Chapter 21

Hibiya High School

I backed into the janitor's closet, reaching behind me for anything, anything at all, that I could use to defend myself with. The smell of carpet cleaner and bleach filled my nose, and I watched with increasing apprehension as my assailant lumbered ever closer.

I wrapped my fingers around a mop, holding it tightly. The pain in my arm where he cut me stung with every beat of my heart, and my vision swooned, but I managed to keep steady. With a shout, I swung it out in front of me, jabbing the attacker in the stomach.

He keeled over, holding his middle and gasping in pain, but it didn't last long. Enraged, he raised his knife, and I held up my mop like a wounded gladiator facing a hungry lion, feeling the hair's of panic lift on the back of my neck.

"Listen, if you want to kill me, do it tomorrow! I have a date tonight!"

Earlier in the Week

I told Watari to park a block away from school, not wanting an expensive town car to be my first impression (there's a method to building up a reputation, you know). By the time he pulled over I had untied my bowtie and used it to keep my hair back, wrapped my sweater vest around my waist and unbuttoned a few buttons on my dress shirt. Normally I preferred walking barefoot, but this time I left my brand new shoes untouched.

I leaned over the front seat. "Watari? Aren't I a wanted criminal? How can I go to school when my face is all over the news?" I asked in one last attempt to avoid the teenage hell that is 'education'.

I could see Watari scrunching his nose in the mirror, wriggling his moustache after a fly had landed on it. "We sent out numerous broadcasts depicting you as a misunderstood victim in recent events, and forced a formal written apology from the department that has been trying to arrest you." He adjusted his glasses and cleared his throat. "You have a 'clean slate', as they say."

I bet the investigator loved writing that one. I thought, grinning at the idea of the temperamental gorilla-man punching keys on his computer, all the while muttering curse words to himself.

I sighed inwardly, but thanked Watari and walked the rest of the way to school. The neighbourhood was residential, bursting with houses and apartment buildings. Laundry hung out on balconies, puddles lay in back alley rivets like mirrors, and the streets were so narrow it was a wonder vehicles could fit at all. There were plenty of trees that provided cool shade along the sidewalk, and slowly I fell in step with other students who chatted or texted on their way to school. The high school itself was a large, simple rectangular structure made of a rusty red brick, stacked together like Lego. The colour made it look as though it had suffered a terrible sunburn, or perhaps a rash. It was surrounded by a high wall, riddled with several open iron gates. The closer I approached, the more I felt as if I was willingly entering a prison block. On the wall was a bronze sign, depicting three words: Discipline, Perseverance, Achievement.

I rolled my eyes. More like: Dull, Punishment, Aggravation.

I considered several times to turn around and wander the city instead, like I did back home. But each time it crossed my mind I would catch sight of my ruby red slippers, mumble something about bribes and trickery, and trek on. As my natural instincts went to war with what little conscience I still possessed (microscopic), I heard a familiar, yet frightening, word be shouted out.

"Sydney?"

I turned around, my skin growing cold. Immune to the big bad Grim I may be, but in this world your name was your lifeline – let it fall into the wrong hands and you'll find yourself winding up in the local obituaries.

I frowned, squinting at the person. It was a short girl, with big, round frameless glasses and an overflowing book bag. She had a flat, smooth face and narrow, black eyes with long lashes. She wore the same uniform as myself (except hers followed regulations). Two pencils held her dark, shiny hair in a bun on the top of her head, which was streaked with a single line of bright pink. She smiled, her matching pink braces glittering in the light. "It is me, Mei! Do you remember?" She bowed her head in a friendly greeting.

My eyes widened. "Oh yeah! But you had blue hair back then, didn't you?" (Ha. Bet you didn't think I'd ever bring THAT character back. All in the grand design, my friends).

She tilted her head, impressed. "Your Japanese is very good! Have you been studying for long?" She strode next to me, her step slightly off kilter because of the weight of her bag. I saw her glance at the bow in my hair and my unbuttoned shirt, but any opinions, if she had them, she kept to herself.

I laughed nervously, scratching the back of my head modestly. "You have no idea, Mei. Oh, and if you don't mind, could you call me Ella from now on?"

She blinked, perplexed, but didn't question it. "What is your first class?"

"Uhhh..."

"You're not prepared?" She exclaimed.

"Err..."

Mei nodded her head rightly, fixed her bowtie and adjusted her glasses. "Don't worry, I will be your guide!" She proclaimed.

Mei pressed her hand on my back and wheeled me forward, describing in my ear all the different classes, teachers, awards, demerits and lunch breaks with enthusiastic gusto (and at a speed unheard of in human speech). Before I could open my mouth to protest, we had already raced through the iron gates. I looked over my shoulder as I stumbled forward, watching my last chance for hooky close shut with a foreboding CLANK.

We quickly found out we shared most of our classes together, and Mei smartly and efficiently guided me to Arithmetic (who calls it that now a days?)

Arithmetic

Ugh, why is it always fractions? I stared at my paper, chewing dents into my pencil as the numbers in the page swirled around like a chaotic, mathematic whirlpool of brain-pain. Adding and subtracting are easy, I do that all the time: One purse from a Tiffany's frequenter plus one wallet from the Trump building equals the cost of one small motorcycle. One small motorcycle minus one legal licence plate equals one trip to a concrete cell. Simple. But fractions...

My pencil snapped in half.

I spat out the two pieces and turned the page over, as if the paper had personally offended me. With a sigh I leaned back in my chair, placing my hands behind my head. The chair teetered dangerously back, but I stuck my heel on the rim of my desk compartment. I studied the shine of my brand new shoes, admiring the dark lipstick colour and the sheen of the gold buckles. These were probably the nicest things I've ever owned, certainly the nicest gifts I've ever had (not including the diamond heart-necklace from Mikal for my birthday).

"Miss K-K-Krispy, was it-t-t?"

I looked up.

My math teacher was a tall man, nice dark hair, mid thirties, who spoke with a bit of a stutter. He often touched his face or adjusted his tie nervously, causing him to be covered in spots of white chalk.

"Yes?" I asked, tapping my foot on my desk, beaming when I realized I could see my reflection in the toe of my shoe.

"Y-Y-You should d-d-do your w-w-w-work, if you w-want. N-no rush or anyth-th-thing!" I said, laughing, waving his hands in the air.

Is he afraid of me? I wondered, but felt pleased at the thought. I wonder if I looked like I belong to a gang or something? Must be the bullet hole in my ear… "Uh, well you see, I have this problem."

He leaned forward, wringing his hands together, curious. "P-p-perhaps I can help w-w-with th-that."

I placed my hands on the desk matter-of-factly. "Well, you see, whenever I try and do homework, I have this uncontrollable urge to grab the nearest teacher and flush their head in a toilet. The doctor's say there is no cure."

The math teacher fiddled with his hair anxiously. "Well th-then…" he paused, his eyes moving back and forth, looking anywhere but at me, "you t-t-take your time." He said, and tottered off, looking over his shoulder at me every so often, as if I was about to jump him.

The morning pretty much followed that routine. Geography was interesting, run by a large, quiet man who mostly kept to himself, letting the students independently study their textbooks. He was a brand new teacher, balding in the head, but his arms reminded me of a gorilla. He looked more like a body builder than a professor. I doodled in my textbook the entire period, destroying it with (very artistic) pen-graffiti. After that came biology, and it looked like I got lucky: dissection day.

I'm not one of those save-the-animals-vegan-lets-all-get-along-and-hold-hands students who organize protests and boycotts. No, no. When a class involves something actually COOL for a change (like slicing open a well known amphibian with a talent for hopping) I dive right in. Over years of skipping class, I've never actually had the opportunity to participate in a group dissection, and I was eager to do so. I tied my smock around my waist and snapped on my gloves. I tested the sharpness of my scalpel, holding it up in the light.

Many of the other girls held back, or squealed when they made their first cut – with the worthy exception of Mei, who was busy taking notes after professionally slicing open her frog like a Subway Sandwich Artist. Most of the guys laughed and pointed out which gut pile was more disgusting (some stereotypes are true, people). I inspected the frog, whose limbs were spread eagle, pinned to a thin piece of cork board. My specimen's tongue stuck out slightly, and it smelled like grass and fish.

The teacher's, a mousy woman with bad breath and wearing a mauve sweater that made her look like a purple pumpkin, and students' words faded into the background as I pressed the knife into the soft skin of the frog. I was surprised at how easily the flesh gave way to my knife, like slightly stale butter. The guts burst out and oozed down the tiny body in a puddle of plasma, and the pink tongue unrolled from the movement. Strange. I thought. How we're all just bags of meat and bones—

I gasped. A flash of red. A cackle. A sadistic, crazed voice whispered in my ear and sharp, warm hands grabbed my shoulders and shook them. "You see? That's all they were. Just bags of meat and bones and blood and guts! Look! Isn't it beautiful? Why are you crying, Sydney? I thought you wanted to see your parents? Come here! I'll let you hold mommy's liver."

I fainted.

The Nurse's Office

I blinked away the white light that pierced between my lashes like pale needles. Groaning, I held my head and sat up, wondering why I had such a headache.

"Thank goodness you're alright!" Mei sat next to me, textbook open in her lap, looking fretful. Beside her sat a familiar looking boy with rosebud-red hair that spiked in one direction and several silver piercing. He rolled back and forth in his wheelchair, his dark eyes mildly concerned.

"Donovan?" I asked slowly, "the waiter from the cafe?"

The boy snapped his fingers. "Correct, mate."

I blushed, remembering impulsively kissing him. It wasn't every day someone correctly guessed my Canadian lineage (it's a BIG deal). "What are you doing here? Actually…" I looked around at the extremely clean, recently painted medical office, "what am I doing here?"

"I," Donovan started, fixing the anti-gravityness of his hair, "am an exchange student here at Hibiya. I saw them carrying you out of the classroom and thought I'd help out. I wheeled you to the Nurse's office myself." He said proudly.

"You're so kind, Donovan," Mei said, smiling softly as she forced her eyes to focus on her textbook. She sat up very straight, seeming on edge next to Donovan. I caught her glancing his way several times, her cheeks tinged with pink.

"Okay from what?" I asked.

Mei bit her lip. "Sy—um, Ella, well, when you cut open the frog, you…fainted."

I laughed. "You're wrong. I couldn't have fainted. That frog was as good as French cuisine." This is absurd. I've never been squeamish. I once took care of an entire colony of cockroaches in my apartment (THAT was a fun weekend). No way would a dead frog make me faint.

Donovan scratched his head. "The students say you wouldn't stop mumbling something about meat and bones…"

I paled, feeling my chest tighten as an echo of a memory whispered in my ear once again, like a haunting poltergeist floating beside me. I avoided eye contact and hid my shaking hands under the sheets. "Is that so…?"

Mei suddenly stood up. "Lunch is about to start, my apologies, but I have study group to attend." She bowed to me and Donovan (her bow to Donovan lasting a little longer) and hurried out the door.

"So I guess it's just you and me, Roly-Poly."

Donovan's lip-ring jiggled as he spoke "You certainly don't feel the need to be politically correct."

"Excellent observation there, Hot Wheels. Do you do described video too?"

"I'd say she's fully recovered, Nurse!" He called out over his shoulder, but I could tell he was silently laughing.

I threw back the covers and hopped out of bed, taking a moment to adjust my short skirt. "So, are you going to show me to the cafeteria, or should I escort myself?"

He rolled over to the door, pulled it open and rolled to the side, gesturing me through.

I pretended to curtsy and Donovan followed me out, easily keeping pace with me. "So, what brings a Canadian to this side of the pond?"

"Well, I got tired of living in my igloo and riding my polar bear to school—"

He laughed.

"How about you, Hot Wheels?" I asked, tightening the sweater vest around my waist.

"I'm from England, my father is here on business. He sells property."

"Sounds boring." We entered the Cafeteria and a vacuum of noise sucked us in. The crowded space was filled with card-playing students, gambling students, studying students, and gossiping students. All the bottled up tension acquired in class was released in this room all at once, like an explosion of adolescent hormones.

When we came to the line up, it had already wound halfway around the room's perimeter. Donovan sighed. "And they're serving cheesecake for dessert today too. Looks like they'll be out before I get there again." He patted his wheels affectionately. "These babies are top notch, but the elevator always slows me down. I haven't tasted dessert in a month!"

I paused, thoughtful, then waved my arms in a criss-crossing motion. "Make way, make way!" I shouted as I pushed past the rest of the students. Whenever I would receive a scathing look, I'd just point to Donovan, who rolled after me, astounded, and say "handicap privileges" with a shrug.

We were seated with steaming lunches and two gigantic slices of cake within minutes.

"You're," Donovan started, digging into his cake first.

"Magnificent? Incredible? Amazing? May I add stunning?"

"Unbelievable," he finished. Donovan watched me stuff my face (although with difficulty, I have never been able to master the art of chopsticks, and am stuck with using them to stab and skewer my food), his expression searching. "What's your deal, Ella?"

"Whaff dewy ew mewn?" I asked through a mouthful.

"You're not…like other girls. You treat me…"

"Like a normal person?"

Donovan fell into silence.

I waved my chopsticks at him. "Sorry to break it to you, Hot Wheels, but you're not special because you can park closer to the mini mart."

He hung his head, his face red.

I smiled. "You're special because you're you."

Donovan looked up, blinking, and found himself once again unable to articulate a sentence. She's…wow.

"Hey, new girl!"

Standing next to our table, hand on her hip, was a girl covered in so much make up I couldn't tell what she really looked like. She had fake eyelashes, sparkly green eye shadow, bleached blond hair carefully curled and tucked back and the longest, stick-on nails I've ever seen. The hem of her skirt was rolled up, making it shorter than short, and it was extremely obvious (to me, I dunno, I guess it's a chick thing) that she was wearing a water-bra.

"You can't sit here, this is our table." Her gang nodded behind her, all posing with their arms crossed. She smiled sweetly, placing her hands on her knees and leaning forward to Donovan's height. "Don't worry, Donovan, you can sit here whenever you want. Just not her." She flicked me a look that suggested I had just crawled out of a sewer, fermented in her fridge for three months then dipped myself in a vat of worms.

Why is this turning into some sort of Shojo, romantic, slice of life manga? This is DEATH NOTE. I thought, wishing I could convey how heavy those words were to this idiot.Regardless, I felt a bubble of anger float into my stomach.Slowly, I stood, sizing each girl up. The leader was shorter than me (ha), but she looked up with cool irritation. "We've seen you on TV, you're a criminal." She said. "It's only a matter of time before Kira takes care of you."

"I was proven innocent of those crimes."

The girl rolled her eyes. "What-EVER. I'm not associating with a potential psychopath." She waved her hand at me, gesturing for me to 'shoo', like a fly.

The muscle in my brow twitched.

Now, I pride myself in my patience and understa—The piece of cheesecake landed RIGHT between her eyes. (High fives anyone?)

The Cafeteria quieted.

Squealing and stomping her feet, the girl flicked the gooey mesh from her face.

I exchanged a look with Donovan. We both ducked right before someone shouted "FOOD FIGHT!"

Several Avoidance Manoeuvres Later

I pushed Donovan out the back door, laughing and pulling bits of noodle from my hair. It was full out war behind us. Students, normally forced to restrain themselves in school, let themselves go. Laughing and screaming, food and drinks flew across the room like projectile missiles. They had already made forts out of tables and chairs, and the teachers tried and failed to stop them (and left covered head to toe in the aftermath of ketchup packets).

The yard was well maintained. Along the path stood bronze statues on concrete pedestals of school founders or important leaders and 'role models'. We passed a few students studying at picnic tables, who looked at the food in our hair and on our clothes with odd expressions, but once we reached the garden we were alone. Hedges taller than myself spread along either side of the path, spiralling or crisscrossing in a maze-like pattern. Bumblebees floated lazily from flower to flower, and a newly hatched nest of baby birds squawked for their mother.

An orange butterfly fluttered between us, circling Donovan before flying to the nearest wall-vine. I brushed crumbs from my skirt. "Who was that girl anyways?" I asked in a huff.

Donovan wheeled around and started rolling backwards along the winding path, so that he could see me properly. "Her name is Kamiko Namikawa. Her father works on the school board. I'd be careful if I were you, kids she doesn't like have been known to be expelled – or worse."

I perked up. "Really?"

He laughed. "You look like you want to get kicked out!"

I shrugged. "Is she always like that?"

"Pretty much." Donovan wheeled in casual, wide motions, weaving back and forth along the path. "So um . . . Ella. . ."

"Yes?"

He rubbed the back of his neck, his cheeks streaked with lines of red, but I could tell he was trying his hardest to appear laid-back. "Well, you see, my father owns this baseball stadium here in Tokyo, so I always have free tickets. I was wondering if you—"

"Hey! You there! Stop right this minute!" A muscled woman with a strong jaw and green eyes (odd for her nationality) ran towards us. She grabbed my arm before I could bolt. "The Dean's office, immediately." She spared Donovan a glance, and she smiled with the same sweetness most women did when speaking to him, as if he was a toddler. "Not you, my dear, just the girl."

I looked over my shoulder and saw a forlorn looking Donovan grow smaller and smaller, left to wonder what it was he was going to ask me.

The Principal's Office

"Discipline, Perseverance, Achievement." The man said, arms behind his back, pacing. "You, Miss Krispy, lack an understanding of all three."

The Dean was an aged man, with long white hair slicked back and a large, bristly moustache that hid his mouth. His eyes were small, but bright with youthful intelligence, and he wore a dark blue blazer. His desk was neat and tidy, and he proudly displayed a picture frame of four smiling grandchildren. "In these uncertain times, we must work together in order to prosper."

I leaned forward in my seat. "Are you going to expel me?" I asked eagerly.

"Miss Krispy, you have been highly recommended, and come with an excellent academic history."

I rolled my eyes. L must have faked my documents.

"I understand that these recent TV reports have you acting out, but this behaviour must stop." He looked me in the eye. "It WILL stop." His secretary poked her head into his office and he excused himself for a moment.

When he came back, he gave me leave to go. I bowed, held in my laughter as long as possible, and raced down the hallway. I heard a cry of outrage behind me and quickly slipped around the corner and on to my next class.

English

"You did WHAT to the Dean's computer?" Mei shouted, shocked.

"When he wasn't looking I rigged it so that every time he pushed the enter key, a series of . . . explicit websites would pop up." I sniggered. "I did the same thing to my last principal. I was in detention for two months," I sighed fondly at the memory, "so worth it."

English was extremely boring. I had no trouble switching between the languages, and even tossed in a bit of French for good measure. The teacher, a thin woman with pointy features, called me her star student (which I consider a severe insult). After that I kept my mouth shut and stared out the window most of class. I leaned back in my chair, letting the warm sunlight drift over my skin. I felt my eyes begin to flutter close.

Just I was sinking into the comforting depths of an afternoon nap, something buzzed to life in my pocket. RING-RING! RING-RING!

Startled, I sat back in my already dangerously balanced chair, and it tipped over. With a cry I slammed to the floor, legs in the air, hair sprawled out around me. I blinked, gasping to regain the wind that was knocked out of me, and scrambled for my phone. Still wheezing, I flipped open the device. A text message from a contact named 'Ryuzaki' popped up.

Wake up, Miss Ella. You need to study, there is a test tomorrow.

I jumped to my feet, looking wildly around the room for L.

"Miss Krispy," the teacher said, "phones are strictly prohibited."

I realized the entire class was staring at me. "Uh, I only use it for emergencies. My…uh, grandmother, she's in the hospital." I gestured to the door. "Do you mind…?"

"Not at all," the bony teacher said and ushered me quickly out of the room.

I hurried around the corner and flipped open the phone, dialling L's number.

"Yes, Miss Ella?"

"You're SPYING on me?" I whispered harshly, furious. "I thought we agreed—"

"No more cameras in your room, Miss Ella. We never discussed the school."

"You sneaky little—Have you been watching me all day?"

"Yes. How you interact in your natural environment is very informative, Miss Ella. I have learned a lot about you in less than a day than I have since you have arrived."

My grip on the phone tightened. So he saw the Dean's office, the food fight, Donovan, Mei, even when I fainted! Here I thought L was trying to protect me, keep me away from the Kira investigation for my own safety. . . I looked down at my new shoes with anger. I thought maybe he. . . Now I find out it was just another experiment!

"Miss Ella…"

"What?" I asked, my voice callous.

"…"

"What?" I asked again, this time my voice gentle.

"Nothing. Never mind."

"No, hold on! Tell me!" Maybe I got it wrong. I thought. Maybe he installed the cameras because he WANTED to keep me safe. Or maybe he . . . is it possible he missed me?

There was a buzzing silence for a minute, and then I heard L clear his throat. " . . . Do you like your shoes?"

In that instant, like the tender ebb of a tide's pull, all my anger washed away. "Yes," I said quietly, "thank you."

Knowing the period was almost over, I wandered to my next class, lost in my own thoughts. L had done nothing but surprise me during this whole adventure. He was so hard to read!

"Hey, new girl!"

My head snapped up.

It was Kimiko and her gang, standing with all the rage of the Underworld's Furies. Stains of cheesecake covered her blouse, and the extensions in her hair were tangled to the point of no repair. Behind them was a group of boys (I'm assuming their brainless, zombie boyfriends) who did their best to appear menacing.

I'm no chicken, but I'm also not stupid. Eight to one were unfair odds for anyone.

So, shamelessly and without regrets, I ran.

I didn't get far.

One girl grabbed my hair and the other two boys held my arms behind my back. They dragged me around the back of the school to the garden, where tall hedges and walls deterred witnesses. The first punch was to my stomach, the second my shoulder. I could tell they had done this before, because they were clever enough to only hit me in places covered by clothing. I kicked and struggled, but it only resulted in the one guy slapping me across the face, cutting my lip and bruising my eye. For the most part, I took my beating silently, not wanting to give them the satisfaction of seeing me cry. Compared to my uncle, these guys were weak, but unlike my uncle they didn't stop after one or two. One girl tugged the bow from my hair and squashed it beneath her foot in puddle of mud, another tore my sweater in two.

But then they went for the shoes.

Kimiko had been standing back the entire time, obviously too important to get her hands dirty, but she had been shouting out orders and goading her friends on. Now she held my red shoes up, a look of malice crossing her face.

"No!" I screamed, trying to kick Kimiko viscously in the face, but she merely stepped back, out of range.

The boys held me against the wall as I cursed every foul word I knew (it's a long list). Kimiko casually strode over to the trickling koi pond. The orange and white fish darted out of sight as her shadow fell over their habitat. She glanced at me with her nose in the air, eyelids half open, as if I should have known this would be the outcome. With a loud RIP she tore the soles from the shoes and tossed the broken pieces into the water.

The boys dropped me to the ground, where I scrambled to the pond and reached in, trying to grab them. Kimiko raised her foot and pushed me in. I flailed in the water, sputtering and she laughed cruelly. Flipping her hair over her shoulder, she snapped her fingers and they walked away. Sniffing and wiping the blood from my lip, I picked up the ruined remnants of L's gift.

I didn't attend my final class, which was gym. I walked sadly through the school, leaving wet puddles in my wake. My clothes squished and squashed as I walked, staring solemnly at the floor and cradling the shoes in my arms. Students and teachers poked their heads out of their classrooms, whispering. Donovan and Mei tried to talk to me, but I ignored them. My eyes were teary, but I didn't let myself cry until I was outside, around the block and closing in on Watari's car.

The old man didn't look at me, but he opened the passenger door and I slid inside.

"L?"

To my surprise, L was sitting in the seat next to me. I felt more tears well up in the corners of my eyes, and I looked away. "L . . . I'm sorry, the shoes. . ." I held them up for him to see.

Without a word, L cast the broken shoes to the floor, wrapped his arms around me and held me tightly to his chest. He placed his chin on my head, and I melted into his warmth. I closed my eyes and let my breathing even out. Watari kept glancing back at us through the rear-view mirror, but he kept his thoughts to himself.

L didn't release his hug for the entire ride home.

End of Chapter 21

Satchelle's busy life: Moving out of my parents' house in three days, in one week I'll be taking a two week vacation to Europe, and when I get back its Graduation and Prom (I'm exhausted already). To all my peeps across the pond, between May 21st and June 4th I'll be in York, Whales, London, Dublin and we'll be visiting Stonehenge too. SO, if you see a bottled red head looking lost next to an extremely short old lady (my grandmother), come say hello!

PS: Sydney's theme song, anyone? XD