Yes, I'm one of those people who love the Pri-Yuki girls, even if they are insane

Yes, I'm one of those people who love the Pri-Yuki girls, even if they are insane. And somewhat antagonists in the series…for those who don't know, (she is relatively minor) Motoko Minagawa is the long-haired original president of the club.

Minagawa Motoko walked down the hallways of the high school, the walls and faces familiar to her - for the most part. There were first years she didn't know, but the Minagawa girl had made it a habit to try and connect all the faces of the school with names. It helped, when you knew all the competition for your one true love.

Not that she would ever dare to break the fan club's rules and go after Sohma Yuki on her own.

She nodded to a few first year girls in the club, gave a mostly-heartfelt hello to Rika, and shifted her books in her arms, trying to get them to stop digging into her left forearm. She hated the way the indented parts of skin looked after something was pressed into them for a long enough period of time, all red and unnatural. Not to mention the fact that with the summer uniform on, everyone would see, and no one would immediately think of "book related incident." They'd think something had happened, and be curious.

Motoko didn't really like people pressing into her personal life, even if it was something as ridiculous as a strange indent in her arm.

When she got to her class, she sat down in the third seat of the front row, her books neatly stacked on the desk's edge. The teacher had assigned them seats, and unlike most teenagers faced with the first row, Motoko was glad to be in the seat. She wanted to learn, wanted to know things, wanted to understand a little more of the world around her - and this was a literature class, with a teacher who loved romantic plays, dramatic stories, and the sorts of things that young girls dreamed about: swept off your feet by a prince, living happily ever after, no worries, no cares, he's yours forever and beyond the edges of time...

This particular class was Motoko's best.

The other students filed into the room, chatting and laughing, while Motoko sat silently. Her chin was pressed against her palm, face turned towards the window. Outside it, a pair of birds sat, singing to each other. The music of their voices - conversation for them, beautiful music for her - drifted in through the cracked window, bringing the slightest hint of a smile to her face. At home, the windows were usually sealed shut. There was always the chance of a "mischievous" kid grabbing some produce and lobbing it at an open window; after one such experience, Motoko had learned her lesson. No birdsong drifted in through her windows, no lazy summer breezes or occasional light rains, and her mother wouldn't let her get a pet parakeet, or canary, or...

As the bell rang, Motoko let the smile slide off her face and turned to the front, ready for another dream to wash over her.