Chapter 1
Even though this will be my first and last summer at Iwahama, I could tell it was coming before the first holidayers climbed out of their over-packed station wagons. There's a sense of anticipation in the air, like the sleepy town is facing outwards, waiting for the signal to unfurl like a beach umbrella.
I can't put my finger on why I'd rather not be here. My new family aren't really any worse than the last and the town has nothing against it except being unbearably boring for three quarters of the year.
I run my fingers across the wrinkles in the wood of the pier. They've been scrubbed clean for the tourists so I can sit without getting seagull shit all over my pants and hands. Below me the grey water churns angrily to match the sky and across the sea in front of me the horizon blurs as it rains in the distance. I'd better get a move on.
I unbuckle the brand new harness from the fifty year old bike, my foster mother, Mizuka's voice in my head telling me be careful not to scratch the paint with it.
The bike makes a sound like a marble rolling around in an empty can whenever I ride it. In winter, the noise cuts through the silence of Iwahama like a knife. Other people like it, they say it's cool, 'vintage' or something. Someone actually offered me enough money for it to buy a new bike that actually had gears but it wasn't mine to sell.
Like most of the things in my life, it belongs to my foster family: a couple in their early sixties who had raised countless foster children who had all slept in the same bed and rode the same bike for over three decades. I have this dream that I'll earn so much money working my summer job at the café in town that I'll be able to buy my own car. It's basically impossible, I know, but maybe I can at least get my own bike.
It's getting dark and just starting to rain by the time I get home. I pause before I open the door, planning the shortest route up the stairs to my room without anyone noticing I'm back. No chance: the door has expanded from the recent wet weather and squeals as I open it. Jerk.
"Tenten! Where have you been? Come and help me with dinner." Mizuka yells at me from the kitchen.
"Coming!" I kick off my shoes and make my way to the kitchen. I actually enjoy cooking with my foster mother. She's a fantastic cook; I'd love to be able to do the things she does one day. Only thing is the conversation is… pretty bad.
She looks up from the sweet potato but doesn't stop peeling. "There you are! Try and be home earlier, we help each other out in this house. Have you been enjoying the warmer weather? It's a shame about the rain but it'll clear up in time for summer." She says the word 'summer' like it's a candy in her mouth.
"Yeah it's nice." I don't really know how to talk to her yet but that doesn't seem to bother her. I think she'd prefer I listen to her anyway.
She hands me the peeler and an unpeeled potato before moving over to the fridge. "You're going to love summer here. The kids always do. You'll make lots of new friends once the holidayers arrive and they'll all be living so close!"
There's no high school in Iwahama so I've had to catch a bus to the next town for the past year. All of my school friends live hours away.
"Now, we go to Gai's holiday house every year for Memorial Day. He's a war veteran so be respectful." She gives me a pointed look. What did I do?
"We met him through the foster program. He was never well suited to the work, adopted the first one he took in. A boy named Lee, he's your age. You'll be introduced so don't worry" She winks at me.
Oh God here we go. I try not to sigh and settle for a half-hearted smile instead. It's all the encouragement she needs.
"You can't be quiet like that when you meet him! He's a talkative young man. Of course, it's good to be a little shy but you have to give them something!"
I'm not shy. I just don't know what she wants me to say and I have a feeling that she wouldn't like what I want to say.
"Tenten! Are you listening?"
Oh crap. "Yes Ma'am!"
"Anyway, as I was saying: you need to get out more! Make some friends, get some life experience. Maybe get a boyfriend. It doesn't have to be for good but a nice summer fling is good for a girl. It gives you the experience you need to really nail the heart of the man of your dreams!"
Someone save me. It's like she thinks I spent the first seventeen years of my life smoking weed, reading feminist digest and daydreaming about ways to die alone surrounded by cats.
"Dreams?! What she needs is a rich husband if she doesn't get those grades up." I jump at the booming voice coming from behind me. How did he get past the squeaky door?!
"How was your day, Tenten?" My foster father, Kazuo, takes a seat at the solid wooden dining table.
"Very good, thank you Sir." My throat is tight and it makes my voice sound strange as I say it.
He stares at me without saying a word. I've done something wrong and I know it.
"My day was good as well, Tenten, thank you for asking."
I flinch a little at his tone. I guess that was a little rude, why didn't I ask? Should I apologise?
Too late, he's already making pleasant chit-chat with Mizuka about the party at Gai's place tomorrow night. I guess I am a little excited to meet Lee, it's been forever since I met anyone new around here. Maybe he'll be smart and funny and handsome. Maybe he'll even have a car.
Kazuo interrupts my daydreaming, "Did you talk to Ken at the café today, Tenten?"
"Yes Sir, I start this weekend."
"Excellent!" He claps his hands together. It seems like I've redeemed myself for now. "Then there's something we need to discuss. You're going to be an adult soon and being an adult comes with certain responsibilities. It's our job to prepare you for those. So long as you're earning money while living under this roof you will contribute some of that money to the household."
I almost drop the colander of peeled potatoes. "What?!"
He straightens his back and clasps his hands in front of himself. "There are no free meals, Tenten. You need to start preparing for the real world."
Mizukou looks grim but moves to stand behind him. "It's for your own good, sweetheart."
There's only one thing I can say that won't make things worse: "Okay."
"Good girl." He smiles and nods stiffly before turning his attention to the paperback war novel he has produced from his bag.
I swallow the lump in my throat. I'm already earning minimum wage and I can't work any more than twenty five hours a week or the café violates some kind of labour law. Dreams of owning my own bike or car go up in smoke.
New chapter in the next couple of days. Please review!
-AD