Chapter 7: Flawless Thighs

Chapter 7:
Flawless Thighs

 

STRETCHING, I looked up at the clock and discovered that the year would end in just ten minutes. I wasn’t particularly excited to ring in the new year or anything; I just figured I should probably head to bed soon.

The longer I kept my head raised, the more it felt like the dust would fly in my nose or mouth, so I tilted my head back down.

Up on the second floor, the storage-closet-turned-study-room was so cold it was practically a refrigerator, and it took an incredible amount of willpower to keep sitting here. I was really tempted to curl up under the kotatsu, but at that point I was better off just packing up my textbooks and going back to my room to sleep in my actual bed. Man, it sucks having to play catch-up.

Silently I cursed myself for being such a lazy little sloth, like the hare from that one fable. But the one “silver linen” or whatever was that I didn’t have too many hobbies to distract me from studying.

“Can’t believe I’m studying on New Year’s Eve. I’m such a goody-goody.”

Yawn.

Somehow it really didn’t feel like the year was actually ending—possibly because the third semester didn’t start until about a week into January. If anything, it generally didn’t feel like a new year had started until about April, when the new school year began. Maybe that would change after I graduated from school altogether.

Once it hits midnight, I’ll pack up and go to bed, I decided. But right as I picked up my mechanical pencil, my cell phone started to ring. I flinched as the sudden loud noise broke the long silence. Judging from the “rotary phone” sound effect, there was a new email in my inbox.

I dropped my pencil back onto the table and picked up my phone to check the notification. It was from Adachi. Odd. She didn’t usually email me—if she had something to say, she preferred to say it via phone call.

“Are you still awake?”

That was the full content of her message. At this, I remembered what time it was. That probably explained why she chose to send an email; she didn’t want to run the risk of waking me up.

“Yeah, I’m up.” Aaaand send.

I probably didn’t need to clarify that, since any reply to her email would inherently suggest I was awake, but whatever. I moved to set my phone down, but then it jingled again.

“Can I call?”

Should’ve seen that coming. Why didn’t you just call me to start with? I thought to myself.

I started to write her a reply to let her know I didn’t mind, but then it occurred to me that I could just skip that part and call her myself. I closed the email draft and navigated to my contact list to look for her number. Naturally, I found it pretty swiftly.

I hit the Call button and began to wait.

As I listened to the ringing, I could feel my upper body going numb from the cold, so I slid in deeper under the kotatsu. Adachi picked up by the time my shoulders slipped under the blanket.

“Hey, it’s me. Sure, you can call,” I said before she could get a word in edgewise.

After a beat, she laughed. “This is weird. You don’t normally call me.”

“Yeah, and you don’t normally send emails, but here we are. Anyway, what’s up? Something urgent?”

“No, no, nothing like that. I just, uh, wanted to chat.”

“Just wanted to chat, huh?” I rolled onto my right side and laid my phone over my left ear. I could hear the TV on downstairs—apparently my parents were still awake.

“Were you watching TV or something?” she asked.

“Maybe.”

“What do you mean, maybe?”

For some reason, I didn’t want to tell her that I was studying. I guess I didn’t want her to think I was a goody-goody. Stupid, I know, but a lot of the kids at my school were like that. Maybe it was just one of those “being a teenager” things. For some reason the concept of “trying hard” was majorly uncool. By contrast, effortless accomplishment was way more impressive.

“Hey, so, guess what,” I told her.

“What?” she asked.

“The year’s ending in, like, ten minutes.”

“Oh, yeah, I know. Does your family do stuff for New Year’s? Go see your relatives or anything?”

“We usually visit my grandparents for a bit, but that’s about it.”

“Do you get New Year’s money?”

“Oh yeah, that… Yeah, I think so.”

I rolled over again—I just couldn’t seem to get my head in a comfortable position. I needed something bigger and firmer than this wimpy cushion…something like… Yeah, something like Adachi’s thighs.

“Shimamura?”

“Oh, sorry. I was just thinking about your thighs.”

“Wh…what? My…thighs…?”

“What can I say? They’re really nice.”

“Oh…uh…cool? Yeah, that’s cool… Ha ha…”

“Anyway, back to what you were saying about New Year’s money—hello? Adachi? Are you there?”

I could hear this weird thumping on the other end of the line, like she was punching a pillow. Or was she flailing around on her bed like a beached fish? Before I could stop myself, my mind conjured an image of Adachi with fins and gills.

“What’s going on?”

“Well, I mean…you…”

She fell silent right before she got to the good part. Quit groaning under your breath and just tell me!

“Yeah? What about me?”

“You… You’re the one making inappropriate comments about my body!”

“What? How was any part of that inappropriate? I was just telling it like it is.” Trust me, anyone would compliment your thighs. “So anyway, you were saying? About New Year’s money?”

“Oh, that… Nah, don’t worry about it.”

“Well, okay…” Then what do you want to talk about?

Silence fell between us, and all I could hear was the sound of Adachi breathing. This was what I hated most about phone calls—the awkward transition period of trying to figure out what to talk about, or else forcing the other person to pick up the slack. It just wasn’t fun for me.

“…What made you think of my thighs?”

“Oh, we’re going back to that now?”

“You’re the one who brought it up out of nowhere!”

Yeah, I guess I did. And to be fair, if Adachi suddenly started to…I don’t know, recite a poem extolling the virtues of my thighs, I’d probably be a little freaked, too. I wonder what sort of poem she would write, though. Knowing her, it’d probably be really cutesy.

“I was just laying here, wishing I could use your thighs as a pillow again.”

“Oh…uh…you were?”

“I was, yeah.”

I got the sense she wasn’t really sure what to say to that. Fair enough.

I slid the cushion out from under my head and pressed my cheek directly to the cold floor. The temperature difference was nice and refreshing. Then I stared at the strands of long hair splayed out around me and contemplated bleaching it again, because lately my roots were starting to show. Alternatively, I could let them grow out, since my family hated my bleached hair…but then I’d look like an overcooked flan.

“Which do you prefer: soft or firm?” Adachi asked suddenly.

“Huh?” What kind of question is that?

“I’m talking about thighs. Do you like soft thighs or firm thighs?”

If I tell you, will you change yours to match? Is that even possible? Why would you do that for me?

It felt like I was at a ramen restaurant and they wanted me to choose what kind of noodle I wanted: regular or extra-thick? Then I pictured what Adachi would look like if she skipped everything except leg day. Barbie from the waist up, Hulk Hogan from the waist down. Okay, no, that’s too mean. I shook the image from my mind.

I had to be careful what I told her, or else she might take it to its logical extreme.

“Umm…I think yours are fine just the way they are.”

And so I chose to uphold the status quo.

There was a pause, and then…

“Okay. I’ll try not to gain any weight.”

“I don’t think you have to worry about that. If anything, you’re too skinny.” I was totally jealous, to be honest. Maybe I should skip the rice cakes this New Year’s. “Oh yeah, and thank you for the tea! I’m really enjoying it.”

“Cool, cool. I’ve been, uh, using my gift, too.”

What was that pause? Using it how? To hunt stuff, or what?

“Oh hey, it’s midnight!”

At this, I looked up at the clock. Sure enough, it was midnight—almost exactly midnight, in fact. The second hand was only two or three notches in. Wow, that was perfect timing, I thought. Or was she simply watching the clock the whole time?

“Shall we do the honors?”

“Sure.”

I crawled out from under the kotatsu and shifted into a formal kneeling position. Meanwhile, Adachi got started ahead of me:

“Happy New Year, Shimamura.”

“Likewise. Happy New Year, Adachi.”

I bowed to the empty space in front of me, and if I had to guess, Adachi was probably doing the same thing.

With this New Year’s tradition now complete, I slid right back under the kotatsu without missing a beat. At this point, I wasn’t confident I could make it all the way back to my bed on the first floor. The whole house was freezing.

“Here’s to another year and all that.”

“Yeah.”

The conversation died again. Then I heard the TV switch off downstairs—my parents were probably heading to bed. Now I was engulfed in silence from every direction.

“Okay, well, I’m gonna head to bed,” Adachi announced, and I found myself mildly grateful that the call was coming to an end. Soon I would be free from this discomfort.

“Yeah? All right, cool. Sweet dreams, Adachi.”

“Sweet dreams… I like that.”

“Like what?”

“Oh, uh, nothing!”

Just like that, her voice retreated into the distance, and the call ended.

Lately Adachi seemed really restless for some reason. Settle down before they write “fidgety” on your report card, I joked to myself silently. Then I set my phone down.

“Maybe she just wanted to wish me a happy new year,” I mused aloud, contemplating her motives…then thought better of it. Why do I always have to psychoanalyze her every move? I should really try to stop doing that.

Was this what she meant by “being my best friend”? Going out of her way to be the first person to wish me a happy new year? Or just putting me first in general? What was a “best friend,” anyway?

“You’d think it’d be more straightforward…”

After all, it wasn’t like I had a whole wealth of friends to choose from. She could be my “best friend” without even trying. Then again, if I tried to tell her that, I got the feeling she wouldn’t be too happy about it.

Maybe her idea of “best friends” was on an entirely different scale from mine.

To me, your best friend was someone who would walk with you to the local mini-mart or something—a pretty low bar, in other words. By comparison, I got the feeling hers was astronomically high. Maybe that was why some of her behavior struck me as odd—because she was aiming for a goalpost that was entirely beyond me. Ugh. Exactly what sort of lofty expectations did she have for me?

That said, our friendship was a step beyond normal, and it wasn’t about to change anytime soon. If we couldn’t sprout wings and take flight, then we’d just have to walk on our own two feet, no matter whether the road ahead was familiar or foreboding. And if the path was too treacherous to walk alone, then at least we had each other. Misery loves company, and all that.

“Let’s work hard to make this year the best one yet,” I muttered aloud, though the call had long since ended. Filled with a strange sense of satisfaction, I closed my textbook. “Or not.”

Evidently my level of motivation was dubious at best.