Chapter 7!

"Etsuko has been not been paying much attention in her classes, but regardless, she is intelligent and has been able to keep up with her lessons," Itsuki sensei glanced at me, then at my parents, who were both frowning a little after having been told about my misconduct.

"Jet lag?" I grinned sheepishly.

"That's no excuse," my mother said coolly, then turned back to my demonic mathematics and homeroom teacher. "We'll see to it that she does not repeat this mistake. Apologize, now."

"Gomennasai, Itsumi sensei," I tried to sound as sincere as possible, though I could tell both my parents weren't fooled by my third-rate acting.

It had already been two weeks since I had entered Youdai High. Both Kaichou and Hikaru had been right; Sakura had pulled some strings and managed to double my cleaning duties, as well as spread the word that if anyone even made eye contact with me, they would be ancient history. Even the teachers turned a blind eye to her disdain towards me, and I wasn't surprised. It wasn't very different from back in America, where people avoided me because of my ambiguous background and Japanese features. However, Kaichou and Hikaru were on my side, and Yuuichi talked to me just enough to deter Sakura from advancing any further.

Unfortunately, the parent-teacher meeting today was only for my parents, as I was new to the school and Itsuki sensei wanted to speak with them about my misbehaviour in class, and also his concerns on my lack of interaction with my classmates. Okasan assured him that I was reserved by nature, and might take some time to warm up to my peers, though I could see Otousan raise an eyebrow at me, and possibly entertaining the thought of questioning Hikaru on why his social life and mine had such a stark difference.

My mother did most, or rather all, of the talking, like a seasoned lawyer answering all the questions of her client, and inquiring about her own doubts. Itsuki sensei seemed pleased to discover that the parents of a certain defiant brat (me) were rather cooperative, and smiled at them as they took their leave.

"Oh," Itsuki sensei added as they were about to leave the classroom, staring a little at Okasan, "has anyone told you that you look like Tsuruga Kyoko? She's such a great actress."

"Yes, I have heard that before," she gave a slight smile, "thanks for the compliment, sensei."

...

"Okay, Etsuko, continue with the low profile," Okasan turned to me as we left the staffroom.

"Okasan, low profile? My homeroom teacher already saw the resemblance in half an hour," I replied, slightly amused, "and Otousan, maybe you shouldn't come here anymore. That's the third girl who's swooned because of you."

My father turned his uncharacteristically blonde head to see a female teenager that had recently slumped against her locker with a slight drool, while other groups of school girls ogled him from a distance. I wondered if this would garner more attention than my tiff with Sakura, while my stunning parents made their way out of the compounds.

"Why didn't you say anything to Etsuko's teacher, dearest?" Okasan asked Otousan in a monotone as they walked down the hallway in the opposite direction.

"If I did, he would have sensed the jealousy in my voice," Otousan murmured in his low voice, taking the opportunity to explore other facets of this interesting character his wife had created, and letting his wide palm linger around her waist.

All the students in the hallway seemed to be watching this amazing couple, so engrossed in each other that they had failed to notice the gathering crowds.

"You already know I'm yours, was last night not a reminder enough?"

The hallway went dead silent, while numerous eyes widened, and countless eyebrows rose.

"No it wasn't."

I pitied the janitors; they would have a tough time cleaning up blood later from all the nosebleeds.

"Ah, you greedy man," she sighed in slight contempt, "anyone told you greed isn't good for business?"

"That's why you need to teach me the rules."

"Rule number one: no hanky-panky in public."

I watched my mother pace off rhythmically in the direction of the car park as if nothing had occurred, and left my smirking father behind to catch up with her. With his long strides, he was soon by her side again, as if he was a faithful canine following his much respected master. My schoolmates were still slightly taken aback by the intensity of the recent scene that had unfolded, and the hallways were deathly silent long after my mother's footwear had ceased the "click clack" echoes that it produced as she walked along the corridor. As the shock wore off, I heard plenty of comments from the students that had witnessed the drama.

"Did you see that blonde? I bet you he's hiding his washboards abs from the rest of the world!"

"Isn't he taken? It's such a pity! No wonder it took such a woman to get him. Aw man I wish I had a figure like her. She's got curves in ALL the right places. Businesswoman too. Beauty AND brains."

"Who are they?"

"That exchange student's parents!"

"Her father and mother are so beautiful, but what happened to her?"

"God wasn't paying attention, I suppose."

"HAHAHA! What a pity!"

I felt like dealing with these foul-mouthed peers in the same way I had dealt with Sakura, rebutting whatever they had said with a spoonful of tact and a dollop of wit. At that moment, however, I realised that starting a commotion would be a recipe for disaster. They would throw my parents into the mix of insults; separate me from them like one sifts flour, taking the useless, unwanted clumps away from the soft and refined wheat that everybody desires. I knew when I had the upper hand in disputes, and this was not one of those times.

I tried to leave the hallway with my head held high, but it was near impossible for me to achieve this seemingly effortless task. It was as if all my insecurities had been confirmed; that this would be how the world would treat me, with disdain and warped sympathy, for being nothing like the rest of my family. My tear glands waged a war of epic proportions with the last few shreds of my injured pride. Just as I turned a corner to a corridor with almost no human traffic, I felt a pair of warm hands suddenly rest themselves over my ears, like giant, comforting earmuffs.

"Don't listen to a word they say," this familiar voice was firm and unwavering.

"Hi...Hikaru?" I stammered a little, as one would usually do after having their ears covered without warning.

"You are in no way inferior to anyone. Those that put others down are the ones who have no courage, so don't listen to cowards."

I could feel a tear escape, and I hurried to control the torrents that were threatening to pour. Lowering my heavy head, I nodded wordlessly to convey my understanding.

"Feel better now?" His voice changed back to the jovial one that I was more accustomed to.

"Very much, thanks," turning towards Hikaru, I gave him a wide, grateful smile.

"Anytime. Remember, the Etsuko I know never goes down without a fight. Hey, wanna watch me do my thing at the basketball club later?" Hikaru offered.

"Maybe I'll drop by," I considered the idea, then smirked a little, "what do you think those rumour mongers will have to say if they see me eyeing both the basketball captain AND Sakura's beau?"

"Ooh, I sense my lovely, beautifully dark and scheming Etsuko making her overdue reappearance," Hikaru returned the sadistic smile, "see you later then!"

I watched as Yashiro Hikaru traipsed down the hallway, and then disappeared as he headed in the direction of the gymnasium. He had been a major source of comfort yet again, and even though the burden I carried around wasn't completely gone, a huge weight had been lifted off my back. I wondered how much lonelier I would feel without the mere knowledge that I had a friend whom I could trust, who would be there when I needed him. My converse shoes tapped against the well-polished floor, as I set off in the opposite direction towards class, where I would finish my cleaning duties before stopping by to watch Hikaru practice. Though he did not manage the schedules of others like his father, his own life revolved around a plan that was exact to the minute, which was another reason he could manage his time so efficiently and effectively. Despite finding this trait of his admirable, I couldn't picture myself counting the seconds when I ate or slept, and I could never imagine how Hikaru had gained such amazing discipline. His mother had probably whipped him into shape, and I laughed a little at the thought. She would have shown no mercy even though he was the only child.

My classroom door slid open as I tugged on it, and I stared in horror at the mess I was to clean up. The blackboard was covered in obscenities, especially in the corners that were hard to reach. The class files were in complete disarray, and the chairs were cruelly divorced from their desks. Sweet wrappers littered the floor, even though eating was strictly banned anywhere else except the cafeteria. Magazines and posters joined the foray on the dismal grey tiles. Toilet paper (of which its origins I greatly feared), hung from the ceiling fans like giant streamers, attached with what looked like gobs of gum.

I swore that it had been relatively hygienic when I had left it an hour earlier during class to join my parents as they met Itsuki sensei. The weary wheels in my head creaked as they turned, I realised that my parents had created that scene just minutes after everyone was dismissed, and something as eventful as that would have been news to students who had just been forced to sit through an entire morning of drudgery. And news, as I had come to discover, travels fast.

Giving Sakura plenty of time to make the classroom a complete pig-sty in sheer envy of my parent's unrivalled allure.

I had a feeling I wouldn't be able to see Hikaru play basketball that afternoon.

...

I hauled the black trash bag out of the once-filthy room, pleased with my efforts over the last hour. The clock read 4pm, and I had already cleared the litter on the ground, and made sure the desk and chairs were reunited with their respective partners. The cabinets and files had been put back in their rightful spots, and the blackboard was set free from its recent vulgar shackles. Posters hung peacefully on the notice boards. The only thing left was the disturbing rolls of toilet paper that were draped over blades of the ceiling fans, secured by gum.

I knew oil would work, but I didn't bring any. (What a shocker. EVERYONE brings oil to school on a daily basis. It's a basic necessity!) Thus, I resigned to sacrificing my ruler to scrape off the gooey remains after pulling out most of the toilet paper, as intact as humanely possible. Of the things I recommend not to do while tip toeing on unstable tables, it would be scraping gum off ceiling fans. However, it seemed like the most plausible idea at the time, and I had managed to eradicate the gum on one fan just as the clock told me it was 4.30.

One down, five to go.

On my fourth fan, I noticed that my knees were a little shaky. I ignored the trembling at first, as I focused on cleaning up the rubbery pink substance that had latched itself onto the fan. When I was packing up the class earlier, the tasks were varied, thus leaving me with less mental energy to think about that day's occurrences. I noticed the monotony of gum scraping after a while, and my thoughts about my parents started to creep in again. Maybe, I was a mistake. Maybe I shouldn't have existed. Maybe God wasn't paying attention on the day I was created. Maybe, just maybe. My arms ached from contorting themselves so that I could get the gum off, and the muscles in my calves made their resentment known. I grit my teeth, forcing my wrist to twist just a little more to get that wretched substance away from the plastic.

Now, picture a relatively inflexible teenage girl going against nature to convolute her limbs while teetering precariously on the edge of a flimsy desk. The forces of gravity have not been widely known for their merciful deeds, as this immalleable teenage girl was about to find out.

Once I could no longer feel the edge of the table beneath my blistered toes, I safely assumed that I was falling. The sudden rush of air behind me confirmed my suspicions, and I braced myself for a hard knock against another desk behind me. I wondered if they would hold my funeral in the classroom, possibly use toilet paper to mummify my accursed body and send me into the realms of the underworld. I may not be able to have a peaceful afterlife, but at the very least, it was comforting to know that I would have toilet paper. At this moment, I envisioned my head colliding with concrete once more, and this time, it would finish its job.

But what I least expected was to feel taut flesh cushioning my fall, and strong arms encircling me from behind.

...

Haha. There ya go, a cliff hanger.

I'M SORRY!

*ducks and avoids the rotten tomatoes being flung with fury*

Haha. I bet you can figure out who it is. Thanks for reading, and please review!