Sunday's child is very suspicious and does not trust others easily.
When Akosua got home, she ran straight upstairs, past her unemployed drunkard of an uncle, to her room. She had forgotten to make a trip to her local supermarket to buy her usual microwave dinner in her haste. Her mind was on a one-way street, eyes in tunnel vision, completely absorbed in her spiralling lie. Why had she followed Felicia into the death-trap that was the Host Club? It had entirely snapped Akosua from her apathy, far too violently.
Oh well. She doubted she would have the time to eat tonight anyway.
Akosua's room was the smallest of the household's, not out of necessity but because of Akosua's insistence. Her hobo fantasy persisted, emerging in the concept of cramped cosy spaces. Her room was a hair's breadth away from becoming a cardboard box, with its thin flaking walls and tight quarters. It was homely. That was enough for Akosua. She liked the creaky floorboards, soft with age and memory. She liked the small crescent-shaped window, elevated enough to prevent outside eyes staring in but perfect for her own eyes to peek out. She liked the discoloured pink of the walls, along which were pinned numerous sketches, all by her own hand, of pastries, all kinds, a true geographical showcase of what treats the world had to offer. Anyone would have to admit, even Gorou (grudgingly), that Akosua's drawings were magnificent. But they were a mere shadow of what her father had once created for her.
She burst through the threshold of her room and immediately directed herself towards the bedside drawers. After dumping her satchel on the bed, Akosua began rummaging through the drawers and from within she withdrew a battered video cassette. She spent a few moments fiddling with the tape, rewinding the film within.
Then, almost reverently, she put it in the VHS (one of the few material items she had allowed her mother to indulge her in). Her second-hand TV flickered to life at the press of a button and the familiar logo of a yellow chef hat blazed across the screen. A theme song that she could probably recite in her sleep began to play. It was jaunty, inane and absurdly catchy. Akosua hummed along absentmindedly while withdrawing her sketch pad from under her bed.
"Bonjour! Je suis Chef Mathieu, l'hôte de 'Miam Miam'." The host appeared on screen, announcing the show with his toothpaste-commercial-smile, and Akosua spoke along with him, the French mindlessly rolling off her tongue as she began to draw. "Aujourd'hui, nous avons un invité spécial avec nous. Bienvenue Monsieur Kofi Owusu, PDG de 'Sunday's Child'! Nous sommes très chanceux aujourd'hui, cher public. Monsieur Owusu est un homme d'affaires du Ghana qui a un passe-temps d'être un cordon bleu secrete."
'Monsieur Owusu' popped into view, the behind-the-screen audience clapping politely for his arrival. Akosua looked up from her work briefly to meet her father's eye as he waved happily (and somewhat nervously) to the camera.
The host continued, "Avec l'aide de Monsieur Owusu, nous allons apprendre comment faire des biscuits Gari traditionnels. Allons-nous commencer, Monsieur Owusu?"
And then the job of talking was handed over to her father. He stammered through the French in his ungainly way, his deep timbered Ghanaian accent never dulled by the foreign words, and Akosua uttered the same words, with an accent so much more malleable, a delivery much smoother, words known like the back of her hand, "Merci, Chef Mathieu. Je suis heureux de faire cuire des biscuits Gari aujourd'hui. Ils sont spéciaux en raison de leur importance dans mon pays. Ils représentent la libération du Ghana de la domination anglaise et de célébrer notre indépendance. Mais à côté de leur symbolisme, il a un goût excellent!"
She watched the tape on repeat long into the night, drawing all the while.
The next morning Akosua padded into the school library with shades covering her bloodshot eyes. They weren't designer sunglasses; they weren't even expensive. Practically bargain bucket! How her hobo fantasies had swelled. However, with this she faced the issue of standing out from the crowd and not in a way the population of Ouran would find favourable. But wearing these bog standard shades was the lesser of two evils really, because if anyone saw the bags under her eyes they would surely scream. No, really, they would scream. The rich kids of Ouran just didn't understand bodily function without makeup artists, dieticians and health specialists. What would be normality for most frightened these lost silver spoon suckling sheep. Akosua had seen such a case in her first year. The boy, who had gotten locked in the school building overnight (as a result he had a terrible night's sleep), had been accused of zombism and in consequence was utterly ostracised. Fortunately, for better or for worse, whether he wanted to be there or not, he had found a place in the black magic club. Now there were rumours of the zombie-boy who lurked in the shadows of the north building's basement, along with all the other supposed black magic weirdoes who hungout in that subterranean world.
So shades were good (even if they weren't upmarket). Besides, Akosua felt a mite daring coming into school with such an inexpensive accessory. It wasn't like people really paid attention to her anyway. All she had to do was keep out of other people's way, just like she normally did.
"Lisa!"
Oh, Akosua thought, oh dear.
With unabashed bemusement, all kinds of caution, and a dash of disgruntlement, peering sullenly through the tinted lenses of her shades, Akosua found Felicia Allegra Gentile perched daintily on what was her usual seat in the library. Akosua was bewildered beyond her reckoning. She could do nothing but stare, frozen up, watching as Felicia tapped away on her mobile, tucked away in that somewhat musky forgotten corner of the library Akosua favoured. She thought about speed walking away, only for Felicia to look up from her phone, notice Akosua gawking, and begin waving merrily, beckoning her, locking Akosua into the tractor beam of social obligation. It was all a very regrettable circumstance, one which Akosua would have surely avoided if only she had been provided some forewarning.
But not even the gods could have predicted this.
Yes, Gorou said with a roll of his eyes, if we're going to talk philosophy and religion and your existential struggles, then no, they definitely could have predicted this. But, I don't know if that is a credit to any deities listening, because even I could have predicted this.
"Lisa, it's good to see you!" Felicia told Akosua as she reluctantly shuffled over to her classmate. "I was worried I was misinformed about your usual hangout. It is terribly early after all," – she stifled a elegant little yawn – "I'm not sure I've ever been up quite so early. But you know what they say, Lisa, the early bird gets the worm."
Akosua was unsure to whether Felicia was referring to herself as the bird and Akosua as the worm or if she was simply complementing Akosua for her timekeeping. She was also unsure if she should be offended if the former were true and Felicia was currently envisioning her as a tasty little worm to snap up for her own purposes. But that could hardly be true, Akosua realised, Felicia would never dare picture a worm, not if that reaction to her cake touching the ground the other day had been authentic – far too squeamish.
Sweet stupid sober child, if you would stop thinking about bird and bug metaphors for just a moment, you may be able to clearly think about what wine-princess just said.
Wine-princess? Akosua questioned Gorou, feeling quite affronted that Gorou would even dare nickname the only person she had managed to remember without the help of an epithet.
Focus! And for a moment she had the distinct image of Gorou throwing (and consequently smashing) an empty bottle of gin against the side of her head. Well, it certainly shocked her back into the real world, because she suddenly realised what Felicia had just told her.
Someone knew Akosua sat here every morning. That was worrying. But even more worrying was that now it was apparent that more than one person cared that she sat here every morning. "Misinformed?"
"Oh, well, obviously I wasn't, because you're here."" Felicia laughed, a high, tinkling laugh, that was somewhat dampened by the strain in her voice that indicated that she probably wasn't quite as comfortable with this situation as her quick and confident conversation indicated. And then, she tacked on awkwardly, a peppy little "Yay."
Her eyes flickered back and forth between Akosua and the table, finally stopping to rest firmly on Akosua with a rather expectant look. "Sooo, do you want to sit down Lisa?"
Akosua, who had been standing, blankly staring throughout the proceedings, lurched and rushed forward, conscious of seeming at all gauche or unrefined.
Too late for that, Gorou supplied ever so 'helpfully'.
She grabbed a book off a nearby shelf, in her hurry snatching one that she had already read. Inwardly, Akosua scowled at the title of the book, a Japanese translation of Plant Propagation (Royal Horticultural Society's Encyclopaedia of Practical Gardening). She supposed it wouldn't kill her to give it a re-read but it was hardly productive. Then again, it wasn't like she would be able to get much reading done anyway with Felicia hovering around.
Akosua settled herself opposite Felicia (who had yet to remove those probing doe eyes from Akosua's business), trying not to think mournfully of the chair currently under Felicia (which she would usually occupy), and staunchly kept her own eyes focused anywhere and everywhere but on Felicia and began to read (or tried to). It didn't help that every slight shuffle of clothing as Felicia fidgeted sounded painfully loud in the quiet library. It also didn't help that Akosua could literally feel Felicia's eager eyes burrowing into the top of her scalp with their intensity. Yet she continued with her reading diligently and did her best to keep her movements refined, every turn of the page an art, every facial expression monitored to appear illuminated, so deeply and clearly informed by this book.
There was a cough, a little delicate cough that didn't quite seem real, and that's because it isn't, yet Gorou didn't go on to explain because he was interrupted as Felicia finally broke the silence between them, "Is that a book on botany?" she asked, indicating towards the diagram of a newly seeded plant on page seven.
Akosua's eyes flicked up from the page. "Generally, yes. Specifically, no. It's about grafting."
"Oh," she said and Akosua thought that would be the end of that, but then Felicia went on to say, "Do you enjoy gardening then?"
Akosua was beginning to feel distinctly uncomfortable – not that she hadn't felt so before, but now even more so. All these questions didn't settle well with her. She wondered how long she could interact with this well-heeled girl before she made a blunder. She could already feel herself slipping. "Not particularly." she said, quickly flashing one of her 'if-in-doubt-smiles' and shifted her eyes back down to the text.
"Ah, yes, I don't particularly either... Not that I've ever tried. All that dirt and fertilizer is rather off-putting, isn't it? I imagine it would get under your nails and smell and then there are bugs—" A little shiver ran through Felicia. "No. No, gardening is not for me. I do find the results pleasing though. My father hired the most amazing landscaper for our gardens. He specialises in rockeries and dabbles in water features so—"
To that day Akosua still found it astonishing how many sentences in Ouran began with either my father or my mother.
"—I'm sure you can imagine how spectacular our grounds are. Perhaps you would like to see them sometime—"
Truly, truly astonishing.
Akosua! Another bottle came whizzing out of her subconscious – this one wasn't even empty. Wine-princess just invited you to her house.
She jolted back to attention.
Gorou was right. When Akosua re-focused on the situation, she found that Felicia had not launched herself into a ramble about the majesty of her gilded mansion and the humbleness of only needing one thousand servants to tuck her into bed every night and was instead watching her in anticipation, seeming somewhat anxious about the length of time Akosua took to reply.
This was new. This was different. This was socialisation at its most extreme. Akosua had never been invited somewhere by one of her peers before and she was unsure of how to act, let alone react. So, in her uncertainty, Akosua gave the most evasive answer she could.
"Perhaps…"
"'Perhaps'?" Felicia listened to her reply with wide eyes – uh-oh – then she jabbered, "Okay, right then, 'perhaps' "yes, lovely."
Perhaps (yes, perhaps) that answer had been a mistake. Felicia's response had been a certain giveaway to Akosua. Clearly she had made a social etiquette blunder of major proportions. She knew this was going to happen with prolonged exposure to the true upper crust. It had only been a matter of time. Maybe this situation was unsalvageable. News would spread of the uncouth, not quite-poor-and-no-longer-rich girl Akosua 'Lisa' Owusu and her terrible sense of decorum. But – wait a minute – why did it even matter?
She didn't want this. She didn't want Ouran. Akosua wanted to drift away on a train, she wanted to see how awesomely large the world was compared to this blip of a high school, she wanted to be a vagabond extraordinaire. She had a chance to step out of the lie, the lie she had been spinning near unwittingly for a whole year. She knew how real the lie was now, now that she peered into the maw of veracity, and she could easily tear that lie down. It was loose, balancing on a ledge. If there were any moment to out herself to the world for what she really was then this was it. It would be easy, surely?
Best to do it now, lest she became further invested in her tall tale.
Yet the moment passed. Akosua let it pass.
How could she allow herself to think so lavishly? Not now. Now was not the time to let her mind runaway, because her physical form would not get very far despite what leaps her consciousness would take. This is where she was, this is the hand she had been dealt, this was the existence she needed to fulfil. She could dream, but this was her life. Ouran was her reality. And that isn't a problem, she told herself, because, after all, high school is only a blip.
An awkward silence fell over the two girls, Felicia blinking and wriggling like a confused puppy and Akosua going back to her book, burrowing herself in its pages so deep she was half-convinced she would never surface again.
Felicia, as the schmoozer supreme she had been raised to be, who could evidently forge conversation from almost any terrible social depths, valiantly pulled them out of the silence with a statement. A statement that may have been fine, manageable, but the topic of choice was the one thing Akosua had prayed would go unnoticed (or at least unmentioned) because she really wasn't sure how to explain.
"Your sunglasses..." Felicia said and Akosua felt herself freeze up. "They're, um, different. I don't think I've ever seen you in sunglasses. I suppose I wouldn't have anyway— I mean, uh, I— Is that the cake brochure Honey asked for?"
The conversational switch came so fast and so unexpected that Akosua's brain was still concocting an explanation for the glasses (and further details if Felicia should recognise their inferior make and lack of brand) a good ten seconds after the question had been posed. Akosua shook away thoughts of bogus laser eye treatment and a desire to have a greater understanding of the 'peasant-people' and directed her gaze to her satchel, where Felicia pointed. It was indeed the 'brochure' – a portfolio really. It was casually tucked into the bag, peeking out the top as an insidious reminder of her gargantuan lie.
You betray me, Portfolio, Akosua thought sourly.
She had only brought it in hoping to draw more (before homeroom preferably). Now Akosua was sure she would be delayed another night and although little homework came on the first day back at school, from this point onwards the work load would only ever increase. It was best to have the portfolio done as soon as possible, lest it take up anymore of her time.
Akosua hadn't even conceived the notion that someone may take notice and want to look. Worse, that person was Felicia. She was practically the commissioner of the portfolio (well, her and Honey). It was hardly professional to show her an incomplete product and would reflect badly on her father (yes, even though her father was essentially make-believe at this point she wanted to protect his pretend reputation as a celebrated pastry chef). Except, no, maybe it would not reflect badly on his reputation. If only Akosua could swing the idea of an incomplete portfolio to her advantage…
"Actually, it's not the brochure. It is something better. It is my father's newest designs in progress."
"Oh!" Felicia exclaimed, "How interesting!"
"Yes, yes," she nodded sagely, "This is a very exclusive experience I'm offering you here. You are the only person besides my father and myself to see these. But they're not complete yet, so if I could just take that back…"
Akosua attempted to slip the portfolio from Felicia's hands, yet the girl held strong. "These are absolutely stunning." Felicia told her, enraptured.
At that Akosua felt a little bit hot around the cheeks. She wouldn't deny it, because that would reflect badly on her father, but mostly because she knew that they really were good. She had talent there, yet it was still the first time someone had seen her work (let alone complemented it).
"So, you see, when these designs are completed I can show them to Honey and he can pick one."
"How long until they are done?"
Now here was a conundrum. Initially, she had wanted this done and out the way with as soon as possible so she could continue on with her usual humdrum existence, however Akosua was coming to realise that past making a portfolio of cakes she had no real way of solving this situation. She couldn't bake – not in the slightest. How on earth was she going to be able to have a cake produced for Honey? And with this question circulating her mind, she realised she needed more time to find that elusive answer. She needed to work out a way to get Honey that cake.
"It should be some time yet unfortunately. My father is a busy man – currently out of the country you know – who only works on his designs in his spare time, which is something he does not have a lot of."
"That's a shame," Felica sighed, "but understandable. Well, perhaps you would grace us with your presence at the Host Club later anyway, to give Honey a status update and show him some designs."
Damn – and Akosua smiled tautly, "Of course" – Damn it all.
A/N: Well... Here's some stuff.
(And the French is probably, most definitely, wrong)