The Cooking Club

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CHAPTER 20: THE COOKING CLUB

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Hana asked me to meet her at the cooking club on Monday.

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"I have something to show you," she said.

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"What is it?"

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"You'll see."

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The cooking club was in a small room at the end of the home economics hallway. It smelled like flour and vanilla and something warm.

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Hana was waiting at the door. She was wearing an apron over her uniform and her hair was pulled back.

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"Come in," she said.

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The club room was empty except for one person. A boy.

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He was tall and quiet and he had the kind of face that was easy to forget. He was standing at the counter, kneading dough, and he didn't look up when we came in.

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"Makoto, this is Daiki," Hana said.

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Daiki looked up. He nodded at me. He didn't smile. He didn't frown. He just nodded.

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"Daiki, this is Makoto."

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"Hello," he said.

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"Hello."

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He went back to kneading.

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Hana watched him for a moment. She didn't smile. She didn't blush. She just watched him the way someone watches the ocean when they're standing on the shore.

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"This is the cooking club," she said. "Daiki is the president."

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"I thought you were the president."

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"I'm the vice president."

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"Ah."

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We stood there for a moment. Daiki kept kneading. Hana kept watching him.

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"Would you like to try?" Daiki asked, holding out the dough.

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"I don't cook," I said.

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"You don't have to cook. You just have to try."

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I tried.

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I was terrible at it. The dough was sticky and the flour got everywhere and I ended up with more dough on my hands than in the bowl.

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Hana laughed. It was the real laugh. The one she used when she forgot to perform.

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"Look at you," she said. "You're a disaster."

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"I know."

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Daiki smiled. Small. Fleeting. But real.

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I noticed.

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After an hour, Daiki said he had to go.

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"It was nice to meet you," he said to me.

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"You too."

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He walked to the door. He stopped and looked back at Hana. She looked at him.

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For a moment, something passed between them. Something I couldn't name. Something I wasn't supposed to see.

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Then he left.

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Hana turned back to me. Her smile was back. The performed one.

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"Want me to make you something?" she asked.

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"Sure."

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She made me a bento. She was faster than Daiki. She was better than Daiki. She moved around the kitchen like she had been doing it for years.

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She handed me the bento.

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"Thank you," I said.

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"Don't thank me. It's just food."

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She didn't make one for herself.

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She didn't eat.

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I noticed. 109Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡV83KfQLc0A

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