Title: Stranger
Rating: T, although given my main characters, this probably ought to be K -.- Just in case, though.
Disclaimer: I do not own La Corda D'oro or any of the characters mentioned here. Except, you know, the ones I do. Hm.
A/N: Ah. Hi again. I don't really have an excuse, so . . . yeah. Thank you to everyone who reviewed, if you're still reading, and I'm sorry for the long wait. Thanks for reading, and please enjoy!
For someone who could claim no athletic prowess whatsoever, Shoko had certainly been doing a lot of running lately.
She might have run straight home without stopping - she was half-afraid Len might pursue her, and he appeared to be in much better physical shape than she, not that she'd been looking. Or feeling, come to think of it. Or was at all appreciative. Ahem. - had the car not been waiting.
Under other circumstances, she might have missed it. As it was now, she very nearly missed it. After all, she had called Usaki and told her she would be walking today. There was no reason why the car should be here.
Except for one. The same reason why her mother would be standing in front of it, waving enthusiastically and calling, "Shoko! Darling, wherever are you going in such a hurry? Shoko!"
This was also the reason why Shoko did not miss it.
She slowed, glancing nervously over her shoulder. She didn't think he'd come after her. She definitely wasn't hoping he'd come after her. That would be a disaster, after all.
But then, a lot of things have been disasters, she thought glumly. That doesn't stop me from running headlong into them.
It took her a few moments to process the situation, for three reasons. One, the fact that she'd just thrown herself at Len like a wanton football, two, there was a stranger next to her mother dressed in an atrocious ensemble which, upon further inspection, Shoko was horrified to find she actually quite liked, and three? Oh, yes, she'd just thrown herself at Len like a wanton football.
But process the situation she did, and once she had, she felt even worse.
She hadn't realized how much time had actually passed, she'd been so preoccupied with other things. Now that she thought about it, however, she supposed it had been a few weeks since her parents left, and if anything, her mother was late getting home.
But why did it have to be today, of all days, when Shoko had raced out of the music room wanting nothing more than to go home and pour her pathetic little heart out to Takano and Usaki over a hot cup of tea while the ratio of tea to salt water slowly changed in favor of her tears? Even before the events in the music room, she had counted on that haven all day long - if she could just make it to the end of the day, then . . .
"Have I surprised you? I'm so happy to see you, although part of me wants to scold you, too. Please don't walk home alone anymore; what with the way you always keep your head down like that, I'm not so sure you won't get attacked. And don't stand there staring at me like I'm a zoo exhibit, come give me a kiss. Oh! And I'll introduce you to Miss Cavendish, as well, don't worry, she's not going to be a permanent fixture, but I'm sure you will adore her, I told you about her in my letter - speaking of which, I am sorry I didn't write more frequently, this young lady here kept everyone so busy I hadn't the time nor energy to sit down and pen another letter - anyways, she's lovely, excellent company, I'm hoping she'll be a good influence, I'll tell you more in the car and - actually, are you feeling all right? You look a little flushed. More than a little, to be honest." Her mother ended the rapid sequence of her various expressions with a penetrating stare and a frown.
Shoko blinked, trying to process the great leaps between subjects at the same time she tried to quell the sinking feeling in her stomach. It was not that she was unhappy to see her mother; it was simply that even on good days, her mother was very much a 'small-doses' person for Shoko. But now, of all times? She wanted to cry in frustration. Instead of going home to the comforting presence of Takano and Usaki, she would spend the evening politely listening to her mother's travel stories, about which she'd be expected to feign a reasonable level of enthusiasm. And her mother had brought a guest. Shoko had never been good with guests. She was shy around new people, and for some reason it always exhausted her to play hostess, even if very indirectly. Just the sub-conscious discomfort of having a stranger in her home left her stressed and somewhat sensitive for days.
Yes, she had no doubt that the next several hours would be exactly what she did not need, and the knowledge had tears of frustration slipping into her eyes; tears which she absolutely must not let fall. Shoko made a point never to cry in front of her mother, who meant well but did not understand and thus felt uncomfortable and a little impatient whenever Shoko cried, which made Shoko feel stupid and unreasonable and small. It made it seem as if she were upset over the most trivial things, and try as her mother might to make her feel better, somehow, she always achieved the opposite.
So she blinked them back and smiled tentatively at her mother and Miss Cavendish, hurrying forward to kiss her mother's cheek.
"H-hello, Mother." She dipped into a wobbly bow in Miss Cavendish's direction. "Miss C-cavendish," she murmured. "It's a p-pleasure to mee-eep!" she squeaked as Miss Cavendish drew her into a hug which was really more of a glomp in Shoko's opinion, and she nearly went limp from the dizzying impact of her skull on the young lady's collarbone. Miss Cavendish must have been at least half a foot taller than she.
"Hello, it's so wonderful to meet you!" She said enthusiastically, drawing back and letting Shoko desperately try to regain balance. The smile that accompanied her excited greeting was a little sheepish. "I'm sorry if I've startled you, it's just . . . you're even more adorable than your mother told me. Shame on you, Kiri-chan! You should have warned me. I couldn't help but hug her. How old are you, love? Sixteen, right? You look younger, but it could be because you're so tiny. And so pretty! Like a doll. I agree with your mother, it's much too dangerous for you to walk home, as someone will surely try to steal you away."
Shoko thought that perhaps she should be flattered, but all she felt was alarm and vague terror. Miss Cavendish was a tall, waif-thin brunette with astonishingly blue eyes set in an angular, though not unattractive, face. And lots of teeth. It could be the wide smile, but Shoko had trouble seeing anything but the teeth when she looked at her.
"Um," she stalled. "Th-that's alright . . . and yes, s-sixteen, as of last November." She was a little amazed she managed to catch onto that train of thought.
"Lovely!" Miss Cavendish beamed. Kiri grinned. Shoko cowered.
"Well, Miss Cavendish and I came straight here after we freshened up at the house, so we're famished. Would you mind terribly if we stopped for something to eat?"
The thought of food made her stomach turn.
"N-not at all, Mother."
Kiri clapped her hands together with a satisfied smile.
"And we shall tell you all about the party. Ah, well, with a few exceptions. Young ears and all that, right, Eliza?"
Miss Cavendish grinned.
"Surely she's heard it all before!" at which Kiri only laughed and Shoko was certain she felt herself becoming smaller and smaller.
"No, not my Shoko. She's remarkably naïve, and, well, easily shocked."
Maybe once, she wanted to say. But not anymore. Really, she thought, she hadn't been for a long time. Perhaps easily shocked, she supposed. But she wasn't stupid, and she did have ears. And then there was her dratted imagination with it's tendency towards morbidity. She might be a little naive in some ways, she thought, with a measure of defiance, but if anything, she'd long since finished mourning her childhood innocence, whether by accident or force. Quiet people who never said anything only heard more.
But she said nothing, as always, and slipped into the car at her mother's behest.
As the car pulled away, she chanced to look outside the window, towards the front of the school, and she thought her heart stopped for a moment.
There he was. Len. Standing by the entrance, simply watching her. She told herself she was too far away to see his expression, that she was imagining things and he was merely waiting for his ride and she should turn back to the conversation in the car and try not to think of him.
Yet she couldn't tear her eyes away. Just looked at him, transfixed, as the car pulled away.
And she could swear his eyes followed her until they turned the corner.
"Miss Cavendish wore us all out dancing every night. I am disgusted by her youthful energy; truly I am. I don't think I saw her out of breath once, while I was there doubled over in a corner panting by the second evening."
"Oh, come on, it wasn't as bad as all that. I was just trying to make things lively."
Kiri cocked a brow. "You chased some of us around the room until we danced."
Miss Cavendish bristled defensively, lifting her chin.
"Nobody appreciates dancing anymore, and you know everyone loved it once they got over their self-consciousness. If I hadn't pushed, everyone would have stood around, bored as anything, like people do at parties. As I said, I was making things lively."
"By making us dance until we were half-dead?" she teased and Miss Cavendish blushed attractively. Shoko watched her in envy. She never blushed attractively. Just looked like a red balloon with a mop of sea green put on it. Not that she'd ever seen herself blush. But she was pretty sure she was a terribly unattractive blusher.
"Hm," her mother mused. "Do you have any interest in learning to dance, Shoko? It never occurred to me to ask, but really, I should have. I think you'd be good at it, given your excellent sense of rhythm."
Not so long ago, Shoko wouldn't have given it a second thought before fervently replying in the negative. Dancing left one open to all sorts of clumsy mishaps, which Shoko was prone to anyways, but more importantly, it was not something you could really do alone. The close proximity to someone else - namely, a boy, those dratted things - rendered dancing lessons out of the question.
Now, however, she wasn't thinking of tripping over someone's feet. Without warning, the first thing that came to mind was close proximity to a particular boy, which was really a very pleasant little fantasy for about a third of a second before that brought to mind the fact that she had been in very, very close proximity to said boy not an hour ago.
She turned bright red and mumbled something that may or may not have referenced the moon and Norwegian flamenco dancers.
Her mother blinked.
"Do they have those? I should like to see that," she said thoughtfully. Miss Cavendish tilted her head and looked at Shoko curiously before she nodded in agreement.
"It does sound interesting. Are you always so quiet, Shoko-chan? I feel so bad, like we're making you sit there and listen to us babble on about something you don't really care about."
Shoko was mortified. Had she really given such an impression? She felt horribly rude, and would have made a move to apologize and assure her otherwise had her mother not laughed and answered for her.
"No, you ought not worry about Shoko, as she never has much to say. Besides, she once said how much she liked the stories, so please don't feel bad. Right, love?" Shoko could only grit her teeth in frustration. If her mother's tone had been even a little sarcastic or unkind, she could have gotten angry, could have indicated her frustration. But there was only warmth and affection in Kiri's voice and eyes, evidence of her kind intentions in responding for her, trapping her into a guilty silence.
Miss Cavendish looked relieved.
"I'm sorry, I know that I can get away from myself sometimes, and I'd hate to leave a bad impression on you straight off. If you decide you've had enough though, you need only to kick me under the table and I'll be quiet," she instructed seriously.
Shoko smiled tentatively in return, hoping she wasn't really serious. Even if she were, Shoko would never dare.
"N-no, please continue. Mother m-must have had a w-wonderful time, if she b-brought you all the way back t-to Japan with her."
"Mm, I wonder about that. Perhaps she's planned some revenge . . . please don't let her be too mean to me."
A small noise of indignation sounded immediately from Kiri.
"Now, really!" she scoffed. "I've no such plans. Or at least," she added, trading her offended look for one full of mischief, "I didn't before."
The pair giggled, looking for all the world as though they'd been friends for years. How did her mother do it? Was there some secret, magic ability that had simply skipped over Shoko, or what? Even as a child, when such things should have been a piece of cake, she couldn't make fast friends. And now . . .
Oh, she thought, heart twisting in her chest. I should not have gone down that road.
Friends. Such a complicated thing. Was it that way for everyone? She thought having friends meant having someone to talk to, look forward to seeing, share your problems with, listening to and helping with theirs in turn. She'd never thought they would be part of her problems.
"Shoko?"
"Ah! Yes?" she snapped back to attention, Miss Cavendish and Kiri looking at her expectantly.
"I asked you how you've been. It's been almost a month since I've seen you. And of course, you never write me back." Kiri spoke the last words with a fondly reproachful look in Shoko's direction.
Of course I don't, she thought to herself. I never have anything to say.
"G-good."
Her mother nodded slowly.
"And? Nothing interesting happened?" She didn't sound very hopeful.
Plenty of interesting things had happened. But her mother was not the person to tell, especially not while a stranger was sitting right there. She couldn't even begin to imagine what her mother would respond with.
Or rather, she could, and none of them were things she wanted or needed to hear.
"No, Mother, n-nothing interesting."
Kiri sighed.
"Oh, well. I thought as much. But it doesn't hurt to ask."
Miss Cavendish smiled sympathetically.
"Nothing wrong with that. Someday. Besides, it could be worse. She could be out getting into trouble all of the time."
"True . . . though a little trouble never hurt anyone. Heh," she grinned. "I remember when I was sixteen . . ."
Shoko looked askance. She was ninety-nine percent sure she didn't want to hear about this.
"Oh, don't look at me like that. It's nothing terribly sordid, just some sneaking out and exploring the city."
She stared.
"Weren't you f-frightened, being out a-alone?"
Kiri shook her head, a pained look on her face.
"Really, it wasn't very smart of me. Any number of horrible things might have happened . . . but I didn't hear about that kind of thing back then and, well, when you're sixteen . . . it seemed like a good idea at the time. Of course, even when you do hear about something, you figure 'It'll never happen to me.' You think you're invincible or something." She smiled wryly, wrinkling her nose. "Actually, I stopped when finally, something did almost happen to me."
Shoko hadn't ever heard this story. Her mother didn't really talk about her childhood much, now that she thought about it. She'd heard all of the travel stories - the funny ones, the embarrassing ones, and the just plain interesting ones - at dinner parties or in one on one conversation, but none of the ones from before their marriage. It was as if their lives hadn't really started until then, when they'd become adventuring partners in crime at a very young age, just out of college.
Shortly followed by her own arrival. She'd always wondered if she hadn't only been a hindrance to their fun.
Still, in spite of the fact that it had obviously turned out alright, Shoko was a little apprehensive.
"W-what happened?"
Her mother paused, absentmindedly turning her glass in circles.
"Oh, well, it was right after a concert I'd gone to with some girlfriends of mine, but we got into a stupid argument - I don't even remember what it was about. I was very sensitive and hotheaded at that age, so I ended up storming off alone. Anyways, three blocks away, I . . . I get accosted, shall we say. I thought for sure it was all over for me, but no - all the sudden the man gets shoved over and there's this outraged young man standing there, and he really - well, let us just say my would-be-attacker was still unconscious when we ran away." She grinned, but sobered a few moments later. "In hindsight, I ought to have been kinder to my rescuer, but I was still feeling very frightened and was a little hysterical. In addition to which, rather than backing off and comforting me, do you know what the punk had the audacity to do?"
Shoko and Miss Cavendish, eyes wide, shook their heads, waiting for her to continue.
"He scolded me! We finally stopped running, and I was standing there, doubled over gasping and still in tears, and he suddenly starts in on me - raised his voice and everything. 'You idiot! What are you thinking, wandering around at night alone? Are you trying to get yourself killed? What's wrong with you?' On and on. And I . . ." she scrunched up her face in embarrassment. "I was so shocked and indignant, I stopped crying and yelled back. Told him he was the stupid one, since he could very well have gotten hurt too, and he had an almost equal chance of getting into trouble walking around the city alone. I didn't even thank him. A couple of police officers came and broke up our screaming match and took me home, and my parents . . ." she shuddered. "I can't even recall how long they yelled at me. Anyways, I never sneaked out again after that."
"But what about the boy? Did you ever meet him again?" Miss Cavendish asked, eyes earnest. Kiri smiled sheepishly.
"Oh, yes. But I hadn't the faintest idea it was him until he told me a couple of years later. I'd actually known him even before that night."
"What?! Who was he?"
She hesitated, then smiled a little.
"Shoko's father."
Shoko's jaw dropped.
"F-f-father?! I th-thought you met at Univ-versity!"
"Ah, yes, well, that's when we met again," she explained, putting a hand to her reddening cheek. "I'm far too embarrassed to go around telling of our original meeting. Really, it does not present me in a good light at all. I won't say I didn't have fun, because I most definitely did, but I was hardly a, ah, classy young lady, despite my parents' best efforts." She laughed. "They'd have loved it if I were nice and quiet and well-behaved like you, Shoko."
She knew her mother didn't mean anything by it, but she still felt a twinge of hurt, unable to stop herself from taking it as criticism.
Nonetheless, she did her best to brush the unpleasant feeling off.
"How could you not recognize him?" Miss Cavendish wanted to know.
"Ah, that is because he was from a very proper sort of family. At school, his hair was always combed nicely and he wore glasses and earned top marks. The night he helped me out, he was looking considerably less respectable – like a different person. And then when we ended up at the same University together - this was after I'd gotten my act together . . . well, mostly together - he approached me, told me he'd always liked me, and well . . . you know how that ended up. And then on our two-year anniversary, he made some unmistakable comment about that night and asked if I remembered yet. I felt so guilty . . . but, I also felt relieved. I did, after all, owe him an apology and a thank you."
"W-wow," murmured Shoko. Miss Cavendish shook her head in awe.
"How romantic!" she exclaimed. "You should tell that story more often, Kiri-chan."
Shoko's mother only wrinkled her nose in response.
"Oh, I couldn't. Too embarrassing. Poor Shoko is no doubt appalled."
"N-no . . ." To be honest, Shoko wasn't that surprised. It made sense that her mother would have been like that as a teenager. "It's a nice s-story."
And it was.
It's just, it made the difference between her and her parents seem even greater.
"I'm glad I told you then, love. Well, shall we head home? If I am not mistaken, Shoko has exams coming up, and she probably wants to study a little tonight."
Horrified, she realized her mother was correct. She'd been so preoccupied with this whole tangled mess with Len and Kahoko that she'd hardly gotten any work done at all.
"Oh! Certainly. I suppose the term ends in Spring here, doesn't it? I'd hate to be responsible for your doing poorly," Miss Cavendish said, waving over the waiter, who came and deposited the check on the table.
And sitting there, feeling tired and glum and very out of place as her mother and Miss Cavendish engaged in a friendly argument over who would pick up the tab, Shoko wondered with some doubt if she could survive the rest of the week.
Probably not.
Usaki kept glancing at her in the rearview mirror on the way home. Shoko thought she might be attempting to tell her something with her eyes, but whatever it was, she didn't understand it, so she sat quietly in the back seat, nodding along politely to Kiri and Miss Cavendish's conversation and desperately trying to focus on their words or discerning shapes in the blur of passing scenery - anything to avoid the scenes playing out inside her head.
When they finally did get home, she had half a mind to ask to stay and sit with Kiri and Miss Cavendish. The thought of being left in her bedroom, alone with thoughts of the day's events and the expectation of studying, frightened her. She did not hold out much hope for clarinet practice, fairly sure that the moment she stepped inside and shut the door, she would fall victim to what could be hours of intense cogitation, torturing herself within the depths of her own brain as she was wont to do.
But the alternative was not ideal either. If she couldn't escape to unleash the torrent of angst in the comforting presence of Takano and Usaki, she would rather be alone than play games with her energetic mother and the equally merry Miss Cavendish. It was hard to play host to inner turmoil while in the presence of the lively and cheerful.
So, dreading the hours left until she could finally crawl into bed and meet a peaceful oblivion, Shoko excused herself to her room and, once there, pulled out her clarinet and tried to work.
Strong emotion usually made for superior play - except when it was too strong. Try as she might, she could not get her breathing even or the movement of her fingers precise. She would put her lips to the clarinet and, rather than feeling the cool wood of the reed, remembered the soft touch of Len's lips on hers. Her own burned at the memory, and face flaming, she would hastily gulp down water from the bottle she'd brought up with her and try again.
Worthless. She was absolutely useless tonight, no matter how many times she started over or told herself she should worry about it later. She had no practice separating her personal life from her studies; she'd never had the sort of distracting personal drama that so often book and movie heroines seemed to struggle with in every solitary scene.
Until now.
A week before her final exams.
She must have been born under an unlucky star or something.
You're just tired, she told herself. Stressed out and sleep-deprived. You'll feel better tomorrow.
At least, she hoped so. If she didn't . . . well, then she'd deal with it tomorrow.
And with that thought, she put up her clarinet, closed her curtains to the fading light of day, and let herself drift until she floated away altogether.
Clink.
Shoko started, wide awake in an instant, sure she had just heard something.
Clink.
Her pulse kicked into a frenzied pace. She hadn't been mistaken. There it was, coming from her window. Like . . . well, it sounded like little pebbles being thrown against the glass.
Fairly certain the noise did not have a malicious origin but apprehensive nonetheless, she slipped out of bed, advancing slowly towards the window. Once there, she twitched open the curtain, eyes straining as she peered out into the night.
She wasn't sure what she'd expected. Hail? A bird, it's beak tapping impatiently against the barrier of the window? The paranoid part of her had even worried in favor of some terrifying criminal, come to drag her away, never to be seen or heard from again.
She had certainly not expected the person standing beneath her window, pale face lit by the glow of the yard lamps, shoulders trembling in the chill.
She threw open her window as quietly but quickly as possible and stuck her head out into the cool spring night.
"Usaki-chan! W-what are you doing? And w-why?"
The girl grinned, dropping the tiny white rock she was holding, and waved excitedly up at Shoko.
"Sneaking into your room in the middle of the night, basically. Throw down the emergency rope ladder, would you? I can probably scale the brick, but I'm not as spry as I used to be."
Shoko looked down at her in disbelief, wondering if this was really happening.
"You d-don't mean to s-say you've done this b-before?" she asked incredulously.
Usaki blinked innocently.
"Of course I have. Loads of times. Hurry up, would you? It's colder than I thought it would be."
She stared dumbly at Usaki for a moment longer, and then hurried to her closet, pulling out the rope ladder and hooking it onto the painted white knobs on the sill, which her parents had installed for this express purpose.
She sighed as she threw it down and her clearly insane driver began her ascent. Had she been even a little like her mother, no one would dare give her such an easy means of midnight escape.
Really, she should be proud to be responsible and sensible, flattered that her parents trusted her.
And yet? She wasn't in the least.
"Bleh, I'm getting old. Give me a hand up, would you?" Usaki grunted, clutching the sill as she clumsily threw her leg over it. "It's been a while since I've done this."
Shoko complied, hooking her arm through Usaki's and awkwardly pulling her through the open window.
"I'm n-not even going t-to ask."
"Eh," the older girl mumbled, dusting herself off. "That's probably for the best. Have you got anything to eat? I'm hungry."
"Um . . . I have s-some chocolate that Mother b-brought back from her trip."
"Oh, no, I couldn't eat your present! I was thinking something more along the lines of gummi bears or saltines."
"Ah, it would be o-okay . . . I don't l-like chocolate that much . . . b-but I think I h-have some crackers in my d-desk."
Her face lit up and she nodded enthusiastically.
"If you don't mind . . ."
Feeling somewhat dazed, Shoko fetched them from the drawer. A nurse had given them to her in lieu of lunch when she'd had an upset stomach once, but she'd never bothered to eat them, just stashed them in her book-bag and from there, her desk.
A few minutes later, they were comfortably settled on Shoko's bed, huddled in the lamplight, Usaki quietly munching on her crackers as she leaned against the wall.
"So, kiddo," she whispered. "What's up?"
"Eh?" It all felt so surreal, she wasn't entirely sure what was going on.
"Well," she said, nibbling the crisped edge off one of the crackers. "For one, you came tearing out of the building like the devil was after you – although I suppose it is school you were coming out of - before your mother even ambushed you. And you kept looking very tragic in the car. And . . . well, when we were pulling away, I thought I saw your violinist boy lurking by the school entrance, watching you." She shrugged, studying Shoko's face. "I figured something was up, and Miko-chan even said you looked pretty drained. Thought you might want to talk without your mother asking questions."
She must have interpreted Shoko's answering silence as a 'no' (when in reality Shoko was just trying not to turn into a watering pot because Usaki had actually gone through all of this trouble just to make sure she was okay) because she backtracked in her next statement.
"You don't have to, though. If I'm being weird, just kick me out. Well, not literally. It's only the second story, so I'll probably live, but it'll hurt and frankly, I'd rather you not."
I do not deserve this much kindness, Shoko thought, desperately trying not to let tears leak out. But I'm so glad.
"N-no, no," she sniffed. "I'm j-just . . . you d-didn't have to, b-but I'm really g-grateful . . ." She bit her lip, and Usaki stiffened.
"Oh, no, please don't cry. I'm sorry, I wanted you to feel better, not worse!"
Shoko laughed.
"S-sorry, I'll try not t-to."
Usaki cast her a wary glance, slumping over then eying her suspiciously.
"If you're sure. So . . . tell me about it. What happened with your boy?"
Ah. This was the difficult part. What to say?
"Hmmmm? What's this? Are you blushing?" Usaki exclaimed, eyebrows shooting upwards, and with that, it all came spilling out with no trouble at all.
Usaki listened attentively, nodding and ooh-ing/I-see-ing in all the right places, her crackers rapidly disappearing along the way.
". . . a-and then I was just s-so embarrassed, I r-ran. I c-couldn't believe m-myself. What w-was I thinking?" she asked miserably. "It was s-so wrong."
"Well," Usaki said, wiping the crumbs off on her jeans. "First thing first: How was it? You didn't say."
"W-what?" she asked blankly, uncomprehending.
"The kiss," Usaki prodded. "How was the kiss? Good? Bad? Hot? Slimy? Did you like it?"
Her face burned out to her ears, and she looked intently at her toes, which were curled inward around the sheet.
"I . . . I . . . I m-mean, it w-was . . . I-I thought . . . y-yes," she mumbled.
"Yes to which?" Shoko squeezed her eyes shut. Now Usaki was just being mean.
"Yes, I enj-joyed it."
Another one of those blasted knowing grins. She hated those.
"I've got to say, I'm kind of amazed. And proud of you. I mean, I know it's only getting you into hot water, but you must admit, that was pretty darn gutsy."
Shoko sighed, shaking her head.
"No, it r-really wasn't. It w-was a stupid, imp-pulsive thing, because I was s-so angry. Bravery had n-nothing to do with it."
"Mm, I don't know about that. Normally, if you were really upset, you'd just withdraw. For once you did something about it. I mean, I guess most people generally yell or break things instead of, you know, grabbing people and kissing them, but hey, whatever works."
Shoko winced. Grabbing people and kissing them. That was what she had done, wasn't it?
"On a darker note . . . this kind of makes things tricky," she continued, sobering, as did Shoko.
"I know," she said softly. "B-but I don't kn-know what to do about it. Oh, I don't know h-how I'm going t-to face him. And . . ." her voice got small. "K-Kaho-chan. H-how can I p-possibly expect her not to h-hate me?"
"Oh? You've decided what do then?"
She was silent for a moment, hugging her knees to her chest, chin tucked in.
"No," she whispered finally. "I know w-what I should do, but s-somehow, part of me is s-still rebelling. I'm s-so ashamed of m-myself, but even th-that's not enough to m-make up my mind." She swallowed, closing her eyes against the tears that had crept into them. "I d-didn't realize before now how t-terrible I am. I knew I w-was boring and hard to t-talk to, but I d-didn't know I was s-selfish and unk-kind."
"You're not-"
"But I am," she interrupted bitterly. She wasn't trying to be difficult, especially when Usaki was being so kind, but she didn't deserve to have someone reassure her like this. She knew, better than anyone else what she'd done was wrong. And she felt it only fair that she be punished.
Usaki emitted a heavy sigh.
"Fuyuumi-san . . . I understand you're feeling guilty, but if you really feel like you've done something wrong, beating yourself up over it won't help anyone. If you honestly think you made a mistake, you should try and fix it."
She thought about this for a long moment. Mentally kicking herself over and over was her usual way of handling things, because she usually found it impossible to do something to fix things.
But in this instance, she could. Maybe not fix them, but she could at least make it a little better. Usaki made a valid point. Wallowing in self-recrimination was just pathetic and didn't help anything.
"Y-you're right," she murmured. "But even i-if I give up on him, what d-do I say to Kaho-chan? I don't w-want to lie, but . . . but I-I don't know if I c-can bring myself to tell her the t-truth."
Usaki nodded.
"It is a difficult call to make. You don't want to be dishonest, but you don't want to cause unnecessary hurt, either. Generally, I think that even if it hurts someone, you should be honest if you've betrayed them, even if it's over with and you aren't going to do it again. Some people think it's better not to say anything, because not knowing won't make a difference whereas the truth might devastate them, but I, personally, would be furious if someone took away my choice about whether to trust them or not. So while you might be trying to look out for their best interests, thinking it should be your burden to bear, it's still not your place to decide for them."
Shoko nodded slowly, feeling a little sick at the thought of confessing her sins to Kahoko, seeing the hurt in her eyes. She could see why someone would lie. You don't want to see those you care about be hurt.
But if you really didn't want to hurt them, you wouldn't have done whatever it was in the first place, came the merciless castigation of that ever-brutal voice within her mind.
"That being said," Usaki continued, shaking her from the guilty thought. "In this particular case, you haven't technically done anything wrong. She never told you or him that she liked him, so while to you, you've betrayed her, you couldn't be sure that she liked him, and she wouldn't expect you to know that. I think, had she verbalized it, you probably wouldn't have done anything."
"Yes I-"
"No. I really don't think you would. There's a fine line between knowing for certain and suspecting, and I think you let yourself do that because of the small chance that maybe it really was all in your head. Had she explicitly said she liked him, I honestly don't think you could have gone through with it."
Shoko wasn't sure. To her, 'strongly suspecting' was as good as knowing for sure. But she hoped Usaki was right. She doubted it, and they would never know, but still, she hoped she could be at least that noble.
"Soo. In this instance, I don't think you're obligated to tell her. Now, if you still planned on pursuing him, you'd definitely need to, but if it's over anyways . . . you should say that you spent some time together and you did like him - certainly, you shouldn't lie outright - but I think, as far as what happened in the music room, you're entitled to your privacy and "I liked him," is sufficient. The details will only make her feel bad, and to go that far might just be twisting the knife in an attempt to absolve yourself of guilt. Any further information would be Len's responsibility if they begin dating. But! That's just my take on this. I'm not you, and you need to think very carefully and decide for yourself."
She nodded, mulling over Usaki's words. It made sense. Really, she had no choice but to give him up. She hated it, desperately so, but it was too late. There could be no grand romance or even a comfortable friendship now.
If only Friday had never happened.
She wished so badly that she could go back to the way they were before. She would have been content with that. Kahoko couldn't have been hurt by that. She could have had them both.
But try as she might to will the time back so she could decline to practice her clarinet, she could not.
It had happened, and even if things had been salvageable after that, after what she'd done today, it was far too late.
She would just have to deal with it.
"Well," Usaki said, stretching. "It's pretty late, and you need to get some sleep. I won't lie to you; tomorrow is probably going to suck."
She cringed. Usaki was right. It probably was. But she felt a little better about it now, having talked to her. Not a whole lot, but some. She was still confused and uncertain, but things seemed far clearer than they had when she'd initially gone to sleep. She had no idea what she would have done had she not had Takano and Usaki the last couple of weeks. It was as if in addition to the storm fate had sent in her direction, she had been supplied with the necessary means to survive it.
"Th-thank you, Usaki-san. I . . ." she searched for the words. Her eyes felt suspiciously moist again. "I-if you and Takano-san w-weren't here, I'd . . . oh, I don't kn-know what I'd do. I c-can't imagine being al-lone through this. I'm sure I would j-just fall apart."
Usaki smiled, and awkwardly reached over and ruffled her hair.
"Eh, well, of course. We'll do our best to keep you together. That's what your parents pay us for, after all," she said.
Shoko smiled in spite of the threat of tears.
"I th-thought they paid you t-to make sure I e-eat and get where I n-need to be."
She wrinkled her nose.
"Ah, you're right. We'll be there for you because we care about you, then. Satisfied?" she arched a brow.
And Shoko couldn't help it. The tears fell.
Usaki groaned.
"Oh, no, I thought you said you weren't going to cry!"
"I'm s-sorry," Shoko mumbled. "B-but you said that a-and . . . s-sorry."
She rolled her eyes, but scrambled over and gave her a quick hug.
"Whatever are we going to do with this kid?" she muttered.
Shoko shook her head.
"I d-don't know. I think I'm h-hopeless," she hiccoughed.
"Ah, well. You'll grow out of that. Until then, we'll watch you like a hawk and butt into your personal life whenever possible," she said reassuringly. "But for right now, you need to go to bed and I need to get out of your room before your parents hear you crying and come in and blame it on me. You going to be okay?"
Shoko nodded, smiling at that.
"I th-think so."
"Good. I'm off, then," she said, moving to the window, where she saluted and proceeded to make her way out of it.
Shoko watched her clamor down the ladder until she hopped safely to the ground.
"Sweet dreams, Fuyuumi-san!" she called quietly, turning to go.
But then she stopped, swiveling back to look up at Shoko.
"By the way," she said thoughtfully. "You might also consider for a moment what he wants. Or, rather who."
Shoko didn't need to ask who 'he' was.
"What if he wants you instead of her?"
She shook her head.
"T-trust me. No one w-would want me when they c-could have her."
Usaki tilted her head, looking at her sadly.
"Hey," she called up softly. "Is this girl really that great?"
She thought for a few seconds, picturing Kahoko, her warmth and generosity, her bright smile and cheerful spirit, her compassion and strength.
And nodded down to Usaki, absolutely certain.
"Yes," she answered. "She is."
Usaki waited another moment, studying her face.
"I see," she said finally. "Well," she shifted. "I suppose it can't be helped, then. Good night, Fuyuumi-san."
And with that, she stuffed her hands in her pockets and began the walk back to the servant's apartments.
Shoko watched her go, feeling sad and content all at once. But in those mixed emotions, she found a sort of quiet peace, which sustained her as she drew up the ladder and shut the window, and which ultimately, allowed her back into an easy sleep.