Thursday - Day

Thursday
Day

 

I THINK THERE ARE REASONS for bullying. Bullying always starts because of some concrete reason. Trivial things like behavior or personal characteristics are a substantial enough reason, at least for the aggressors. It never seems like enough for the one being bullied, obviously. But there’s always some rationale, whether it’s a good pretext or not—and there’s no limit to the evil that can grow within someone once they have the excuse.

In the case of our class, the bullied party was utterly the one at fault and fully in the wrong.

Yano Satsuki had brought her circumstances down on her own shoulders.

I had known Yano since we were second years. Dense, awkward, needlessly loud, with a strange way of speaking, Yano was ridiculed by the boys and some of the girls behind her back. But for some time it just went on like that, with no reason for it to solidify into outright bullying. The members of our class all had a decent amount of sense.

That good sense was swallowed up by a deep tide of righteous anger in the middle of our second year, when a single action of Yano’s finally crossed the line.

By this point, it had already become a daily pattern for Yano to rudely impose herself on others and to be shrugged off. That was the basic arrangement between Yano and our classmates. However, there was one person who was the exception for her.

That day, for some reason—which honestly I will never know—she walked up to the desk of one of our classmates, Midorikawa Futaba, who normally came nowhere near her. I really had no idea what kind of relationship they shared. I only thought to myself, That can’t be good. It was normal for Midorikawa to never actively speak unless she was spoken to, but the fact that Yano wasn’t speaking at all meant that she had a poor sense of social awareness or something.

However, that assumption was definitely wrong. In fact, Yano most likely had a deep sense of animosity towards Midorikawa. Perhaps she hated Midorikawa for the fact that everyone loved her, even though she never spoke a word, far more than they did Yano herself, who always tried to talk to them.

Whatever the reason, Yano suddenly approached Midorikawa’s desk by the window, snatched up the book that she was reading, opened the window, and flung it out into the yard. It was a rainy day. I remember everything, right down to the seating arrangements. Iguchi, sitting in the seat behind Midorikawa, was petrified for several moments.

As far as Yano was concerned, the girl she had targeted was probably also in the wrong. Midorikawa was the class loner and rarely showed her emotions on her face. Now, though, the girl began to cry right there on the spot. She didn’t reproach Yano—she simply wept. Later, we learned that the waterlogged book that had been tossed out into the rain was very important to her.

However, the book’s significance to Midorikawa was something that we only learned later. That wasn’t the reason that the class labeled Yano a villain or why our torment of her became as harsh as it did.

It was because she was smiling. As Midorikawa cried, Yano stood in front of her with that self-satisfied grin, not apologizing. In fact, from that day on, Midorikawa never brought books from home anymore. She only borrowed them from the library, which spurred us on all the more.

When I looked at our class punching bag, I always thought the same thing: her behavior is atrocious. That was the best one could say for Yano.

If she just behaved better, she wouldn’t be bullied. That’s what I thought the next day as I watched her clean her desk out of the corner of my eye. Since the same thing had happened the day before, I now knew what had happened to the desk. Apparently, someone had covered it in chalk dust from the erasers.

“I heard the monster didn’t appear last night.”

Kasai was enthusiastic, but I responded with deep caution as we walked down the hall. Deep down, I thought, Obviously not. The night before I had headed straight for the school, and after that, I was at the beach, alone.

As we stood in the middle of the hall facing the science lab, I pretended to be deeply interested in this monster story and asked Kasai a vital question.

“Has anyone snapped a pic of it with their phone or anything?”

“They have.”

Concealing the pounding of my heart, I replied, “Whoa, awesome.”

“Apparently, none of the pictures came out, though. So I still don’t believe it.”

I prayed that he would just lose interest there. But it was interesting to learn that my monstrous form apparently couldn’t be caught on film. Suddenly, I recalled Pom Poko and the plan that the spirits in the movie enacted. At any rate, this was advantageous to me. If I was immune to being recorded, I could go wherever I wanted.

When we arrived in the science lab, our good-natured science teacher was already writing on the blackboard. I followed after Kasai and took my seat without any overt greeting. The seating order from the classroom wasn’t used in the science lab. We sat in groups of six at long tables arranged into even rows, sorted by attendance number. I was in the “A” row, closest to the door, my spot shielding the seats occupied by the boisterous Kasai and company one row behind.

I didn’t hate our lessons in the science lab. The other five students in my group weren’t the type to stand out or cause trouble; I mostly enjoyed their company. As long as I did my job well in the group leader role I was forced into, class went smoothly.

Of course, when you considered not just myself, but our whole class, arranging the seating this way was probably all the better.

Kasai loudly said something or other to me, but just as I was replying, his gaze flicked away towards the entrance of the room. I slowly turned around, saw who it was, and then returned to my conversation with Kasai.

Midorikawa was walking slowly through the entrance. As always, she carried nothing more than what she needed for class, along with a book from the library. The seat she was headed for was on the window side, second group from the back. Motoda was already there, asleep with his face against the table. Midorikawa took the seat diagonal from him, opened up her textbook and notebook, and then her library book. She sat up straight and tall as always.

After a short while, the bell rang. The teacher paused what he was writing on the board and turned around. “Let’s begin,” he said with a smile, accompanied by a command of “All rise!” from the class representative.

With timing so perfect that it almost seemed planned, the instant that we all stood, there was a click and then a rattling sound from the door at the front of the lab. It shook within its frame. I wasn’t startled—I’d anticipated this and put myself on guard. Even though there was no need to, and honestly, no reason to, whoever had entered the room last had locked the door.

With a look of exasperation on his face, the teacher instructed the girl sitting closest to the door to unlock it. The girl reluctantly opened the door, her disinterest plain.

On the other side of the door stood Yano, blinking rapidly. Without saying a word, she headed quickly for her seat. Chalk-colored dust shaded some of her hair. She didn’t appear to have noticed.

Throughout the lab, you could feel a coldness brimming in everyone’s hearts, save for the teacher’s. The sound of Yano’s shoes tapping across the floor resounded, and until she stood at her assigned place, everyone stared forward, waiting in silence.

When the teacher’s second call to begin finally rang out, the tense atmosphere seemed to defuse. I didn’t look Yano’s way, but she was probably smiling, as she always did. She was at the same back table as Midorikawa.

Yano had been the perpetrator here, so the contempt she inspired was only to be expected. After all, you reap what you sow.

On the other hand, one had to wonder how Midorikawa felt; she never showed her emotions on her face. The very fact that she said nothing made the rest of us worry that she might actually hate this seating arrangement, which intensified the hostility towards Yano all the more.

Yano had probably arrived late because she had been asleep somewhere during our twenty-minute break. She could always be found napping in some relatively quiet place around then. I was the only one who knew why she was always so sleep-deprived, but I had nothing pertinent to say in her defense. That too was all her own doing.

The beginning of class only offered a brief distraction from thinking about Yano, interrupted by Yano running up to the front of the classroom after I and the other group leaders collected the handouts for our groups from the front desk. As I began to wonder if she hadn’t gotten a handout, she told the teacher that she had forgotten her textbook and then asked if she could go and get it.

The teacher wearily responded with something twisted. “We can’t waste any more time today. Just share with your neighbor.”

Saying nothing, Yano returned to the back of the lab, a satisfied smile on her face. Without waiting for her to take her seat, class began. I looked straight ahead towards the blackboard. I didn’t so much as glance back. Even without looking, I could picture exactly what was going on. There was no need to see it with my own eyes.

One of the best things about science class, I thought, was probably that Yano never had to cross my line of sight for the whole class period. I couldn’t shield myself from any noises that came from behind us, of course, but there was nothing to be done about that.

“Stop that,” I warned the girl sitting beside me, who was busy gawking back, her attention caught by the noise. At my warning, perhaps realizing that others could see what she was doing, Iguchi quickly put her eyes back down to her paper. I was relieved that she wouldn’t draw any more attention to herself than she already had.

Yano’s standing in our class had been wrought both by the members of our class and by Yano herself, but naturally there were those among us who did not actively display any ill will towards her.

The worst offender was Iguchi. Compared to Yano, Iguchi was friendly with everyone, a kind girl who would lavish anyone but Yano with smiles. Though Iguchi tried to hide it—which was probably the wisest decision, I knew—she constantly kept an eye on Yano when she was being bullied, fretting over whether the others might be overdoing it.

That said, she was still on the class’s side rather than Yano’s. While I was usually content to ignore Yano, I couldn’t help but notice Iguchi’s nervous face. Honestly, it might be easier for her if someone else definitively decided her side for her. All that dithering must have caused her a ton of stress. Not that it was any of my business, though.

Science class proceeded normally, without incident. If something was happening where I couldn’t see it, then I didn’t need to know about it. All I needed to do was sit with my group members and focus on learning about hereditary traits.

It’s not like things ever get too out of hand in these situations. At the very worst, sometimes people’s belongings were damaged, or people got a bit hurt. The most that usually happened in our class was that something belonging to Yano got soaked or dirtied. She had suffered a fair few injuries, sure, but they were always total accidents, brought on by her own clumsiness. Nobody’s fault but her own. There was never any violence that anyone could see.

Everyone in class was clever enough to make sure.

Thus, what happened after science class really couldn’t be defined as an “incident.” Way too strong a word. Things just got a little out of hand, that’s all.

Yano was walking several meters ahead of me in the hallway, en route back to the classroom. There were a number of other students walking in the same direction in the space between me and her. This distance was not by chance. I had slackened my pace just a little, so that even if she were to suddenly stumble again, no one could say that I’d kicked her. So far, the plan was a success. I felt pretty comfortable with how far apart we were.

…And that was why I grew careless.

I was talking with the other boys about a TV show that had aired the day before. Something that Yano had been juggling back and forth went tumbling out of her hands. The tri-colored object—blue, black, and white—was more than likely an eraser.

I caught this moment in the dead center of my sight. And though it was faint, I let slip a small “Oh.” That was no good. My voice drew the gaze of everyone else around.

Yano didn’t crouch down today. There was no need for her to do so.

I’m sure that she didn’t mean much by it, but…

It was Iguchi.

Straying apart from a group of girls she’d been walking with, Iguchi found herself right behind Yano. Perhaps unintentionally, perhaps reflexively, she picked the eraser up off the ground.

Don’t do it! I thought, but it was too late to stop her.

Iguchi was probably stunned herself. Maybe she only realized what she had done once she’d already done it. She locked eyes with Yano, who turned around and froze for several seconds.

Ignoring someone is like a habit or custom. At first, you have to do it intentionally, but as you become accustomed to it, it becomes natural to act like they aren’t even there. Eventually your body ignores them all on its own, like it’s second nature.

Iguchi had yet to acquire the habit of ignoring Yano. On the contrary, she was a slave to a different kind of habit—the common courtesy of picking up something that someone else has dropped. That was the kind of heart she had, a natural kindness that made little gestures like that as easy as breathing.

Thus—unfortunately—she happened to pick up the eraser that had fallen right in front of her.

Iguchi was still frozen, eye-to-eye with Yano. Without thinking, I stopped walking as well.

Yano held her right hand outstretched stupidly to Iguchi, with a lively “Thank…you!”

Then she snatched the eraser from Iguchi’s hand, turned on her heel, and walked on.

From behind Yano’s back, the girls of our class stared at the two of them. Their eyes suggested they had just spotted yet another cockroach. I have no idea what expression was on Iguchi’s face, but you didn’t have to think very hard to know why she blurted out a thin “It’s not like that” just a moment later.

A momentary silence fell over the hallway—a short grace period for Iguchi to make some sort of excuse. However, she stayed silent. She probably couldn’t come up with anything to say.

And then the spell was broken. Time began to flow once more. The girls up ahead began walking towards the classroom, discussing something or other, and we followed behind them. Yano proceeded at her own pace, as always. She resumed her juggling, not much caring how many times she’d failed at it.

And Iguchi just stood there as everyone left her behind.

I wondered if she would be okay.

It was unfortunate, but while I worried for her, it was nothing that I was about to obsess over.

It happened after school that day. After Yano, as always, left the classroom with a “Bye, ev…eryone,” without stopping to talk with anyone.

That was when the girls of our class surrounded Iguchi.

It happened on the far end of classroom, so I couldn’t hear what they were saying. All I know is that Iguchi was vehemently denying something, looking as though she was about to cry.

This sure went south, I thought to myself, as I prepared to leave. She messed up.

Not about to step in between the girls or anything clever like that, I elected to leave the classroom with Kasai and the others.

After we stepped out into the hall and passed by another classroom, Kasai tilted his head.

“Did Igu-chan do somethin’?”

Right, Kasai hadn’t been there when it all went down.

“Iguchi happened to pick up something that Yano dropped,” I explained, trying as best as I possibly could to imply that Iguchi was not the one at fault. Hearing that, the other guys laughed. “Gross! Yano cooties!”

The corners of Kasai’s mouth dipped. “What, seriously?”

He seemed displeased. Probably not over what Iguchi had done, I reasoned, but simply from hearing Yano’s name. Yet as soon as we arrived at our shoe lockers, his temperament completely shifted. “Oh, that reminds me,” he said, with an air that suggested he had suddenly remembered something far more interesting. “Wanna go see the baseball clubroom?”

“The baseball club? Why?”

At my frank question, Kasai began to laugh. “What? I thought you were the one who told me about it, Acchi. Guess I was wrong. Anyway, apparently a window got broken in the baseball clubroom. Last night.”

“Last night?”

“Yeah, some guy probably threw a rock through it as a prank or something.”

Night. A prank. The baseball club window.

No way. It couldn’t be.

“Hm, what’s with that face, Acchi? Are you the culprit?”

Alarmed at Kasai’s grin, I quickly forced my expression into one of vague displeasure.

“Like hell I am. I was just wonderin’ who’d be that stupid.”

An eerie sense of premonition was spreading throughout my whole body. I got the feeling I knew exactly who that stupid criminal was. She hadn’t been there when I arrived at the classroom the night before.

Was she really off just laying a little frog to rest? Could she actually have been off seeking vengeance for it along the way?

Nervously, though there was really no reason to be nervous, we decided to change from our indoor shoes to our athletic shoes and go check out the baseball clubroom.

The baseball clubroom adjoined the soccer and rugby clubrooms, down at the far end of the wide field shared by various sports clubs. From a distance, they all looked like one big massive block. As we approached, we could see a sheet of cardboard tacked on to the window frame. A club member was coming out of the room at that very moment, someone who happened to be a friend of Kasai’s. After we hollered at him, he explained that their club adviser had put the cardboard up that morning.

Though we’d come with no great expectations, our enthusiasm waned, and we decided to head home. We greeted our other classmates as we passed them by, received the customary “Later,” “See ya,” or “Yeah” in return, but just as we crossed the entrance, our eyes stopped on a small girl who was exiting, her eyes to the ground.

Her spirit was broken. There was no other way to describe her. As I considered how to address the girl, mindful of the eyes of the other girls around, Kasai waved his hand.

“Later, Igu-chan!”

Hearing Kasai’s lively voice, Iguchi weakly lifted her head and smiled, replying with a “Later” that suggested nothing less than utter exhaustion.

The feeble little smile on her face was pure heartbreak.

But still, that was Kasai for you. When he waved at her again, saying, “See ya!” as though he knew nothing about earlier, Iguchi’s strange smile deepened a little more.

As we walked away, I told Kasai, “You really shouldn’t bother her like that.”

Kasai replied, laughing, “It’s not like Igu-chan is seriously friends with that girl.”

If only I could be like Kasai, I thought—but in the end, I still did nothing.