Ink

“What?” he said. He took another look at me and burst out laughing. “Did you think I was going to…?” He folded his arms, pressing his fingertips against the insides of his elbows as he laughed.

“I’m glad you think it’s so funny,” I fumed. Why the hell could he always pull one over on me?

He bit his lip, trying to stop laughing, and bobbed his head at me. “You’re right,” he said. “I’m sorry. Let me draw something to make it up to you.”

“Draw yourself getting smacked in the face.”

“Katie,” he protested, in the smooth voice he used when he said my name. I said nothing.

A wagtail chirped, and I turned to watch it fly across the clearing, into the ring of trees. And then I felt warmth as Tomohiro stepped forward and wrapped his arms around my shoulders, pressing his head against mine, his chest solid against my back. Tufts of his copper hair tickled against my neck, and his skin was warm, the sound of his breathing calm.

“Warui,” he whispered in apology, and I knew then that I couldn’t live without him, even when he was infuriating.

Which was pretty much all the time.

My only chance was to stop the ink from reacting to me.

There had to be a way. I couldn’t just bail on him—I had to save us both.

I couldn’t walk away, and I knew it. Not until we both could.

Three weeks until summer vacation, and each time we visited Toro Iseki, Tomohiro’s ambitions grew. He drew birds and trees, turtles and rabbits. I pleaded with him to try to scratch the drawings out slowly, to see if it could be less traumatic to watch, but nothing seemed to help. Everything keeled over like its soul had been sucked from its body. And the turtle had time to take a chunk out of my finger before it collapsed, the ingrate, so I gave up on my humane-sketching plans. Tomohiro still insisted the creatures were just thoughts, so that made me feel a little better. So did searching recipes for turtle soup.

“They’re just extensions of me, I think.”

“So which part of you wanted to bite me?” I sneered.

Wrong thing to say. His eyes took on this fiery look and he gave me a wicked grin.

“Okay, grow up. I did not mean that. ”

“Oh, please. It’s obvious how you feel about me.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Can’t say I blame you.”

“Ugh,” I said. “And so modest, too. That’s super attractive.”

“Well, it must be working,” he said, “because you’re the one coming on to me.”

“I am not coming on to you! Your stupid pen pal bit me.”

“And I took him out for it.”

“Well, thanks.”

His eyes shone as he curled his hand around mine, and my heart almost stopped. “Anytime.”

Yuki invited me to go with her family to Miyajima Island for a couple weeks of summer break. Her older brother was working there, and she pleaded with me to go, too, so she wouldn’t be bored out of her mind.

The humidity of the Japanese summer wiped out any energy I’d had for kendo, and I could barely make it through practice drills. But Tomohiro and Ishikawa did the hundred push-ups without complaint, completing round after round of kiri-kaeshi as we looked on, dabbing our faces with the handkerchiefs everyone carried around because it was so ridiculously humid. The sweat dripped down their backs as they fought without their men on, their headbands damp and their hair slicked down to their necks.

“How come you and Ishikawa dye your hair?” I asked as Tomohiro chugged back a water bottle. He wiped his mouth with the back of his arm.

“It’s Ishikawa’s strategy,” he said, loud enough for him to hear. “He figures he might blind the opponent with his ugly mop.”

“Shut up,” Ishikawa said, but the corners of his mouth tugged in a grin.

“So why is yours red?”

“White and red, right?” said Ishikawa. “Because we’re rivals.” He grabbed Tomohiro in a headlock and they both grinned as they fought. I wondered what Tomohiro had said to Ishikawa, because he seemed like a different person, too.

Outside of kendo, they both slouched, looked badass and, in Ishikawa’s case, got into a lot of serious trouble. But somehow wearing the bogu armor and covering their faces with the men actually unmasked them and put them at ease. They were really themselves here, and Ishikawa and I somehow came to a truce. He stopped acting like a jerk, and I pretended his threats had never happened. Every now and then I still caught him glaring at me, though, so I avoided him when I could.

You’re keeping him from his destiny. The words haunted me.

But he didn’t know for sure Tomohiro was a Kami. He only suspected it, and we had to keep it that way.

Watanabe-sensei announced a special kendo retreat, man-datory for those proceeding to the prefecture competition.

From our school, only Ishikawa, Tomohiro, two senior girls and one junior boy would attend. Takahashi Jun from Katakou would be there, too. I still couldn’t believe he was the same Jun I’d met on the train. He already knew there was a strange boy at my school who drew weird sketches. In my thoughts I pleaded that he wouldn’t make the connection to the ink, that he wouldn’t question the puddle at the tournament. But then I reminded myself that no one knew about the Kami anymore anyway. There was nothing to put together at all.

That week the school set up a big sasa tree by the office.

The bamboo leaves splayed out like a Christmas tree, and students crowded a nearby table lined with neatly stacked papers.

“Tanabata,” Yuki told me as she chose a soft yellow piece.

“Tanabata?”

“The lovers’ festival. Two stars in the sky meet only at this time of year, and the rest of the year they’re forced to be apart.

When the lovers are reunited, our wishes can come true.”

I thought about Tomohiro and his kendo retreat, how he would slave away in the heat while Yuki and I splashed around on the beach. But even when we were together, we had to keep a distance, at least until I figured out how to stop whatever was going on with the ink.

“So what are you wishing for?” I said.

“A boyfriend.” Yuki grinned.

“You’re going to write that?”

“No, no,” she said. “I’m writing good grades and health, like everyone else.” She took her slip of yellow paper and wrapped it around one of the branches. “What about you?”

she said, offering me the pen. “You already have a boyfriend, so…”

I’d stopped denying it. It wasn’t worth the effort. After Tomohiro had held me like he had the other day, there was something in his eyes when he looked at me. And even if I wasn’t sure about the label, I knew we were connected now, that we shared a special bond.

“You going to wish for good grades?” Yuki said. I stared thoughtfully at the tree. Then I chose a blue paper, dark enough that students would have to strain to read my words.

I wrote in English to try to keep the wish to myself.

I hope Mom has found peace.

Yuki went silent when she saw it, unsure of what to say. I didn’t blame her; I didn’t know what to say, either.

I took a piece of the yarn and tied my wish to the tree, on a lower branch where it would go unnoticed.

The tree ballooned with wishes as the week went past.

Tanaka wrote his wish at the end of the week. I wish my sister could cook. Yuki and I raised our eyebrows.

“Did you see my lunches this week?” he said, tapping his finger on the paper for emphasis.

“If you flunk out of high school and have to eat ramen for the rest of your life, it’ll be your own fault,” I said.