Jump!
PART 1: Yellow
Arc 2:
Chapter Ten:
(... this is where our dreams die…)
A dream.
(You're being taught one hundred-and-one ways to kill a man…)
I had a dream once.
(Under the guise of sticky, sweet patriotism…)
A full ride to a university of my choice.
Volleyball Scholarship.
Psych major.
Becoming a child psychologist.
(Thrust into the cold, fucked up world, the taste
Of blood
At the tip
Of your tongue…)
Settling with three kids.
Living in the suburbs.
You know?
The white picket fence.
Becoming a PTA mom.
Packing PB&J lunches for my kids.
(You have the taste of power at your fingertips.)
I wouldn't be like my parents.
I'd be different. I'd bathe my
Children with attention,
Attention I seldom received.
(Your life would be different.
Showered with attention.
Spilling deep, dark, gut-wrenching secrets.
The power to change the fucking world.)
Who wouldn't want that?
(Who wouldn't want that?)
"Kotori, what happened to your leg?!"
"Taijutsu match. I lost. I need practice."
"This is the second - no, third - time you've come home with some injuries. What are they teaching you at this school, anyway?!"
"How to win. Can you get the hydrogen peroxide for me? I don't want this wound to get infected."
The Hokage looked tired. His office was cold. I tried not to shiver. I wasn't sure if it was because of the temperature or his sheer presence.
"I see you're struggling in taijutsu," he noted, peering down at the files.
"I'm trying," I said, folding my hands. "I'm trying my best."
"I know you are." Smoke swirled around his face. He cleared his throat. "The end-of-the-year exam, as you know, will be focused around taijutsu…"
"It doesn't matter who wins, what matters is technique," I finished. "I understand. I'm trying my best."
"I understand your difficult situation. You don't have much resources to study or practice on. Have you made any friends?"
"Yes." (Lie.)
"One of the teachers have started a club for underprivileged students who have meager resources," he slid me the bright yellow card. I glanced at it.
SHINOBI CLUB
Academy students welcome
Taijutsu practices, meditation sessions, genjutsu sessions, and ninjutsu tutoring
Meet in Class 6-I at 0300 PM. Don't be late!
We'll have snacks and drinks on the first meeting. Come if you need help!
"It'd be a good idea to join."
"Okay, I will." (Another lie.)
"You can benefit from this. You can improve and become stronger."
"I'll try my best."
Four months.
Four months, I've been in 4-A.
I'm not going to lie, smile through gritted teeth, and pretend my days in 4-A have been peaches and rainbows.
The curriculum is fast-paced. The students are smarter, more advanced, more sober. Clan robots indoctrinated to train, train, train, train until their hands bleed, until they develop callouses, until they tear their muscle fibers so much that they can barely move, and then to do it all again the next day. Spawns of shinobi parents juggling the boulder-like pressure of expectations.
It was like being immersed into an entirely different world. I could barely keep up. I felt weak. I felt like an outcast, even though I really wasn't (was I?). I felt like I was beneath them, so inferior, just because the Genetic Lottery cursed me with ordinary civilian parents. I didn't have a kekkei genkai, or some cool, exclusive clan jutsu. I didn't have a conspicuous tattoo on my face that proudly brandished my clan. I didn't have a tight knit family that taught me just how to punch, kick, and dodge.
I decided to keep to myself again. Although these kids - without a doubt - were on a thoroughly different maturity level in comparison to class 5-B, it still felt creepy to interact with them. I could barely keep up with this facade of being a - now - six year old. What would I even talk about with another six year old child? Aren't they supposed to be in kindergarten or something?
Huh. These children are wielding honed knives and powerful kicks, and they're only in kindergarten. I still can't get used to this world.
"How was school?" Grandmother asked as I entered the house. The smell of freshly baked cookies wafted through the air. My mouth instinctively watered - her cookies were to die for - but I stifled the urge to jump in the kitchen. She was in there, her hands dusted with flour, rolling thick dough on a cutting board. The kettle screeched unpleasantly. Her dark mane, sifted with silver hairs that timidly indicated her age, was pulled back into a loose bun.
"Good," I said absentmindedly, kicking off my shoes. Mud and mof dirt spew around our creaky, wooden floors. I glanced at my "blue" sandals, if you could even call it that anymore. Soil and other unnamed substances had dried onto it, the indigo color oxidizing to a dirty, gross brown. I cringed. It was a stark reminder of my activity in school, splashing around in the moist soil, flinging weapons and maneuvering punches during our sparring sessions.
"Did you make friends?"
I rolled my eyes behind her back. She's been asking me this question since I started, and the answer was the same. "No."
She turned around and pouted. She wiped her flour dusted hands on her pants and walked over to me. I avoided her ebony gaze. A sigh escaped her lips.
"You have to try, Kotori-chan," she told me. She cupped my chin. "You have to put an effort. Are the kids mean, or something?"
"No," I replied. I decided to focus my gaze on my feet. Dirt accumulating behind my toenails and the soles of my feet. An old scab was beginning to darken. I fought the urge to pick it.
"Are you shy?"
"No."
A pregnant pause passed between us. The kettle's screech grew in pitch. Was it going to burst, or something? All of a sudden, I kept picturing the kettle exploding, some way, somehow, and all of the boiling hot tea splashes everywhere, including on us. I envisioned Grandma recoiling in shock, abandoning our 'conversation', and rushing to the kitchen. Maybe that'll teach her not to grill me about having friends.
Finally, she released another sigh. "You're acting different, little one," she murmured, peering into my eyes, searching for something, something - child-like innocence? Pensive sadness? Corpulent guilt? Whatever she was seeking, she would not find.
I kept my lips glued shut. It felt like I swallowed glue. I wasn't sure what was going on with me, either. I felt different. I acted different. I felt drained.
Four months in Class 4-A really made me different? Or perhaps I've been an outcast, the odd one out, all along?
Memories from my past life. My old soul. When my soul was new and tempered. My old life arrived in flashes. When I awoke, it dispersed. I couldn't cling to anything tangible.
My old life visited me one night. I saw tiny specks, like I was fast forwarding through a movie, sporadically pausing it. My peppermint blue bedroom. My ivory white, meticulously polished furniture. My four-thousand-and-something square foot house. My trophies and medals, gleaming under the sprinkles of sunlight, brandished proudly in the dining room (for what?). The smell of lamb-chops and potatoes, the scent of warm, artificial cinnamon, the scent of Daddy's Clive Christian's cologne that danced around him.
My mother's heart-shaped face, polished off to perfection, thanks to her expensive facial masks, cleansers, and her skilled esthetician. Pearly whites that were shamelessly exposed whenever she flashed her megawatt smile; veneers, I believe, and braces in her adolescence. She never failed to wear her retainer.
It was pristine perfection. The 'creme de la creme'. The 'ne plus ultra'. (I got an A in AP French. Could you tell?) I think. I hoped. My family hoped. But I can almost see, taste, feel my disappointment, my unsettlement, my discomfort with my old life. Something was wrong with this picture. It was a conspicuous smudge. Something was wrong with this 'critically-acclaimed' movie called my life. Something was wrong, and I can't remember what.
The strain of thinking jolted me awake. And akin to thin smoke, my memories dissipated once more.
The pressure of exams was looming over us. It was a taijutsu match this time (wasn't it some clone jutsu, or something, in the show?) Pass it, and you move on. You are rewarded with a higher level. You're closer and closer to becoming a cold-hearted killer, forced to swallow down your emotions and fear. You'll get the coveted hitai-ate, where you are (somewhat) permanently branded with the pride of your village. You'll get to explore and leave the comfortable walls of the village.
You're a big kid now! You're not a child anymore, you've matured! It's a rite of passage for students, like getting your period or buying your first B cup bra. You get to experience leaping from tree branch to tree branch, the freedom of the sirocco licking your cool skin.
You're closer and closer to becoming a cold-hearted killer.
Our last spar before our final exams. Before we're picked out of the litter - which one of us would be moving on. I was fighting an Inuzuka. What was her name again? It was odd, seeing them in real life. Seeing a tiny brown pup safely burrowed into their hoodie. Their cocky, arrogant smirk was distinguishable, almost as much as the purple marks etched onto their face.
She narrowed her eyes at me, seemingly calculating my next move.
She lunged at me, one arm held taut to defend and the other balled into a tight, sweaty fist to offend.
One foot behind the other. Prepare yourself. She's coming.
I already have a grim reminder of my 'reward' if I was caught slipping and lost; a wound inscribed on my knee, generously bestowed upon me by a smug Yamanaka.
She came faster than I thought she would. I staggered back, just in time to evade her punch. Ouch. That would have been a tooth-knocker.
She was relentless and determined. She seemingly glided across the sand as if it were ice to deliver another punch to my stomach, but I blocked it with my arms just in time. We both grimaced; her bony knuckles met my bony arms, delivering an electrifying pay-back. Her punch sent a rattling shock through my teeth. I gritted my teeth.
The little brat cornered me into being solely on the defense. She was quick on her feet, ready to shower me with punches and kicks. I had no time to retaliate.
Curse this skinny, tiny body! If I had the athletic prowess that took me years to develop from volleyball, this fight would have been over the minute Natsuhi said 'start'.
(Power.)
The little Inuzuka - what was her name again? - was coming once more. A smirk was plastered on her face. The message in her glimmering brown eyes was clear: I got you now. It's over.
(You want power….)
(... Why don't you seek it?)
The ball was thrown into the air. It was a meteor, hurtling towards my side of the court. My toes anticipated the jump before my brain did. Sweat slipped off my brow. I jumped, my heart pumping in my throat. The ball licked my fingertips and ricocheted. My fingers danced and buzzed with the impact, and the ball shot back towards the opponent.
Jump!
I jumped. I don't know why, or how, because my tiny little brain didn't even register the act, but I jumped. The Inuzuka stumbled, taken aback, but she quickly recovered. Smart girl.
It was like I was flying. The wind blew through my white braids, slapping my mouth. The adrenaline coursing through my body made me felt like I was on drugs. I felt exhilarated. My muscles tightened, my heart screamed, and my eyes zeroed in on my prey. I was coming down from my high - literally and figuratively. My palm met her tiny face as I shoved her to the ground. I was flying. I flew. Did I fly?
The Inuzuka and I crumpled to the ground. I had the advantage. I was on top, pressing my knees to her abdomen.
Without a second thought, I balled my tiny fist and landed a punch on her face. She attempted to wrestle herself off me. Anger coursed through me.
How dare she underestimate me?
(when did she underestimate you?)
I've been wanting to wipe that smug, fucking look off her face.
She thought I was weak.
She thought she was superior.
(We both know, though…)
She did. She thought she was so smug.
Just because I'm tinier.
Just because I'm new.
Just because I'm not the top of my class.
She thought I was weak, and I finally,
Finally humiliated her.
(You enjoy crushing bones…
As much as you like crushing dreams.)
"Enough!"
Natsuhi's voice rang through the field, instantaneously slicing through the tense, but excited, air.
We both froze. Spectator-like students stopped chanting. The only sound that was heard was the chorus of birds and our breaths, panting in harmony.
"Make the Seal of Reconciliation and then disperse from the sparring center," Natsuhi ordered monotonously.
I clumsily interlocked my fingers with hers, rose, dusted sand off my knees, and limped back to the students watching.
"Kotori, a word please,"
The bell had just rung. The classroom was empty, what with students filing out the classroom obediently. I was sluggish, admittedly, in my state; it seemed that all the excitement from earlier completely drained me of my energy. I felt tired and longed for a nap, but I knew had some activities to attend to after school. The fight - and the outcome - had excited me immensely. Motivation surged through me, pumping my brain with determination.
"Yes, Natsuhi-sensei?" I answered compliantly. What did she possibly have to discuss with me? My grades? (Like I said earlier, the curriculum was fast paced and it was taking a little longer to assimilate.) My asocialness? (What business did a secretly twenty-something have with six year olds, anyway?) My meetings with Hokage?
Natsuhi blinked slowly and put down the pen she was tapping against the mahogany desk. Her chakra felt icily familiar, like a brush with a snowflake. It was lavender, I felt.
"How has Class 4-A been for you?" she asked me plainly. I fought the urge to roll my eyes to the back of my head. I'm sure she's been lapping up the reports the Hokage gives her, and vice versa. I couldn't help but wonder if this was a simple polite inquiry or something more. She was aware of my grades and how I was nowhere near the top of the class. I wasn't flunking, or anything, but my performance was borderline unsatisfactory. My taijutsu was average and mundane, ninjutsu was average and mundane, and genjutsu was nonexistent.
"It's been… fine," I lied, brushing off the fact that I hadn't made any friends or that I'm struggling to keep up with my peers. I avoided her icy, pearly gaze. Her eyes reminded me of crisp, Seattle snow. I almost wanted to reach out and…
"Your spar, in particular, interested me," Natsuhi informed me. She folded her hands together. "You took on a fiery spirit this afternoon, one that we have not witnessed since your arrival."
I wasn't sure whether to smile and thank her or stare at her passively. I chose the latter option. I sucked on my bottom lip and nodded.
"Your jump. It's messy but not unorthodox. Your foundation was clumsy and awkward, and if you did that again, I'm sure you'd mess up your knees, ankles, or both,"
I winced under her critique. "... I'm sorry?" I mumbled. I felt disappointed. I yearned for praise, for a smile, for anything, that told me I was doing decent. It was messy and it was a movement not thoroughly thought-out. It was a last-minute defense route to gain the upper hand, but it wasn't as clever as I thought. I didn't feel quite smug anymore, and my confidence deflated out of me like a balloon.
Natsuhi, somehow sensing my disappointment, continued. "However, I will say this: good job on winning. You jump quite high." I blinked, almost surprised. Her praise - which was impossibly rare - almost brought grateful tears to my eyes. "Hone your innate abilities, Kotori-chan. You are dismissed." With that, she continued on finishing up her grading.
I staggered out her classroom and out the school, my mind whirring like a rollercoaster from the recent events.
I wasn't sure if I was imagining it, but perhaps through my moistened, blurred eyes - in there, while she gave me approval - I believe I saw a tiny smile form on her porcelain face.