Ink

pretty well.”

“Maa…” Tanaka scratched the back of his head. “We were in Calligraphy Club in elementary school—you know, traditional paintings of Japanese characters. Before he dropped out, I mean. Which sucked, because he had a real talent. We haven’t really talked much since then, but we used to be close.

He got into a lot of fights, but he was a good guy.”

“Right,” I said. “Cheating on girls and making fun of foreigners’ Japanese. What a winner.”

Yuki’s face went pale, her mouth dropping open.

“He saw you?” She put a hand over her mouth. “And Myu?

Did she?”

I shook my head. “Just Yuu.”

“And? Was he angry?”

“Yeah, but so what? It’s not like I meant to spy on them.”

“Okay, we need to do damage control and see how bad your social situation is. Ask him about it after school, Tan-kun,” Yuki said.

I panicked. “No, don’t.”

“Why?”

“He’ll know I told.”

“He won’t know,” Yuki said. “Tanaka’s sister told him about the breakup, remember? We’ll just slip the conversation in and see how he reacts to you.”

“I don’t want to know, okay? Drop it please?”

Yuki sighed. “Fine. For now.”

The bell rang. We tucked our bentous into our bags and pulled out some paper.

Yuu Tomohiro. His eyes kept haunting me. I could barely concentrate on Suzuki-sensei’s chalkboard math, which was hard enough considering the language gap. Diane had been so set on sending me to a Japanese school instead of an international one. She was convinced I’d catch on quickly, that I’d come out integrated and bilingual and competitive for university programs. And since she knew how much I wanted to move back with Nan and Gramps, she wanted to hit me over the head with as much experience as possible.

“Give it four or five months,” she said, “and you’ll speak like a pro.”

Obviously she didn’t realize I was lacking in language skills.

When the final bell rang, I was relieved to find out I didn’t have cleaning duty. I had a Japanese cram school to go to, so I decided to cut through Sunpu Park and get on the east-bound train. I waved to Yuki, and Tanaka flashed a peace sign at me as he rolled up his sleeves and started lifting chairs onto the desks. Pretty sure that counts as two friends, I thought, and in spite of everything, a trickle of relief ran through me.

I headed toward the genkan to return my slippers—I wasn’t going to make that mistake again—and headed out into the courtyard.

School began in late March at Suntaba, and the spring air was fresh but cool. Green buds had crept onto each of the spindly branches of the trees, waiting for slightly warmer weather to bloom. Diane said everyone in Japan checked their cell phones daily to find out when the cherry blossoms would bloom so they could sit under them and get drunk.

Well, okay, that wasn’t exactly what she said, but Yuki said a lot of the salarymen turned as pink as the flowers.

I was nearly at the gate when I saw him. He slouched against the stone entranceway, hands shoved deep in his pockets. The sun glared off the neat row of gold buttons down his blazer and splayed through his hair, gleaming on the copper streaks.

Yuu Tomohiro.

My footsteps slowed as dread leached down my spine.

There was no other way off school grounds; I’d have to pass him. The back of his hand curved over his shoulder, his book bag pressed against his back. He stared straight at me, as if he was waiting for me.

He wasn’t…was he?

Maybe he wanted me to keep my mouth shut about what had happened. But he hadn’t understood what I was saying, right? He didn’t speak English.

His face was turned down in a sour frown, but his eyes shone as he stared at me, like he was trying to figure me out.

A bluish bruise was set in his cheek, and the skin looked a little swollen. I looked down first and then straight at him, but I couldn’t stare at him long. Nothing could settle the pit I felt in my stomach, like I was going to be sick.

If he did make that drawing move… No, that was impossible. I’d been tired, that’s all.

I stood there ten feet from the gate, unable to move, squeezing the handles of my bag as tightly as I could. My navy skirt felt short and ugly against my bleached-out legs. I was out of place at this school and I knew it.

Move! Just walk past and ignore him! Do something! my brain screamed at me, but I couldn’t move.

I let out a shaky breath and took a step forward.

He uncoiled from his slouch like a snake, rising to his full height. I wondered why he always slouched when he could look like that, but the thought sent prickles up my neck. He was a jerk anyway, even if I hadn’t seen the drawing move.

He’d cheated on Myu, got someone else pregnant and still had the nerve to laugh at it. Except that he looked like he’d been lying that he didn’t care about her. And Tanaka had said he was a good guy deep down.

Must be really deep down.

His shoes clicked against the cement as he stepped toward me, and despite all my common sense, I couldn’t stop shaking. His eyes burned as he stared me down. He was only two feet from me, and now only a foot. I’m sorry, was I the only one at the school who worried he was psycho?

His eyes flicked to the ground suddenly, his bangs slipping forward and fanning over his face as he walked straight past me, so close that his shoulder grazed mine. So close that I could smell spices and hair gel, that I could feel the warmth radiating from his skin. The heat sent a shudder through me and I stopped walking, listening to the click, click of him walking farther away.

He’s screwing with me, I thought. Trying to intimidate me or something. Shame flooded through me as I realized I’d let him get away with it. He’d reeled me in, and despite everything I knew, despite drawings staring at me and pregnant girlfriends and humiliating language barriers, I’d still let my heart twist at his gorgeous eyes.

When did I become so shal ow? I scrunched my hands deeper into the leather of my book bag, until the zipper dug into my knuckles.

“Ano!” I said to get his attention, squeezing my eyes shut as I said it. The clicking of his shoes stopped. Around us the noisy chatter of other students buzzed in my brain, fading into background noise like ringing in my ears. All I could focus on was the silence that had replaced his footsteps, the sound I imagined of his breathing.

Now what? I wanted to ask why he’d been staring at me, why everything felt off when he was there. And about the drawing, the memory sitting unsettled in my gut. But how could I ask him that? He’d think I was nuts. The limits of my Japanese shoved against me, which only proved his point and pissed me off more. What was I thinking to confront him? And what exactly could I say that wouldn’t make me look like an idiot?

A moment passed, and I heard a single laugh under his breath. Then the click, click, click of him walking away toward the eastern wall. The clicking suddenly sped up, and I turned to look. He ran at the wall, leaping up the stone face and grabbing the branches of the momiji tree above, slipping over the wall and out of sight.

I’d let him do it again, let him tip me off balance for the second time in five minutes. I shuddered with anger as I stared at the branch, still swaying, dusting the wall with maple leaves.

The branch.

I didn’t spend my summers hiking in the woods for nothing.