“Come on,” she whispered, her fingers trailing down my arm. “Let’s go to a love hotel.”
“We can’t,” I said, struggling for reasons why. “You have Debate.”
“So I’ll skip,” she giggled.
“I’m broke,” I tried, looking at the clock that hung over the door.
“So your house, then. Come on, Yuu-chan.” She leaned closer, her breath hot in my ear.
It was enough to jolt me out of it. What the hell was I doing? Without even trying, I was destroying everyone around me. Shiori couldn’t rely on me, and Myu would get dragged into whatever nightmare this was that I was living. The ink was a danger to both of them just by being around me. The Demon Son. That was me, and I’d rather arrive at the gates of Hell alone than bring down someone like them.
I hated this. I hated myself. What the hell was wrong with me that I couldn’t live a normal life?
“Muriko,” I snapped. “I can’t, okay? I have to go!”
She looked like I’d slapped her when I used her full name. It was a harder rejection than I’d meant it to be. She stepped back, her eyes cold.
“Go where?”
“Cram school,” I lied, but my hands were shaking again. I was a mess. I couldn’t deal with this right now.
“Fine,” she said.
“Myu,” I said softly, touching her chin. “I’ll call you later.”
“No you won’t,” she sighed, pushing my hand away. And then she jumped back, slamming her back against the wall as she cried out.
“What happened?” I panicked. “Are you okay?”
Her hands were shaking. She turned them slowly.
Her nails, once bright and glittery, were coated with dripping black ink. It trickled down her fingertips, pooling in the creases of her hand.
“What the hell, Yuu?” she shrieked. “Where did this ink come from?”
“I don’t know,” I said, but she stared at me like it was my fault. I couldn’t pretend to be baffled. It would become another rumor with the first-years nearby. “Must—must have leaked from my bag,” I stammered. “I have a bottle of ink for cram school.” I grabbed for my handkerchief and wiped the black ink off. It was no use. The silver glitter on her nails was tainted a dark gray.
“I’m sorry,” I said after a minute, “but I really have to go.”
I’d only walked a few steps when she spoke behind me.
“Yuu, why are you drawing at cram school?”
I stopped. “What?”
“Because I told Keiko, and she said you used to be in calligraphy with her brother, but that you quit because something happened. Something weird. And that you don’t draw now.”
“Nothing weird,” I said. “I just left school because of Kaasan’s accident.”
She took a step forward. “But Keiko said—”
“I don’t care what she said!” I put my shaking hands on her shoulders. “Who are you going to believe, Myu? Tanaka or me?” She looked at my fingers as they trembled on her skin.
“I don’t know anymore,” she said quietly.
“Look, I’m sorry. It’s nothing, okay? It’s nothing.”
“But—”
I left without another word, the door closing behind me with a soft snick.
Running from myself, like Taira in the dream. But I didn’t have a choice.
Shiori needed me.
We were crammed into the plane like sardines. I could barely cross my legs without bumping the seat in front of me. It didn’t seem like a very glamorous way to start a new life, but then again, I didn’t really want to be starting over anyway.
I’d been at the gate half an hour early because Linda had worried I’d miss my flight. Maybe she’d really just been afraid that I’d never leave.
I stared out the plane window as New York drifted away. Had it really been five months already? I couldn’t believe I’d made it so long without Mom, like some kind of twisted new record. But there was no going back at the end, no way to stop counting the days.
This was my new life, whether I was ready or not. I just had to wait quietly for time to heal the wounds. So far, time just pressed on them until I felt like I was suffocating.
Half an hour into the air and already my world was foreign. Almost everyone on the plane was Japanese. That or expat English teachers returning from brief visits on American soil. Across from me a pair of senior citizens took off their shoes and pulled comfy slippers from their carry-ons.
“Tea, miss?”
I looked up. The stewardesses stood over me, a pitcher of cold green tea poised in one hand, a stack of plastic cups in the other.
“Um, no thanks,” I said. She nodded and then the brief moment was over, and Japanese flowed off her tongue as she asked the next row and the next. A blond man two rows in front of me answered her in Japanese, and it dawned on me that she’d spoken English to me as a courtesy. I was supposed to be speaking Japanese now. It wasn’t like I hadn’t studied my brains out since October—what little brain that could focus—but I felt small, suddenly, small and lost in the Japanese around me. So much for lists of fruits and vegetables and animals. I hadn’t really learned anything after all.
“I’m doomed,” I said to myself, slipping my head into my hands.
For a while I flipped through the movies, then the TV stations. There was a Japanese variety show where a jumble of guests discussed times they’d tried to blurt out two words at once, creating new combo words. Apparently it was hilarious, because they all giggled and the audience applauded. I stared at the bright kanji scrolling across the bottom of the screen. I could read a lot of them individually, but I couldn’t put them together. It was like trying to put together some awful puzzle when I only had a few of the pieces in my hand.
I shut the TV off and looked out the window. My breath caught in my throat—the land had already disappeared, and sunlight gleamed off the ocean below us. Just like that, my life had slipped away.
It was stupid, maybe, but I couldn’t help it. I closed my eyes to keep in the tears.
There wasn’t much to do on a fourteen-hour flight. For a few hours I dozed, bumping my head against the window every time I started to get comfortable. Mostly I stared at my hands, trying to figure out who I was, who I would become. What sort of life was waiting for me?
Only a couple hours left to go, and suddenly the plane lurched forward. I grabbed the armrests and stared out the window. No one looked too alarmed. Another bump, and I felt this one deep in my heart. I was never one for roller coasters.
The stewardess who’d offered me tea noticed my expression and scurried down the aisle toward me.
“Just a bit of turbulence, Miss,” she smiled. “Nothing to worry about.”
I nodded, but my knuckles were white as I grabbed at my seat. Something was off.
Wouldn’t the captain usually warn us if this kind of turbulence was approaching? Put on the seat belt sign or something? But the flight attendants only mumbled to each other, their faces concerned. The plane dipped once more. This time the seat belt sign lit up.
Something in my heart buzzed, like an electric eel slithering through, and then a warmth spread through me like my blood had caught fire. At first it was just uncomfortable, like heartburn throbbing in every vein, but it
