covered my mouth when I realized why.

A moment later Tomohiro embraced her, pulling her and her blooming stomach toward him.

The girl’s teary eyes flicked toward me as her head pressed into his shoulder.

The same burning eyes that had stared at me from the paper.

I turned and ran, spraying the gravel stones as I raced toward Shizuoka Station. I didn’t slow until I was across the bridge, down the tunnels and through the doors of the station.

She’s real. It’s her.

I felt like the station was spinning. And even though most of me was freaking out that the girl from the drawing was real, the shallow part of me was flipping out because Tomohiro was hugging another girl. A pregnant girl.

I stumbled through the crowds, desperate to be anonymous. I just needed a break from all this, just for a few minutes. Just so my heart could stop pounding.

I tried to lose myself, but as much as I wanted to be alone in the great mass of travelers, my blond hair assured I could never really blend in.