Chapter 30 — Mitsuri

I can't believe it. Instead of being fired from the part of Cinderella, somehow I'm still in the play. Instead, it was poor Ikeda who got recast . . . by none other than Akashi Seijūrō.

Akashi, the boy who encouraged me.

Akashi, the boy I'm going to be playing opposite with.

Akashi, the boy whom I have very real feelings for.

How did things turn out this way?

As it turns out, the reason they decided to recast Akashi was a mixture of things. First, it seemed that it wasn't Ikeda's acting abilities in question, but his professionalism. Although I never would've guessed by his easy-going appearance, apparently he'd been blowing off practice by sneaking off backstage for illicit meetings with his girlfriend. The second reason I was obviously the cause of: for some reason, I could act in front of Akashi. Generally, you'd think having one's crush before you in a romantic play would make things worse, but . . .

Finally, it seems like the drama club wants to sell a lot of tickets — and have no problem using Akashi's popularity at school to boost their sales.

Akashi himself seems surprisingly fine with the turn of events. After appearing on stage, he'd perfectly recited the prince's lines, to which I'd managed to stammer back a reply. Shiyo had then interrupted with a megaphone she'd swiped from Kikuchi.

"Hey, hey!" she'd shouted. "Am I seeing what everyone else is? We've got to keep that chemistry!"

I'd blushed furiously at her exclamation, but Akashi had taken it all in stride. Of course, he must've seen it coming; he never did anything without a plan, after all.

Everyone took a break at that time to discuss the new development (except Ikeda, who once again shirked his duties), and it was decided that Akashi would replace Ikeda as Prince Charming . . .

At first, I'd protested. "You're already the captain of the basketball club and student president!" I said. "You can't possibly take more work."

He looked at me, a reassuring look in his gaze. He knew exactly what I was worried about. "It's fine, Kasayama-san," he said. "I want do to this." Then he added, rather unnecessarily, "It won't take much effort on my part."

Well, the drama club was right in thinking that their club would become more popular. If they'd been accepting more members, I think half of the female population might've applied. As it was, so many of them turned up for practice that we had to start turning them away. There'd be no point in putting on a play if everyone had already seen it.

And so that's how I've found myself on stage, once again in the Cinderella dress, practicing the same scene as before — except now it's Akashi's eyes facing me now. He's already taken wonderfully to the part. Luckily, he and Ikeda were similar sizes, and only a few adjustments are needed. But as with nearly everything he wears, it looks like it was made for him. The lapels on his shoulders, the fake golden buttons, the polished boots . . . while they'd looked cheap on Ikeda, they look refined on Akashi.

Or maybe that's just my bias talking.

Kikuchi is one of the only people unhappy about the recasting. He'd grumbled all afternoon about having to guide another person through all their lines and blocking. I guess he'd underestimated Akashi then, as there wasn't much guiding at all.

Akashi says his line, and this time, my dialogue comes to me easily.

He smiles — I think it's natural, too. But coming from him, even a natural smile looks like a prince's.

The rest of the practice goes as smoothly as could be hoped. Although perhaps neither Akashi and I have the improvability of Reiha and Ikeda, we manage to walk each other through the scenes with the easy atmosphere that I've gotten used to around him. It's almost like we aren't even acting at all. This stage is just another part of our walks home, and our conversation about slippers and dancing might just be another topic we cover.

By the end of the day, I realize what Reiha's been feeling all this time when she dons the persona of another person. There's something freeing about not being yourself — and yet, at the same time, using yourself to express something. Acting is sort of like that. You are; and then you are not.

And perhaps, that's why Akashi and I both find each other in these roles.

Due to Akashi's schedule, we'd met for practice after the basketball club, and by the time Kikuchi is finally satisfied with our performance, the sun has long set.

Akashi doesn't even have to offer to walk me home anymore. It's sort of just become accepted between us, that we'll spend the time after school together. I suppose it's kind of like Reiha and Ogiwara meeting to practice basketball. Some things just happen naturally without you even realizing they're in progress.

"It's late now," he says as we leave the school grounds. "But later, I'd like to practice with you one-on-one sometime."

It must be a testament to how much time I've been spending with the basketball team, because I first interpret him saying he'd like to play the sport with me. But then, I realize he's talking about the play.

"Right," I say. "Of course."

"Maybe tomorrow?" He glances over, seeking my answer.

"That's works," I say. "I should check on Reiha anyway."

I've been over to his house. He's been to mine. Each time had been born out of rather impromptu feelings, but having a plan in place this time feels nice.

For the rest of the walk, we go over the drama practice, commenting on each other's performance. I've managed to pick up some acting smarts thanks to Reiha, and he's has plenty of suggestions for improvement as well. It makes me happy to know that we're both trying to get better, both trying to help the other get better.

It seems like a thing couples do.

Later, after Akashi has left, I decide to pay Reiha a visit. Of course, I've been checking on her as often as I can. Lately . . . she's barely been out of her room and is barely eating or talking. The last few times I've been in her room, she's spoken in monosyllabic words and just burrowed under the covers when I tried to get more out of her.

I've never seen her like this before, not when we were kids, or in the short time we've been reunited. I know that she took her injury the hardest of us all . . . but Grandma and Grandpa are starting to get worried. Last night, they'd spoken in hushed tones about contacting Mom and . . . I'm not sure what to do.

When I enter her room, she's slouched on her bed, her foot propped up on a pillow. She has a book in her hands, but a blank expression on her face. It doesn't even look like she's reading.

"Hey," I say.

"Hey. You're back late."

For a moment, I perk up. This is more she's to me than the last few conversations.

"Practice ran late," I say.

"Which one?" Even though she's the actor, she struggles to hide her grimace before finally giving up.

"It's fine," I say. "You can be angry. You have every right to be."

"Right." She lets a full-blown scowl onto her face before wiping it clean, like it had never existed. "But I still want to know how your first practice with Akashi went."

"It went well," I answer, eager to keep her talking. "You should see him act. It's like he was born for the part."

"It is Akashi we're talking about, I guess." Normally, she'd have a teasing tone in her voice and combine that with an eye roll, but none of that lightness is apparent tonight.

"He's not perfect at everything," I say.

"Really? Tell me one thing."

"Well . . ."

I could talk about his vulnerabilities, but those are the things he's shared only with me, and that seems too personal to talk about.

Besides, I came here to talk about something else.

I inch toward her bed and sit on the edge, careful not to jar her foot too much. "There's something I wanted to talk to you about," I say after a moment.

I'm afraid she'll scowl again; those words were never her favorite. But instead, her face barely shifts, and she says, "I know."

"What?" I stare at her. "Did you want to say something too?"

"No — I mean, yes . . ." She stops, runs a hand through her hair, messing it up even further. "It's something that I should've told you long ago . . . something that I know you've been expecting me to say."

"I would never want you to talk about something you're not ready to," I say. "I know . . . it's been hard for both of us. And we've both made mistakes. But I just want you to know that I'm . . . sorry for how things turned out. How mangled I let things get. But now that you're here again, I'm really happy. I'm really happy to have a sister again."

It all spills out of me, more at once than I'd been planning.

Reiha looks stricken at my words. "But . . . you don't get it," she whispers. "I — I'm happy too. To be here. I never thought I'd be . . . but with you, Shige, Shiyo . . . this has been like home again."

Normally, I'd be glad to hear here finally expressing how she feels . . . but something doesn't feel right. She's acting like she's about to . . . confess.

"You don't have to tell me everything," I say carefully. "There are plenty of things I don't want to share either."

"But I need to," she insists. "I've put it off long enough."

She takes a deep breath.

I wait.

"The thing is," she starts, "is that I just didn't get sent back here because Mom thought it would be a good idea for us to live together again."

I frown. While I haven't heard all the details, Grandma had told me that she and Mom had orchestrated Reiha's return because it'd been too long for us to be apart. I'd believed her, because it made sense, and although some part of me was wary . . . I was also glad to be able to get to see her again and have a chance of being her sister again.

But what Reiha's saying . . . is that not true at all?

Reiha looks me straight in the eye.

"I mean, she did think it would be good for us to be together again. But the truth is, I think she sent me away because she didn't want to deal with me."

A/N: Okay, so we're finally going to learn about what's going on with Reiha. Last chapter kind of turned dark . . . but hopefully, things will get better from now on. Thanks for reading!

~ J. Dominique