Chapter 3: Adachi, Questioning

Adachi and Shimamuralightnovel — LNCrawler · All chapters

Chapter 3:
Adachi, Questioning

I HAD A DREAM that Shimamura and I kissed.

When I woke up, I was a jumbled mix of emotions. I got so mad at myself that I tousled my hair in frustration. But, eventually, I struck upon something resembling an excuse.

I wasn’t gay or whatever. Nor was Shimamura, as far as I knew. I felt guilty for having that kind of dream at all. If she ever found out, she’d probably avoid me—so I needed to keep my mouth shut about it.

When we kissed, it didn’t feel like anything, probably because I’d never touched her lips in real life. When our fingers intertwined, though, the dream replicated their softness with perfect accuracy. It was all so real, it felt like someone had dug up my subconscious desires and plastered them on a billboard right in front of my face. I felt sick to my stomach.

We were in Shimamura’s room—a place I’d never been in real life, mind you—watching TV. She sat against the wall with her legs spread apart, and I sat between them, leaning back against her. She was smiling at me with this warm, loving expression. Then I turned to her, and our faces were inches apart, and… AAAAHHH!

As I reviewed the sequence of events, I screamed internally, and my body broke out in a cold sweat.

The dream was probably just…my brain’s way of expressing my desire to be closer friends with Shimamura. I wanted my relationship with her to be “different” compared to her other friends—but just a little. For example, maybe I could call her by her first name while everyone else called her Shimamura. That would be more than enough to make me feel special. But it was a little too late to start calling her something else; it’d just be weird if I tried. And, to be honest, I couldn’t remember what her first name even was.

To me, she was just…Shimamura. Something about it felt reassuring, too. Like a big, fluffy security blanket.

So, yeah, I definitely wasn’t gay. The kiss didn’t even mean anything.

“Nope! Nope, nope, nope…!”

I mean, I wouldn’t have said that I’d never kiss Shimamura, but I didn’t actively want to.

Maybe, if she were in a coma, and no one else was around within, say, a three-mile radius, and some all-powerful being told me she wouldn’t wake up for a full twenty-four hours…maybe, after hour twenty-three, I’d try it out of sheer boredom. That was the extent of my interest in kissing her, which is to say, basically zero. Zilch.

“Wait… Wouldn’t it be less weird if I refused to kiss her under any circumstances…?”

But, if the tables were turned, and she wanted to kiss me , I probably wouldn’t refuse. Maybe I’d be scared or confused, but I wouldn’t stop her. Yeah, maybe something’s wrong with me.

I could agonize about the dream all day long, but it wouldn’t solve anything. Again, to be clear, I was not gay. That said…I could admit to feeling a certain level of possessiveness toward Shimamura.

I just wanted her to prioritize me, that was all.

I wanted to be the first person she thought of when she heard the word “friend.”

***

For a long time, I’d wondered how much Shimamura liked me. Was I on the same level as her other friends, or was I a special case? It was hard to gauge, since she hardly ever talked about other people or even herself. She thinks she barely knows me? The door swings both ways!

When it came down to it, all I could really do was ask her. But how could I possibly look her in the eye and say, “Shimamura, how much do you like me?” What if she said “I don’t”?

That was the sort of thing my brain occupied itself with as my hand moved automatically to copy down notes in class. I wasn’t obsessed with her or anything—I just didn’t have much else to worry about.

Third period: math class. There was no point in actually paying attention. I was rusty on the basics, and thus, absolutely none of the class made sense to me. Naturally, this made note-taking even more mind-numbing than usual. Every now and then, I very briefly glanced at Shimamura out of the corner of my eye; she was holding a mechanical pencil with a sleepy look on her face.

I didn’t realize it until after I started coming back to class, but…there really weren’t a lot of opportunities to talk to her while school was in session.

Obviously, we couldn’t talk during class, but even during break periods, her desk was too far away for me to walk over without it being awkward. It just felt too…direct. Even when we were both assigned cleanup duty, we always ended up in charge of different areas, so we barely saw each other. That left lunch and after school.

But Shimamura usually spent lunch with Hino and Nagafuji, and being around them always made me pull back. I did want to fit in with them, honestly, but I just couldn’t. I wasn’t the kind of person who could smile and play nice with everyone; I’d sooner avoid social situations altogether.

Shimamura had figured that out about me, so she never tried to strong-arm me into it. She was perfectly fine doing her own thing without me. But sometimes…at least, in times like these…I wished she would choose me over the others.

So, with lunch out of the question, all that remained was after school. Most of the time, she went straight home as quickly as possible; apparently, she was trying to make up for the classes she missed by studying extra-hard at her house. (In my opinion, she was actually a good kid at heart.) Whenever she went home to study, I did the same.

After that weird dream last night, I found myself too self-conscious to approach her. And Shimamura almost never went out of her way to invite me to anything—that was why I was so startled when she asked me to go to class with her. Thus, most days came and went without a single interaction between us.

We never hung out over the weekends. I only ever saw her on campus, and if we went somewhere else together, it was after school, both of us still in uniform. That was as far as our friendship ever went.

It just felt so…I don’t know… one-sided .

If you knocked, Shimamura would open the door…but otherwise, she never came out.

***

Now you may be wondering, what is “Neo-Chinese Cuisine”? Me, I couldn’t tell you. If you asked the people who run this place, I bet you they couldn’t tell you, either. But that’s what they put on the sign out front. An eternal mystery.

For some reason, there were a lot of Taiwanese-owned Chinese restaurants in this town—in this whole region, supposedly—and the one I worked at was no exception. The managers and employees were all Taiwanese; some of them had yet to master the Japanese language. As with any Chinese restaurant, the building exterior made ample use of the color yellow. Plus, the lunch menu was cheap, and the chicken karaage was huge.

This was my part-time workplace. Why did I have a part-time job? Because it seemed like a productive use of my time. Better than sitting around twiddling my thumbs, anyway. Then again, part of me sometimes wondered whether my Sundays and weekday evenings would be better spent on some kind of social life.

Mass-printed menus with photos of some other restaurant’s food sat on each table. Day in and day out, customers placed their orders, only to receive end products that looked nothing like the pictures the menu showed. In fact, it was practically a miracle if customers actually got what they asked for.

As with many Chinese restaurants, a bookshelf held manga for customers to read. However, since there was only a smattering of volumes, you couldn’t expect to get the whole story. A cheap-looking dragon decoration hung from the ceiling, helping to create a strangely exotic atmosphere.

Granted, working there wouldn’t have been so bad if it weren’t for the uniform. Why was I the only one who had to wear a cheongsam ? The ankle-length dress was bright blue, with plum-blossom and bamboo-leaf embroidery and a deep slit running up the side, exposing my bare legs. Then again, my school uniform exposed a lot more leg than that…but, for some reason, wearing the cheongsam was more embarrassing. Possibly because the fabric was so glossy.

When I asked the boss lady why I was the only female employee expected to wear it, she replied, “Because you’re young.” Made sense, I guess. I started the job over summer break, so by this point, I was pretty much used to the uniform…but, whenever I thought too hard about it, I kinda wanted to disappear.

A car was already waiting in the parking lot outside, but it was only 4:58, so none of the employees paid the car any mind. These Taiwanese people really seemed to like their strict timeframes. As I gazed out at the pale-white car, I prayed that the restaurant wouldn’t get too busy that night.

Two minutes later, at 5:00, my older female coworker (Taiwanese, barely spoke a word of Japanese) walked outside, took down the big “CLOSED” sign, and switched on the neon “OPEN” sign. Only then did the car doors open. It was already getting dark, and naturally this backwater town couldn’t afford any highfalutin streetlights, so I couldn’t tell how many customers to expect.

My coworker came back inside, followed by a family of four. Before I’d even stopped to look at them, I launched into my usual routine.

“Welcome to—oh.”

When I did finally look, however, I stopped dead in my tracks. Standing behind the middle-aged couple…was Shimamura.

She recognized me instantly. “Oh.”

I had refused to tell her where I worked, and yet somehow she found me anyway. I knew it was probably just an insane coincidence, but nevertheless, I was stunned.

She gawked at my uniform. “Whoaaa.”

I stared at the floor, feeling like a panda on display at the zoo. If anyone else had ogled me like that, I’d have torn them a new one.

Then Shimamura’s…mom?…turned to her and asked, “Friend of yours?”

“Yeah, from school,” Shimamura replied quickly and curtly, probably because it was her mom asking. For some reason, it delighted me to discover that tiny shift in her attitude.

Evidently, these were Shimamura’s parents. Her father was on the chubby side; based on his overall vibe, he seemed like a nice guy. As for her mother, she had slender legs and broad shoulders. She looks like she works out.

Lastly, a younger girl—almost certainly the sister she’d mentioned last time we hung out—stood in Shimamura’s shadow. Our eyes met. She seemed shyly interested in my cheongsam .

“I didn’t know you worked here, Adachi. I like your Chinese dress.”

“…Table for four, right this way.”

I felt my coworkers’ eyes on me, so for now, I led the family to a table in the corner. There, Shimamura’s parents sat on the left, while Shimamura and her sister sat on the right. Little Shimamura pressed up against her big sister, reaching for the menu. They seemed close.

As I brought out some water and prepared to take their orders, I noticed Shimamura looking at me. “This is why I didn’t want you to come,” I muttered under my breath. No amount of adjusting would stop the slit from showing off my legs.

“Oh, relax. You’re totally rocking the look!” she insisted, grinning in a playful, mischievous sort of way. Though it was rare to see Shimamura smile so unabashedly, that didn’t actually feel like a compliment, so much as a fun thing she wanted to say out loud.

“So, you’re Adachi-chan, I take it?” Mrs. Shimamura asked. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Shimamura struggling to keep a straight face.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“It’s nice to finally meet one of my daughter’s friends. Now that she’s in high school, she never brings anyone home anymore. Makes me wonder who she’s running around with.”

“Yeah, ha ha…” I said reluctantly.

“Just ignore her,” Shimamura cut in, waving a dismissive hand in her mother’s direction.

Relatable .

“So, tell me, are you two in the same class?” Mrs. Shimamura asked.

“Stop it,” Shimamura snapped. She thrust her palm forward in a “cease-and-desist” gesture, looking irritated.

“Oh, come on!” Mrs. Shimamura laughed. The way she avoided taking her daughter’s complaints seriously kind of reminded me of my own family. Back in junior high, I had been really self-conscious. It caused a lot of…problems.

But, the more Shimamura panicked, the easier it became for me to keep my composure.

“So, uh…what’s the story with…this…?” I wanted to ask why they were at the restaurant, but couldn’t find the words.

Thankfully, Shimamura intuited what I was getting at. “Oh yeah, um, we got some coupons in the mail, so we decided to give the place a try,” she explained.

“Oh, gotcha.” Silently I cursed the management. Their careless actions had inadvertently led to humiliation for both Shimamura and me.

Today she had tied her hair back in a ponytail, affording her a more “put-together” vibe compared to her usual style. Or did it just seem that way because her younger sibling sat next to her?

Naturally, Little Shimamura hadn’t bleached her hair, so it was much darker than her big sister’s. That was the color Shimamura’s hair would be if she let it grow out… It was a flattering shade, to be sure.

“When you’re ready to order, just give me a shout.”

I bolted. While talking with Mrs. Shimamura, I’d temporarily forgotten that I was wearing a cheongsam , but I couldn’t bear to be Shimamura’s costumed entertainer any longer. I trusted her not to tell anyone at school, of course. Still, she was the last person I would’ve wanted to discover me like this.

I walked all the way to the entrance, putting as much distance between myself and Shimamura as physically possible.

“That you friend?” my older coworker asked in her halting Japanese. I nodded slightly. Yes, Shimamura was my friend. That much was undeniable.

Then Little Shimamura peered over at her big sister’s menu, pointed, and shouted “Shark fin mushrooms!”

“Don’t order that,” Mr. Shimamura scolded her.

Personally, I was inclined to agree, since we couldn’t actually serve the dish. That was the downside to using a mass-printed menu.

As I watched the Shimamuras interact at the table, I sensed that they were a happy family. I kind of envied that. As for my family, we were pretty… no frills with each other. We didn’t have much in common; we just lived together because we were blood-related. As you can imagine, my relationship with them was fairly hollow as a result.

All envy aside, however, I did not want the Shimamuras to spend all night having a heartwarming family dinner. I wanted them to hurry up and get out of the restaurant. Or I wanted to go home. I tugged on my dress over and over. If only everyone else was wearing the same thing… Oh god, she just looked at me! Reflexively, I averted my gaze.

To Shimamura, it probably just seemed as though her friend from class was embarrassed about her outfit. I had more to be embarrassed about than that, though. Every time I looked at her, I remembered the dream I’d had two nights earlier. Once again, I reminded myself that the dream itself was not a product of inappropriate feelings. Rather, it was a symptom of the worry spawned from my inability to gauge our friendship’s depth—nothing more, nothing less.

But, if someone had asked me to look Shimamura in the eye, I wasn’t sure that I could. Maybe under more normal circumstances, when I’d had time to prepare.

Hoping to make the moment more bearable, I attempted to convince myself that this was a little secret the two of us could share…but even that didn’t hold water against the indignity of a “Chinese dress.” My skin felt like it was on fire.

Mrs. Shimamura beckoned me over. “Adachi-chan!” Evidently, they were ready to order.

“You go now,” my coworker told me, clapping me on the shoulder as though it was no big deal.

Closing my eyes, I turned and willed my leaden legs forward. It was time to go make a fool of myself for no reason. Then again, I guess nobody humiliates themselves on purpose.

***

The next day, I was up in the gym loft. Naturally, I hadn’t gone to class; simply put, I was playing hooky. After a week of attending class with Shimamura, I basically felt as though I’d earned a day off. I sat with my back against the wall and zoned out.

When I unfocused my eyes, the world around me seemed to multiply, layering over itself. Some people preferred to keep a clear mind, but me, I enjoyed that fuzzy feeling. I would sit there and go completely zen until I forgot to blink or breathe. It was freeing.

It was still early morning—partway through second period, if I recalled correctly. Below me, I heard the thud of a ball bouncing. Rubbing my eyes, I pressed myself against the wall and peered down to the first floor. There, a group of boys were chasing a basketball. Another less-motivated group sat in the corner, talking and laughing. If I were a guy, I’d probably be down there right now. Same with Shimamura.

I didn’t want to risk making a scene by getting myself caught, so I quickly drew back into safety. Then I put my hand into my bookbag beside me and pulled out my phone. No missed calls, no emails. I tapped around for a while, then put the phone away.

I was no social butterfly, and yet whenever I was bored, I somehow always found myself reaching for my phone. Guess that’s a millennial for you. I pressed the back of my head against the wall and exhaled quietly.

Nothing bad had happened. I wasn’t upset or anything. But after yesterday, I felt lazy, and I knew that even if I went to class, I wouldn’t be able to settle down into work mode. Thinking back, that was pretty close to why I’d started skipping school in the first place.

It had been one full week since I last breathed in the stuffy loft air. Taking it into my lungs weighed me down, anchoring me in place; the taste of sheer indolence was strong enough to gag me. Is this how a nicotine addict feels when they relapse? I didn’t smoke, so I wasn’t sure.

Enveloped in the heat and the sounds of sneakers squeaking on the waxy gym floor, my eyelids grew heavy. As a hint of drowsiness washed over my mind, my mouth moved on its own.

“Maybe I’m lying to myself.”

I had one other hazy reason to be up here: I hoped Shimamura would notice my absence from the classroom and come looking for me. Admittedly, I felt like a little kid who had run away from home—I wanted someone to care that I was gone. Also, part of me had hoped that she’d be here when I showed up. She wasn’t, though.

Was I the only one who cared about what happened yesterday?

I sensed a stark difference in the way she treated me versus how I treated her. No surprise there, of course. The more invested in her I became, the more I worried about my own mental health. Why was I basing every decision I made around Shimamura? Exasperated with myself, I covered my eyes with my hands.

At the rate I was going, it was starting to look as though I had a crush on her or something.

***

A few minutes after the lunch bell rang, I heard someone coming up the stairs, so I exhaled all the laziness from my system and sat up straight. Tempted as I was to look over at the landing, I forced myself to face forward. I could tell from their footsteps that it was a student. Every passing second felt like an eternity.

“Adachi.”

I flinched so hard, I felt it in my ears, and timidly turned in the direction of the voice. It was Shimamura, naturally.

“What’s up?” I asked, trying to play it cool as I wrestled with mixed feelings of joy and guilt.

“Why don’t we eat lunch in the cafeteria for a change?”

She was acting completely normal. Clearly, she wasn’t hung up about yesterday. But since she came all the way to the loft to get me, she had to care about me at least a little…or so I chose to tell myself.

“Sure, I don’t mind.”

I grabbed my bookbag and pushed myself up from the floor. As I dusted my skirt off, I turned in her direction. This was the Shimamura I was used to—no street clothes, no ponytail. She waited for me to fix my uniform, and then we headed out of the gym together.

As we walked, it occurred to me that we hadn’t even said hello to each other. Then again, with us, that was par for the course. Hardly ever said hello, almost never said goodbye.

“Just when I thought she’d cleaned up her act, here we are again!” Shimamura declared out of nowhere in an oddly deep voice, as though she was imitating someone.

“Who’s that supposed to be?”

“Our homeroom teacher. He wanted to know why you weren’t in class, and I was like, ‘How should I know?’” She shrugged her shoulders.

If the teacher had asked her about me, that meant he believed that it was possible she had the answer. And that meant he saw the two of us as close friends. Interesting .

“You enjoyed that, huh? I didn’t think I nailed the impression,” Shimamura commented, looking at me with surprise in her eyes.

“Huh…? What are you talking about?” I asked, confused.

“That look on your face,” she replied, pointing at my mouth.

I poked my cheeks. Was I really smiling that hard? Yes. Yes, I was. Then I realized what had actually made me smile and low-key wanted to die.

“Aw, c’mon. You don’t have to be embarrassed about it.”

“Easy for you to say.”

Apparently, she thought my shame stemmed from her catching me wearing my emotions on my sleeve. She has no idea. Thank god . Massaging my cheeks, I followed behind her as we entered the cafeteria building.

Truth be told, it was my first time setting foot in there. The older students’ overwhelming presence made it slightly intimidating for a first-year like me to walk in. Plus, I didn’t always feel the need to eat lunch.

As we made our way inside, I hastily scanned the area so I could figure out what I was supposed to do before I made a fool of myself. Evidently the cafeteria used a meal-ticket system; a line of students had formed in front of what appeared to be a ticket machine. We joined that line. On the other side of the blue pillars, a second line led up to the register.

Was this where Shimamura always bought lunch for us? I’d never tagged along with her, so I couldn’t be sure, but I saw a vending machine selling mineral water. One soda flavor was sold out; a red light flashed beneath a yellow logo.

We waited in line in complete silence. Personally, I was so overwhelmed by the buzz of the students around us, I could scarcely breathe. I knew that I’d probably feel better if I just thought of something to talk about, but my mind was a blank. For a moment, I stared straight ahead at the back of Shimamura’s perfect, slender neck…but then, I got scared, thinking she might turn around and catch me. My only option was to face the other way.

As I waited in line endlessly for my turn, I killed time by taking in the idyllic lunchtime scenery around me. Sunlight glinting sharply off the distant school-building windows. Clouds glowing in the light, with tiny glimpses of blue in the gaps between. The hustle and bustle of the people behind me. The faint smell of food.

Finally, after a long and strenuous test of my endurance, it was our turn at last. Shimamura had gotten her money out well in advance, so she popped it into the machine and promptly ordered the daily special: the Chinese rice bowl. But you just had Chinese food last night, I thought. I ordered the same thing.

At the front of the second line, we traded in our meal tickets for the corresponding meals, then paused by the water cooler to grab cups of water. All that remained was to find a place to sit…but the rectangular blue tables were filled with people everywhere we looked. Food and drink in hand, we walked around the entire cafeteria until eventually, mercifully, we spotted an empty table in the corner.

When we sat down, the first thing I did was take a sip of my water. It was room temperature and tasted faintly of metal. Same with the tap water back home. That was why I generally preferred mineral water.

Next, I set my cup down and picked up my chopsticks. Then I felt Shimamura’s gaze from across the table, so I looked up, and she giggled.

I froze. “What?”

“Oh, just remembering how cute you looked last night.”

Never before had the word “cute” made me blush quite so quickly. I couldn’t bear to look Shimamura in the eye. She wore another of those rare, genuine smiles; her teeth showed and everything. I decided my best bet was to try to get back at her.

“You’re pretty cute yourself.”

“What? Isn’t this how I always look?”

My point exactly . But she didn’t realize I meant it in the general sense. Instead, she took it as a joke.

For some reason, she seemed to think I was the more attractive one; but, in my opinion, she couldn’t have been more wrong. I wanted to tell her that flat-out, but I sensed it would make things weird between us, so I didn’t argue the point. Instead, I clicked my chopsticks idly.

“Maybe we should eat there again sometime.”

“Stop. Don’t you dare.” I wasn’t messing around, either. If her family started eating at my restaurant all the time, I’d have to find a new job.

“I’m kidding . It’d be weird to come see you with my whole family.”

“Right? It’s kinda embarrassing to have your entire family there.”

“Totally.”

She paused to say grace, so I followed suit. Truth be told, I generally ate most of my meals alone, so I almost never remembered to do that. Once Shimamura and I started eating, the conversation died. She’d managed to talk and eat at the same time with her family the previous night, but apparently, that wasn’t in the cards for us.

I guess it’s just different when you’re talking to family. I wish I had some kind of special connection with her, too. Like if I was her best friend, or her girlfriend… Okay, maybe not her girlfriend. Probably not. Definitely not.

As I ate, I casually wondered what it would be like to actually date Shimamura. At our age, even if we did find boyfriends, we weren’t expected to marry them or start families. In that case, why stick to only dating guys? If we didn’t need to get married and have kids, then this seemed like the ideal time to date girls instead. I couldn’t see any problems with it.

What am I thinking? Of course there are problems! Just because I was cool with it didn’t mean the rest of the world would be, to say nothing of whether Shimamura would be. Wait … did that mean the problems with same-sex dating were all external? Was I sincerely fine with it on a personal level? Surely I had some objection. After a moment of contemplation, I thought of one.

If I dated women into adulthood, I would never pass on my genes. My family line would end with me. Sure, one could argue that there were plenty of other people in the world to ensure the human race’s overall survival, but what if same-sex dating snowballed into a larger trend? I didn’t know what percentage of the population was interested in that, but if the answer was “a lot,” the world was in trouble. That’s the danger of being an outlier. It all makes sense now…

Did I really like Shimamura that much?

I snuck a glance at her over the rim of my bowl. My eyes were drawn to her face, particularly her lips. Her bleached brown hair swayed with her every move, and she wore more layers of makeup than I did, but her eyes looked tired. She ate modestly, with tiny movements.

Before now, I’d never really noticed just how cute she was—but, now that I was conscious of it, suddenly everything about her was adorable . For a moment, I found myself entranced. Then I caught myself and hastily shook the thought away.

Good looks aside, what was it about her that made her so special to me?

“Oh, hey! It’s Shimamura and Adachi!”

I was so startled, I nearly spilled my food. Setting my bowl back down on the table, I looked up to find two more girls carrying the same lunch we ordered.

“Oh, hey,” Shimamura replied.

At that, the girls sat down next to us at the table as if invited. As I recalled, the shorter girl’s name was Hino, and the taller one was Nagafuji. Hino happened to have chosen the spot beside me.

“I didn’t know you were here,” she commented.

“Huh? Oh, uh…yeah.” It took me a minute to realize what she meant—I hadn’t gone to class, so everyone automatically assumed that I was absent. Right. That still didn’t explain why they thought they could barge in on our lunch, though.

“Hey, you,” called Nagafuji from across the table.

“Her name’s Adachi. Don’t be rude,” Hino shot back, pointing her chopsticks at Nagafuji.

Nagafuji laughed. “Oh, who cares! Anyway, Adachi-san, I wanted to tell you…”

“Yes?”

She smiled softly. “Good morning!”

Uh…little late for that, don’t you think?

Then again, it was technically proper etiquette. Communication 101: start with a greeting, and go from there. Still, Nagafuji seemed a bit out of sync with the rest of us.

“Um…good morning.”

Oddly enough, I picked up distinctly ditzy vibes from her, though she seemed intelligent and mature at first glance. Then she noticed that I had my bookbag. “Did you just get here?”

“Nah, I was playing hooky,” I answered honestly.

“Whoaaaa,” she and Hino murmured in unison. Not sure what’s so “whoa” about it, but okay.

“So, what are you guys doing in here?” Shimamura asked them. “Normally, you both bring your own lunch, don’t you?”

“Mama overslept,” Hino answered, wiggling her chopsticks. She had a habit of gesturing with her hands when she talked; was she fidgety, or just overly energetic?

Then it was Nagafuji’s turn. “There wasn’t a whole lot in the fridge.”

At first, this seemed like a weird answer…until I realized that she probably made her own lunches.

Hino turned to me. “Her family runs a butcher shop,” she explained, pointing her chopsticks in Nagafuji’s direction.

“Oh,” I replied curtly, since I didn’t really see what that had to do with anything.

“The other day, I stopped by and asked her to sell me some titty meat. And you know what she did? She punched me! Terrible service, that butcher shop!”

“Papa told me I’m allowed to punch people as long as they aren’t customers.”

And they think I’m the delinquent? At least I’ve never gone around punching anyone!

“Say, Shima moo ra-san, wanna have a bite of my food?” Hino asked, holding a carrot slice in her chopsticks. Why would she want your food when she ordered the exact same thing as you? You’re not going to make her eat off your utensils, are you?

“We both got the same thing, Hino.”

“So what? Who cares?! C’mon!” She set her carrot on top of Shimamura’s bowl.

“You just want me to eat your carrots, don’t you? Hey! Not you too, Nagafuji!”

Meanwhile, Nagafuji had silently transferred all her carrots to Shimamura’s bowl. For a second, I contemplated joining in myself. Then Shimamura shot me an exasperated grin, a look I returned in kind for some reason.

I didn’t mind the lighthearted atmosphere Hino and Nagafuji brought whenever they showed up. In fact, it was actually kind of fun in a way that made me nostalgic for elementary school… However, part of me was decidedly not happy about them sitting down with us.

Shimamura and I hadn’t hung out by ourselves in a long time, and right when we finally had the chance, these two showed up to crash the party. Truth be told, their presence felt… wrong somehow. That was probably why I grinned back at Shimamura—to hide my discomfort.

“Nice to see you actually smile for a change,” Shimamura teased me.

“Wow, rude.” I’m a human being, not a statue. And didn’t you just catch me smiling earlier? I’m a sunny little sunflower over here. Okay, not really.

If anything, it felt like she was the one who hardly ever smiled. And I’m not thinking about that fake smile you wear in social settings.

So, what was it that Shimamura actually enjoyed doing? I’d tried asking her flat-out a couple times in the past, but all I got was “Not much” or “Good question” as she tilted her head in contemplation.

Our happy little lunchtime came to an end. Across the cafeteria, students jumped to their feet to put away their trays, and we followed suit.

“What’s your plan for this afternoon?” Shimamura asked me as we stacked our dirty bowls on top of each other. I was in no mood to walk back to the gym by myself. Plus, I did have my bookbag.

“I’m going to class.”

“Gotcha.” Her voice sounded a little giddy…or was I reading too much into it? Either way, it made my heart flutter.

Side by side, she and I walked a short distance behind Hino and Nagafuji. Feeling ever-so-slightly rebellious, I lowered my voice so the other two wouldn’t hear me. “Hey, Shimamura?”

“Hmm?”

“Can I come over to your house today?” I asked, mildly nervous.

She cocked her head. “What for?”

“I dunno…because I’m bored?”

From the look on her face, I could tell she wondered why I chose her house, of all places, to entertain myself when there was a whole town to explore. That dubious expression always made me a little uncomfortable—it felt as though she was judging me for being weird. Nah, I’m probably just overthinking it.

“I don’t mind, but my house isn’t exactly fun or anything. Plus, my sister… Eh, I guess it’s fine.” Evidently she didn’t feel like getting into it, but I sensed that she was worried that her sister would be annoying or something. “Seriously, my house is nothing to write home about.”

“That’s okay.” I nodded without looking at her. I wasn’t expecting anything super special; I just wanted to be able to say that I’d been there. I wanted to be one step ahead of her other friends. By no means was I just trying to get some time alone with her.

Shimamura’s house. Shimamura’s room.

The memory of the dream threatened to rear its ugly head. Desperately I shook it from my mind.

***

After school, Shimamura followed me out to the bike parking area.

“Oh, your bike’s fixed?”

“Yeah.”

I recalled last week’s events. Thinking of them always managed to piss me off, so I’d tried my best to suppress the memories.

Somehow that astronaut girl was still a total mystery, even after I met her in person. Who was she? If it were me, I would have ignored her and kept walking. But Shimamura could talk to anyone as though they were normal. In that respect, she was very…neutral. The thought that I was on level footing with that freaky astronaut girl had set me off.

Fortunately, Shimamura didn’t seem upset about it.

“Want a ride?” I kicked my back wheel.

“Heck yeah. Let me put this here.” She set her bookbag in my basket, put a hand on my shoulder, and hopped on.

Personally, I would rather have waited until we were past the school gates, but I wasn’t about to stop her, so instead I started pedaling. With the total weight now doubled, the first few seconds were pretty rough, but it got easier and easier as we picked up momentum.

“You don’t have work today?”

“Nope. Not till tomorrow.”

I didn’t want to risk a teacher flagging us down to yell at us for “reckless behavior” or whatever, so I pedaled as fast as I could to get us off campus ASAP. Together, Shimamura and I sailed through the gates and down the street.

“My house is the other way.”

“Crap, that’s right.” Without thinking, I’d automatically steered in the direction of my own house. I pulled a hard U-turn and headed back in the opposite direction, briefly passing the school gates once again.

“So, you’re really coming over to my house?”

“Yeah…? Is that bad?”

If she didn’t want me to, then I wouldn’t. But Shimamura didn’t answer the question. Instead, she asked me, “That Chinese dress you were wearing… Did you bring it from home?”

Where did that come from? And what kind of question is it?

“Uh, no? Obviously?”

“Then how come no one else was wearing one?”

“Because… You know.”

“No, I don’t know. Why?”

“Because I’m the youngest or whatever.”

“That, and you look so good in it.”

“I wouldn’t say that.” I guess she likes my uniform… Then again, does Shimamura ever really like ANYTHING?

As I pedaled down the road, I looked up at her, and our eyes met.

“Stop that! You have to watch where you’re going!” Shimamura insisted, pointing ahead of us. But I kept looking, reminded of the other time we’d done this a while back. Her expression stiffened in a way I’d never seen before. “Seriously, come on!”

These days she fills my every waking moment, and I don’t know why.

“Here we are, milady. Welcome to the House of Shimamura,” I announced as we pulled up out front.

“Sounds like something Hino would say,” Shimamura replied. Thinking back to the conversation we had over lunch, I was inclined to agree.

I locked up my bike, then turned to the house. It had a blue-tiled roof and a hardwood deck leading into the yard, though the wood had rotted in places in its old age. Clean laundry fluttered idly on the drying rack.

This was my first time going over to a friend’s house as a high school student, and for all I knew, it was possibly the last.

Shimamura unlocked the front door, opened it, and looked down at the little shoes lined up against the inner wall. “Yep, she’s here,” she murmured, removing her shoes and setting them next to what I suspected were her sister’s. I followed suit and added mine to the procession. Then we set off down the hallway, past the stairs.

“Your room’s on the first floor?”

“Is that weird? I guess most people have an upstairs bedroom.”

I couldn’t say for sure, but I certainly had an upstairs bedroom, as did most of the kids whose houses I visited in elementary school. Maybe that was the trend back when our houses were built.

At the end of the hall, Shimamura pointed to a door. “This is my room.”

She twisted the knob, and the very next instant, a little voice shouted.

“Oneechan! Welcome…home…?”

It was Little Shimamura. Her enthusiasm at seeing her sister quickly petered out when she realized I was with her.

She sat on the floor playing a video game, her randoseru backpack lying forgotten in one corner. Specifically, she was playing one of those motion-control games where you swing the controller around. Ping-pong, by the looks of it. Onscreen, a little cartoon character jumped for joy; her “opponent” had scored a point against her while she was distracted.

“Thanks,” Shimamura replied curtly, then gestured to me. “This is my friend. You remember that we saw her yesterday?”

“Uh-huh.”

Little Shimamura turned off the game console and started to tidy up. Once she was done, she headed out of the room. It seemed an awful lot like she’d been waiting for her big sister to get home so they could play together… My chest ached. She reminded me of a smaller version of myself, right down to the way she bolted at the first sign of conflict.

“I feel bad for intruding.”

“Nah, it’s fine. She’s just shy, that’s all.”

Evidently, her oneechan was clueless. If I see her again before I leave, I should apologize, I thought. Then I realized I was still standing awkwardly in the doorway.

This was Shimamura’s room.

It was nothing like the room I’d dreamed about… Not that I expected otherwise, obviously, because that would be stupid. The shape and size, the wall color, the view from the window—all completely different.

It occurred to me that my dream had been really detailed. Abnormally detailed. Normally there’d be fuzzy parts, but this one hadn’t had any.

In my fantasy—I mean, my dream—Shimamura’s room had pale-blue wallpaper and pastel curtains. Her bed was against the wall, next to a desk. Across from the bed was a TV, and the sunset tinted the view through the second-story window scarlet. The two of us were sitting on the bed, Shimamura with her back against the wall, me leaning up against her.

In reality, her room had white walls, and instead of a bed, there were two futons on the floor. That surprised me more than anything else. The TV was next to the window, and on the TV stand beneath it was a stack of Blu-rays, as well as the game console from earlier. The bookshelf was filled with what I assumed was Little Shimamura’s manga collection, but I saw a ping-pong tactics guide tucked away in the back. That put a smile on my face.

Lastly, two ancient study desks sat side by side. They encapsulated what my dream had gotten wrong—I never once imagined that Shimamura shared a room with her kid sister. At least, I don’t think I did. But it was just a dream, so it didn’t matter. It wasn’t my fault.

My dream also failed to anticipate the fish tank by the door, its residents swimming around lazily.

“You like fish?” I asked.

“Hino caught them and gave them to me, but my sister likes to feed them, so they’re basically hers now. She’s the pet caretaker at school, too,” Shimamura explained, grinning.

“ Pet caretaker ! That takes me back,” I laughed. “I didn’t know they still did that.”

“Apparently so, yeah. Anyway…” She set her bookbag on her desk and plopped down on top of her futon. Then she grabbed the yellow cushion Little Shimamura had just been sitting on and tossed it at me. “Here.”

I caught it and looked down at it. The cushion cover featured a black cat and a white cat, mascots for a delivery company, holding hands. I dropped the cushion to the floor and settled down onto it.

“So, what now?” Shimamura asked, sitting with her legs outstretched. Apparently, she wanted me to decide how we were going to kill time.

Bored, she picked up the remote and turned the TV on, then navigated from the AV channel to a regular channel. A show came onscreen—a fairly old one, judging from the picture quality—and I realized that I recognized it. It was a re-run of a show I had watched maybe once a year or so back when I was little. They still air this? I laughed to myself as I watched the tanned male lead perform. The show always used to air right after my favorite anime, and I watched it just because I was bored and it was on. I still remembered all the plot beats.

“I can’t believe they still air this,” Shimamura sighed. Apparently we were of the same mind, and it comforted me to discover another thing we had in common, no matter how small.

However, I felt my eyes wander restlessly. I lightly smacked my temple, trying to knock some sense back into myself. I knew it was stupid to conflate dreams with reality, but…we were sitting too far apart. It just didn’t feel right.

“Hey, uh, Shimamura?”

“Hmm?” Her eyes were on the TV screen. She pulled her socks off and tossed them away from the futon onto the floor.

My stomach clenched as my brain screamed at me not to say it. But then I said it.

“I was wondering, um, if I could sit with you, like, between your legs or something.”

God, listen to me. I sound like a total weirdo.

“Huh? Sure, I don’t mind.”

You don’t mind? Yeah, right—wait, what? What? Am I dreaming again? She agreed so readily, it threw me for a loop.

As she spread her legs, her expression didn’t shift in the slightest. Hesitantly, timidly, I crawled over and settled between them.

I looked down and saw her legs right there. Suddenly I was lightheaded and dizzy. But I knew I couldn’t just throw myself against her, so instead I stayed perfectly upright, sitting with my legs crossed, keeping a bit of distance between us. However, resting my full weight on my hips made my tailbone hurt…and then my whole body started to shake.

“What are you doing?”

“Well…”

As I struggled to voice my discomfort, she fixed me with a suspicious look. “My sister does this all the time. It’s not weird, right?”

Apparently, she had no qualms treating me the exact same way as her little sister. I wasn’t sure whether that was a good thing or a bad thing, but I felt something hot welling in my chest.

“No, of course not…” I lied, afraid that she would kick me away if I said otherwise. Was I taking advantage of her? Or was it actually not that weird? I had no idea.

If I turned my head even slightly, Shimamura’s face would come into view. Merely imagining it was enough to make my ears burn red. What is wrong with me? Why am I so self-conscious? I scarcely heard the TV over my own internal screaming. My ears felt as though they were literally on fire —and I was terrified that Shimamura would notice.

“Gotcha!”

“Whoa!”

She must have sensed how uncomfortable I was, because she grabbed my shoulders and pulled me backward. That caught me completely off-guard, and I slumped against her with my entire weight, swinging my arms as I fell. She was shorter than me, and yet somehow, we fit perfectly together—almost like I’d actually become her little sister. Now her face was directly above mine; she looked down at me with a blank expression, as though it was totally fine.

I straightened up slightly, and she disappeared behind me. “Rrgh,” she growled, seemingly annoyed at my superior height.

Frankly, it was a huge relief to have something to lean against. I relaxed, splaying my legs out atop the blanket, and exhaled. The more closely my reality approached my dream, the more vertigo I felt. Drawing my knees to my chest, I felt Shimamura’s presence behind me, separated by the insurmountable wall known as my back.

“Do you have a…boyfriend or whatever?”

My lips puckered slightly. For some reason I felt compelled to ask her. Looking back, I think this was when I started acting on autopilot.

“What do you think?” she retorted cynically. I knew she didn’t mean anything by it, but it still irked me.

“No…?”

“Bingo. Didn’t we just have this conversation the other day?”

“Did we…?” My brain wasn’t functioning properly, so I couldn’t remember.

“What about you? No boyfriend?”

“Nope. Same as you.”

“Gotcha,” she replied offhandedly.

She probably just asked because it was the polite thing to do. Yeah, that’s gotta be it. That’s just how she is. No matter how random the question, she would give me her answer, and then the conversation would end. She never felt the need to talk about anything more than strictly necessary. At least, not with me.

If the average friendship was a staircase, then ours was an M.C. Escher painting. I couldn’t help but wonder if I’d be climbing those stairs forever.

At that thought, I turned slightly, and Shimamura entered my field of vision, her face mere inches from mine. Just like in the dream. Then our eyes met.

“What?” she asked. By this point, even she was starting to think I was acting strange. She was right, of course. I was being an extreme weirdo about the whole thing.

My collarbone ached. Normally people would say their chest or something ached, but for me, it was the bone itself. I could feel it creaking as though it wanted to pop right out of my body. Why? Probably because I was holding my neck at a weird angle. It hurt so bad, it felt like my whole head might fall off.

What can I do to remedy this situation? I asked myself. Then an idea came to me.

“I really like you, you know?”

Wait, what? Hold the phone—what? What did I almost say just now? Wait—did I say it for real? I didn’t, did I? But what would she do if I did? What would happen?

“Hmm?” Shimamura cocked her head at me. Apparently, she hadn’t heard anything. My throat felt like it was closing up. The corners of my eyes burned.

“I…I think I like you.”

But the only sound I produced was a rasping breath, like a chill wind passing through a dark and dreary tunnel. I couldn’t speak. My whole ribcage throbbed painfully in time with my heart, almost as though my entire body was begging me not to say it. Unable to blink, my eyes started to ache in my skull as they stared back at Shimamura, who looked at me dubiously. Every movement made me flinch.

“I…I think maybe I have feelings for you. But it’s just a maybe. It feels like…like I love you.”

Why do I keep trying to say it?! I felt my whole jaw quiver as self-loathing washed over me. This is so stupid. I can’t do this. I’m an idiot.

My memories and my consciousness wriggled like two separate worms until finally, after an eternity, their paths crossed at last.

This is…this is the dumbest thing I’ve ever done in my life.

Dumbfounded, Shimamura stared at me for a moment. Then her mouth began to move—slowly, hesitantly, as though it were her first time using it.

“Uhhh…you okay…? Are you still breathing? Your face is, like, really red.”

Then she reached for my lips…and that was the final straw that set me off. A flood of bright-white light blurred my vision—and the next thing I knew, I was on my feet and bolting for the door. Meanwhile, for some reason, I calmly noted my creaking arms and aching head with the clinical interest of an outside observer.

“Wait, don’t go…!” Shimamura called. But she showed no sign of actually coming after me, so I left her behind, stumbling on legs so numb that I wasn’t confident I’d even be able to ride my bike.

***

At home, I slammed my face into my pillow and writhed, clutching my head. My memory of the ride home was so vague, it felt as though I’d simply teleported here…but from the intense pain in my legs, I knew I must’ve pedaled like mad the entire time.

I’d accidentally left my bookbag back in Shimamura’s room, but I was in no mood to retrieve it.

“Hnnnnn…!”

Facedown in the pillow, I let out a long groan. Every bead of sweat that trickled down my face seemed to ask, “What’s gotten into you?” Whimpering like a baby, I paused to pull off my uniform jacket. Then it was right back to whimpering.

“Whaddafa… whaddafaaa …!”

I was so distressed, I was inventing new words. Every time I tried to remember what I’d said, I started shrieking. My head felt like it was splitting apart at the scalp. My breath hitched as tears pricked at the corners of my eyes.

When I finally lifted my head again, there was still plenty of daylight left. As despair dug into my eye sockets, I cursed the sun for being so slow.

“Hnnnnn…my neck hurts… Owww…!”

Something fluttered around in my chest, shadowy and scorching hot. Something I couldn’t force back down. I was awash in a waterfall of emotional torment—I wanted it to end, and yet at the same time, I desperately didn’t .

I could only pray that the world wouldn’t come to an end when the sun rose tomorrow.