Head in the Sky

Prologue: Cloudless

Author's Note:

Hello, this is Heart-Sleeved Girl, or Emiko. It's been a while since I've attempted to write a fanfiction, and written it through. As always, credit for Kaichou wa Maid Sama! belongs to Fujiwara Hiro, whereas original characters/plot/settings belong to me.

EDIT 7/12/12: Dearest readers, welcome! Please read this extension of the note above. For my older followers (thank you), I must inform you that I have edited chapters 2 to 5 to the point that the plot has been slightly changed...Sorry. Chapter 2 and 5 only have minor edits, but chapters 3 and 4 have been rewritten completely. So...please take note.
As for new readers, please enjoy!

Lightning roars, thunder claps. Clouds drift, shift, lift. The sky is open, free, and literally all-encompassing. Untouchable by bare human hands and forever above everything within the earth itself. The sky is the world's most wonderful dwelling place, yet is forever unreachable.

Stupidly, I wish were part of the sky.

From up here, the campus looked as if it were littered with specks and ants. Some took their places behind the school, hidden away with their little triangle, circle, square of close companions; others sought more social areas, and chattered among the masses, often creating ruckus and mini-mahem.

I leaned on the metal railing that lined the edges of the top floor of the building, observing the people of Seika High.

Ah.

The sight of two people together near the "untraveled" side of the school caught my attention. They stood there, assuming that there was some seclusion near the shadows cast by the trees. Her hands shook, trembled while held together. His hid away in the depths of his plaid pockets.

Confession time.

It was sick that this amused me. Was I intruding on this little affair? Probably. Did it really matter? Not really. Rather, I had seen these two elsewhere before: same situation, different couple.

Miyazaki Ayumi was a first year with too many crushes; it seemed that she'd developed a new crush every three to four weeks—it wasn't a wonder of any kind that she hadn't had progress yet. But a seductress in the making? Perhaps in an alternate universe.

Takashima Kentaro was in class 2-3, an average student, with average experiences. He'd once been confessed to as a player on the basketball team, and had accepted. However, his relationship was ephemeral, broken at the end of two months. (I really have too much time on my hands to know these details.)

"T-takashima-senpai...I've seen you around school," the nervous girl uttered, clasping her hands so tightly that her knuckles bore white.

I could tell her face was heating up—the usual that occurred during her confessions throughout the year. Takashima shifted uncomfortably, staring at the female before him with a sort of sympathy. I watched his hand tense in his pocket, a soft crinkling sound escaping. The bangs of Miyazaki's chestnut colored hair fell before her eyes as she bowed and pled, "Please accept my feelings!"

The dark-haired Takashima removed the letter from his pocket and glanced at it once more before holding it out back to her, embarrassed and guilt-ridden.

"I'm sorry," he said, his eyes looking anywhere but the freshman before him.

A breeze blew by and I averted my gaze to the sky.

Cloudless.

How dull.

The closest I could get to reaching the sky was surrounding myself with the clouds. When the clouds were in some distant part of the earth, anywhere but here, I was missing companions.

I jumped back, off the railing, and prepared to return to the halls. Heaving a sigh, I pondered the value of such efforts. The outcome of the Miyazaki-Takashima confession was clear-the soft sobs revealed it all. I would have empathized with the two, but I couldn't when I didn't understand the underlying meaning. Did she truly like Takashima, or was this a one-time fling she was searching for in the midst of puberty-driven desires?

To be honest, I sided with Takashima on this one.

I twisted the doorknob of the entrance that led back into the halls from the top of the school. A light click sounded.

Did he know about Miyazaki's tendency to hold temporary crushes? Or was she just not his fancy?

I opened the door and briskly walked down the steps. The school bell rang grandly, notifying the whole campus that school was still extant and running. I entered the hallway for the junior classes, watching those in other classrooms store away their bento boxes and quickly wipe clean their desks.

No matter the outcome, then, what were the original intentions?

I made a sharp turn into Class 2-1 and made my way to my seat by the window, catching sight of the teary, red-eyed Miyazaki outside. Another girl ran up behind her, placing a hand on the rejected girl's shoulder, showing a concerned expression.

Still, sitting down, I frowned a bit.

How long, how fervently had she been watching him when it wasn't even basketball season yet?

Classmates shuffled into the room and filled their seats, some smiling, some not, though all somewhat burdened by the idea of another three hours of class (Except for Fujimoto-san, who loved history). Leaning on one arm, hand to cheek, I waited for class to begin so that it could finally end.

Was she thinking, "This is the one"?

The thought was unsettling. It was strange that I found myself exhausted by these thoughts but intrigued all the same. Such intrusions...

Maybe "amused" and "intrigued" were wrong words for these situations. Maybe not.

"Koizumi Atsuko-chan...? What a pretty name!"

I shook the grandmother's words off before my stomach wrenched in guilt. Brushing back the straight strands of black hair and combing my bangs, I attempted to distract myself and dispose of those sobering thoughts—not that I could become any more sober than I already was.

"Love"? Couldn't be.

"Attention class, I have an announcement to make," a stern voice called from the front of the room, "as a new transfer student will be joining us today."

The interruption caused me to look up to the empty desk in my vicinity, then finally up to the teacher and the transfer student.

"This is Shintani Hinata."

Locks of his short, scruffy auburn hair framing the somewhat irritated expression on his face, the transfer student stood silently, as most new students do in situations like these, before our class. A tall, tan male with complacent brown eyes, Shintani assumed the appearance of an average teen and drew no particular interest from our class. With his hands in the pockets of the baggy uniform pants that hung on his frame, the teen waited nonchalantly as the teacher proceeded to ramble on and introduce him.

Then, saliva.

Those of us who'd decided to pay attention were slightly taken aback; the homeroom teacher, also caught unaware, abandoned his speech entirely, mouth wide-open in astonishment. Spit dripped from the edge of the boy's mouth. Yamamoto-san, who had been sitting casually before him at the front row, felt especially disturbed as the new student gawked at him—or rather, his hands. Yamamoto's eyes were glued to the stream of drool that trickled down, and he flinched back as it almost hit his shoes.

"Honey lemon flavor..."

I couldn't figure whether this was some sort of endearing term, or just the words of a hungry, hysterical teenager, though neither improved his image. An audible growl echoed in the room as everyone now awakened to watch this student, curious.

Yamamoto retorted with an agitated expression, "What's with you?"

But the boy only continued to stare. And drool.

Puzzled, our class continued to watch the scene as if it were the climax in a drama, some even ready to take out popcorn to feed on while they watched. The situation was a combination of intensity and indifference. Truly, the matter wasn't all that important; the way I saw it was that the longer this lasted, the more I could distract myself.

"Ah! You mean this?"

Yamamoto removed his hand from the desk and revealed a piece of candy.

Shintani looked as if he were rescued from the darkest abyss of the earth, his eyes sparkling with utmost joy and wonder at the cent-worth candy. As if moved by sympathy for this seemingly food-deprived child, Yamamoto handed the candy to the boy.

"Eh?" Shintani exclaimed, "You're such a good person!"

Attacking the poor candy at once, Shintani was all too ready to relinquish the candy of its plastic packaging and devour the sweet with jubilation, sparkles emerging from his very pitiful being. However, as he snapped out of his state of bewilderment, the teacher immediately scolded, "Shintani! You aren't allowed to eat during homeroom period!"

Shattered, Shintani was crestfallen and had nearly began to cry. His eyes watered and his lips curved downwards: the spitting image of a five year-old who'd lost a Red Power Ranger action figure.

What in the world...?

I watched for a hint of malice behind those teary eyes, a cunning twitch of a smile, an evil spark. The childlike innocence that he radiated seemed suspicious. I narrowed my eyes slightly, scanning, processing, calculating.

There must be something.

My eyes flickered when I saw something under his right eye.

Ah, a scar.

I approached this as if to entertain myself. As sick as it was, I was playing detective, as this teen was too innocent, too earnest to be true. He was just like her.

"Atsuko-chan, I'm relying on you!"

I felt my temples pound.

The teacher reluctantly stepped back on the matter, sympathizing with his new student, saying, "...Okay..."

Aware of the reluctance in tone, Shintani, even more teary-eyed, asked, "No...?"

The teacher's lack of response and averted gaze told Shintani that the act was, this time only, permissible.

And at once, as if glorious music had suddenly arose from thin air in support of this deed, Shintani got ready to tear the wrapper open again—only to be stopped by Student Council President Ayuzawa Misaki.

A shocked expression flashed across his face as a hand gripped his right arm tightly.

"No," she firmly ordered, "There is no way this kind of behavior can be tolerated." Her exacting stance glared down on Shintani. The crestfallen image returned to his features, presenting an innocence that only irritated the president even more. And so, like this, the president had dominated the classroom with strict abidance to the school rules yet again, rebuking Shintani for his less-than-manly obsession with food, food, and more, food.

He was finally made to sit down at his seat, and he pouted, walking down the aisle to my right. I continued to search his features from the corners of my eyes, perhaps more malice found in my own eyes than I would have ever found in his. As he turned to sit down, he hesitated and caught my glare on him, a unexpectedly serious tint in his dark eyes. I felt a cold jolt shoot through my body and quickly looked outside the window on my left. Thoughts now preoccupied with a hodgepodge of the trivial and the foreboding, I briefly shut my eyes.

It wasn't long before the tension subsided, and the class finally settled down.

Could he...? How...?

I combed my fingers through my hair and heaved another light sigh, looking down at my desk before taking one last glance out the window. Miyazaki. Takashima. In honesty, I didn't understand why it mattered to me— they were couple number seventy-two.

A breeze blew by and rustled the leaves that hung delicately on the trees. I averted my eyes to the sky.

One cloud had appeared, a pure white that drifted alone in the vast sea of blue.

Suddenly, things weren't so dull anymore.

A/N:

Ha...not the best, but an effort at the least! If you read the whole thing, I'm very grateful, and I thank you very much. I don't know when I can get a new chapter out, but I'll try. As for why I chose Hinata...well, I mean, Fujiwara Hiro-sensei has pretty much established that Misaki & Usui are the main couple. And so, moved with sympathy for this very earnest character of Shintani, I felt a need to act!

Anyway, reviews are very much appreciated!

Thanks again,

Heart-Sleeved Girl (Emiko)