Chapter Eleven:
English

Summary: Ryoma attempts to teach Momo English so he'll be prepared to play tennis abroad, and if he has ulterior motives, what of it?

"Tis the privilege of friendship to talk nonsense, and to have her nonsense respected." Charles Lamb


Of everyone, only his father really got it, though of course he expressed his approval in the most obnoxious way possible. "You still hanging around with that punk? I thought a son of mine would have better taste in friends."

Ryoma paused, his hand on the railing. His eyes narrowed suspiciously. "You like him," he accused.

There was a crumpling sound as Nanjiro glowered over the top of his magazine. "I didn't say that. Do you really think you're going to cram anything useful into that fat head of his?"

Ryoma fought the desire to respond petulantly. After all, he knew very well what his father was doing. "He's not stupid."

"Could have fooled me," Nanjiro said, shaking out his pages and using them to cover his face. "Maybe you could use those old tapes we had when you were little."

"Those have talking dinosaurs," Ryoma said, not letting on that he had already considered it.

His father glanced at him with a knowing eye. "About at his level then, don't you think?"

Ryoma stomped up the stairs, if anything more determined than before. Momoshiro was waiting for him in his room, gazing at a workbook with a perplexed expression. "This isn't what we do at school," he commented. Then his eyes lit up. "Snacks!"

Shoving the platter in his friend's direction, Ryoma folded himself onto the floor and picked up the discarded book. "People in America talk about more than just their hobbies and the location of the nearest bathroom, you know."

Momoshiro swallowed with effort, already reaching for another orange slice. "Sure, sure. I just don't get why Ineed to know this extra stuff. Thanks to you, I'm already doing a lot better in class. I'm definitely going to pass."

Ryoma frowned. He was unwilling to give a direct answer, even though it really wasn't that complicated. One day Ryoma would going back to America, and when he went, he planned on getting visited. It only seemed fair, since Momoshiro had helped him acclimatize back to Japan. Besides, the wider world of tennis meant travel, and Ryoma had discovered that he was eager to share that.

He just had to get the nitwit ready. "Are you even paying attention?"

Momoshiro wilted. "I don't think I've got the brains for this kind of thing."

It wasn't true. On the court, Momo was crafty, technical, and strategic. Both friend and foe called him "Seigaku's number one rascal". So why couldn't he manage basic English pronunciation?

"Try again," he prompted.

"Aiamu rukingu foru corto shixsu."

"It's not 'shi', Senpai, it's 'sss'."

"My mouth doesn't work that way."

"Look at my teeth. See? They stay closed."

"Hee, hee. That's weird, Echizen."

Ryoma sat back. This was obviously going to take time and patience, but he was determined. He glanced back at the doorway. Maybe it wasn't too late to dig out those dinosaur tapes.


Author's Note: Momoshiro's English is modeled off of my well-meaning students. The Japanese language is happy to borrow foreign words, but the spelling is changed to fit the pattern of having a consonant paired with a vowel. This means there's a pretty strong habit of pronouncing any foreign word after that fashion, so you have kids who are perfectly happy to belt out things like ai-su-ku-ri-mu (icecream) and pat themselves on the back for a job well done. It's really funny.

Next (final!) Chapter: Ryoma prepares to leave for the U.S. Open, but goodbyes are especially difficult when you have to leave people behind.