Chapter 27 — Reiha

Today, we're practicing my least favorite part — the ball. Normally, I might've been excited for it — I like dancing, I like dressing up. But the fact that I have to do these things while pretending I'm in love . . . well, it's not exactly something I've been looking forward to.

We've had a few waltz lessons, but tonight Kikuchi wants us to perform the ball scene in its entirety. Emi's still hard at work on our costumes, so it won't be exactly right, but we can at least figure out the staging and positions.

Ikeda and I haven't talked much since I joined the club. He's one of the few exceptions to your typical wild drama club member. He's mostly quiet, rarely voicing his thoughts — but when he's acting, he transforms so completely that you can't even remember what he was like before.

I know some people can completely separate their acting from their self — they can act the complete opposite, doing things they'd never do themselves — but for me, it's hard to just throw myself away like that. I can act totally different, yeah, but I always remember who I am. I can always see the space between who I'm pretending to be versus who I actually am.

It's probably why I've never seriously pursued acting before.

Acting reminds me too much of the person I could be, but am not.

But maybe . . . this time will be different.

Luckily, there's going to be no kiss in this play (I mean, there's no way Japanese people would include PDA, right?). But there's still going to be a slow dance, some embarrassing confessions, and a mock wedding.

It's all very romantic.

Not for the first time, I wonder why I'm playing the main role. Shiyo said I looked the part, which may be true enough, and I can act close enough to Cinderella's sweet personality, but . . . I don't think I have a romantic bone in my body.

Also, a complete lack of experience. Shiyo, with her boyfriend of two years, would be able to do much better (though I guess her boyfriend might not like that).

"Okay, everyone!" Kikuchi says . . . clapping his hands together, of course. "The stage is coming along well, and we've finally got some music chosen for the background, so today we're going to practice the ball scene. Are all the background dancers here? Yes, good. King and queen? There you are. Kasayama . . . and Ikeda? Someone find Ikeda!"

Emi bustles up to me, her arms overflowing with a cherry blossom pink gown. "Here," she says, "try this on. I'm following a similar pattern for your dress, so I'd like to take some measurements. If it fits okay, you can wear it today to get used to what you'll be performing in."

"How do I even get this thing on?" I try to take the dress from her, but there's so much fabric, half of it ends up dragging onto the ground.

Emi sighs, gathering the abundant folds into her arms. "I'll help."

A few minutes later — after blood being drawn and my lungs squished — I head out to the stage. The dress is a little short and tight, but I can manage to wear it for a few hours. I hope.

Ikeda and most of the background dancers are still in their school uniforms, so I feel kind of awkward, but I push the feeling away. I'm Cinderella. I'm supposed to stand out.

And so practice begins.

The play is one month away, and things are getting more hectic in the drama room. Costumes are tried on, taken off, adjusted, and tried on again. Stage directions are modified or completely changed. Props break and are repaired. Lines are memorized then forgotten.

As for me, I'm feeling pretty good with myself. Mitsuri and I have been practicing nearly all night. She's surprisingly good at playing the other role (whether it's my stepmother or stepsisters or the prince). If you'd told me a month ago I'd be rehearsing lines with my twin and having fun with it, I wouldn't have believed you. But now . . . Mitsuri and I never talked about all those years being separated. We just kind of fell into a natural routine. Maybe that's just what it's like, having a sister.

Apart from my relationship with Mitsuri, I've become surprisingly good friends with Shiyo. I used to stay away from annoyingly friendly types like her, but that's the thing about them — they're stubborn and won't leave you alone until you admit you enjoy hanging out with them. And Shiyo, while she might seem like your typical airhead, is actually pretty organized and sincere about everything she does. She has my vote for class head next year.

I never thought I'd be the one to make plans for the future — I always just followed my mom (who was never much of a planner either) and let the wind carry us wherever. But now, as a second-year at a prestigious school, and probably from Mitsuri's influence, I've started thinking ahead. I'll join the basketball and drama clubs again next year. I'll work harder on my grades. I'll cook more with Ogiwara —

My brow wrinkles at this involuntary thought, my steps faltering. Mitsuri, who's walking with me to school, pauses and gives me a questioning look.

"I'm fine," I say, and we keep walking.

"How's the stage prep going?" she asks.

"Good. I think we're going to run through a few scenes on it tonight."

"Cool."

There's silence, but unlike before, it's not awkward. Mitsuri's always been more quiet than talkative. When we were younger, I enjoyed this because it meant I could talk more, show off more. And then when I first came back, I was annoyed by it because it felt like I couldn't ever tell what she was feeling.

I guess that's why I kept pushing her. To figure her current self out. I'm nothing if not relentless, after all. Ogiwara constantly —

I steer my thoughts away from him and try to concentrate on where I'm going. Unfortunately, the pretty sight of cherry blossoms lining the road are no longer. Instead the trees stand barren, no doubt steeling themselves for the oncoming winter when their branches will be weighed down with snow.

It's been so long since I've spent a winter in Japan. Or even experienced in winter. My mom always enjoyed the tropical places more, so I'd find myself in Rio de Janiero or the Caribbean for Christmas. And California winters are tame. I'm not a fan of snow, so I never minded it.

But I think I'm looking forward to this year. I wonder what I'll get everyone for presents? Maybe some foreign spices for Grams . . . a magnifying glass for Gramps, since he keeps having me read labels. Mitsuri might like that pretty sketchbook I saw when I was out with Ogiwara —

I give up trying not to think about Ogiwara. It's like he's invaded every part of my life now and I can't get away.

Mitsuri and Shiyo aren't the only people I've gotten closer to, after all.

I'm grateful that the basketball club is taking a break today. With both the play and Winter Cup approaching, I've had barely any free time for myself. And while I enjoy being kept busy, the load is starting to wear down on me.

Unfortunately, that break is not going to be today, after all. As soon as Kikuchi heard I wasn't needed at basketball, he scheduled me for a dress fitting with Emi (again). Then when that's done, I'm to head to the stage for our first ever full rehearsal of the ball scene. We've practiced the scene many times, but without the set, props, and costumes complete.

After I'm pretty sure I have scars from Emi's pins poking me, I take the door to the backstage where the rest of the drama club is running around. The background dancers are fidgeting with their costumes, the girls looking excited, the guys nervous. Ikeda, my opposite, stands by the wall like a prince (it's no wonder he was chosen for the lead).

He smiles and nods at me. He and I have a comfortable partnership. He's friendly but quiet, kind of like Mitsuri. And even though we're playing as lovers, I know he has a girlfriend and has no interest in me whatsoever in that way.

"Okay, people," Kikuchi says, clapping his hands together. "We have an audience today, so let's do our best!"

Everyone's heads whip in the direction of the seats, and I wonder who's there. With renewed vigor, they head back to their respective stations, while the ones on stage move out. My entrance is a few minutes into the scene, so I wait by the curtains for my cue. We haven't started using the mics yet, but I can still hear Ikeda's voice booming through the auditorium, the other actors equally as enthusiastic.

Then —

"You're on," Kikuchi hisses, waving his hand frantically, as if I don't know.

I grip my skirts, lifting them so I can walk — I have on the whole costume today. Aside from my hair and makeup, I'm wearing a multi-layered blue dress, a necklace of fake jewels, white gloves, and the glass shoes.

My least favorite part.

While the heels are short, I still have trouble walking in them. We couldn't get them in my exact size, so they're a little tight. Add in the fact that I'm supposed to be dancing in them . . .

Someone lets out a whoop when I enter onto the stage. Without meaning to, I look for the voice and see — Ogiwara. What is he doing here? Sitting between Ikeda's girlfriend and Mitsuri, no less.

I focus back on the scene at hand, trying to steady my heart which suddenly accelerated.

I've known all this time that I'd be performing in front of lots of people, so why does the sight of just a few make me nervous?

If I'm honest with myself, I know it's not the fact that some people are watching, but that it's Ogiwara watching.

Clearing my head, I walk up to Ikeda, a shy smile on my face. He's a good actor, looking positively awestruck and gazing at me with what I would believe to be love, if I didn't know otherwise.

The scene starts in earnest. Ikeda takes my hand and leads me to the middle of the stage. I'm glad for the gloves, so he doesn't have to feel my sweaty hands. Someone plays the dance track from their phone, the song that will soon be blasted through the stage speakers.

I try to count the steps and timing in my head, but I'm off ever so slightly. I've never tried dancing before (at least not something so organized as a waltz), and on the first day of practicing it, I found out that I was hilariously bad at it. I don't think it's the coordination that's the problem — but the act of trying to look graceful. I've gotten better, but trying to remember the timing along with the right steps gives me a headache. When I practiced with Mitsuri, she picked it right up and would laugh at my every misstep. She said it was only fair: since I was good at basketball, she could be good at dancing.

Ikeda expertly hides his winces every time I step on his foot, and we manage to get past the main dance scene. I want to sag with relief, but I keep my posture straight and muster up a loving smile for Ikeda.

I'm acutely aware of Ogiwara in the seats watching me. It's almost like I can feel his gaze tracking my every movement. But I know that's impossible.

We enter the "garden," a corner of the stage that's been given a flowery backdrop and a few house plants brought in. Ikeda and I exchange some dialogue, and I feel myself beginning to relax, now that the dancing's over. Right on cue, someone plays the clock chiming sound effect. I jolt, like I wasn't expecting it, and look around in panic. A giant clock, its hand pointed toward the 12, lowers into the backdrop. I let my gaze linger on it for a moment, fear and shock coloring my face.

"I have to go," I say to Ikeda and begin tugging away from him.

"Wait —"

I'm already running. I've always done this part in normal shoes, so I nearly trip on the hem of my skirts. Pulling them up further than is probably proper, I leap off the stage and start running through the aisles. Harrowing music follows me, and the stagehands roll a withering pumpkin out while I make a loop around the audience.

I pass Ogiwara, see his intense gaze, then — I'm flying forward, my momentum going too far. There's just a moment when I can see Ogiwara's face and hear Mitsuri's cry of shock, and then I'm tumbling down the aisle. There's an unpleasant crunch.

For a moment, I feel numb, unsure of what just happened.

Then pain laces up my leg, and I cry out.

"Reiha!"

Mitsuri and Ogiwara are by my side in a second. I manage to roll into a sitting position, but just adjusting my leg in that small way sends spikes of pain through me. I grit my teeth and look down.

The heel of my shoe had snapped. My ankle's already swelling and turning purple.

The rest of the drama club crowds around me, anxious expressions on their face. Kikuchi is muttering darkly to himself, and Shiyo's face has gone white.

"She needs to see the nurse," Mitsuri says, taking control of the situation. "Ogiwara, can you —"

He doesn't answer, just reaches his arms toward me — one beneath my back, one under my legs — and lifts me up. (I can't help thinking how ironic it is to have to be princess-carried in this situation.) He goes slow, trying not to agitate my foot, but it still hurts. Tears spring to my eyes unbidden.

"You'll be fine," he says. He looks down at me and gives me a warm gaze. Without thinking, I wrap my arms around his neck and bury my face into his chest. I can feel his heartbeat speed up.

I don't know how he can smile in this situation.

Because I know, already, that it's not going to be okay.

A/N: Uh-oh. Drama in the drama club . . . it looks like things just aren't going Reiha's way.

Well, thanks for reading anyway! See you next time.

~ J. Dominique