Rise. Amanda Sun
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Shiori. Yuki didn’t want to end up like that, humiliated and outcast. But she couldn’t live this way anymore, either. It was stifling.
“Greene,” drawled a voice, and Yuki looked up to see Tomohiro’s bleached-blond friend Ishikawa, the kendouka he always hung around with. “I need to talk to you about Yuuto.”
Yuki hesitated. Usually Ishikawa meant trouble. But Katie looked confident, nodding and stepping aside with Ishikawa as they entered the genkan. Yuki and Tanaka headed over to the First Year cubbies, sliding out of their coats and scarves and loafers.
“Hope everything’s okay,” Tanaka said.
Yuki nodded, but lost herself in thought as she pulled on the soft school slippers. She’d told Katie that Yuu didn’t strike her as a typical Japanese guy—with his mother gone, he’d picked up a lot of traits that didn’t fit his school persona. He cooked, for one, and he offered up his emotions a lot more easily than any guy she’d ever known. Yuki glanced at the curve of Tanaka’s spine as he hunched over to slip on his school shoes. Tanaka was traditional, she knew. He’d get embarrassed if Yuki asked him out. He’d want to be the one to ask her...if he even felt that way. Yuki sighed, sliding her shoes into her cubby and reaching for her book bag. Katie was still talking to Ishikawa, so Yuki nudged Tanaka with her shoulder.
“Sounds like they’re having a serious talk,” she said. “Want to head to class first?”
“Sure.” The school bell chimed over the speaker system. Kin-kon-kan-kon. The electronic bells rang like a cathedral in England. That was another thing, too, Yuki thought. Tanaka had his heart set on going to university in New York. Did that mean he’d leave Japan permanently? Did he want to marry a foreigner? Yuki shook the thought away. They had two and a half years until graduation, enough time to figure out what they meant to each other—if Yuki could figure out how to move their relationship faster than a snail’s pace.
Yuki rested her book bag on top of her desk as Tanaka greeted his guy friends with rounds of “Ohayo.” She gripped the handle nervously; she could still hear the shrimp frying in the oil, sizzling and spitting at the pan as the sun rose outside the kitchen window. She didn’t want to lose her chance, not now. “Ne, Tan-kun,” she started.
He looked at her, his glasses sliding just a little down his nose. She wanted to reach forward, to push the frames up for him gently. “Nani?” he asked.
“I...” She cleared her throat. It couldn’t possibly be this hard. Just ask him. “I made too much for lunch,” she laughed. “I was wondering if you’d like to join me, maybe on the rooftop?” Tanaka stared at her, and she suddenly had a strong urge to crawl under her desk. “I know your sister sent you with her onigiri again,” she added, trying hard for casual. “So I made those ebi fry you like.”
He opened his mouth, but no words came out. A moment later, he coughed. “That would...I mean, I...”
“Ichirou!” shouted a voice, and suddenly another boy tackled Tanaka from behind, his long arms wrapping around his neck. Tanaka leaned forward from the weight, the other boy nearly falling over Tanaka’s head onto the ground. Two other boys laughed and grabbed at their tall friend, Takeshi, yanking him backward with Tanaka’s body following. One of the boys reached over and pushed Tanaka’s glasses back up his nose. “You forgot baseball practice is today,” Takeshi sang at him. “No time for romance.”
Yuki’s cheeks flooded with pink as quickly as Tanaka’s. “It’s not like that,” she stammered.
“Guys! She’s my best friend,” Tanaka said, and the words stung, even though Yuki knew he didn’t mean for them to. Anyway, admitting even that was a big deal—it wasn’t common for boys and girls to hang out as friends in Japan. That had to be why the guys were teasing him. It had to mean more, right?
Please, Yuki thought, invite me in.
“Settle down!” Suzuki-sensei slid the door to the classroom open with a thud, and Yuki’s chance was gone. They stood at attention, bowing to their teacher as they recited their formal good-morning to him. Yuki slid her book bag under her desk, the cold leather of it pressed against the side of her leg. How stupid could she be to have forgotten his baseball practice? The smell of the fried ebi in the bentou wafted up from her book bag as she sighed.
She stared at the side of Tanaka’s face as he scribbled down notes from the board.
I’m right here, she thought. Don’t you see me?
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