Chapter 29 — Reiha
"What? She has stage fright?"
Shiyo nods sagely, sitting in the chair across from my bed. "Yeah, she's like the total opposite of you."
I press a hand to my forehead, a headache oncoming. "Well, it's not totally unexpected. She's always been more shy."
"What made you think she could do it then?" Shiyo asks.
"Well . . . there are some times. When she gets this look in her eyes. And it's like nothing can stop her. And when she practiced with me, she was really good."
"So it's not her acting abilities in question. Just the fact that she can't harness them on stage."
"I guess."
Poor Mitsuri. She'd looked like she really wanted to try. And now, we're going to have to use my understudy after all . . .
Shiyo glances at me, and her face softens. "Are you okay?"
"Of course not," I snap. I thrust a finger at my foot. "Does it look like I'm okay?"
I immediately regret the words, but Shiyo doesn't look offended. "I know. I'm sorry," she says.
I crumple back against my pillow. "I'm sorry —"
"You don't have to apologize," she says. "We all know how hard you worked for this."
Yes. We all know.
No one more than me.
I don't deserve a friend like Shiyo.
A true actress, Shiyo arranges her features into a smug look. "Well, I do have good news. I think we have a solution to our Mitsuri problem."
"What?" I lean forward, interested despite myself.
"Yep. Been saving the best for last, of course." At my glare, she laughs. "It's a juicy piece of information. You'd never believe it."
"I'll decide for myself. Just tell me already!"
"Well," Shiyo starts, in her most dramatic voice. "Just when we all thought Mitsuri might faint, guess who appeared?"
I do have a guess, but I don't voice it.
"That's right!" Shiyo declares. "None other than Akashi Seijūrō himself! You should've seen it, it was like magic. Mitsuri took one look at Akashi and calmed right down." She gives me a significant look.
"So . . . ?" I prompt.
"Soooooo . . . we've recast Akashi as the prince."
"What?!"
Mitsuri comes home, not long after Shiyo leaves. She looks exhausted, her forehead knit, her feet dragging.
With much fussing from Grams, I managed to maneuver myself to the kitchen table with my crutches. Mitsuri plops down into a chair opposite me. She usually sits beside me, but currently my foot is propped up on her chair. The room is empty save for us and the slow simmering of dinner. Having forgotten something, Grams had run out to the nearest convenience store. Gramps is probably still in his room napping.
"How was practice?" I ask.
Shiyo had informed me that Kikuchi made her stay late to "hammer out details." Having been subject to such treatment before, I can sympathize.
Mitsuri hesitates. She doesn't know that I already know what transpired, so to spare her having to wonder how to break the news to me, I say, "I know."
Her head jerks toward me. "What?"
"Shiyo came by earlier. She told me all about what happened."
Shame floods Mitsuri's face. "I — I'm sorry. I thought I could do it. I tried —"
"It's not your fault," I say. "You can't help it if you get stage fright."
You can't help it.
For a moment, just a moment, I wish someone would tell me that.
Looking miserable, she just nods and curls into her chair. For a moment, there's silence. Then, "Did you hear . . . the rest, too?"
"About Akashi?" A blush forms on her cheeks at his name. "Yeah, I know about that, too. How do you feel about that?"
"I don't want to talk about how I feel," she says suddenly.
Taken aback, I give her a questioning look.
"How do you feel?" she asks. "I know this can't be easy for you. You're acting like everything's fine, like you're okay with me taking the part, like you're okay with me failing to do what I promised to do . . . but I know that can't be true. You've put so much into this play. And from hearing everyone talk today . . . they're all your friends, aren't they? Aren't you disappointed?"
She heaves a breath, then looks me straight in the eye, her gaze demanding an answer.
I can't speak.
She's right, of course. I am disappointed. The disappointment weighs so heavily that sometimes I feel like I can't breathe. And it's not just from being upset about the play — accidents in theater happen all the time. But this play did mean more to me than it might've to the average person.
I never liked getting attached to things, to routine. I thought I would always prefer an adventure, not knowing exactly what's going to happen, taking risks in the unknown. But then Ogiwara came. And then Shiyo. And I started liking the idea of having a familiar face to see the next day.
And I realized you didn't need to be traveling around the world to have adventures. You can just as easily take chances in a school as you can in a foreign city. You can just as easily be surprised by people you think you know as you can by complete strangers.
So this play became special to me. Because it taught me something I'd been missing my entire life. Routine doesn't mean monotonous. Average doesn't mean boring. Familiar doesn't mean dull.
And now that that opportunity's been ripped from me — I can feel it growing closer every day, a storm shadow over my head.
"I . . ."
I don't know what I was going to say, because at that moment, the front door swings open, and Grams walks in, humming and carrying a plastic bag. She smiles at the two of us. Then narrows her eyes. "Hope I didn't interrupt anything."
"You're fine," I say quickly. Mitsuri glances at me, and I know she wants to talk about this further, but seems to accept my stalling.
"Guess who I saw at the store?" Grams says, unpacking her groceries.
"Who?" I say to humor her.
"One of your classmates. At least that's what he said. I think his name was . . . Ogihara? Something like that. He said he hoped you're better soon." She gives me a meaningful and teasing look.
"Ogiwara-kun," Mitsuri pipes up, the prospect of teasing me livening her up. "He's on the basketball team as well. He's —"
"Just a friend," I say, before Mitsuri can say something embarrassing.
Clearly, neither of them believes it.
I wish I could believe my own words, too. It would make what's coming so much easier.
Somehow, I'd gotten Ogiwara's phone number. I have all the phone numbers of the basketball club members, but I've only used them for announcement-type stuff. Ogiwara and I only ever talk at school, and seeing as we saw each other nearly every day, we'd never discussed any other form of communication.
But now, a week into my injury, I find I miss him. Oddly enough, he's become a staple in my life, and when all I have to do is lie around in bed, when all I have to keep me company are my thoughts, his absence is even more stark.
Mitsuri's been updating me about school happenings and bringing my homework home. She's casually mentioned Ogiwara's interest in my well-being several times. I think she's hoping that I'll say she could invite him over for dinner or something.
But I don't want to do that.
I don't want him to see me like this.
But for some reason, I type out a message (though I didn't enter his number, for fear of prematurely pressing send). It's been fifteen minutes, and I'm no closer to sending it.
In just the few days that I've been holed up in the house, I've become intimately familiar with the walls of my room. I'm surprised by the amount of things I've acquired since moving in. There're all of my souvenirs from travel, of course, but then my textbooks piled on my desk, my uniform thrown over the back of a chair. A few posters Shiyo gave me. Some props I used to get into the acting mood. Some knickknacks that I bought while out with Ogiwara. And then, Gramps keeps buying me candy, having found out about my sweet tooth. My stash is spilling out of my closet rather conspicuously.
What would Ogiwara think of this room? Would he be awkward about it or would he immediately make himself at home? It's hard for me to try and predict his actions . . . but if there's one thing I know about him, it's that he never does things halfway.
And it's because of that . . . that I delete the message.
I don't remember the next few days.
What made you think you could pull that off? Clearly, you can't.
A blur.
Useless. Fake.
Grandma's voice. "Reiha? Do you want dinner? I can bring it in for you if you want."
They're going to get rid of you. Just watch.
Grandpa. Soft knocks. "Do you want to talk? I found this show on TV that I thought you might like."
He says he likes you. But he just wants the attention. He doesn't mean it. And when he finds out about us, he'll just turn away like the last one.
"Reiha?"
Mitsuri?
"Ogiwara said he's looking forward to when you come back."
No.
"We all are."
I'm sorry. I don't know if I'm coming back.
A/N: Okay, so this was a hard chapter for me to write. I have had my own experience with some of what Reiha's feeling, and that's what I've used as a basis for her character (though she and I aren't really similar in most ways). It's obviously a delicate situation, and not everyone will experience it the same way . . . I'm going to stop for now, but if any of you are confused, hopefully the next few chapters will clear things up.
As always, thanks for reading!
~ J. Dominique