Ink

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“The wagtail,” I said. “It— What are you doing here? I thought you were in Chiba for the funeral.”

Tomohiro motioned to the blazer he’d discarded beside him, a bracelet of wooden Buddhist prayer beads resting on top of it. He wore his red-and-navy-striped tie, part of the boys’ school uniform, but he’d loosened the knot so it hung unkempt around his neck.

“The funeral was this morning,” he said. “My dad had a business meeting, so we caught the afternoon train back.

Are you okay?”

“Not really,” I said. My head was pounding. Tomohiro’s face wrinkled with concern and he patted the ground beside him.

“Sit down,” he said.

“I have to find the bird,” I said, scanning the ground.

“What bird?”

“Didn’t you see it? It attacked the other birds,” I said. I crouched down and bent the grasses out of the way with my hand.

“You mean like rabies? I didn’t see anything.”

“Maybe. But it looked weird. There was something wrong with its feathers. And it just dropped all of a sudden out of the sky, like it smacked into something. It looked like it was…

made of paper.”

“Katie, sit down,” Tomohiro said, and there was something in his voice that made my thoughts snap into place. I turned to him, all my suspicions colliding in my head.

“Yuu, why do you destroy your drawings?”

“What?”

“I swear to God I saw them move.”

“We’ve been over this.”

“And the dragon tail.”

“The what?”

“I found a scrap from your notebook. It moved, too.”

“Katie, what the hell?” Tomohiro snapped. “Do you know how crazy you sound?” He sounded ticked off, but somehow his face didn’t line up. It didn’t add up.

What was Tomohiro’s destiny, and why did Ishikawa think I was in the way?

“Ishikawa said Shiori is your girlfriend,” I said. Tomohiro narrowed his eyes.

“Satoshi is full of shit,” he said darkly.

“Is he?”

“Katie! You seriously believe him over me? He’s just messing with you. I told you Shiori is like a sister. She’s a family friend.” He looked down at his closed sketchbook, and his bangs fanned over his dark eyes.

“How do I know?” I said. “Tell me why my drawings moved, Yuu. Tell me why my pen blew up and why I saw ink on your hands that wasn’t there. Tell me what really happened to Koji. You’ve always been keeping something from me. Ishikawa said you’re drawn to me because I’m weak.

What does he mean?”

“How are you weak, Katie?” Tomohiro looked up at me, his eyes shining. “You’re far from home, in a country you don’t fully understand, speaking a language you haven’t fully mastered, and all of that leaves you isolated to deal with your mom’s death.” Tomohiro stepped toward me and placed his hands on my arms. His palms felt warm through the thin summer sleeves of my uniform. “Tell me how that’s weak,”

he urged quietly.

“You wanted me to stay away from you,” I said. “I thought it was because of the Yakuza. But there’s more, isn’t there?”

Tomohiro smiled. “There’s nothing more—”

“Cut the crap,” I shouted and shook his hands off. He stood staring at me and I felt the shame rise in me. But I had to know.

“Show me your sketchbook,” I said.

“What?”

“I want to see your sketchbook,” I said, pointing at the black cover. Tomohiro turned and stared at it. “Maybe Ishikawa was messing with me. I don’t know. But I need to know what’s going on. Please, Yuu.”

“Katie. Just trust me, and don’t ask this.” Tomohiro’s eyes were wide and gazed at mine with pleading. But I’d gone this far, and I couldn’t go back.

“Yuu, you know I have to see it.” He hesitated. “Please,”

I said.

He backed up slowly, each foot dragging through the grass, then bent over and picked up the sketchbook. He held it out to me with one hand, and I took it, even though his eyes looked so sad.

My hands shook as I pressed my fingers into the cover.

I pulled it open slowly, flipping through the drawings I’d seen him sketch over the past several weeks. They all looked weird, in poses I didn’t remember, each with the same thick lines scribbled through them, scraped right through the pictures, rendering them ugly and useless. The horse had his nostrils flared, his head over his shoulder—not the way he had been drawn.

I fanned the pages until I reached the blank ones, and turned backward until the last sketch came into view.

I stopped and looked at the drawing.

A wagtail, with a thick X across its neck. His eyes gleamed like vacant pools of ink, and his feathers jagged out in awkward directions.

I stared at the picture. Tomohiro said nothing.

I looked up at him slowly.

“You drew him,” I said. “You made that wagtail.”

He didn’t make any excuses. He just looked at me with a heaviness in his eyes.

“How did you do this?” I said, my voice barely a whisper.

“What’s going on?”

His gaze was piercing and I wished he’d drop his eyes to the ground. Shivers of fear pulsed through my body, but I couldn’t tear myself away from him. I’d had my suspicions, but they couldn’t have prepared me for the truth. My heart pounded in my ears.

“What are you?” I said.

“Katie. Calm down.”

“Calm down? Either your fucking drawings are coming to life or I’m losing my mind! How the hell am I supposed to calm down?”

“It’s not you, okay? Sit down, and—and I’ll answer your questions.”

“Well, you better!” I shouted, but he looked about as threatening as a puppy. When I thought about it, he actually looked more frightened than me.

I stayed standing.

“Is this why you quit calligraphy?” I asked.

He gazed at me with gleaming eyes. “Yes.”

“Is this why you destroy your drawings?”

Another pause. Then a nod.

“And the girl really looked at me, in the genkan. And you made my pen explode.”

“Yes.”

My mind went blank. Hot tears carved their way down my cheeks. I sobbed and didn’t care how wretched I looked.

The reality I’d believed in and the reality that existed were too different, and there was no way to reconcile them. It was like seeing a ghost or a miracle, or someone fly. Something impossible. My brain throbbed as I tried to rationalize it.