FLCL

was merely a flat, tiresome world.

After playtime finished, Naota stood up and put a coin in the nearby vending machine. The inside of his mouth was dry. He felt as if he'd swallowed the same saliva over and over again today. He was about to push the iced coffee button, when Mamimi's finger, which was right next to his, pushed the button for lemonade first.

'Hey! I don't like sour drinks!' Naota protested.

Ignoring him, Mamimi retrieved the can, yanked up the tab, and gulped down the contents.

'Sponging off a junior high kid?'

'Oops, I left a mark.' Mamimi touched the fresh bruise—a love bite—on Naota's neck. 'What will you do— hide it with a bandage?'

There was no response.

Naota knew he was losing the argument. He, Naota Nandaba, looked upon by so many as the 'Cool Mint' of the class, was at a complete loss. A high school girl with papaya-flavored bubblegum for brains was screwing with him.

Mamimi stopped drinking and offered the can to Naota.

'What?' asked Naota.

'It's yours, isn't it? There's still half left.'

Taking the can from her, Naota glanced at Mamimi's mouth.

Her lips, moistened with lemonade, looked glistening and alluring… moments earlier, they had been sweeping across his skin. Though they had caressed his neck and ears countless times, Naota's lips hadn't kissed them before—not once. Mamimi had refused stubbornly whenever Naota tried. It was the one thing she wouldn't do. Touching their lips together was forbidden.

It wasn't because she wanted to be a relentless tease. The real reason weighed heavily on his heart.

Mamimi called him 'Takkun,' and Naota knew why. Mamimi had explained she'd taken the 'ta' from his name and added 'kun' as an endearment. It was a far-fetched explanation—a papaya-flavored explanation.

Naota's older brother, Tasuku, currently was studying in America on a baseball scholarship. Mamimi was really Tasuku's girlfriend, and she wouldn't kiss her 'substitute' boyfriend. When she and Tasuku were together, she called him 'Takkun.'

Naota threw the can into the street.

'Hey, empty cans go in the recycle bin!'

It wasn't empty, though. The half-full can arced through the sky before rolling along the ground.

In the back of Naota's mind, he remembered a certain letter—a Pandora's box that constantly agitated his memory. Enclosed in that letter was a photo of Tasuku with a blonde girl.

'You know,' he began, having difficulty finding the words, 'my brother, in America, he…'

Mamimi's eyes turned suddenly grave. Her expression was more serious than when she'd rejected Naota's kiss.

In retrospect, she must have known by then; or at least, she must have had an inkling. Naota had no way of knowing that at the time, however.

Should I open it? Should I finally open this Pandora's box now? Maybe I won't be able to spend time with Mamimi on the riverbank anymore. Should I really open it? Do I really want to lose these moments after school when Mamimi fools around with me?

Sooner or later, he'd have to say it. He had to tell her.

Tell her.

'In America, my brother, he…'

Don't hesitate: Say it now!

Suddenly… yes, it happened right then. The two of them, lost in the seriousness of the moment, had forgotten their surroundings. Thus, they didn't notice the sound of the approaching bike until a moment too late.

'Itadaki-mammoth!' With this incomprehensible shout, the girl on the bike aimed straight for Naota.

The bike was a scooter. It was, unmistakably, an imported Vespa.

The Vespa girl pulled out an electric guitar that was strapped across her back, getting ready to hit Naota with it as she drove by.

What? It's a psychopath! was Naota's first thought. She must be insane!

The guitar she wielded came at him with tremendous speed, and Naota's knees buckled with fear.

This is it. I'm so dead. Here it comes.

Just then…

'Eh?' said the Vespa girl.

The can of lemonade Naota recently had discarded caught on the Vespa's front wheel, and the girl lost control.

She let out a strange sound: 'Rarararararara!'

Out of the frying pan and into the fire. Just as Naota thought he would be all right, things got worse.

The Vespa itself sailed straight at Naota; the impact sent his body flying. He tumbled along the road. The Vespa girl's shout was the last thing he heard before all the lights went out in his brain.

Mamimi cried out and ran toward Naota's body, which lay limply on the ground. 'Takkun!'

'Stop!' commanded the shrill voice belonging to the Vespa girl. Having parked the bike next to them, the girl haughtily ordered Mamimi in English, 'Stop, native girl.'

Mamimi wasn't very good with English, but she had a vague idea what those words meant. Though she had absolutely no obligation to obey this odd girl, Mamimi was weak-willed. She stopped dead in her tracks. She froze, humorously, like a punching doll that had come back up after having been tipped over.

'Taro has hit his head, so he shouldn't be moved,' said the girl in a language Mamimi could understand well. She got off her Vespa and approached Naota.

OK she speaks Japanese, Mamimi thought. She had assumed they would be unable to communicate.

'Uh, but his name is Naota, not Taro.' Mamimi added unnecessarily, 'I call him Takkun.'

The girl bent over and put her ear to Naota's chest, as though to assess his condition. She acted as if she had experience with this sort of thing—but watching her, it was obvious that she was a fraud.

'Taro is dead!' she proclaimed suddenly in a tone of utter surprise. 'This boy is completely—yes, utterly— dead, Taro-style.'

Mamimi thought to herself, 'This girl isn't all there.'

When the Vespa girl removed her helmet, Mamimi was surprised to discover that she was a beauty. Her eyes were like green apples or pale emeralds. Where could she be from? Maybe they were colored contacts? Upon closer examination, her skin tone was oddly different from that of a normal Japanese person.

Perhaps thanks to her instincts as a high school delinquent, Mamimi guessed that this was no ordinary girl. Mamimi could feel the strength emanating from the other girl's skin. Those green eyes shone with greed and a totally unrestrained wildness. They were the eyes of someone strong, and Mamimi thought they were pretty cool.

'Oh no! I killed him! I finally find the cure for the weather, and then I go and kill him! Argh! Come back to me!'

'Oh!' Mamimi exclaimed, watching as the girl suddenly kissed Naota—presumably in an attempt to give mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.

The kiss was deep. Without hesitation. Prolonged.

This was bad. Mamimi knew she should do something, but she couldn't decide how to react to the situation unfolding before her.

Mamimi Samejima was fond of smoking and often ditched school. She liked to think of herself as a person to whom rules and regulations didn't apply. However, this crazy girl—who had run over a junior high kid with her bike, knocked him unconscious, and then kissed him—was far beyond her realm of experience. What could Mamimi possibly do in an emergency like this?

That was it! She had a cell phone, so she could call the police. Just as Mamimi thought of a plan, Naota