Lighters, 2
take a chance, let your body get a tolerance
I Don't Care, Fall Out Boy
Haruki liked her new roommate, but sometimes she didn't quite know what to make of her. An-chan, who switched from talking about the Catalonian referendum to her brother ("He's amazing," An had told her with a conviction so great that Haruki felt convinced by her words alone) to sea turtles. An-chan, who went from excitedly searching for the university tennis courts to returning to campus grouchily, muttering something about fascism under her breath. An-chan, who veered off to find a wall to hit her head against when she was told during the club fair that the only tennis courts near the university were the ones at the fitness center she'd found earlier.
Ladies and gentlemen, Haruki thought wryly, as An enthusiastically debated the future of unicorns in the state of the union with the captain of the women's basketball team. Ladies and gentlemen, meet my roommate.
Weird as she was (and Haruki liked that about her), An was undeniably fun, bright, warm. She soaked up smiles like sunshine and returned them like sunshine too. She was outgoing and approachable, and even though English wasn't her first language, by the end of the club fair she had made a solid circle of new friends.
And she undeniably charmed the entire tennis team, whether she wanted to or not. Haruki thought An was always warm, always cheery, but something lit up when she talked about tennis. It was like everything else was other, and tennis was her—Haruki had never personally experienced that sort of enthusiasm for anything in particular, but the way An talked about tennis made Haruki want to try it, too. The tennis team insisted that An sign up for their newsletter, and promised that they would let her know when tryouts were ("You should definitely try out," they told her. "We could really use someone like you," they assured her). An herself had seemed a bit hesitant when she heard that their tennis practices were held at the fitness center, and informed them that she was only here for a semester (but "That's not important; just try out anyway," they said).
So An signed up for the tennis team's newsletter.
The only other time An lit up like that, like fireworks and bonfires and warm, warm things (hot with energy but I won't burn), was when she talked about her life in Japan. This, Haruki could understand. She missed her parents back home, too; she missed her puppy, she missed her friends. But An didn't just talk about her family (although she talked about her brother a lot in particular, who was apparently competing in the pro circuits in Australia—the tennis obsession must run in the family, Haruki thought); she talked about her friends back home, people named Fuji and Kamio and Momoshiro and Echizen and Ibu. She talked about them with a kind of special fondness, and Haruki would smile and nod and try to follow along, because there was no stopping An when she started rambling like that, and Haruki didn't really mind.
An-chan, who loved tennis and her brother and her friends and Japan. An-chan, who loved adventure. An-chan, who was like sunshine. An-chan, who came back from the tennis courts a little grouchy, a little pensive, a little uncomfortable.
Haruki shook her head in something like exasperation and wonder.
An found that many of the international students of each country tended to stick together, but decided she didn't want that. Not that she wanted to avoid the international students—but what was the point of studying abroad if you only stuck with people who spoke your language, were from your country, your culture, your ideology? If she spent her entire semester sticking only with the other students from the University of Tokyo, she may as well have just stayed in Tokyo.
So An smiled at people as they walked past her on campus. She sat next to strangers at the dining halls and struck up conversation. She left the door to her and Haruki's room open, called out greetings to people who lived on her floor, and soon she had a strong circle of friends—Americans, Argentinians, French, British. She anticipated getting to know the tennis players on the women's varsity team, too, and soon, New York started to feel—while not home, at least familiar.
An walked into her literature class a few minutes early. It was a large lecture class set in an even larger, ostentatious building—the type of building she imagined Atobe Keigo would appreciate (and perhaps own. Now wouldn't that be interesting? What if he owned the university? Some food for thought). Students opened their laptops (who needed laptops to take notes during a literature class?) and sipped their coffee, acting more important than they were or needed to be, considering most of the students in the class were freshmen. An's face brightened when she recognized a classmate, who waved her over.
"Hi, An," Caitlin-san greeted her.
"Hey, Caitlin. Did you finish the reading for today?"
Caitlin-san was a student from somewhere in America—which state exactly, An couldn't remember—who lived next door to An and Haruki, and who was also in her literature class. (Although she called them by their first names to their faces, internally, An couldn't help but add honorifics to their names. So for now, they were Caitlin-san, Brian-kun, Maria-chan…)
"Define 'finish,'" Caitlin-san joked, a little self-deprecatingly, a little sheepishly.
"Some American you are, if you need an international student to define stuff for you," An said in mock-exasperation. "'Finish.' The act of completing an action or task. Synonyms for 'finish' include complete, terminate, cease…"
"Oh, I definitely ceased my reading," Caitlin-san laughed. "I just didn't complete it."
An grinned at her. "I feel you." Because really, who could bear to read fifty pages of Wuthering Heights in a night? She sat in the seat next to her and sighed exaggeratedly. "Such is the life of a college student. It's a Friday afternoon. We should be out in the city, hitting the clubs, exploring the ghettos, getting into gang fights…"
"Whoa, whoa, whoa, that escalated quickly. I'm not sure you could handle a gang fight, An."
"Do you doubt my street rep?" An stood up and in front of Caitlin-san as if to tower over her. Never mind that the girl was much taller than An. "Do you doubt my street rep?"
"Oh, no, not at all," Caitlin-san said seriously. "I'm sure you have great street rep. People probably cower when you walk past them."
"Damn straight," An said, and Caitlin-san grinned.
"But the gangs of Columbia University probably have more manpower than you do," Caitlin-san continued. "You know how vicious the gangs are at preppy universities. What if they injure you with their boatshoes? And preppy bowties? What then?"
"They may have bowties, but I have sea turtles," An said decisively. "And that trumps everything."
"Ah, the vicious power of sea turtles." Caitlin-san nodded wisely. "Indeed, you may be right that you have the upper hand there."
"Ladies."
A voice at the front of the classroom brought them to attention, and with a jolt, An realized that she was still standing, that she and Caitlin-san were the only ones talking, that the class was staring at them, and that the professor had arrived and was looking at them with a look of bafflement, annoyance, and amusement. "As much as I would like to allow you to continue your discussion on sea turtles, I will have to ask you to continue this discussion after class."
An sat down and ducked her head. "Yes, sir." She and Caitlin-san shared a secret smile. Continue after class, indeed.
The professor began to drone on about Emily Brontë, and how they would study Wuthering Heights for most of the semester and wasn't Romantic literature just great, while An began to doodle in her notebook. First she drew herself. Then her brother, a stick figure wielding a tennis racquet standing on a circle labeled 'Australia.' And as the hour passed on, she drew each members of each team she could remember—Kikumaru, a stick figure jumping in the air. Fuji, a stick figure with blades for eyes (blades like ice don't touch it burns), which she illustrated with two straight, horizontal lines. Atobe, a stick figure on a throne (that looked more like a stool the way she drew it, but shh). The lecture was almost over by the time An got to drawing Rikkai, and she thought of Kirihara, with his electric green eyes and dare you dare me smile. Her hand stopped, and the lines she was doodling slowed to a halt.
How did one put electricity to paper? How did one illustrate energy?
How do I draw Kirihara Akaya?
She thought of the boy she'd seen yesterday—a boy, a boy, eighteen years old (was he even eighteen yet? When was his birthday?), just a boy playing tennis. And his eyes weren't red when she saw them, but green like absinthe, like electricity, like dare you dare me. She thought of their banter. She had cut it short, but she hadn't needed to, really, hadn't really wanted to.
(But she did, because he was horrible, because he did horrible things on a horrible team and now he was here, in New York City, in America, for some godforsaken reason—)
And then she thought of the boy with red eyes, with maniacal laughter and something dangerous in his eyes—and that danger had never really left his eyes, not really. It was always there, and it was there when An last saw him, too—dare you dare me, it said, I dare you to dare me.
Five years had made him older, stronger, leaner, taller, sharper in feature and more mature. He was a boy on the verge of being a man, dancing at the cusp of adulthood, waltzing on its balance beam. Five years had done that for him, but it had yet to remove the danger from his eyes.
Who are you, Kirihara Akaya?
An wondered.
The summer sun beat down on the pavement like a relentless wave of well-placed smashes, one after another, following An no matter where she stepped. She was already beginning to sweat, and she hadn't even changed into exercise clothes yet. The strap of her tennis bag wore into her shoulder, leaving behind small, red, gridded indents on her skin.
The dome of the tennis center was large and dark in comparison to the outside heat. The courts were a cool splash of blue to her eyes, and she bounced a little in anticipation as she speed-walked to the changing rooms, flashing her ID card and a sunny smile to the security guard as she sped past.
It would be the first time she picked up her racquet in about a month. She hadn't had time to play while packing for her study-abroad—or, for that matter, preparing to go to college. The last game she played had been a pick-up match with Momoshiro and a few friends from high school, and the feeling of gripping a tennis racquet, of feet pounding the courts, swinging her arms and that satisfying thwack when the ball hit just the right spot against her racquet strings… it burned like a brand in her mind and it drove her to walk faster, faster, faster to the changing room, change faster, go go go and play, damn it, and maybe this stupid city will feel like home—
A girl tapped her on the shoulder. She was tall, slim, with long hair tied back in a ponytail, and she looked at An intently. Her smile was friendly and even familiar, like she was waiting for An to recognize her. She stood next to a boy with dark eyes, handsome but not too handsome, handsome like he knew it, and the boy watched her as the girl continued, "Hey, I'm Maria. We met earlier today. You signed up for our newsletter. I'm on the girl's tennis team. Do you want to play with me? Just a rally."
An didn't remember her. There had been so many girls—eight? Nine? Ten? Probably more, since the non-regulars had shown up too to help promote the club. But— "That would be great," An beamed.
Maria nodded to the boy, who didn't bother introducing himself, just nodded back and stepped aside as the girls took the last available court. An didn't pay him enough attention to watch him watch her.
She wasn't as tall as she had hoped to be at eighteen. She wasn't short, either, but sometimes she wished she were tall like Inui from Seigaku, or Ootori from Hyotei, so she could hit without having to jump and reach quite so much. Maria, though—she was tall. She sent shots flying right over An's head, and An grimaced a little as she raced to the back of the court, because somehow those shots ended up right on the baseline and like hell she was going to lose to hits like that on her first day at the university courts. (Not that they were keeping score, but An somehow felt that Maria was the type of person who would, who wanted to see where An was at, if An deserved the attention that the women's tennis team had so eagerly heaped on her. And, well, maybe An didn't, but it certainly wouldn't be because she was playing bad tennis.)
They rallied back and forth for what was probably a half hour. Maria hit hard, and An hit back harder. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the boy watching—her? Or Maria? The thought flitted around the back of her mind, and when Maria stopped hitting and An stepped back to catch her breath, the boy stepped forward, said something to Maria, then smiled a friendly smile to An and passed her a towel. "That was great," he told her. "You're really good. Are you new here? Where are you from?"
"Japan," An said, taking the towel and dabbing at the sweat beading her forehead. "How about you?"
"Oh, I'm a New Yorker," he said. "My name's Kenny. It's nice to meet you."
"An," she replied. "Nice to meet you too."
Maria stepped over too, hopping over the net, and Kenny fell silent. "That was great," she agreed. "You've clearly played before. Are you going to try out for the team? We'd love to have you." Her smile was friendly, but there was challenge laced in her friendliness.
What's your next move?
An knew what this was. She didn't grow up here, but she secretly suspected that this was a truth universal everywhere—the social hierarchy, the social order, the who are you where do we place you that was defined by a tennis match in her social scene, but perhaps not in New York's. She couldn't intimidate people with smiles the way some people could (Fuji Syusuke and Yukimura Seiichi came to mind), and she wasn't sure that she wanted to intimidate Maria, either. Enemies weren't really her thing.
(She was, however, quite fond of turtles and cream soda.)
But she smiled back anyway, a bright-too-bright little thing that she hoped conveyed the confidence she laced in her words: "Yeah, and I'll see you on the courts sometime soon, too."
Maria took a second to consider this, stared back at her for a second too long. Then her smile softened, smoothed away its edge when she replied, "That would be great."
(And An marveled at the oddity that was American college women.)
"Right, well, if we're quite done here," Kenny laughed, bumping Maria lightly with his hip. He turned to face An. "I would really like to get to know you." The smile he gave her was a little too mischievous. He held her gaze for a little too long. His dark eyes were a little too intense and they bore into hers. They were obscure and opaque and they focused on her like she was a page in a book, a word on a page, a letter in a word that he could see, he could read. "I'm the vice-captain of the men's varsity team here. So I thought…" He laughed. "Y'know, we could talk over coffee, establish some connections. Connections are a big deal here, and you're clearly going to be a big deal on the team. We should get to know each other."
An didn't want to antagonize him, but at the same time, she suspected his intentions. So she did what she always did in situations like these—wiped any sort of confusion from her face and smiled back breezily. "Maybe. What do you have in mind?"
He seemed amused. "Well, there's a Starbucks just down the street we could go to. I have a couple of hours before my next class anyway, so a coffee would be great. If you want to come, I mean." He was backtracking. He didn't want to seem desperate. An knew the game. She just didn't especially want to play it.
And the truth was she didn't especially want to go to the coffee shop with him either. She wanted to play another match and then go home and watch Game of Thrones in all its Japanese subtitled glory. But Maria was looking at her expectantly, already putting her tennis racquet away, and this kid was vice captain, and from the way Maria deferred to him it seemed he had a lot of sway. Even though he certainly didn't seem like much of a hotshot.
Part of this whole making friends thing, right?
She sighed. "Yeah, why not. Not like I was going to do anything exciting, anyway."
His grin widened. "You think I'm exciting? We're gonna get along great."
And fifteen minutes later, still in her tennis clothes, she found herself sitting on a rather uncomfortable wooden stool holding a Frappuccino. Kenny was asking her all the standard questions ("how do you like it on campus? Do you know what you want to major in yet? Any clubs besides the tennis team? What's Japan like?") and she answered them with all the standard answers (what was this, an interview?), except when he asked—"And what are you thinking of doing after college?"
She had no idea, and she laughed and shrugged it off and said as much. Was she supposed to have any idea of what she wanted to do? Probably not, since half of her friends were still undecided on their majors. But a lot of them knew what areas they were interested in—in sciences, medical studies, legal studies… But here I am, studying at a college that I don't even go to for freshman year… I wonder if I can major in idiocy.
(She imagined showing up to a job interview, beaming at the interviewer, and introducing herself: "Hi, my name is Tachibana An. I major in undecided with a minor in idiocy. And how are you this fine morning?" With an introduction like that, any firm would be fighting to get her.)
There was a pause in the conversation, and An realized that Kenny had said something. "Sorry, what?"
He smiled good-naturedly, and again, there was that distinct feeling of too-bright, too-nice, of something that couldn't quite be classified as insincerity but certainly couldn't be classified as sincerity, either. "I asked," he said, "if you have any exciting plans this Thursday night."
"It's only Monday. I don't know what I'm doing on Thursday yet."
"Thursdays are pretty important here. In most colleges, Thursdays are party-nights, because we don't have class on Fridays. Do you have class on Fridays?"
She arched an eyebrow and answered honestly, "No, but regardless of what your Thursdays are, chances are that I'm going to watch Game of Thrones with my roommate and tuck in early." And also fight dragons. Because what else do girls do?
His laugh was indulgent. "That sounds like a great plan. But hey, if you're free—"
"Kenny, hey."
That voice.
She turned around and saw Kirihara, in a burgundy T-shirt and jeans, holding some energy drink, flipping a racquet with his free hand.
"Akaya!" Kenny returned, with the voice of someone who had just seen his best friend. And An would have believed that they were friends, except for the utterly disinterested look on Kirihara's face. He approached the table with slow, languid steps, the glare of his green eyes lessened by half-hooded eyelids. He looked almost like he would fall asleep standing up, but he walked over anyway, and barely spared a glance for An. Kenny stood up and gave him what An supposed was a guy-hug. "Where you been?" He turned to An. "This is Akaya. He's one of my bros."
Kirihara flicked his eyes up towards the ceiling in something between contempt and boredom at the word "bro," and An snorted quietly.
"He's an amazing tennis player," Kenny continued. "They handpicked him from—"
"That goes without saying," Kirihara said.
Kenny's smile looked forced. "Right. We've been trying to get him to join the team, but—"
Whoa. Backtrack. "You're a studenthere?" An asked disbelievingly. "Here?"
Kirihara smirked. "I'm an affiliate. What? Did you think you were the only special snowflake in all of Japan who got to study abroad?"
Well, first off—"I am the specialest snowflake, and you'd do well to remember that. I don't see you in any of my classes. Are you taking classes here?"
He shrugged. "No. I'm here on a tennis scholarship for a semester, and then I'm going back to Kanagawa." The smirk returned. "And really? You don't look that special." He gave her a once-over as if he were sizing her up. "Just kind of tiny."
"Tiny?" she repeated indignantly.
"And sweaty," he added. "You should probably shower."
She was about to get up and smack him upside the head when Kenny interrupted, "So you two know each other?"
"Yeah," they replied simultaneously, Kirihara without inflection, An with quite a bit of inflection. She gave him a look. So, how do I go about introducing you? "Hey guys! Meet the kid who put my brother in a hospital when I was thirteen. Pocket full of sunshine, this one."
Kirihara looked back, then looked at Kenny. "Don't you have somewhere you need to be?" The question was directed at the dark-eyed boy, who looked faintly annoyed. Their eyes met for all of two seconds.
"Do I?" Kenny posed rhetorically, but more or less acquiesced. "I'll see you later, An." He gave her one last meaningful look. "Later, Akaya."
Kirihara didn't react. An gave Kenny a bland little smile and wave as he left, while her mind tried to comprehend what had just occurred—the vice-captain of the men's tennis team, being shooed away by some green-eyed punk who wasn't even an official student. Kirihara's posture, relaxed and languid, so lethargic as to be almost dream-like, while Kenny shuffled out the café with a tenseness in his shoulders it was almost tangible. The top dog of the pack. The alpha male. What did Kirihara have that Kenny didn't? What did Kirihara have now, that he didn't have five years ago?
He began to turn away, and An grabbed his arm. "Hey," she snapped. "I don't know what you think you're pulling, but that was rude and just—bizarre."
He sneered. "Like you didn't want to be rid of that creep. What were you guys talking about? Grass growing?"
And—it was true. They hadn't been talking about grass growing, but she hadn't been particularly enjoying that conversation either. There was something weird—something off—about Kenny. But, "That doesn't justify walking into a conversation and shooing someone away and acting like you own the place!"
"What makes you think I don't own the place?"
"Is that even a question?"
"Your English must be pretty bad if you can't even tell what questions are," Kirihara said glibly.
"You're—!"
"Yes, I am charming and handsome and perfect." Kirihara nodded decisively. "Not that I needed you to tell me that."
"Perfectly ridiculous is what you are," An accused. "The jet lag must be getting to you because I don't think you have your head on straight right now."
"I think my head is perfectly straight. Maybe even perpendicular."
An cocked her head, trying hard to hide a grin. "Looks pretty elliptical to me."
"Really? I've always been told it looked trapezoidal. Trapezoidal heads are really regal, you know. Only people with character have trapezoidal heads."
An snorted. "If by 'character' you mean 'ego complex,' then maybe." She took a moment to look at him. He was grinning at her, and that grin was so familiar.
(he was dancing on the cusp of adulthood
waltzing on its balance beam)
She caught herself grinning back, and stopped. Why was she grinning at this green-eyed boy? Why was she even talking to him? (Why was it fun?) "Anyway, what business is it of yours who I talk to?"
He shrugged, a careless rolling of the shoulders. "You looked bored. I, being benevolent—in addition to being handsome and charming—thought I'd intervene. You should be thanking me."
"Did you stalk me here?" An asked, straight-faced, and took a sort of indulgent pleasure when Kirihara sputtered.
"You've got some ego, Tachibana," he told her. "Are you trying to tell me something? That you're being stalked by someone? Or that you are a stalker? Or that you want to be stalked? Or that you want to become a stalker?"
"Chatty little thing, this one," An said, to no one in particular.
He looked at her like he was drinking her in, and An shifted a bit. When he finally moved, it was a deliberate step towards her, closer closer closer farther farther farther. He walked towards her and then he walked past her. His grin was beaming, his eyes like green static as he said, "I think you've delayed me from tennis practice long enough."
And then, in a much quieter voice, so that only she could hear: "Stay away from Kenny."
The door opened and closed, and like a lightning storm, Kirihara was gone.