Warnings: None
Scratch
Chapter 02:
"Catnap"
No one at school knows what I can do, of course. Not even Umi, my best friend who likes to joke about how my name reflects my personality, has any idea that I can turn into a housecat on a moment's notice. Personally, my heart wouldn't mind letting Umi in on my little secret, but my head knows that doing so would be stupid. Umi's the type of girl who's obsessed with things like fortune telling and astrology and magic. If she ever found out that some of the things she believed in might actually be real...well, I'd like to think she'd just subscribe to a few more magazine and maybe buy a few more good-luck charms, but in reality I know that she would likely quit school to pursue a life of witchcraft and paganism. Not that there's anything wrong with that, of course, but I know her mother would absolutely kill me if she found out I was the straw that broke Umi's back and made her go absolutely nuts over the paranormal, and since I am deathly afraid of her mother I have no plans to show Umi my little talent any time soon.
Umi is already convinced she knows how to curse people. She just needs a little nudge to go totally over the edge. And I really don't want to be that nudge.
School isn't a fun place for me. I hate being cooped up. I stare into space an awful lot, making me a perennial thorn in the faculty's side. Although my grades are decent I get scolded most days for not putting that much effort into my work. I also tend to nap in class (except for photography class, in which I serve as the teaching assistant), but luckily for me I'm a light sleeper and I have the uncanny ability (irony) to wake up whenever a teacher begins to notice me nodding off. Still, the days drag on for far too long and I end up gazing out the window whether I mean to or not.
Today was probably going to be no exception. When I saw Umi lounging by the school's front gate, presumably waiting for me, I made a mental note to tell her to poke me if I got too spacey during homeroom. She was wearing our school uniform, but with her own little adjustments thrown in: a black bow at her throat as opposed to the red tie around mine, black combat boots in lieu of my smart ballet flats, and tons of bangles that wrapped around her long wrists like a fortuneteller's accoutrement.
"You're gonna get in trouble for all the jewelry," I told her as I jogged up, eying her black leather choker and myriad bracelets with a critical glance.
She rolled her eyes. "My horoscope said good things about today, and besides, it's not like the teachers here are really gonna stand up to me about it."
Umi was, among other things, very, very tall—so tall most people couldn't see her eye to eye (and the combat boots only heightened matters (pun)). She was also the daughter of one of the school's wealthy benefactors (her mom was the CEO of a medical research company), and the teachers all knew it. She could get away with practically anything, and that included rampant dress code violations.
"Still," I said as we walked through the gate and across the school courtyard, "you should set a good example for the underclassmen." The pavement beneath our feet felt warm through the soles of my shoes. Above the school building a bell chimed, signaling we had ten minutes until class started.
Another eye-roll from Umi. "Neither one of us has ever been one to follow the rules, Tora." She flipped her hair—black and worn long, like a ghost from one of her favorite old folktales—out of her face with one hand as we entered the room with the shoe lockers. Ours were on opposite sides of the same row, so we had to raise our voices to talk over the structure between us.
"Did you do the math homework?" I asked her as I hooked my index finger into the back of my left shoe and popped it off. I did the same with my right and opened my locker, where I then exchanged my outdoor shoes for my indoor pair.
"Yeah," she said. "Busted my ass to get it done, too."
I heard the clink of her locker opening; after that came the sound of several pieces of paper hitting the floor.
"Crap," she muttered.
I walked around the lockers with my shoes clutched in one hand. A pile of sealed letters—probably six of them or so—lay at her feet.
"More confession letters?" I asked as she collected them with her black-nailed hands.
"Four are from girls," she said, flipping through them. "Seriously, I know I'm their senpai and all, but this is getting ridiculous."
Girls tended to idolize Umi for her rebellious attitude, rich family, and inspiring height (hey, that last one sounds silly, but it's true). Boys... well, few of them measured up, so to speak, but that never stopped them from trying to cozy up to her. I was pretty much her only friend; we bonded way back in the first grade, when things like social status didn't matter much. She was also notoriously pretty in a I'm-really-tall-and-thin-and-could-be-a-model-if-it-weren't-so-main-stream-and-I-hate-main-stream kind of way, so even without the rich factor she'd still be quite the piece of work.
Plus she was known as the school's protector—particularly the protector of the girls. But she hadn't had to assume that since we were freshman, so only those in our graduating class remembered that about her.
"Let's just get to class," I said, laughing at her flabbergasted expression. "And if any of the letter-senders approach you, just say you have a boyfriend at another school."
She dumped the letters into her satchel. "Or I could just tell them I'm dating you. I'm sure they think that already, anyway."
I didn't say anything to that as we walked to homeroom. It was kind of true, in a way, because Umi and I did spend the majority of our time together...
"I guess that explains why some of the girls here don't like me very much," I said as Umi slid the door to our classroom wide open. Serving to illustrate my point quite well, a chorus of people shouted greetings at Umi, while very few of them said anything to me. Umi did not acknowledge anyone, however, and kept her nose held high in the air. No idea how she remained so popular when she had such a lofty attitude.
Eh, pretty people can get away with anything, I thought as I settled into my desk. A wall of windows lay about a foot to my left while Umi sat directly to my right; the arrangement was just how I liked it. "Oh, Umi?"
"Yeah?" she said as she started arranging her textbooks.
"If I start to zone too hard, wake me up."
"Will do."
The lesson began shortly after that, but the subject was boring so I won't write out a play-by-play. The only reprieve from boredom came when lunch rolled around. Umi and I pushed our desks together so we could eat, but that diversion was short-lived and, soon enough, we found our noses shoved back into our school books. An hour or so later, however, we were able to flee the classroom in favor of the gym so we could attend our PE class.
"I hate school," I said to Umi as we walked through the halls toward the locker room.
"This is our last year in high school," she reminded me as we entered the sweat-scented changing room, filled to the brim with our half-naked female classmates. We went to our lockers (side by side, luckily enough); I shoved my book bag and empty bento box into mine. "Next year we can go to university or get jobs, and we'll be out of this place for good."
"About damn time," I said as I pulled on the shorts and t-shirt that constituted my PE uniform.
Just then the PE teacher marched into the room and blew her whistle loud enough to wake the dead. We followed her into the gym, where she had us line up against the wall and stand at rigid attention.
"Today is dodge-ball day," she said as my eyes wandered over the gymnasium. I liked the gym, comprised of two airy side-by-side basketball courts. Skylights allowed natural light to filter in; the wooden floors had been polished to a pale yellow gleam. Bleachers—the kind that can be pushed up against the wall to allow for more room on the gym floor—had been pulled out for sitting space. Pennants hung from the tall walls, proclaiming our school's myriad athletic accomplishments.
So busy was I with studying the familiar gym that I did not notice our teacher until she placed a hand atop my head. "Two," she said in a firm voice, and then she put her hand on Umi's head. "One," she said, but Umi glared at her and she muttered: "Uh... two, on second thought."
"What was that all I about?" I hissed as the teacher moved away down the line of waiting girls.
"Numbering us off for teams," Umi said. "Had you been listening, Tora, you would know that the boys are joining us. Co-ed teams. Very rare. The girls are primping as we speak."
As if on cue, the doors on the other side of the gym burst open. In marched a stream of boys in PE uniforms, led by the male PE coach. I glanced down the line of girls. They were all indeed asking one another for opinions on hair and makeup.
"Is there anybody here worth impressing?" I said to Umi, and she smirked.
"Absolutely not," she said.
The coach signaled that those who had been assigned the number one were to go to the left side of the gym, and that the twos were supposed to go to the right. We dutifully veered right, and through lowered eyes I watched as the guys got numbered off with ones and twos. Girls whispered behind their hands as the men started to head over (most looked nervous, although a few of the more suave ones kept their cool-faces intact).
"Observe the mating habits of the teenage human," Umi dutifully intoned. "Giggling is thought to attract a potential mate, although said mates are typically dropped by the end of the week as dictated by the latest fads. The fate of the human race appears to hang in the balance, but there is little hope for survival if this lot is what we're all hinging on."
I guffawed in response to Umi's teasing; the girls near us edged away so as not to be associated with my loud, unattractive laughter. Umi curled her fingers into claws and hissed at them, making them recoil even further.
"This is fun," she said, grinning as the coaches set red playground balls on the half-court line. When the coaches vacated the court and blew their whistles again, Umi and I hung back and watched as everyone else dashed their hearts out and tried to grab the balls. We didn't try to grab any until one rolled back to us, where we were hanging out below the basketball hoop. I pointed at it and said to Umi: "You can get it."
She grabbed it, smiled, and with one powerful thrust of her long legs leaped forward and threw the ball at the opposing team. It hit a girl on the thigh with a smack.
"Goal!" Umi said as the defeated female slunk off the court. We exchanged high-fives.
"Maybe we should go up to the front and try to get out on purpose," I said to her in a voice most conspiratorial. "We can go hang out on the bleachers."
"Fine by me," she said.
We darted toward the half-court line and into the range of the dodge-ball artillery. People gave us a wide berth. One of the girls actually offered a ball to Umi (which she took and threw, hoping to have it get caught by a member of the opposing team, but they all acted like they didn't see the lazy and oh-so-catchable toss floating through the air). Our plan to escape failed completely because no one was brave enough to chuck a ball at Umi and, by extension, myself.
"Damn your popularity," I said to her, but she only grinned when we became the final two members on our team. As we faced off against the last man standing on the other team, I turned to Umi and whispered: "I can't throw worth a darn! How are we going to win?"
A coach blew a whistle on the sidelines. "No talking!" she yelled.
"Leave it to me," said Umi.
She grabbed a ball and chucked it at the boy on the other half of the court. The sphere whistled out of her grasp, spinning and hissing through the air with the force of her throw. It seemed right on target until the very last second, when the boy shifted his body out of the way without warning.
"Ack!" he exclaimed as he turned to glance at the ball as it rolled across the floor. He had a deep voice, rocky and loud, and it fit his looks to a 't'. His narrow eyes opened comically wide. "That would've hurt!"
But Umi, not sparing him a moment's reprieve, picked up another ball and threw it. He jumped out of its way with a dexterity that belied his very broad shoulders, improbable height, and muscular frame. He didn't look like a person built for speed, but that didn't stop him from ducking out of the way of every single one of Umi's throws.
"You've got a great arm!" he called after she threw a particularly fierce shot at him (which he dodged with little trouble but a facial expression that seemed amusingly afraid).
"Is it weird that I'm getting annoyed?" Umi said through clenched teeth. "This guy's like a gymnast!" She moved in front of me, wanting to see more of the playing field.
"Fight back, Kuwabara!" a blonde boy yelled from the edge of the bleachers.
"What?!" 'Kuwabara' narrowed his eyes at the boy. "I don't hit girls, you idiot! You know that!"
"Then catch a damn ball!" yelled the blonde, looking peeved. For some strange reason a pudgy janitor with a shaved head and a gray jumpsuit (who didn't look too much older than myself, come to think of it) was standing next to the bleachers with a mop and a bucket of soapy water. Soon he started yelling, too.
"Kuwabara, I know you can't fight girls, but at least try to do something! You look like an idiot out there!" said the janitor.
"Shut up, Okubo, I don't need your help, OK?!" Kuwabara snapped back. Umi threw another ball; he dove out of the way with a yelp. "If she pegs me with one of those it'll sure hurt!"
"So quit talking and keep dodging!" Umi said with a gleefully insidious smile, and she began playing in earnest. Eventually the boy on the other team got so fed up with her constant assault that he at last picked up a ball and waved it at her.
"OK, I'll do it!" he said, holding the ball up like a shield. "Don't think I won't! If you just give up now I won't have to hurt you!"
"As if!" Umi called as she threw what seemed like the thousandth ball. He moved out of the way with a squeak and chunked his ball back at Umi, who stepped smartly to the side and out of the way.
I, however, was standing directly behind her, and I didn't step so smartly. The ball collided with my face. I reeled backward and clutched my smarting nose in one hand. When something wet and hot flooded my hand, I glanced down. Uh oh. A nosebleed.
"Ohmigod, Tora!" Umi screeched, dropping her ball as she darted up to me. "Ohmigod, your nose is bleeding! We have to get you to the nurse right now!"
"It doesn't hurt," I said as I reached to wipe the blood away.
"Did I... hit her?" I heard Kuwabara say in disbelief. "What the heck, I actually hit her!" Feet pounded over the gym floor. "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to—"
"You stay away from her!" Umi hissed, wheeling on him. She wrapped her arm around my shoulders and started to lead me off the court, heedless of Kuwabara's cries of apology. I didn't look at him, mainly because I was a little shocked by the blood on my fingers and the knowledge that it had been an accident; I didn't need to get an apology. Still, Umi was livid as she glared at the coaches (who tried, for a brief moment, so stop us from leaving) and walked me to the infirmary. The nurse within could only prescribe ice and pressure, but Umi insisted on staying with me the entire time and, when the bleeding stopped, she made me lie down for a nap.
"You could have a concussion!" she said as she tugged a blanket over me.
"But I don't," I said.
"She really doesn't," said the nurse, but Umi shot her a glare and the woman went quiet.
"You just stay here," Umi said, ignoring our protests, "and I'll got get you some restorative tea. Have a nap and you'll feel so much better. You can skip school for the rest of the day." She glared at the nurse. "Right?"
The nurse nodded, eyes fearful. "Right," she said.
"Good," said Umi. "I'll go inform the teachers. Sleep!" And then she was gone, on a mission and unstoppable because of it.
"I think I will take a nap," I said to the nurse, and I rolled over and nodded off.
If there's one good thing about being a cat, it's that naps are easy to slip into.
I awoke some time later, when Umi started shaking me. I sat up, confused by the sunset-looking light streaming in the infirmary windows. I mumbled: "What time is it?"
"School's been out for a few hours," Umi said. "I called your parents to let them know what happened. They said to tell you that they went to an office function of your dad's and that they won't be back until late." She began to study her nails, looking bored and beautiful. "I have a car waiting for me outside. Want a ride home?"
"Sure," I said, throwing back the sheet covering me and swinging my legs out of bed. Umi handed me my school bag straight away.
"Got it out of your PE locker, where you left it," she said, and then she handed me my uniform. "You left this, too."
"I should change," I said, looking down at the PE uniform I was still wearing. Umi turned her face away so I could have a bit of privacy (although I didn't need much; she and I had changed in the same room dozens of times).
"Let's go," she said when I was done. As we left the building she said: "I got all of your make-up work and put it in your bag, along with copies of the notes."
"You're always taking care of me," I said, laughing. She pushed me lightly on the arm.
"That's what best friends are for," she said as we neared the school gates. A long black car with dark windows idled near the curb. As the driver got out and opened up the door for us I stopped walking.
"Something..." I said. "Something isn't right."
Umi turned to look at me, one leg in the car already. "What?" she asked. "You hungry?"
Her comment helped me remember. "My bento!" I exclaimed. "It was in my PE locker. Ugh, Dad's gonna kill me if I don't bring that home!" I turned and jogged a few steps toward the school. "Don't wait for me! See you tomorrow!" I yelled over my shoulder. "I gotta go get my bento!"
"Hey, Tora, wait—" Umi called, but by then I was already long gone, back inside the school and running to fetch my lunch box.
NOTES (July 2016):
Made a few changes here and there, but nothing major. Just cleaned up the language and added one or two details about Umi. Also, Tora didn't have a concussion at all. Umi is just being dramatic. The nurse wouldn't let Tora sleep if she was really concussed.
NOTE (2010):
Okubo and Kirishima are not OCs. Those are the real names of Kuwabara's friends from middle school. Why one of them is a janitor (Okubo) and why one of them is a student (Kirishima) and why one of them is missing entirely (Sawamura) will be explained soon. I used their manga names, you should also note.
I enjoy writing about the relationship between Umi and Tora. They're funny together. Friends are so nice =3.
We saw Kuwa-chan in this chapter! Yay! Next chapter we get a TON more of him.
Many thanks to my reviewers! AkaMizu-chan, L1f3, and saiyuri-dahlia!
