"Welcome," the short boy says very seriously, "Although I have no more right to it than you, I am supposed to welcome you to Karakura High School."

He pauses, thoughtful. "I, as do many of you, come from a long line of Karakura graduates. Look around and you can see them. Listen close..," he pauses again, wearing a self-effacing smirk, "and you can hear them. My new classmates, there are ghosts in these walls. These walls have seen generations learning and maturing together. It is tradition. It is history."

He continues, tone lower this time, "Today, we begin, and so become apart of that tradition, adding our names to those who have come before us. We join that history, and so write it ourselves."

This short boy with crazy white hair sighs heavily, concluding, "I ask that you join me, but as I have already said, I have no more right to this commencement than you have yourselves."

Toushirou Hitsugaya keeps it short, dry, and scant on humor. His manner is confident, a tad indifferent, almost bored.

I glance at Yuzu surreptitiously to gauge her reaction. Without even looking, she shrugs.

Yuzu knows how much that opening address—my mother's opening address—meant to me.

So, this Hitsugaya person scored the perfect one hundred percent. He gave my speech.

Little fucker.

My feathers ruffled, I glare at the flock of ubiquitous gray blazers around me, at the many faces I know too well.

They're all whispering, and I catch snatches of their conversations.

"5th and Main a few months ago. The one with..."

"—her name again? You know the one—lives in Seireitei Heights next door to the Kuchiki's…"

"... hangs with an older crowd. My brother Renji says..."

"... my class at Karakura West. A genius, I tell you."

"—is white. My mom heard Father Juushirou talking, and he said…"

"Holy fuck, that's what's-her-name's ex-boyfriend!"

My nerves frayed and ego abused, I snap, telling them all to, "Shut the hell up!"

Yuzu winces as the entire room turns to gawk at me.

I flush, adding a feeble, "please." I send our headmaster Kisuke Urahara a pleading look, silently begging him to proceed.

Taking pity on me, my godfather clears his throat, requesting, "And now if you would give me your fullest attention."

My classmates face front reluctantly, feeling miffed, no doubt, because they're denied the pleasure of discussing every little thing they know or have heard about me too.

The perils of small town living.

Headmaster Urahara grins impishly from beneath his bucket hat, a trademark item which clashes fantastically with the rest of his clothes. "Class schedules, student handbooks, and related announcements are waiting impatiently for you up here. However, your packets will have to wait a bit longer because you will not move until I finish. Students with last names starting with the letters 'A' through 'F' will congregate—in most orderly fashion—around Dr. Shinji Hirako, our guidance councilor. Dr. Hirako, be a dear, and raise your hand."

A blond man with very white, very big teeth waves archly.

"Students with last names beginning with the letters 'G' to 'N,'" Uncle Kisuke pauses for a moment, seemly for no reason at all, and then continues, "and the only student with the last name Zaraki will congregate, again in an orderly manner, around me. Students with last names beginning with the letters 'M' through 'St' will proceed to our school nurse, Mrs. Hisana Kuchiki."

Rukia's mom smiles at us warmly, lifting her small hand in welcome.

"Those with last names beginning with the letters 'Su' to 'V' line up in front of Coach Kenpachi Zaraki."

A clownish, behemoth of a man standing beside Dr. Hirako grins hugely. Big grins are sort of 'his thing.'

I know that man—anyone who plays sports in Karakura knows that man. Zaraki is the Athletics Director at Karakura High School.

"And, finally," sighs Headmaster Urahara, as if this whole affair has been quite taxing, "those with last names starting with letters 'W' to that letter at the end of the alphabet—if only I could remember what it is…" He smiles wistfully, and we face plant. "Anyway, these students will gather around Dr. Shinsui Kyōraku, the Head of Academic Affairs."

My dad's second cousin, wearing a luridly pink shirt, a 5 o'clock shadow, and a pony tail, points to himself with a hearty chuckle.

Complete and expectant quiet.

Then, "Without reducing each other to road kill, you may move… now."

I can't believe our luck. Of the administrators handing out packets, I get my godfather.

Oh, joy.

Yuzu and I merge with the crowd, all dressed in our brand new uniforms. Pressed together like this, we smell like starch.

As I walk down the auditorium steps, the noise level in the room quadruples.

I look back at Yuzu, finding her pointing to the right. Instead of scoping the social scene, she has been looking for Uncle Kisuke—surely, a more practical use of her time.

"He's over there," she mouths.

"Let's go then." I grab Yuzu's hand, and we hustle to join a cluster of comparatively subdued students standing in front of our headmaster.

A pink haired girl—seriously bubble gum and Pepto-Bismol pink—is standing ahead of us in line. She's short, but bouncing up and down like a bunny on crack, I can't tell if she is shorter than me. Her eyes matching her hair, the girl peers over her shoulder and grins so wide it hurts to even look at her.

Still smiling, the dimples in her apple cheeks maintaining optimum sunny-ness, the girl blurts, "I'm Yachiru Zaraki! Who're you?"

Yuzu recovers first.

Incapable of speech, I am still trying to figure out how this powder puff came from Zaraki's loins.

"Hello, Yachiru. I'm Yuzu Kurosaki, and this is my twin sister Karin." Yuzu nudges me, indicating that I am the 'this' to which she's referring. Then, she begins to bounce as well.

Placing a hand on Yuzu's shoulder, I prevent her from bobbing too violently (read: obnoxiously). "Yo," I greet Yachiru Zaraki, content to leave it at that.

"So, what do'ya think?" Yachiru asks, her pink eyes spinning around the room so fast I feel sympathetic vertigo.

"Oh, it's very exciting!" Yuzu twitters, wringing her hands nervously.

I scrutinize our queue, guesstimating that we have about ten minutes to kill before we reach the front. I mutter, "I'm ready to get started. All the hype is frying my nerves."

And then, Little Fucker, Toushirou Hitsugaya, strolls past us, his nose buried in the packet of papers Uncle Kisuke just gave him.

I twitch, agitated. He's not as short as I want him to be.

Yuzu and Yachiru glance at me questioningly. To which, I merely shrug, unwilling to share my irrational dislike for a boy I don't even know.

As we progress, I feel butterflies multiply in my tummy. Three more students walk past, and Yachiru is next after a blond haired boy with a nose ring.

Yuzu has hysteria in her honeycomb eyes when she confesses, "Everyone else seems so ready—just talking and laughing. I feel like I'm going to throw up."

"Dad says talk is weak. 'If you've got the chops, they speak for themselves,'" Yachiru quotes bracingly, apparently unaware that nothing she just said is remotely helpful.

"Karin," Yuzu worries, "do I have 'the chops?'"

Squeezing her shoulder lightly, I grin. "Absolutely."

Yuzu's responding smile is tremulous—not at all up to snuff. "Definitely?"

Yachiru adds her two cents, "Totally!" pumping her tiny fist in the air.

We all laugh, and I'm sure I have made my first new friend. An odd pink little friend, but a friend all the same.

"Ah, Yachiru Zaraki." The placid tones of Uncle Kisuke interrupt our merrymaking.

Whirling around, Yachiru cheers, "Hiya, Hathead!"

I nearly choke on a giggle. Who in their right—or even wrong—mind would call their headmaster 'Hathead?'

Still, knowing my godfather, I'd bet my favorite pair of cleats that he's dying to laugh too.

Our headmaster merely stares at Yachiru fixedly. After a pregnant pause, he says in his most colorless voice, "I asked to see you because I've been told you are proliferating that... nickname. While you are a student here, Yachiru, you will call me Headmaster Urahara or Master of the Universe. Nothing less will do."

Yachiru opens her mouth to object, a pout on her lips, "But—"

He cuts across her, "—No buts. Regardless of the length of our acquaintance or the position your father holds here, I am the greatest power within these walls, and you will do as I tell you or I will call your mother." Uncle Kisuke frowns deeply.

Abruptly, he winks, holding Yachiru's packet out to her.

Our pink powder puff dithers mutinously, but understanding that the battle is lost, she grabs at her papers.

Uncle Kisuke, however, does not let go of the packet. Instead, he closes his eyes and waits.

"… um, you can let go now," Yachiru mumbles, tugging the white envelope ineffectually.

"You can let go, now—what? Who can let go, Yachiru?" he prods, smirking under his stupid hat.

"You can let go now, um... Headmaster Urahara?" she ask-answers.

"Well, if you put it that way, I guess I'll let you have it," he replies, obviously disappointed she didn't call him Master of the Universe instead.

"See ya!" Yachiru skips away, pausing only to inform us that she will wait by the door.

Uncle Kisuke is riffling through a box on the table behind him, but I hear the amusement in his voice when he says, "So, the Kurosaki twins grace us with their presence."

I ignore his sarcasm, asking, "Where's Ururu?" realizing with a jolt that I have not seen her yet. I haven't even looked for her.

Still flipping through papers, Uncle Kisuke scoffs, "I haven't the slightest idea."

Yuzu and I exchange dark looks—or rather, mine is dark; Yuzu's is merely uncomprehending.

"Uncle Kisuke, she's—, " Yuzu begins.

"Your daughter," I finish, unamused.

"Yes, yes," he murmurs distractedly, "that happens sometimes."

Um… what the fuck?

"Dude, where's your kid? She's supposed to be here somewhere," I fume, gesturing vaguely around the room, annoyed that he isn't even looking at me.

"Well, you answered your own question, Karin," Uncle Kisuke laughs, "Ururu is, in fact, 'here somewhere.'" He turns with a flourish, brandishing two envelopes like Christmas presents.

Then, my godfather leans in, whispering conspiratorially, "I know it's not exactly fair, but I scheduled the two of you myself."

I glance at the packets dubiously. When Kisuke Urahara says 'fair,' he doesn't necessarily mean fair to the rest of the students. He can be a bastard just like Dad; so there is a very real possibility that Yuzu and I are the victims of his unfairness.

I lean in still closer, my blue eyes flinty, breathing, "If you messed us up, I will so sic the Mad Kitty on you."

The 'Mad Kitty' is the most benign way to describe Aunt Yoruichi when she's pissed.

Uncle Kisuke shudders delicately, before replying, "Yuzu, I will remember you in my will. As for you…" He frowns wretchedly. "Don't you love me anymore, Karin?"

He and my dad should be gay together.

I roll my eyes.

My godfather straightens blithely. "Fine, fine. Please read your packets carefully, and remember that I will be following your progress. We are family; so the reputation of this institution should be at the forefront of your minds. As those minds are woefully empty, please fill them with due haste," says Headmaster Urahara, all dignified.

He looks from Yuzu to me and back again, whispering, "Make me look good, eh?" Then, he hands us our things.

"Bye, Headmaster-uncle Kisuke," Yuzu beams.

"Later, Hathead," I quip, saluting him with my envelope.

Then, the two of us shove off.

"Aunt Yoruichi should get a divorce," I mutter, looking at my packet warily, "She's the goddamn mayor. You'd think she would have married someone normal."

"But they've already gotten divorced and remarried twice," Yuzu argues.

"'She should divorce him again," I revise sardonically.

Sharing a mirthful glance, we laugh.

A high-pitched whistle draws our attention as well as every other person's attention nearby.

Yachiru is standing on a chair, gesticulating wildly. "Over here!" she yells as if the whole fucking world can't see her. With her bubble gum pink hair, she's towering over the masses.

We wend our way through the sea of gray and red until we stand right below her.

"Hey, Powder Puff, I can see up your skirt," I drawl, smirking as five male heads turn in our direction instantly.

Yuzu pulls the idiot down before anyone else sees her cue ball print underwear.

I do not ask.

"What class are you guys in?" Yachiru gibbers, the words tripping over themselves in her haste to say them.

I consult my envelope, weighing it in my hand, my heart pounding away again. In the corner where the return address belongs, I see a computer generated sticker on which is written five lines of information:

Karin Kurosaki

Homeroom 9A

Schedule 2

Locker # 666

Student ID #21510

Although the sum of this information equals my entire life, it doesn't actually mean anything until I compare it to Yuzu's.

"A," I reply, watching Yuzu closely.

Yuzu's composure crumbles. "C," she moans, "Are you sure you're not in C?"

I open my mouth to console her—and myself—but Yachiru beats me to it. She tackles Yuzu, almost bringing them to the floor under the weight of her excitement. "Breadhead is in 9C! I'm in 9C too!" she sings.

'Breadhead?' I… never mind.

I grin past my own disappointment because it's good for Yuzu to have Yachiru in her homeroom. If our situations were reversed, it would be ten times worse.

Yachiru babbles, "Forget that! Class letter is just homeroom. What schedules do you guys have? That's the important one. I have schedule 40," letting go of Yuzu so she can get enough air to talk.

Clearly dazed, Yuzu coughs, "Schedule 47."

"Schedule 2," I grumble. Things are not panning out. Uncle Kisuke is a douche.

"Oh, fumble-bumble! It was a long shot anyway. Hardly anyone has the same stock schedule," Yachiru says, miffed regardless.

Tears blooming in her honey eyes, Yuzu's breath quickens. "I'm all alone," she worries, barely above a whisper.

"Awe, don't cry, Breadhead," Yachiru croons, rubbing Yuzu's back awkwardly, "It ain't so bad! We could still have some classes together. Especially since our numbers are so close. This just means we won't have every class together, but so what? If we did, life would be bor-ing! We'd run out of stuff to talk about."

I raise a brow—I doubt Yachiru has ever run out of 'stuff to talk about'—feeling wrong footed watching her comfort my sister.

Correctly interpreting the that's-my-Yuzu-you're-rubbing expression on my face, Yachiru whispers, "My mom always rubs me back when I cry," adding an innocent shrug to soften me up.

Because I am a sucker, I let it go.

Returning to the issue at hand, I roll my eyes. This whole conversation is ludicrous. I tell Yuzu, "Look, we either know or know someone who knows every person in this school. Making friends will be a cakewalk, especially for someone like you."

In Karakura, there is no such thing as a stranger.

By degrees, Yuzu recovers, smiling hard with resolve, "Yeah, this way we'll make lots of friends and have lots to discuss."

"That's better," I nod approvingly, walking down the hall with the campus map from my packet open in my hands.

Yuzu, studying her map upside down and frowning helplessly, replies distractedly, "It's much better."

"It's much better squared!" Yachiru cheers, having already folded her map into a busboy cap. And currently wearing it.

I shake my head, exasperated, as I lead them to homeroom 9C. "Powder Puff, you mean, 'It's the best,'" I admonish, "Better, much better, best."


Revised edition.

Dedication: My brother Peter. (Thanks for your insight and support during my tumultuous revision of this story. Without your encouragement, I would not have been brave enough to rewrite this story.)

Mare