Piggy-chan: YAYY! I've become addicted with this story, so I'm gonna do a lot of updating on this one, if I can :D

Rima: Vannie get's really hyper when she gets obsessed over something. First, it was the Beatles, then the Bee Gees, then Michael Jackson, then Star Trek: Voyager, now Shugo Chara, all in one year.

Piggy-chan: I said, SHUDDUP!

Rima: Yeah, yeah, hoestly, I'm getting tired of disclaimers. So there, disclaimer.

Piggy-chan: Whatever. On with the show- er, story...

-NW :3

Chalk Drawn Gardens

Garden with His Tools

Never Jump to Conclusions

Until You Have

Put on the Gardener's Gloves

And Gardened With

His Tools

"Rima-chan," I was startled and looked over my shoulder to see… him.

He stood at the doorway of the classroom, his purple hair flying out from behind him like there was some imaginary fan in front of him.

"Don't," I hissed. "Don't call me that." Out of those ten years in my life, never had I been so angry and hateful with every word I spoke. This was the kind of voice I would use if my mother talked to me, but all the emotion had never been so fired up until now.

My fingers gripped the desk so hard my knuckles turned white, I felt my pulse quicken and my cheeks turned red with fury.

My eyes tried to burn holes into that purple demon's back as he walked by uneasily to his own desk across the room. Surprisingly, he was only five minutes later than I was, which was still fairly early in the morning. Then again, it wouldn't make sense if Fujisaki sensei left their house at a different time than her son. At least, that's what a normal parent and child did.

I had thought on why Fujisaki sensei had cried when I was gone. Maybe it was because I brought bad memories. Maybe it was because I crushed her hope. Or maybe it was because I told the truth, that I was right. Nagihiko, the luckiest boy on Earth, was a selfish and spoiled brat.

"Class," Fujisaki sensei said in her beautiful musical voice, "Today, I would like to introduce someone."

Oh my God. ANOTHER ONE?

"Please welcome Fujisaki Nadeshiko, my niece."

She almost looked identical to the he-she, but obviously feminine and older. She could have been in high school or university. She looked a lot like Fujisaki sensei, but her eyes were different, and she wore her hair in a high pony-tail, letting her long purple hair droop down her back like a waterfall. Her eyes were the colour of the moon, a yellow-white, and she was almost taller than our teacher.

"Nadeshiko will be our student teacher for now. Remember, she's learning here and will be evaluated like a student, but she is still your elder, so be respectful."

I didn't know if I could follow up to that.

Nadeshiko smiled and bowed very formally. "Pleased to meet everyone." Then she made her way to the back of the class, all eyes on her until she sat down to observe the way Fujisaki sensei was teaching. Just as I saw her passing Nagihiko's desk, I saw him give her a murderous look, then turn around to face the board and start glaring at it like it was the chalkboard's fault he was so mad. Nadeshiko gave him a remorseful look and caught me staring. I too, glared at her, and turned back to the lesson. Why was everything getting harder all of a sudden?

I sat in the classroom, listening to the yelling and laughter outside the windows. I took out my sketch book and began to draw the garden again. I could never get it perfectly, there was always something wrong, or something missing. I sighed and continued to work my way around the edges when I remembered the way my father had told me the story. He said he would be standing in a garden, maybe hiding behind a rose bush so he could jump out at me so he could scare me. Or up in an apple tree and jump down on me, then we would laugh about it.

Small wet drops of water began to splotch on the page and I gasped. Quickly, I ran over to get a tissue paper and dabbed the paper lightly. Thank God it was only pencil on water colouring paper. I smiled and used my arm to wipe the rest of my tears away.

"What are you crying about?" I almost tripped over the desk behind me if a pair of arms hadn't caught me.

I turned to face Nadeshiko. Her eyes glimmered in the sunlight, and her hair reflected the light onto the floor like a disco ball. Her pale skin looked like beach sand and she looked genuinely worried.

"Nothing," I said and tucked my drawing back in my bag.

"Shouldn't you be outside and enjoying your youth?" She made it sound like she was an elderly lady and I was some five year old.

"Amu's at cheerleading and Yaya's sick." I said. "So I have no one to play with."

Something I said must have punched a memory rewind, because she got this far away look, a serious complexion, her eyes stopped glimmering and grew dark, and the tug on her lips disappeared.

"Someone told me that a long time ago too," she said. "The child never had any good friends and was always lonely, always coming to me for help and reassurance. That was, well, until the child found out the truth, and started to stay farther away."

"What happened?" There was something in this story I could understand. Not belonging, everything confusing and cold, mysterious and full of danger but too naïve about, that was something I could understand. This was something I could relate to because of the experiences in my life.

She cocked her head. "Do you really want to know?"

"Father used to tell me stories and I believed them," I told her. "And I still do."

She smiled. "There once was a family," she started. "They had lots of money, and it was a tradition to pass it down from generation to generation, collecting more through Japanese female dancing. There were two families who had split, and which ever family had the first child would take over the fortune. The wife of one of the families was expecting a child, and she was born as a girl, the first child, so that family got to keep the fortune. But the other wife of the other family, begged to see whose child could do better in dance, another bet. The families agreed, and soon, the second child was born." She sighed. "But this child was a great disappointment."

"Why?" I asked curiously.

"Because the child was a boy." She said, looking at the chalk board in front of her. "He could not take over the fortune, no matter what. But the wife was determined to make him a great dancer, so she hid his gender from everyone, even the child himself, and did the unthinkable. She made him live his life as a girl."

I felt my stomach do some twists and flips. That was… disturbing. Utterly, disturbing. A boy not even knowing he was a boy and made to believe he was a girl, which was just disgusting. I felt like puking all over the floor but I reminded myself I was in school.

"The wife spent most of her days teaching her son about dance, making sure he believed he was female, and never doubting it. Still, she longed for a daughter, because she saw great success with the other family, and grew jealous. She thought her son could do greatness and much better than the other, but in truth, she was just disappointed and selfish with what she had and wanted more."

Maybe my mother was selfish, wanting to live her normal life again. Maybe I was selfish, for still wanting my father, even when I knew he was dead. Because I still wished and hoped there would be a day he came back for us.

But this kind of selfishness was very dumb. She had a son, what else did she want? Not everyone had what they wanted, wasn't it wise enough to just suck it all up and go on with life?

"Still not satisfied, she didn't realize her son was growing smarter, and one day, he found out the truth. He realized he was a boy, and all the problems he had at school, they were all natural and completely normal for a boy. When he discovered he was a boy, he became relieved, but also angry that his mother had hid it from him. He confronted his mother and embarrassed her in front of both families. A big fight broke out, and the families became angry at the wife. The only way she could redeem herself, was to disown the boy. But something inside her, maybe her motherly emotions, would not let her, and she did not disown him. And so, they were both to leave, until the young boy grew sorry for his mother, and decided to take the burden on himself."

"So," I said quietly, "What did he do?"

"He promised to keep dancing as a girl, since he was very good at it, and he would never marry nor have children."

I raised an eyebrow. That didn't sound so bad…

"But his mother still felt she needed the occasions to separate from him. So she spent most of her time with her niece, treating he like her own daughter, and grew fond of her, forgetting her own son. Her son became jealous, and stopped paying visits to his cousin. They stopped talking all together, and his cousin still wonders how he's feeling inside. How empty he must feel."

I held my hands together, feeling just as empty inside. I knew the feeling of ignorance and put into reality like it was one big survival game. I knew how confusion and spite felt, your protective walls crumpling around you. It made panic feed your worries and your stress grow into a blooming dandelion. If you didn't pick it out, soon the one dandelion in the yard would turn into five, then twenty, and then you'd have a whole yard full of dandelions.

"I know," I whispered. "I know how it hurts."

She stared out the window, worry written all over her face. "He put on a mask when he was among a crowd, but if you squinted a little, you could see his crying face through the cracks behind it. No one could comfort him, not even I. He didn't want to love anyone because he was afraid they would use it against him, or lie again."

I looked out into the playground. I spotted a purple haired boy playing with Tadase and Kairi. They were playing basket ball, and he was winning. His movements on the court were like dance steps, the magical grace he used to dodge his opponents. But I could tell, the way he stole the ball and thrust it into the net, he was still hurt and angry and empty inside. I started feeling sorry for Nagihiko. Maybe he didn't spend time with his mother was because he was afraid of facing disappointment.

"Thank you," I hugged the tall purple-haired girl, pressing my face into her shirt. "Thank you, Nadeshiko."

She brushed my hair softly, like mother and father once did. "It takes bravery to know the truth, but courage to go and face it."

I was packing my bag when I saw him sitting on his chair, staring out the window. Fujisaki sensei was running errands and we happened to both be waiting for her. I sat down at my desk and began to draw again, starting from where I had left off.

I don't know what made me start, but I began to hum, singing a song my father had taught me while we pulled weeds out in the backyard.

I sang quietly, the birds outside seemed to chirp with me and the wind became the beat. My father was a superstitious man, and he loved mysteries of UFOs and fortune telling.

"Father," I had said, crawling into bed. "Mother said your stories aren't true. She calls them fairy tales."

"Oh," he said, bouncing on my bed a little as he sat down. "Is that so?"

"Yes, she said it doesn't matter because stories are stories."

He put a finger to his lips. "Okay, but don't tell mother I told you this. But did you know, mother isn't always right?"

"She isn't?"

"Of course not. Does she ever tell you stories? No, she doesn't, so how would she know? She doesn't even come in and listen to stories with us, and that's very important, now, isn't it?"

"Yes. Very."

"So, she doesn't understand the magic, like we do."

"If she doesn't understand magic, will she not find the garden?"

He smiled. "You can go to the garden even if you don't believe in magic, because magic is what builds the gates, but you need hope, love and happiness to get in."

"So, will I go there too?"

"One day, Rima, one day you will. But now is too early, you still have so much to do here!"

"Yes, I'm going to play with Amu tomorrow."

"See, you still have lots of excitement in your life. Don't waste it."

"What are you drawing?"

I almost fell for the second time that day, except this time out of my chair. Unexpectedly, I was caught once more, by firm hands, but different than last time. I was upside down, looking at a purple-haired boy's face, the ceiling just bellow his forehead. My face began to redden, maybe lack of oxygen, and I quickly picked myself up from his grasp on my arms. He gave me a puzzled look.

"N-nothing," I told him and began to pack my things when he slipped my sketch book out of my bag.

"It's pretty," he said with a smile. "I like the garden."

I felt my cheeks grow even warmer. "Um, thank you." I extended my hand to take the sketch book back, but he must have interpreted it wrong, because he began to shake it. "C-can I have it back?" I asked, confusion in my voice.

"Oh," he hesitated. "Here."

I took it and was about to push it back in my bag when I saw Nagihiko's longing look staring at it. I felt guilt tear at my heart, even when I didn't know why. Maybe it was because he looked so sad, or because I wanted to cheer him up. Maybe it was because I knew so much about him and he didn't even know why I hated him, let alone about myself. I took the picture out, glanced at it for a moment, and ripped the page out from the coils that fastened the pages together. "You can have it," I said and held it out to him.

He just blinked and backed away. "W-what?" Now it was his turn to blush. "I can't take such a pretty picture!"

"You can," I insisted. "You need it more than I do." I didn't even know what I meant by that, but I continued. "My father told me about a magical garden that everyone went to after they passed. There is about every kind of fruit, vegetable, tree, and flower in that garden. And when we die, we go there to spend the rest of eternity with our family and friends."

He stared at the drawing, and very carefully, took it from my hands. He held it like a treasure and traced the leaves like Fujisaki sensei had. "Your father must be a very wise man," he said finally. "I'd like to meet him one day."

"Maybe when you go to the garden you can meet him," I said.

He lifted his eyes onto mine. Suddenly, I couldn't recognize that boy who came into class the other day. The other boy was stronger and fuller of spirit and courage. But this boy, he looked as lost as a new born puppy. His eyes dangled with sorrow and his face grew confused and worried. He looked like his heart was filled with terror and just wanted a place to be loved and healed. "Is he… dead?" He finally asked.

No one had asked me that before. People had just assumed things like such, but he was serious and waiting for my response. Relatives would have said how sad it was to have my father leave me or pass away so fast. But no one had ever said that four letter word to me. Dead. Was my father dead? I saw him in every dream I had, every nightmare, I felt his hugs in my memories, I heard him in every living plant in the house. He wasn't dead. He couldn't have been.

"He's not," I snapped. "He's not dead! He can't be, I just saw him yesterday night. I…" I stopped my rambling, because I realized I didn't remember the last time I saw him. I didn't remember his own face, or the warm hugs, or his musical laughter. I didn't remember his coffee scent, or the shampoo he used or the taste of the apples he used to grow. "He, he can't…" I held my head in my arms, suddenly feeling heavier. "Father can't be… I don't remember anymore."

I didn't even realize I was crying. I felt someone's hand on my shoulder, lift me up and dust me down. I opened my eyes to see Fujisaki sensei. Nagihiko was across the room, his eyes staring at me with sadness, but confusion in them as well. He also looked jealous and expectant, like he was waiting for me to glomp his mother.

"It's alright, dear," she said and brushed the dirt out of my hair. No, I didn't want her touching me. I wasn't the one who should have been crying. It should have been Nagihiko. It should have been his mother. She should have been sorry for what she did to her son. She should have felt sorry, regretful, remorse, even if it was just a little bit. But she was staring at me, like I was her daughter, telling me everything was going to be okay. I felt like reaching out and wrenching her hair out of her scalp. I felt like punching or kicking her violently. But I didn't, because I wasn't going to go as low as she did.

I pulled away from her and she gave me a surprised expression.

I grabbed my bag, and walked away from the teacher. Before I left, I saw Nadeshiko nodding to me, like I had done the best thing there was to do, and Nagihiko looked like someone had just told him he won a lottery. I smiled at them and left for home, where my mother was never cooking, where my father didn't live anymore, and it was empty and hollow. But it wasn't confusing.

Piggy-chan: Hm... at least there's a bit of a back story now. Thanks everyone for reviews! I'm glad everyone likes it :D Even the anonymous people.

Rima: Oh, so now I feel SORRY for HIM?

Piggy-chan: Yes, I mean, who wouldn't? I would be crying for him, isn't it sad?

Rima: No...

Piggy-chan: Haha, and I'm thinking about making Rima change that 'no marrying policey' Nagihiko was put upon XD

Rima: NO! I swear to God, DON'T DO THAT-

Piggy-chan: Too late. It's been decided ;D

-NW :3