Chapter 6: Love and Sakura

Chapter 6:
Love and Sakura

A S I LAY THERE with my eyes closed, I contemplated how much longer I should pretend to be asleep. I could feel the warm morning sun against my back, but in place of chirping birds, I could only hear Adachi’s faint whispers as she prayed:

“Please put me near Shimamura. Please put me near Shimamura.”

She sounded so scared and desperate, I wasn’t really sure how to react. As you can imagine, I couldn’t exactly spring upright like all was well.

Had she prayed that we’d end up in the same class, too? I thought back to the look on her face that day as she leapt for joy. It must have been one of few times that she actually got what she asked for.

I felt her roll over, and then she put her left hand on my almost-completely-numbed right hand. Her fingers slid between mine. It was springtime, and yet her skin was cool to the touch. As we lay there, however, the chill faded away, defeated by my warmth. For some reason, I found I was kind of disappointed to see it go.

I twitched my arm, pretending like I was stirring awake. Instantly, she let go and stopped praying, and I felt her head turn. Then I slowly opened my eyes to find her looking back at me, her lips pursed tightly. Apparently she was afraid of me catching her in the act; her cheeks were as pink as her namesake.

It felt like her face was closer now than it was when we went to bed last night. Her head was cradled in the crook of my elbow, and if either of us had rolled over in our sleep, we would’ve knocked our foreheads together. Yikes . Good thing we were both solid sleepers.

“Good morning.”

“G-good…morning…” Adachi stammered, her whole head trembling.

Her eyes were wide open and looked a bit dry, like she’d been up for a while. No surprise there, honestly, given we’d turned in at 8 PM. If anything, I probably overslept. And yet somehow I was still sleepy. A small yawn slipped out.

“What happened yesterday?”

Her sudden question confused me. “What?”

“I mean, last night. Did anything…you know…happen?” she asked cryptically. As I stared back in confusion, her face flushed beet-red, all the way to her ears.

“Last night? I’m…kinda not sure what you’re talking about. I was asleep…?”

Weren’t you literally right there on my arm? Are you feeling okay? Or did something happen without me knowing? Did you doodle on my face or something? Note to self: look in a mirror.

It felt like a question you’d hear in a horror movie, but Adachi’s reaction was anything but scared. “Alright then. Okay,” she replied, looking sincerely relieved. Then she curled up, closed her damp eyes, and relaxed against my arm like she was thinking about going back to sleep. “Just a dream. Thank god,” I was pretty sure I heard her say.

At that point, I couldn’t bring myself to shake her awake and ask more questions, so instead I just fell silent. There was a long pause. But unlike on the phone, it wasn’t the sort of bottomless abyss that left me feeling trapped. For some reason, the weight against me and the numbness in my arm instilled in me a strange sense of peace. I yawned again, and my fingers twitched.

Did Hino and Nagafuji cuddle in the same bed, too? I had a vague understanding of their friendship, and yet my own was a mystery.

I turned my head as far as I could manage to look at the clock. It was time to get up and start getting ready for school. Any later and my mom was bound to come knocking. But I couldn’t get up unless Adachi got up, and Adachi showed no signs of stirring. Her eyes were still closed.

I moved my arm ever so slightly; her cheeks flushed, and she balled her hand into a fist. Because her complexion was so pale, the most minute color changes were readily obvious. Maybe a tan would help… Summer wasn’t that far off, thankfully.

But if we were going to make it to summer, then my first step would be to wake her. I felt guilty, since it was pretty clear she hadn’t gotten much sleep, but my only option was to be her alarm clock.

I wiggled my arm vigorously. Adachi shook her head, as if in protest, and clung to my pajamas.

What part of this looks like a “competent student” to you, Mom? God, she’s such a needy little baby.

But all I could do was smile and shake my head.

***

“Hold it, little girl.”

Right as we were putting our shoes on in the entryway, my mother flagged me down. That’s one way to address your own daughter, I guess.

“Take this with you.” She handed me a rectangular parcel, then did the same with Adachi. “You, too, Adachi-chan.”

I looked down at it and felts its weight. “What are these?”

“Take a guess.”

“You’re…going to make me lunches again?”

“Bingo.”

She shot me a thumbs-up. I stared back in surprise. “Where did this come from?”

“Well…” She started to explain, but seemingly decided it was too much work. “Eh, forget it. Just get going already or you’ll be late.” Then she shooed us out of the house.

What had changed her mind? I looked at Adachi.

She was staring down at her bento box, slack-jawed.

And so we set off on our merry (read: miserable) way to school. As I rode on the back of Adachi’s bike, it occurred to me:

“Is this our first time going to school together?”

We’d definitely ridden home together in the past, but this was a first.

Despite the fact that she was steering, Adachi looked up at me. “I think so,” she muttered. Then she continued to gaze up at me, so I took it upon myself to watch the road.

Flecks of sunlight scattered through the trees. The stains on the buildings. The flow of vehicles and pedestrians. Long white clouds, streaking across the sky like the sleeves of a blouse. The biting heat of the sunshine against my darkened hair, its warmth somewhere between spring and summer.

Everywhere I looked, it was May.

We passed through the residential district until we reached the road that would lead us to our high school. Under the bright rays of the sun, both beauty and ugliness stood out in sharp relief.

Once Sunday was over, naturally, we were expected to go back to school. And since we were both going to the same place, it made sense for both of us to take Adachi’s bike. Her bike was then further weighed down with all of the bags she’d brought for the sleepover, and yet she pedaled as though it was no trouble at all. What a hard little worker, I thought to myself half-jokingly. This was not an opinion I often held of her.

“Okay, you need to start paying attention now.”

I gave the back of her head a little push. Frowning reluctantly, she tilted her head back down. But right as I moved to pull my hand away, I noticed the faint outlines of a flower pattern embedded in my skin—a vestige of Adachi’s weight pressing my arm against the pillow. Was there more hidden under my sleeve? I rubbed my arm through my uniform.

Resting a hand on Adachi’s shoulder, I observed her for a moment. Her tension was visible, not through her expression, but through her white-knuckled grip on the handlebars. After all, we—or at least, she—had a big event coming up today: the seating shuffle. No longer would we be organized alphabetically by last name.

Did her prayers help her face reality? Was there a point to just sitting around and thinking instead of taking action? Either way, I was looking forward to the outcome.

***

On the day of the entrance ceremony, the sakura blossoms had just started to fall. Today, there was no trace of them left.

Had I ever been fully conscious of the sakura blossoms before now? I pondered this to myself as I walked toward the school building, occasionally looking up at the sky. Whenever spring break came to an end, my attention would inevitably be drawn to the piles of petals covering the ground… Perhaps I’d never actually seen a sakura tree in full bloom before.

Of course, now that I was thinking about it, I suddenly felt the desire to correct this, but I couldn’t exactly turn back time. How many more chances would I have to see the blossoms?

“Hmm…”

I looked from the scrap of paper in my hand to the numbers written on the chalkboard. Apparently the seating shuffle had started at some point while I was lost in thought. My homeroom teacher’s system was as follows: Each of us, in alphabetical order, would reach into a bowl and draw a scrap of paper with a number on it. Then we’d look at the chalkboard, find the corresponding desk, and move to it.

Adachi had already finished moving desks; I could feel her gaze lingering on my back.

Ultimately, I ended up moving one column to the left, second row from the back. As for Adachi, she was now three desks to my right.

“Well, that didn’t change much…”

We weren’t especially close, but neither were we on opposite sides of the room. Sure, we were in the same row, but we were still three columns apart, so it was hard to say how successful her prayer really was.

As the seating shuffle continued noisily, I put my chin in my hand and looked over at Adachi. Our eyes met. Her expression was as stoic as ever, but she wasn’t staring down at her hands, so she seemed to be in decent spirits. She looked back at me, her gaze swimming unsteadily, the same way it had when we woke up. In other words, she was sleepy. Poor thing. Hang in there, kiddo, I thought dryly.

Later, during class, I looked over and made eye contact with Adachi. She held my gaze for a moment, then hastily looked away, as if she couldn’t take it anymore. But I kept looking at her anyway, and sure enough, she glanced over at me again. Somehow, no matter how many heads were in our way, we always managed to find each other.

Then she turned away and stared down at her textbook, wide-eyed, tracing a finger over its pages. But I knew her well enough to know that she wasn’t really reading it. The flower hairpin swayed with her unstable movements.

Smiling, I looked over at the bright sunlight streaming in through the windows.

It’s May, alright.

One minute it was the first day of our second year, and then I blinked, and a whole month flew by. My high school career only had one more April left. Then one more May, then one more June. Today would never happen again. There was no retry button in real life. And as time sped by faster and faster, I became painfully conscious of this fact. I couldn’t spend my whole life taking it easy.

Perhaps the sakura blossoms were symbolic of my lost time, slowly slipping away petal by petal.

Adachi was keenly aware that her time was limited, which was why she spent every day in what appeared to be a constant struggle to live her life to the fullest…or was I overestimating her?

Though she appeared to nearly nod off at several points, she never completely fell asleep. She was putting up a valiant effort, and it made me smile. Like the faint warmth of spring, it took the weight off my shoulders. And now that I was able to breathe again, I realized—

Someday…I couldn’t be certain when exactly, but I knew it would happen eventually…someday in the future, when there were no more spring breaks to be had, and my high school friends were a distant memory…someday I would have to spend sakura season alone. But until then, perhaps it couldn’t hurt to enjoy the blossoms while they were around. It might even be fun.

April was over, and the blossoms were no longer blooming…but if I ever wanted to see Sakura, she was only three desks away.