The Thief

Sakamoto. Don’t mind me, I’ve just come to pick something up.” He walked around the desk and opened a drawer. He rifled around in the papers for a moment, closed it, then opened another.

Camille frowned. Was he really supposed to be in here? It didn’t seem like he knew the principal’s office very well. He looked more like he was ransacking her desk than running an errand. But saying something was out of the question. She didn’t have the right words. Unless...

His name was Japanese. Maybe he spoke it? Everything here would be so much simpler if she had someone to talk to. She never knew she’d miss simple conversation so much.

“Are you really supposed to be in here?” she asked in Japanese.

“Hm?” he looked up from the drawer.

“Your actions are suspicious,” she said. “Explain yourself.”

His mouth quirked slightly. “Oh, I’m sorry. I don’t speak Chinese.”

What hope she had was summarily quashed. “Japanese,” she snapped.

“Oh, right,” he said lightly. “Yeah, I don’t really speak that either. I mean, I know some words here and there, like karate...ninja...kamikaze, that sort of thing.”

He was pronouncing them all wrong. He really was American. “Kamikaze,” Camille said, letting her irritation color her correction.

He shrugged. “Over here it makes no difference. Distinctions like that, you just have to learn to let them go. Sorry to disappoint. Did you want to run that by me in English?” His head tilted slightly, like a bird.

She was beginning to think that Kei Sakamoto was not the sort of person she wanted to talk to, in any language. “No,” she answered him, eyes firmly on the floor.

“Don’t be shy,” he said. “Shy never helped anyone.”

“I’m not shy,” she growled. “I don’t like you.”

He feigned offense. “I don’t see how that’s possible. Me, I like everyone. You’ll never get along here if you can’t learn a few basic social skills. Here, I’ll show you. Step one is pointless conversation. You pick out something about the other person, and get them to talk about it. People love talking about themselves. Pretend you’re interested and they think you’re best friends. Like so.”

He settled into Umino’s chair, errand apparently forgotten. What was he still doing here? He should have left by now. She just wanted to be alone.

“I like that...metal...thing,” he observed, gesturing vaguely to the iron bracer on her arm. “Where’d you get it?”

She eyed him warily. That was none of his business. Pointless conversation or not, he’d landed on the one thing she wouldn’t talk about. Gabriel had tricked her into putting it on years ago, and it wouldn’t come off. She’d learned to forgive him for it, but the hunk of metal still gave her its share of annoyance. Just the mention of the bracer had her fighting the impulse to scratch at it. She’d worn it forever and even though it did no good, she still wanted to scratch at the skin beneath.

Kei Sakamoto leaned forward on the desk, steepling his fingers, like he belonged there. “Family heirloom?” he prompted. “Ebay? Found it in a dumpster? Ooh, I know, it was a gift from an old boyfriend.”

Camille frowned. Maybe he hadn’t been fishing for info on the bracer. Maybe he really was just an idiot. Americans were all the same.

“No?” he went on, undeterred. “On second thought, you don’t look like the boyfriend type. Old girlfriend?”

The bracer felt tighter and more restricting the more he made her think about it. Her mouth formed a grim line of disapproval.

“Still no? I guess that look would scare off just about anybody. You look like a mob boss. Ooh, did you steal it from the mob? Is it some sort of treasure from the Japanese mafia?”

She’d had enough of this. The bracer was digging into her wrist, and her right hand twisted at it reflexively.

“Go away,” she said.

“Just when we’re getting to know each other?” he objected. “No, I want to hear the story of how you broke into mafia headquarters and swiped their prized metal thing.”

She huffed. “I did not.”

“But what other explanation can there be?” he asked innocently.

“You’re an idiot,” she snapped. She could hear her own blood in her ears.

“That explanation makes no sense.”

She growled, “Get out.” She could hear footsteps approaching from the hall. She hadn’t thought she would prefer the Umino woman to someone, but Sakamoto had proved her wrong.

“That’s your best retort? Come on, you can do better than that,” he said.

The door clicked open. Rin Umino surveyed the scene, one eyebrow raised.

Sakamoto sighed and stood, pushing himself up from the desk.

“Well?” Umino said.

“Where do you find these people?” he asked. “She can’t talk. It’s hopeless. Probably.” With the barest smirk at Camille he made for the door.

He’d been testing her? A stealth English evaluation?

Umino blocked his exit.

“Sorry, super important teenage plans, gotta go,” he told the principal.

She held out her hand, otherwise immobile.

He shrugged and took a key out of his pocket and handed it to her. He’d tried to steal that from her desk?

Umino stood aside and let Sakamoto pass. She shut the door behind him and settled herself in her chair, her stiff posture a sharp contrast to his lazy lounging only moments ago.

“You are not like Miss Graham,” she said, “in many ways. You have been the ward of Mr. Katsura for how many years now?”

Camille licked her lips. What was she really asking? “Six.”

“Six? And all of that in Japan? Very uncharacteristic of him. I’m not sure he’s ever spent that much consecutive time with...anyone.”

Camille didn’t remember what ‘consecutive’ meant, but now seemed a bad time to mention it. She could guess close enough.

“I will assume that having been in his care for so long, you have come to understand certain truths that the general populace is uninformed of. I will assume that because of this, you do not trust me, a human.”

Camille’s eyes narrowed. “That’s not why.”

“The oblivious ones are much more pliant,” she commented. “Miss Graham, for example, could have a bright future with us. All we ask is a little obedience, a little loyalty.”

“I’m with Gabriel,” Camille stated.

“At present, it seems that Gabriel wishes you to be with us,” she bit off his name. “So. Tell me the days of the week.” Her eyebrow arched in challenge.

What? Huh? Right now? Uh... “Monday, Tuesday...” Camille’s brain twisted. “Thursday...”

Her lip twisted in distaste. “Remedial English,” Umino decreed. “If you can’t handle conversational English by the end of the semester, you’re out. I don’t care who your guardian is, we have standards to uphold. Also, you will only speak English on this campus, from here on out.” She passed Camille a sheet of paper.

Camille gazed up at her in horror.

“Immersion is the best teacher,” she said dryly. “Perform, or I will send you to public, and all your darling mentor’s efforts will have been wasted. Public has no idea what to do with someone like you.”

“Someone like me?”

“Surely it’s obvious,” Umino said. “We’re the only ones qualified to educate monsters.”

Camille stood abruptly, chair scraping.

“Don’t be so dramatic,” she observed, unimpressed, “or I’ll put you in theatre too.”