Prologue You’re a Wimp Kaori Miyazono

It’s summer break, and our middle school is empty, except for us.

The windows in the music room are wide open, and I can see huge columns of clouds far off in the distance.

From the grove of dark green trees poking out over the rooftops of the residential area, I can hear the cicadas buzzing nonstop.

Since the air conditioner in the room doesn’t work, the fan is on, shaking its head. Feeling its warm air wash over me, I place my violin on my left shoulder, ready my bow, and tap a string.

The score that I’ve spread out on my music stand is “Love’s Sorrow” by Fritz Kreisler.

Mi-laa-mii-mii, mi-fa-mi-re-mi-faa…

Sool-ree-ree, re-mi-re-do-re-mii…

The vaguely sad, nostalgic melody cries from my violin.

As you sit facing your grand piano, trying to keep up with my melody, you tap out the same notes in one octave with your left hand, and then play a chord twice with your right. This makes a three-beat rhythm.

Dum, dah, dah. Dum, dah, dah.

Yes, that’s it!

Wanting the melody to really be pleasant, I put my heart into it, filling the room with my violin’s melody…

Hmmm…the tempo’s just off somehow.

My violin and your piano are doing their own things.

“Okay, one more time! From the beginning. Let’s pick up the tempo a little at the start, and then be careful not to go overboard with the ritardando. Dum, da, da, dum, da, da, like that.”

I say this to you, and then ready my bow in my right hand again. When the bow touches the strings, the tone they make echoes through my whole body. Then your piano starts.

But we just can’t sync up, no matter what we do.

We start to lose our tempo bit by bit.

You rush to catch the next note, and I draw out the lovely one I’m playing. Our sounds should be matched perfectly, but instead they’re out of step, as if our hearts were growing further and further apart.

I stop playing.

“This isn’t working,” I say. “Let’s take it from the top.”

Still facing the piano, you nod without saying a word.

You lost the person who mattered to you the most, and you lost the sound you created together, too.

You’re weak. You’re a wimp.

Why are you turning your back on the memories you two

had?

Why’ve you closed your heart to that sound?

But…I want you to know, you’re not really a wimp. I want everyone to know that, but you most of all.

“What’s going on? You’re off by a quarter beat. Let’s do it again, from the start!”

Now I’m all revved up and it’s you who can’t catch up with me. Your piano’s lagging behind my violin, getting dragged along and practically stumbling.

“C’mon, let’s go!”

“Ahh, let’s do it over.”

“No, no! Once more, from the key change!”

“How come it keeps falling apart right there? All right, one more time.”

We can’t even make it to the end of a three-and-a-half-minute song. We start over again and again. By the end, we’re drenched in sweat.

“You aren’t even trying to be in sync with me, are you?”

I bring the violin down from my shoulder, sulking a bit. You smile weakly at me, unsure what to do.

“Your playing is so free. I’m barely able to keep up.”

“Huh? You’re saying it’s my fault?”

“No, no, I’m just saying that’s how you always are. Could you maybe give me a cue? Like, tell me when you’re gonna hold the note longer than what’s on the sheet?”

“I’m not holding the notes, I’m just letting the sound resonate ’cause it feels good. If you wait for me to give you a cue, you’ll be way too late. Watch me carefully. Really look at me. Then you’ll know!”

“Aw, how can I…”

“What do you mean, how can you? Here, I’ll show you, like this.”

I get closer to you. We’re so close that our foreheads are almost touching, and I’m looking into your eyes. I can see my reflection in them, behind the lenses of your nerdy, black-rimmed glasses.

“Your, your face…It’s too close.”

You flinch, pulling away from me.

“What? I gotta be this close.”

“For real?”

“Well, I think so. Anyway, let’s try it!”

I stare at your profile, while you study me with a sideways glance. We get ourselves in sync and are just about to play our first notes when…

“Hey guys, what’s up?”

“Kaori, Kosei, ice cream time!”

The door in the back of the music room bursts open, and in come Ryota Watari and Tsubaki Sawabe, with a convenience store bag in hand.

Ryota pulls out an ice cream bar and thrusts it towards me, like a mic.

“How’re you feeling about your first duet concert, Miss Miyazono?”

“Oh, I feel super honored! I’m so proud that the sponsor asked me to play in this gala concert!”

Seeing me put on this act, Ryota smiles.

“Of course you were chosen, Kaori. With your talent, you’re gonna blossom on the stage, like a rose.”

Oh, what a cool guy, Ryota. It’s no lie when they say he’s the biggest chick magnet in our year…scratch that, in all of Sumiya Middle School.

“Man, watching you play your violin got me wishing I could play piano. To think Kosei here is gonna be standing with you on stage, when it should be me.”

“Yeah,” you say, “besides the piano I don’t have much going for me.”

You answer him calmly without shrinking a bit. Then Tsubaki holds out an ice cream bar to you.

“It’s gonna melt. You want the milk-flavored one, right, Kosei?”

Taking it from her, you get up and walk away from the piano.

“Thanks, Tsubaki.”

We all sit down on the platform in the music room side by side—Ryota, then me, then you a little farther away, and finally Tsubaki—and eat our ice creams.

“So, you like the milk-flavored one, huh?” I say to you as you sit on my left.

“Yep.” You nod, your eyes locked on your ice cream bar to tear the package open.

“I didn’t know that. I had you as a chocolate kind of guy, for some reason.”

“Me? Why would that be?”

“Well, that’s why I said for some reason.”

I didn’t know the milk-flavored one was your favorite, but Tsubaki knew. You two have been friends for ages, after all.

“Go ahead and eat it, before it melts,” I urge. You’ve been waiting for me, without having a taste.

“Okay,” you reply curtly, and without missing a beat, start munching rhythmically on your ice cream bar.

“I like chocolate,” Tsubaki says, pulling out another bar from the bag.

“Me too, me too,” I say, choosing a chocolate-flavored one for myself.

“Right? Who doesn’t?”

We nod at each other.

“I wonder why Kosei always goes for the milk ones,” Tsubaki mutters. “From way back.”

I look at you out of the corner of my eyes.

“Don’t you wanna try different kinds? Tsubaki took the trouble to buy all these flavors…well, only three kinds, but still.”

“Well, Tsubaki did give it to me.”

“Oh, so you’re gonna blame someone else?”

“No, either way I’d pick the milk one. I like what I like,” you say, brushing it off.

You really do like doing things your way. You’re so stubborn.

Sure, you won’t ever defy other people, but in your heart of hearts, you stick to your opinion and don’t give an inch.

You’re so weak. You never set yourself up against somebody else.

But even though you look like you’re weak, deep down you’re strong. Always holding onto your beliefs, no matter what. Maybe you don’t realize it yourself, but really, you are strong. I believe you are.

“So you like the chocolate one, right, Kaori? Got it. I’m a chocolate kinda guy too,” Ryota says, trying to smooth over this awkward conversation. “Hang on…ah, all we’ve got left is the soda-flavored one! Well, I do like that one too.”

“But Ryota, you don’t really care,” Tsubaki says. “That one time when Keiko said she liked the milk flavor, you said, ‘Me too.’ ”

“That’s because it would’ve been rude to the people making the ice cream if I said I didn’t like one of the flavors.”

Ryota is laughing, innocently. He’s so cool, and so thoughtful, and so kind. And Tsubaki is such a good person, too. I feel happy to be so blessed with good friends.

“So, about the concert, is it okay if we come to hear you play?” Ryota asks with a pleasant smile, gazing at me.

His smile is comforting. I get why so many people take a liking to him. I like him. And Tsubaki does, too.

“Sure you can. Both of you should come.”

“I asked you before if gala concerts were like exhibition games in sports, and you said ‘Bingo,’ didn’t you, Kaori?”

“You mean like a figure-skating exhibition?” asks Tsubaki. “Like an extra freebie?”

Since she’s asking, I explain.

“Yeah. You can play however you want, since you’re not stressing over being scored anymore. Some people even pick songs that are harder to play than the ones they’re assigned for the competition, because they don’t have to worry about messing up. It’s your golden chance to shine, to really express yourself as you are. It really makes the stage sparkle!”

At a competition, you have to follow what’s written on the music sheet, and you’re judged on how accurately you perform, like a machine. No matter how moved the audience is by your personal style, ignoring the composer’s directions and playing how you want will hurt your score.

As for me, I’m all about my own style.

Which means my competition record had nothing to do with me being in the concert. I only barely made the cut thanks to a recommendation quota.

But that’s okay. It’s my own sound that I want to give to others, that I want to let ring. I want it to linger in people’s hearts after they hear it.

This summer, if the two of us come together, I can do that.

I want to play my heart out. And then I want to laugh with you.