missing girl, and what might have happened to her, and what Mai might have said to Mr. Yamato
… and the trouble that might cause. But as she wolfed down the little bit of cereal that her father had poured into a bowl for her, other thoughts and feelings began to interfere, memories from the night before.
When all of this was done, another conversation awaited Kara and her father, and she wasn’t looking forward to that one, either.
In the corner of Mr. Yamato’s office nearest the window, a burbling fountain stood on a small round table. Loose, round stones were piled on the edges of a dozen pagoda-like levels, and the water sluiced around them, running down to the base, only to be drawn back up through the throat of the fountain and begin the course again. A single, lovely scroll hung on the wall behind the desk, bearing the image of a crane standing proud among some bamboo, and the kanji for the word “wisdom.” On a simple, three-tiered black shelf sat half a dozen bonsai trees of varying sizes. A smaller shelf held perhaps a dozen books of such age that their spines were worn and cracked, and any titles long since faded.
Kara had never been in the principal’s office before. In truth, she’d paid him as little attention as he had seemed to pay her since she had started at Monju-no-Chie school. Mr. Yamato had struck her from the moment she’d laid eyes on him-though struck certainly wasn’t the right word-as totally average for a middle-aged Japanese man. Thin and well groomed, a bit of white in his black hair, fussy with his small, square glasses, he was the picture of orderliness, and thus, completely boring.
Now, though, looking around the office, she wondered if the whole boring routine was just an act. Could anyone really be this bland? This calm? The room screamed “Serenity now!” as though it had been calculated to do exactly that.
On the other hand, so much of Japanese culture was about the appearance of order and conformity and control. If Mr. Yamato’s ordinariness was a facade, he had perfected it. She glanced at the bonsai trees and smiled inwardly. Her friends only ever called her bonsai when they were teasing her, but students who didn’t know her, or the soccer girls and their circle, still used it as a derisive thing sometimes. Kara liked it, actually. She owned it. There could be no denying the truth-she was a bonsai-and she didn’t feel the need to argue the point. The little trees were beautiful and elegant and proud.
So while Mr. Yamato glared at her through his small, square glasses, she kept the bonsai foremost in her mind, trying her best to keep her poise, both inside and outside. Otherwise, she knew she would never be able to lie convincingly… especially in front of her father.
“Kara,” Rob Harper said, his voice tight, “Yamato-sensei asked you a question.”
Pushing aside her guilt, she drew a breath and made a small bow to Mr. Yamato. The principal sat behind his desk, and her father in a chair to her right, beneath the window, but Kara had been left to stand.
“I’m sorry, Yamato-sensei. I was surprised by the question. I don’t really know how to respond to it, except to say that I have never had even a single conversation with Daisuke or…”
Kara frowned. She couldn’t think of the girl’s name.
“Wakana,” her father supplied.
“Right,” she said, with a quick nod. “Sakura and I have been helping out with Aritomo-sensei’s Noh play after our calligraphy club meetings because we’re kind of interested, and Aritomo-sensei has been so nice to us, advising us on our manga projects, and our friend Miho is in Noh club. I might have said hello to them, but no more than that.”
Mr. Yamato studied her intently over the top of his glasses like a prissy librarian who took the rule of silence in the stacks much too seriously. He didn’t even seem to be breathing. Long seconds ticked by before he altered his facial expression, and that was limited to a slight raising of the eyebrows. At last he shifted in his chair.
“You can think of no reason at all why Miss Genji would suggest that you might know where our two runaway students have gone?” the principal asked, his voice dry as sandpaper.
Kara blinked. Was the guy a robot? She had just answered the same question, but apparently not directly enough for the principal.
“None,” she said flatly. “Except that she doesn’t like me.”
“Why do you say that?” Kara’s father asked.
Mr. Yamato shot him a stern look, then seemed disappointed when Mr. Harper did not look duly chastened. Kara stared at her father, hoping that her patented death-glance could make him more cautious with his words, even if the principal’s obvious displeasure hadn’t. They had some things to sort out between them, no question, but for now, they needed to back each other up while still staying out of trouble.
“Mai and her friends have never liked me, not since my first day of school here,” Kara explained. “Maybe it’s because I’m a gaijin. Or it might just be that I don’t like the things that they like.”
The principal nodded slowly. “They bully you, this group of girls?”
Kara shook her head. “Not bullying, exactly. But they do tease. They call me bonsai, because I’ve been…” She couldn’t think of the word for uprooted, or one for transplanted. “Because I’ve been cut away from where I grew up and now I’m here. It’s not really very hurtful. At any school, there are always going to be people you don’t get along with.”
Mr. Yamato glanced at her father, then back at Kara.
“Are there people who have seen the way these girls treat you?” he asked.
She shrugged. “A lot, I’m sure. My friends, and others. They’ve never made it a secret, though I think Mai likes me least of all. I think she blames me for her friend Ume leaving the school.”
Kara had been trying to tell as much of the truth as she could without getting into trouble. Lies were difficult to keep track of. But now she realized she had made a mistake. Mr. Yamato had not mentioned Ume, but the light of recognition sparked in his eyes when Kara brought her up, which suggested that Mai had already made a connection between Ume and Kara in the principal’s mind. What the hell had she told him? Could she really have told him the truth?
Wild stories, her father had said. Right now, she wanted very much to know what wild stories Mai had told the principal.
“Why would she blame you for Ume leaving?” Mr. Yamato asked.
Kara scrutinized the principal. If Mai really had told him the things that Ume had revealed to her-about Kyuketsuki, about haunted dreams and killer cats and blood-sucking things-surely he did not believe that story? Mr. Yamato hadn’t brought it up yet in their conversation. That suggested he was embarrassed even to discuss it, which worked in Kara’s favor.
She hated to lie, but as she felt the principal’s gaze on her, glanced at her father’s dark eyes, she knew the choice had been taken from her. Mai had already accused her once of having something to do with Daisuke’s disappearance, and yet they still had no reason to believe anything horrible had befallen the missing. No reason to believe the curse had brought fresh evil to Monju-no-Chie school.
“I have no idea,” she said firmly, meeting the principal’s inquisitive gaze but not daring to look at her father. “My friends and I didn’t get along with Ume at all, but we didn’t drive her out of here. To be honest, though, Yamato-sensei, I am glad she is gone. She was far worse to me, and especially to Sakura, than Mai has ever been.”
Kara had hoped that would be the end of it, that Mr. Yamato would dismiss her now. School would be starting in fifteen minutes or so, and he would want to prepare for the morning assembly. But he did not seem satisfied with her answer. Whatever Mai had told him, it had unsettled the man, gotten under his skin. She could almost see the thoughts roiling around in his head.
At length, he seemed to decide on another question, and Kara froze. No, she thought. Don’t do it. Don’t ask.
“Have you ever seen anything strange at this school, Miss Harper?” Mr. Yamato asked.
Kara glanced at her father, saw how intently he was studying her, and wondered what he must be thinking and if the principal had already explained to him what wild things Mai had accused her of being a part of.
“I don’t understand,” she lied, turning back to Mr. Yamato, no longer feeling an ounce of guilt. This was about protecting herself and her father and her friends. “How do you mean ‘strange,’ sir?”
The man opened his desk drawer and slid out a thick sheaf of paper that had been clipped together. Kara didn’t have to ask what it was. The rich, dark colors of the first page of her and Sakura’s manga stood out on top.
“I asked Aritomo-sensei for a copy of this manga you have done with Sakura Murakami.”
