into the corridor.
“Do you have a lot of homework tonight?” Sakura asked.
Kara shrugged. “What’s ‘a lot’? At least two hours’ worth, but probably not more than that. Why?”
“I think we deserve a treat. Would you like to go into the city for dinner? We’ll take Ren and Miho, and I’ll show you my favorite restaurant.”
“I’d love to,” Kara said, shooting her a curious look. “But I doubt I can afford it, and wouldn’t you and Miho get into trouble?”
Sakura scoffed. “This is me, remember?” she said in English, a line she must have stolen from a movie. Then she switched back to Japanese. “I’m inviting you to dinner, Kara. My parents only remember that I’m alive when I spend money on their credit card. Which is ironic, considering that they gave it to me so that they wouldn’t have to think about me at all.”
“I couldn’t let you pay-”
“You’re not listening. I’m not paying. My parents are. And they can afford it. As for getting into trouble, we can take the train and be back before nine. There might be a few raised eyebrows in the dormitory, perhaps even a small punishment, but we won’t be suspended or expelled. Let’s go. If you think your father will let you.”
The taunt was obvious and explicit, but all in good fun. Sakura threw up her hands as though to ask, what could go wrong? Kara hesitated, then grinned. Sakura wouldn’t be happy if she couldn’t make a few waves now and then.
“Well, when you put it that way, how can I say no?”
They reached the room where Miho’s mask squad was at work. Kara glanced inside and saw Miho painting close-up detail work on a mask representing a long-haired woman, with wide eyes meant to indicate either sorrow or fury; it was difficult to tell which. Ren stood near a rack where a couple other masks were drying, but they were the only two left in the room.
“No, no,” came a voice from a room across the hall. “Like this. It must be precisely like this.”
Kara frowned. She had never heard such intensity in Miss Aritomo’s voice before, not even when the art teacher had been insisting that she and Sakura be faithful to the original Noh when they were adapting a play into manga.
Miho and Ren weren’t quite ready, so Kara slipped across the hall and peeked into the room. A quick glance showed her Miss Aritomo working through a series of precise steps and hand motions with Otomo, one of the girls who would perform in the play.
When Sakura slipped up next to her, Kara pushed her back, and both of them went back to stand outside, waiting for Miho and Ren. Kara did not want to be caught spying.
“That’s strange, don’t you think?” she asked.
Sakura raised her eyebrows. “What is?”
Kara lowered her voice. “I thought all of the Noh performers were supposed to rehearse in isolation. No one’s supposed to see them until the play, like the way a groom’s not supposed to see his bride before the wedding. It doesn’t seem like Aritomo-sensei’s style to break the rules.”
Sakura shrugged. “You know how seriously she takes all of this. I’m sure she just wants to make certain they do it correctly.”
Kara frowned. “Yeah. I guess.”
But it didn’t sit right with her.
Hungry and tired, and with plenty of homework still ahead of him, Daisuke Sasaki rode his bicycle toward home, wondering what his mother had made for dinner. His parents could not afford to pay for him to live in the dormitory at Monju-no-Chie school, and anyway, they lived too close to the school even to consider it, but Daisuke didn’t mind. Even on a day like today, when he had finished school only to have Noh club-and then an additional rehearsal period for the club’s upcoming production-he loved the ride home.
Actually, he considered himself lucky. Many of his friends had to go to juku, or cram school, after finishing their regular classes for the day. But Daisuke had always been an excellent student.
He pedaled past the train station and down long streets in the warm, golden glow of the summer evening. After the rehearsal, he had lingered for a while to speak with some of his friends about the play, and then stopped at the dorm to talk baseball with several boys from the baseball club. Daisuke had an interest in Noh theater, but really only belonged to the club because it pleased his grandmother. His true love was baseball.
Still, as he rode he could not help but chant softly under his breath. He had only a small role-an old priest who warned his younger counterpart about the Hannya-but he would also be chanting several parts of the play, like many others in the club. As he had worked to memorize the chants, they stuck in his head, and now he found them as difficult to remove as the catchiest pop songs.
Daisuke rode down a short hill into a narrow street. He let the bike coast as he swung around a tight corner, and had to swerve to avoid an old man who stood in the road cradling some kind of lizard in his arms as if it were an infant.
“Be careful, young fool!” the old man shouted, and Daisuke looked back to see him brandishing a gnarled fist.
Now, that was strange. He knew from having his grandmother living in the house with him and his parents that old people could be peculiar. But the wide-eyed old man with his lizard-baby made his grandmother seem boring by comparison. He ought to have a long, white beard. Crazy old men should all have long, white beards.
He raced past a library and an old church, then pedaled up a winding street among apartment buildings. A shortcut brought him buzzing down a lovely road lined with small shops, a wonderful view of Miyazu Bay ahead, and then Daisuke turned left, passed a park, and headed for a dingy, more industrial area of the city, where office buildings and noodle stands gave way to warehouses nearer the waterfront.
Blinking to clear his vision, he realized that twilight had snuck up on him. An indigo haze had replaced the golden light of early evening. Night came on late this time of year, but when it arrived, it did so swiftly.
Now he began to get tired, and wished he had taken the bus today, as he did in winter, instead of riding his bicycle. Ever since they had begun working on this play, the days had been longer, and he had been up later working on his homework. Daisuke decided that tomorrow, he would take the bus for sure.
Only a mile or so from home, he put an extra effort into pedaling. The wind had shifted and, though it had been a very warm day, the breeze off the bay cooled the back of his neck. As he passed a tiny restaurant where his father often took him when the women of the house were not at home, the smell of cooking fish filled his nostrils and his stomach growled painfully.
Daisuke began to daydream about what his mother might have cooked. He hoped for tuna and some curry bread. There would simply be no way for him to focus on his homework if he had to eat tempura and pickled plums again.
The darkness gathered around him, seeming to seep in from between the buildings as he reached the crest of a short hill. With a sigh, he stopped pedaling, grateful for the rest, letting the bike coast. He sat up high on the seat, guiding the bike with only his fingertips. The wind whipped at his hair and he breathed in the fresh bay air.
Something darted into the road in front of him. Daisuke scrabbled for the handlebars, fingers latching on, and twisted to avoid the figure looming up in front of him. He thought of the old man cradling the lizard, but in the gathering darkness he could make out only a silhouette, shifting and uncertain. He had the impression of hands reaching for him, but by then disaster had already struck. He’d swerved too far. The handlebars snapped sideways, the front tire following suit, and the bike pitched him forward. He flipped through the air, arms flailing, the world turned upside down.
Daisuke hadn’t time to utter a cry of panic before he struck the pavement and began to bounce and slide, pavement scouring the skin from his right arm, tearing his pants and scraping his leg. As he rolled, he struck his head, and the darkness closed in at the edges of his vision, swallowing him for long seconds.
When he opened his eyes, he lay on his side in the street, in the dark. A jagged shadow farther down the road he recognized as the wreckage of his bicycle. It hurt him just to breathe, and when he tried to shift, spikes of pain jabbed into his side and ran up his arm. Where he’d scraped the pavement, his skin sang with even more pain.
Panic seized him. The road was dark. He could hear no traffic. No one had emerged to call an ambulance for him. Someone there, in the road, had caused his accident, but he didn’t hear a siren. They must have run away, maybe afraid to be blamed.
