TOWRTA: What is this? Less than 24 hours between updates? Don't expect this at all, it's only happening because I have time at the moment to write and this chapter was already written. Soon I may fall into a weekly or bi-weekly rhythm. We'll just have to see.
Chapter One
"Well, Catearro-san, I must say that yours and your brother's marks on our entrance exam were exemplary. However, there is the problem of your previous education. We see you left it blank," said the principal of Daikoku Academy. On his desk were the applications of the two teenagers seated in front of him, my brother's and mine. I smiled politely and gestured to the envelope I had placed on the table.
"Everything you need to know is in that envelope. My teacher assured me that you would understand." The principal, Kurosaki Asashi by the name plate on his large desk, frowned slightly and opened the envelope. I could see his eyes skimming the contents as his expression became surprised. Some parts he reread multiple times before he moved on, his eyes widening to comical sizes. Once he reached the bottom and had gone over the signature four times, he laid the letter face down on the desk and flicked his eyes between me and my brother.
"So, can we stay?" I asked.
The principal nodded his head quickly and pulled out two more bits of paper from his desk.
"Here are your class schedules and maps. Teachers will assign people to show you around if you want them to. Catearro-san," he turned to my brother, "your homeroom is class 1-A in the junior section of the school. Mayuki-san will show you where to go." He nodded to the door where a young girl stood. She came through the office door and bowed politely. My brother nodded his blonde head in reply and thanked the principal as monotonously as possible while still sounding polite. I stood up at the same time as him and wrapped him in a tight hug, his recent growth spurt causing his head to knock my nose.
"I will meet you outside the junior gate. See you at the end of school," I said. He squeezed me back in return and left the office, trailing behind the perky looking Mayuki.
As soon as I sat down the principal spoke in a hushed tone.
"Catearro-san, I am certain you know how unorthodox it is to have a senior coming here only four months until graduation. If it wasn't for your exceptional scores I wouldn't have even considered letting you in. Of course your brother would have been accepted, but at your age I can't fathom why you decided to come," he spoke hurriedly, as though he was telling me some grave secret that no one else was supposed to hear. I smiled my head when replying.
"Principal Kurosaki, the reason I came to this school was because my previous teacher recommended it to me and told me that she would help my brother and I get in. The other reason is because if I want to apply to any universities, this Academy would help immensely in my applications for high achieving facilities. Also, I wanted to look after my brother. He is only thirteen after all," I explained. The principal nodded in understanding and smiled at me.
"Ah, I see now. Well, it is wonderful to be welcoming someone so talented into our school. I look forward to your time with us, no matter how short it may be. I trust you can find your own way to your classroom? Homeroom is about to start." He dismissed me with an easy grin that I returned with no reservations.
No welcoming party for me, huh? Guess you weren't expecting me to stay past the introductory meeting, I thought wryly without letting it show on my face.
"Of course, principal. I will see you at the graduation ceremony." With that I grabbed my bag, bowed respectfully, and left while shrugging my leather jacket on. I didn't bother looking back. Instead, I strode through the corridors, going over the conversation that I could recall with extreme clarity. Odd; my photographic memory was something that hadn't kicked in for a long time.
However, instead of puzzling over the strangeness of my sudden good memory, I stopped outside the door to my classroom and knocked. The teacher flicked his gaze over and widened his eyes. With a quick nod, he began the lengthy process of quietening a classroom of thirty-two seventeen and eighteen year olds. While waiting, I leant on the doorframe.
Class A-3. It was totally and utterly efficient. From my position just outside the door, pretending to be bored while looking through the door window out the corner of my eye, I could see a large, almost wall-sized blackboard on the wall to the right of the door and a huge floor to ceiling window to the left of the blackboard. All the desks were in neat rows with equally neat teenagers in various groups, an especially large one next to the window. Every part of the room, from the bookshelves under the blackboard to the bags slung over the backs of chairs to the light fittings lining the ceiling, all of it was perfectly utilitarian. Just what one would expect from someone such as Kurosaki Asashi.
The class finally settled into their seats but the talking didn't stop. With a head shake of defeat, the teacher went over to the door and opened it. I held up a hand as he tried to apologise. He smiled wanly and stepped aside to let me through.
"Class, we have a new addition to our group. I would like to introduce our newest exchange student of Daikoku Private Academy." The chatter of the bored classroom shuddered to a stop. Thirty teenage heads turned around to see what the teacher was talking about and the murmuring started up again, more subdued than before. It was amusing knowing that they were discussing me. By lunch there would probably be a rumour that I was a runaway.
"Catearro-san, would you like to introduce yourself?" I blinked. The teacher was looking at me expectantly.
"Oh, of course. Do you mind if I first introduce myself in English as well as Japanese? It would be more comfortable for me," I asked.
"Certainly, it would be good for my students."
"Thank you, sir. Well, I shall introduce myself in English first and then Japanese." I turned and faced the curious students.
"Yo." Already people were looking confused. "My name is Minerva Catearro, and I prefer to be referred to as just Minerva, not Catearro-san. Seriously, it makes me feel old. I don't really feel inclined to tell you that much about my home life because it's pretty boring." Lies. "I have a younger brother named Quinn who turned thirteen in September, whereas I am eighteen. My birthday is on the twenty-eighth of June. Oh, and before people start asking me why I moved to Japan, and where I have travelled I will state that those things are a personal matter. No disrespect but we do not know each other." I ended with a tone that held a small threat; hardly noticeable but there all the same. But judging from the looks on their faces – the ones who had understood the meaning of yo, anyway – they were suitably warned.
I switched to Japanese and started again. By the time I was finished the entire class seemed to be itching to start talking again.
"Thank you, Ca – Minerva-san." The teacher looked about the classroom. "Hmm, ah! You can sit in the seat in front of Yagami-san, there." He gestured to the desk where the large group had been situated before. Now, without the crowd, I could see who had been at the centre of it all. I was taken aback by what I saw.
Yagami, as the teacher had called him, was quite different. It wasn't that he was exuding an aura of a delinquent or something obvious like that. He presented himself as an attractive young man who valued his appearance, from his meticulously neat uniform – I had decided to leave my uniform at home in case I really was unwelcome at Daikoku; my brown leather jacket, jeans and t-shirt were polite enough for school if I was accepted, anyway – to his brilliant white teeth.
His expression was somewhere between calculating appraisal and agonising politeness under the guise of boyish charm. It was an interesting blend, though it was apparent that the scrutiny in his gaze was not supposed to be seen, not by me at least; it was hidden so well beneath his dazzlingly grin that I could barely make it out. It seemed that my near obsessive habit of drawing or painting anything around me, including human faces, was helpful in more than one way.
But those things hadn't surprised me. It was the peculiar colour of his hair that had drawn my focus.
His hair was the colour of bronze, or slightly dulled copper. It fell about his face into fashionably messy layers, the back of which reached the nape of his neck. I found myself idly wondering how he could see through the untidy fringe that was swept to his left side yet still managed to get in his eyes.
The strange thing was it didn't seem to have been dyed. His hair was naturally the colour of a newly waxed kettle from the 17th century. Was it genetic or some strange scientific anomaly?
Ridding myself of that weird train of thought and harshly suppressing the blush that was creeping onto my cheeks as I realised I had been staring, I turned to the teacher, whose name I needed to learn. "Thank you, sir." I inclined my head slightly; not a bow but the teacher understood my sincerity. I left the comfort of the front of the room and went to sit in front of the Yagami boy.
"Now class, roll call," the teacher called out. In an effort to remember my classmates' names, I watched for each person who answered. Knowing myself as I did, I would probably end up calling the boy behind me 'Kettle Head' constantly before the day was out if I didn't get his name soon.
By the time the roll had been called I was very pleased that my photographic memory had decided to kick in when it did, even if I had no idea why. If it hadn't I would have been hard pressed to remember any of the names.
Fukusaku Kinnojo sat at the back of the class with his stationary in parallel lines on his desk. Hitori Renzo was a rambunctious loudmouth with non-regulation piercings. Itoh Ayako was a small girl who sat on the other side of the aisle. Kimio Ruriko had long, dead-straight hair. Niijima Hisa was surreptitiously chewing gum behind her English book. Shibasaki Yukinaga sat in front of me with his shoulders nearly acting as earmuffs.
And, at the very end of the list, Kettle Head's real name was Yagami Light. Light; what a very fitting name for the way his hair glowed, but it did not fit the expression I could see in the reflection of the window. He looked bored, his eyes alert but slightly glazed as one would expect from an seventeen year old on a Friday morning. It was almost disappointingly normal, and, whether it was fortunate or unfortunate I will never know, I began to watch him as the day progressed, eager to see if that hint of judgement would come back to life, if only to have something better to do than listen to explanations of theories I had already learnt.
Throughout my first class, Maths, I was disappointed. He answered every question perfectly as someone of his obvious intelligence should and when talked to in class he was the perfect gentleman. He gave no outward signs of anything other than boredom and occasional interest when he was called upon. There were no strange inflections in his voice or anything odd with his posture. The feeling he gave me was rigid, hard, like a brittle stone wall that would break apart if you hit it hard enough. He was too composed to be like that naturally.
Just when I was about to give up on my 'Light Watching', as I had dubbed it, the teacher called on me in the last quarter of class.
"Minerva-san." He looked uncomfortable saying my first name. "It seems you understand this material already, so would you like to have Yagami-san explain our course outline to you for the remainder of the class? You two could use the courtyard if necessary." Behind me Light became even more rigid. His eyes flickered over to the reflection and saw me looking at him. His expression, which had become almost stormy, smoothed once more, turning into a blank mask of boredom and acceptance.
"Thank you, sir." I nodded my consent. I put the paper and stationary I had taken out back into my shoulder bag and stood up, fixing my jacket. Light stood up as well and was hooking the strap of my bag over his own shoulder before I was fully turned.
"Off you go then," said the teacher with a smile.
"Do you have everything you need, Minerva-san?" In an instant I could feel over a dozen female glares burn into my head at Light's use of my first name. Geez, if I knew that people would get so worked up about someone like him addressing me simply by my first name I never would have said anything.
"I believe so. I can carry my own bag though, Light." I held out my hand for my bag, hardly suppressing a wince as the intensity of the glares doubled. Well, excuse me for not assimilating to Japanese culture so quickly.
"Don't worry about it, it's the least I can do," he said simply, his voice amiable. It was an amazing turnaround when he trained his eyes on me, neither holding a hint of boredom. I was starting to think that only seeing him through a window was better than this. The glares weren't helping either.
Light gestured for me to follow him out the door. As I did so I could feel the withering looks follow my every move.
Light's steps were long and uniform, as though he had trained himself to a point where every step was the same as the previous one, no deviation in the length or speed whatsoever.
We reached the end of the corridor and trailed down a staircase to the courtyard. Light held the door open for me at the bottom. I wandered through, throwing him a thank you as I brushed past. His response was an easy smile.
"You're welcome." He let the door swing shut and led me over to one of the few benches on the edge of the green lawn.
"So," he began as we sat down. "Do you mind if I could see your schedule? If we have the same elective I will be able to explain things in more depth." I handed over the small piece of paper wordlessly. As he read over it I examined his expression once more. The bored expression wasn't there anymore, to my surprise, but now it was one of mild interest. Something tickled the back of my mind as his eyes roved the paper. There was a colour that described this boy perfectly.
Beige. As beige as the uniform he was clothed in.
"Is there something on my face, Minerva-san?" he asked, a small amount of amusement colouring his voice. I blinked. His eyes were trained on mine as though they had been that way for quite a while. Damn, I had been caught staring again.
"Unless you count your hair, which I think falls like that naturally, there is nothing," I replied easily. "And please, just Minerva, Yagami-san. Using –san makes me feel homesick." His lips quirked and he handed back my schedule.
"Only if you call me Light," he countered. I blinked in surprise, then gave a lopsided smile. Someone flirting with me was completely new. "We have all the same core subjects, but our electives are different, unfortunately. I study law whereas you study art. I don't know much about art, I must say." He threw me a bashful smile. Liar, I thought instantly, you're an information sponge.
"In Maths we have been learning about the old teachings of various philosophers . . ." I tuned his words out as he spoke; only listening to his tone. It was smooth, velvety, not exactly warm but not cold either.
If only that was possible to paint. The thought floated into my mind unbidden. I paused for a moment, rerunning what I had just thought.
To paint a voice. Interesting. Maybe I could use his voice as a base line. But then I would have to get him to talk to me more and let me hear the different nuances in his tone. I wonder . . .
Wait, isn't he talking to me now?
"Minerva?" Light's voice interrupted my thoughts, again, with an even more amused voice. My eyes snapped open. To my astonishment I must have closed them while thinking, though he probably thought I was some oddity who found listening to him speak soothing. Not lies exactly but he didn't need to know that.
"Sorry, I had a late night." I quickly ran through what he had been saying, silently thanking my good memory, and brought up the most likely piece of information that would be relevant to what he had said.
"With the art club, do they have special tutoring programmes? I haven't had an actual art teacher before," I tried. Light looked at me oddly but replied all the same.
"There is a class every lunch run by your art teacher, Hisashi-sensei. I have met her a few times and she seems to be a very open woman. I don't know whether the tutoring exams run beyond that, though you could ask at lunch." He checked his watch, "though you will have to wait another hour because next period is about to start."
He stood and grabbed my bag once more. I sighed and stood up next to him. He gave me a stunning smile and, adjusting his grip on his bag as well as mine, with a jerk of his head we set off towards the door that would take us back to the classroom.
I followed in a sort of daze, not really paying attention to anything yet letting everything soak in at once; the light in the hallway, the different corridors that branched off and the curious students who glanced at us through the windows as we walked past the classrooms. But my main point of focus was on the way Light was somehow so sure of himself even when presented with a new girl of a different culture and completely different looks. As far as I had seen there were no students in Daikoku Academy who weren't Japanese and therefore someone of my background coming in would have to be a novelty; the way people had stared during first period was proof enough. But the way Light had just taken it in and seemingly not minded showed either a remarkable ability to adapt, very good people skills or a rather indifferent personality. In my opinion it was definitely not the latter. He was far too . . . alert for that.
We soon reached the classroom, just as the teacher was coming out. He smiled at us brightly and went on his way through the corridor. Light held the door open again and I walked in. As soon as I crossed the threshold every single pair of eyes in the room turned to stare. I froze in place, completely unsure as to what to do. Only once in my life had I had such a thing happen to me and that had not gone well.
"Minerva?" asked Light, coming up behind me. Almost instantaneously the stares turned to glares, whether they were thrown over my shoulder at Light or at me. I noticed that there was a pretty huge gender difference in each action.
"Oh, don't worry," I replied, shaking my head. I walked towards my chair and sat down. Light stopped at my desk and handed me my bag. I thanked him and quickly dug through it, looking for something to distract me from the stares and the growing whispers.
'Good, here it is.' Relieved, I pulled out my history notebook and turned to the first page. Pulling out the pencil and eraser I kept in the pocket of my bag, I began to draw along the right edge, letting the worries of being the centre of attention drift away. When the teacher came in I kept an open ear, glancing up occasionally, committing what she had written on the board to memory, and did the same during social studies straight after, but otherwise simply drew.
By the end of the class I had a full flip art of Light's head turning into a kettle throughout my history book. If he saw it he probably wouldn't be impressed but there wasn't any likelihood of him reading my history book at any time.
"Minerva." I glanced up to see Light standing next to my desk, far enough away not to be in personal space but close enough for our conversation to be intimate. I wondered briefly on it but disregarded the thought in favour of actually talking to him.
"Yes?" I said, noticing the students putting their books away in the slots under their desks and following suit.
"I was wondering whether you would like a tour during lunch. I could answer any questions you have about the school," he said pleasantly. I mulled over that for a moment, not seeing any harm except to encourage those irritating glares. However, from the way the other students were staring at me, perhaps getting away would be the best option.
"That would be great. Thanks for offering." Light seemed pleased and when I stood up, bag in hand, he grabbed the shoulder strap and swung it onto his shoulder once more. I had a feeling that this was going to become a habit.
The tour lasted the entire hour-long lunch slot and we ended up eating while we walked just to cover it all. Daikoku Academy, as it turned out, was not an old, traditional school like many others in the area. It was one of the newer, Westernised institutions that were trying to incorporate both Japanese society and the ever expanding Western influence. Light didn't say his opinion on the subject blatantly but I got the feeling that he enjoyed being able to be a part of two different cultures. I decided that he did indeed have excellent social skills and adaptability.
As we were walking down the third year corridor, the door to C-3 slid open.
"Yagami!" It was Nakamura Kuroda, one of our classmates who sat on the opposite side of the classroom to me and wore his tie slightly loose. Light waved and headed in his direction, nodding at me to follow. I did so without protest, interested as to how Light interacted with people he knew.
"Everyone wants to meet the exchange student," Kuroda said excitedly, leading Light and I into the room. We walked over to a group of both boys and girls. They turned to look at us eagerly, the girls fighting between looking at Light and me. I opened my mouth to introduce myself but stopped when Light touched my lower back lightly. Something jolted up my spine.
"May I introduce to you Catearro Minerva. Minerva, this is everyone," he said. He went on to introduce each one of them by name but I could hardly pay attention because his hand was still on my back, slowly putting on more pressure as he talked. I didn't think he actually knew he was doing it.
"Hi," I said. They all started talking at once, Kuroda one of the loudest. Their crowding triggered an old phobia I hadn't dealt with for a long time. Unconsciously, I leant into Light's side, trying to avoid their closing circle.
Light's hand moved so it was resting on my waist, drawing me into his side. I glanced up at him but he didn't look back. He just continued to smile and laugh good naturedly with his friends, acting as though he wasn't embracing a near total stranger, no matter how odd it was in Japanese culture. So, not wanting to draw attention to myself, I did the same.
The bell rang seven minutes later and we said goodbye to the group, Kuroda accompanying us to A-3. He talked incessantly, Light engaging in banter with him, light hearted and shallow. They discussed Christmas presents, of all things, and what the school was planning for the Christmas festival this year. Apparently it was an annual occurrence.
I said a polite goodbye to Kuroda before following Light to our seats. He handed back my bag and waited until I'd sat down before bowing and taking his seat. The teacher arrived only seconds after us and briskly announced that she hoped I'd read through the required reading so far for Japanese and if not I should get started as soon as possible. I had done the reading but the class still challenged me. I had been speaking Japanese for years but my mind tended towards European languages as opposed to Oriental.
With all my concentration on the class, taking notes and automatically recalling all the information I'd learnt to make sure my photographic memory hadn't decided to switch off, I could hardly spare a thought for the bronze-haired boy behind me. My lower back still tingled though.
We moved to the science laboratories in the south building, third floor, for the next period, Light sidling up to me on my left and Kuroda appearing at my right. Walking between the two with Light holding my bag and Kuroda keeping up a constant stream of conversation about how different Canada must be to Japan and complaining over the fact that he couldn't dye his hair blonde because of the school rules, it was like having two overprotective brothers.
Both of them volunteered to help me during the class. It was a chemistry practical that Light was, of course, incredibly adept at and between him and Kuroda the experiment was finished and recorded by the first half of the class.
That just left the second half for Kuroda to interrogate me.
"So, Minerva-san," Kuroda had no qualms about using my first name. "How are you enjoying hanging out with Yagami?"
"What? Oh, it's been fun," I said, glancing awkwardly at the boy in question. He smiled briefly and carried on cleaning out the beakers we'd used.
"Just great? You know he's the most popular guy in the school, right? Most girls would saw off their right arm to spend a day with him."
"Don't be jealous, Nakamura. Kimio has been looking at you a lot lately," Light spoke up.
"Really? Because I've always thought she has a thing for me but whenever I talk to her she pretends she has no idea who I am." And off he went, relaying all the different signs Kimio, the girl with dead-straight hair, had given him that showed how attracted to him she was. I pillowed my head in my arms on the table, listening to him with an amused smile. He was the most open guy I had ever met in my life.
Light's sudden cough brought my attention to him. Kuroda didn't notice, as he had taken to staring at him crush as though she was the only thing in the world.
"Yes?" I asked, sitting up straight. Light leaned against the other side of the lab table, his hands casually in his pockets.
"I just wanted to make sure you remember the way to the art block," he said. I resisted the urge to bring my map out and wave it in his face.
"I remember. Down the hall, ground floor, opposite side of the lawn from the building our homeroom is in, right?"
"That's the one." The bell ringed and everyone collected their gear. Kuroda bade us a hasty goodbye and hurried after Kimio, who flipped her hair to one side just as I noticed a blush rising to her cheeks. This time Light let me place my bag on my shoulder and stayed by my side as we exited the classroom.
"I'll talk to you tomorrow? It's a half-day, right?" I said, a part of me believing he would ignore me in favour of his friends tomorrow. There was only so much attention a popular guy like him could give one girl before his reputation became at stake.
"Of course. I look forward to seeing you then, Minerva." He bowed and gave me that dazzlingly smile that was nearly as affecting as his touch.
"And to you, Light." I bowed back and turned away to go to my art class. I found myself revising the colour that suited him most. Instead of beige, he now seemed like more of a red. A dark, velvety, seductive red that almost reminded me of blood.
If only I could have seen the omen then for what it was.
The arts building contained the music classrooms on the top level, the art classes on the second floor and the drama rooms at ground level with a connecting corridor to the assembly hall. The art rooms were the same as my homeroom – floor to ceiling windows facing the courtyard and a large blackboard but instead of single desks there were clean wooden tables in a square horseshoe facing the blackboard.
I joined the flow of the crowd, drawing curious looks as a tall European girl out of uniform in a Japanese school was wont to do. Just as my hands were turning clammy from all the attention, I found myself surrounded by two of the girls from Kuroda's group.
"Minerva-san! How are you enjoying Daikoku Academy?" said Mikoto, a very pretty gossip who had a taste for matchmaking.
"It's very . . . different. But I am liking it so far," I replied.
"What she really means to ask is whether you like Light," Nozomi. From what I'd seen of her, she was a studious girl who seemed to be the only one who could put up with Mikoto's constant meddling.
"Oh," I said. Well, that was blunt. "He's great."
"Great? Ouch, that's harsh," Mikoto muttered.
"Don't let him hear you saying that. He'll pursue you," said Nozomi.
"What?"
"Nozomi!" Mikoto slapped Nozomi on the arm. She sighed and rolled her eyes before looking at me and explained. "Just ignore her. Anyway, so what do you really think of him? He's more than great, right?" She nudged me with her shoulder.
"He's . . . he has a great smile," I offered.
"And?"
"He's fun to talk to?"
"And?"
"Fine. He is extremely good looking," I acquiesced. Mikoto grinned.
"I knew it! Told you she'd fall for him." She said to Nozomi.
"I never said she wouldn't," Nozomi replied, "but at least she doesn't throw herself at him like you do."
"I do not! And didn't you see the way she leant against him during lunch?"
"Don't forget that he put his arm around her waist."
"And when they first walked in he had his hand on her back! How long do you think it will take to make it official?"
"Two weeks, tops."
It was an incredibly disturbing situation having two girls discussing how I was going to end up dating some guy I had just met that day and completely ignoring the fact that I was walking between them and could hear every word they said. It was as though they had forgotten I was even there.
Unfortunately, we reached the classroom before I could speak up and the two girls walked to the shelves under the blackboard that held all the students' art gear, waving me goodbye.
"Catearro-san!" A young woman in her late twenties at the most came up to me, beaming. She was more than a head shorter than me but her grin made up for it and beyond.
"I prefer Minerva," I said.
"Oh, of course, I heard from your homeroom teacher." I waited for her to tell me his name but it never came. "I am your art teacher."
"Hisashi-sensei?"
"That's me. So, do you have your own things or do we need to supply?"
"I have everything I need so don't worry."
"Great! Today we are working on projects given two weeks ago so feel free to ask some of the students what they're doing and start your own. The premise of it is memories. You can take a seat over there by the window; one of our students left earlier this year to study overseas so there has been a spot open for a while."
"Thank you, Hisashi-sensei." I bowed courteously and went over to the seat. Each seat had its own table, big enough for two people. The class of fifteen was hard at work; some of them talking between themselves quietly but most were diligently painting, drawing or examining their work.
I sat down and took out my art supplies out of my bag which had become consistently lighter as the day went by. Flipping to the first blank page, which was in the middle of the art pad, I cupped my chin in the palm of my hand and rested my elbow on the table, staring at the page. Memories. What memory could I draw that would be appropriate for a classroom?
It took several minutes of thinking before I just sighed, took out a pencil, and began to draw. I had no plan, no idea, no picture; I just let my hand work as it wanted to, as I had done before on many occasions. It was a way of drawing that my previous teacher had both praised and scolded me for.
Within half an hour the drawing was finished, rough and sketchy. Before hesitation could set in, I pulled out my oil paints, palette and paintbrushes and sunk back into a state of mindless work. Hisashi-sensei walked over on more than one occasion and I could positively feel the grin spreading over her face each time, but I paid no attention to her in favour of completing the task I'd set myself. To my good fortune, neither Mikoto nor Nozomi were anywhere near me to see what was quickly becoming what I feared it would be.
Minutes before the end of the class, and the end of the school day, I sat back, finished. I was both pleased and displeased with the end result. The implications of it were worrying.
I glanced out the window and was met with something most peculiar. A thin black notebook fell from the sky to land on the shaded part of the lawn. I looked upwards to see who had thrown it from the roof but no one was there, at least not on the other buildings. The roof of the art building couldn't be seen from my vantage point.
A quick observation of the notebook showed it to be made of some kind of leather with white writing on the cover that I couldn't make out from here. Where had it come from?
Without knowing why, I drew my gaze upwards. To my astonishment, Light was in our homeroom, staring straight at me. He held my gaze, his eyes burning into mine with an intensity that took my breath away. I couldn't move. The intensity was inhuman. How had I missed this side of him? This facet of his personality that, for some reason, I found utterly intoxicating.
Then, as sudden as it appeared, the expression was gone, replaced by geniality that was so boring in comparison. He offered me a smile which I returned and gave his attention back to his teacher who I could see through the window.
I couldn't take my eyes away so readily, however, and it wasn't until the bell rang that I finally tore my gaze away from his profile. When I looked at the result of my work during the classroom, lying so innocently on the table, I scowled.
The bronze hair, brown eyes and brilliant grin was so incredibly bland, so beige, compared to the blazing red I had just seen.
"Light!" I called across the lawn. He turned on his heel, smiling as he saw me walking towards him. In his hand he held the notebook, the cover hidden from my view. Purposely hidden.
"Minerva," he greeted. I stopped right in front of him and very obviously let my eyes wander down his arm to look at the notebook. The reason he'd been able to get to it before me was because I'd had to return to the homeroom to get the books I needed for homework.
"May I?" I held out my hand. To his credit, Light didn't hesitate as he placed it in my hand. I imagined the way he let his fingers trace along mine as he released his grip was accidental.
The notebook was black, made of no material I had ever seen or felt before, and had the words Death Note written in English along the top. Curious, I opened the notebook and read what was inside the front cover aloud for the benefit of Light.
"The human whose name is written in this note shall die." I frowned and continued in a quieter voice so those around us wouldn't hear. "This note will not take effect unless the writer has the person's name and face in their mind when writing his/her name. Therefore, people sharing the same name will not be affected. If the cause of death is written within forty seconds of writing the person's name, it will happen. If the cause of death is not specified, the person will simply die of a heart attack. After writing the cause of death, details of the death should be written in the next six minutes and forty seconds." I flipped through the book and found nothing but blank lined pages. There were no other rules or writing anywhere.
"It's probably just a joke," said Light. He took the book from my hands and flicked through it himself, pausing on the rules and then the back cover. "Though it's pretty well thought out for a prank."
I nodded. "I wonder who dropped it, though. It's not like those chain mails that get sent around saying you'll die if you don't send it to another ten people. This is rather . . . harmless, except for the murder through names part."
"Yeah . . . Anyway, it wouldn't be a good idea to leave it lying around. We don't know who might pick it up." He slipped it into his bag, out of sight.
"Right, well, I need to be meeting my brother," I said. And, of course, Light offered to show me the way.
"Who was that?" asked Quinn as we walked home. The streets of Tokyo were filled with residents and tourists all intermingling and going about their lives, some gaping at the massively tall buildings of the business district, others hurrying about to whatever task they had before them, many heads bowed and staring into glaring cell phone screens.
"Oh, just one of my classmates. The teacher chose him to show me around to school," I replied, not taking my eyes off a group of girls sitting together on the stone wall around a park, legs swinging, hair in pigtails, chewing bubblegum. It was such a cliché image that I made certain it was committed to memory, determined to at least draw it later.
"Huh," was all Quinn said. I glanced down at him sharply. He shrugged. "He just seemed . . . like a musical score that had only just found the rhythm."
"You and your music metaphors." I ruffled his long blonde hair fondly.
"It's no different to your painting obsession. You did paint today, right?"
"Of course I did. Stop nagging, mom." He rolled his eyes and went back to scrolling through the music on his iPod, eyes racing through the thousands of songs.
That left me to my thoughts, of which there were quite a few. Ones that were not usually part of my wonderings, such as when I'd have time for homwork and planning my study sessions, invaded like they'd been there all along. Others were normal, such as what we would eat for dinner – lasagne – and how many threats it would take for Quinn to unpack his moving boxes.
Then there were the alien ones, that felt just as unfamiliar as they were.
Light, for one. A teenaged boy who I could almost say had a crush on me yet I knew that was not to be the case. In all his interactions with our classmates and me his body language had been, for the most part, outwardly platonic. Except for when he put his hand on me, of course. That action was an entirely different issue that I didn't want to dwell on. Safe enough to assume he wanted to be nothing more than friends and was being a helpful, if culturally deviant, classmate.
"Hey." I was suddenly pulled back by the collar of my jacket. Blinking, I realised I'd been about to step onto a street with a red 'no walking' light. Cars zipped through, unheeding the possible danger they posed to an unsuspecting tourist.
"Thanks," I said to Quinn, who took his hand off my jacket and went back to scrolling through his songs. How he managed to keep an eye on his surroundings with his head bowed over that machine was beyond me.
The light flicked over and we crossed, now only a few minutes from our apartment. It was near the city centre, a high market place that was way out of the normal citizen price range. It was lucky we didn't have to pay rent for it, the place already owned under the Catearro name.
When we reached the massively tall complex, I smiled at the doorman and let my brother lead me through the huge, marble-floored lobby. The complex was as high class as the most expensive hotels in Tokyo, with two chandeliers hanging from the high ceiling, five stainless steel elevators dotted around the walls with keypads instead of up/down buttons and an overly lavish gym and pool set up through the double doors next to the far elevator. Quinn went over one of the west-wall elevators, closest to the main doors, and punched our apartment code. I was too engrossed in watching the receptionist flirt with his girlfriend over the front desk to bother doing it myself. When I went into the mirrored elevator and the doors closed the image was still there, along with the group of bubblegum girls.
The elevator opened up straight onto our apartment. It wasn't as much of a security risk as one might think – passcodes were given out to every new tenant and changed on a bimonthly basis, with the correct elevator only able to open on the room the keycode accessed. It meant there was some waiting in line for the elevators with only five elevators travelling the fifty storeys for each of the five apartments on each floor but it was a safety measure I appreciated. When the decision to go to Tokyo had been made, I'd worried constantly over Quinn's wellbeing in such a city, until the apartment building had come play.
The doors opened up onto a well furnished lounge, dining room and kitchen, the combined room longer than it was wide, with two corridors branching off either side for mine and Quinn's rooms and en suites, and a floor to ceiling window spanning the far wall. It provided a view of the city, facing east. Down below, the street the complex was situated on stretched all the way to one of the many public parks of Tokyo where the bubblegum girls had sat. Fortunately, all the windows in the apartment were double glazed and insulated so none of the noise of traffic and commuters interrupted the quiet.
Quinn immediately turned left to his room, his head bent over the music player. I walked over to the armchairs and couch set up around a coffee table in front of the window. If I went to my bedroom I would be sucked into sorting out the paintings still in their cases and never get any homework done. In a few minutes I'd check if Quinn was doing his.
The homework was undemanding, to my relief. The teachers seemed to want to have me start slow. Again, Japanese was the hardest subject yet it was made easier by having a full recall of everything written down in class.
I finished within two hours and realised that I hadn't checked on Quinn. From his hallway I could hear the sound of an acoustic guitar being plucked in some nameless tune he was probably making up. In no time that nameless tune would have a bass, drum and piano accompaniment and perhaps vocals if he was feeling particularly inspired.
However, before he became too engrossed, I would need to drag him out into the kitchen to help with cooking.
With an idea in mind, I went over to the kitchen, flipping on the lights of the room as I did so. A soft golden glow from the wall lights threw the dark green patterned walls into shadows. The light reflected off the granite countertop of the kitchen and the polished mahogany dining room table, casting enough light to see comfortably by but not so much I was blinded. Paintings were hideous when made sterile with too much light, in my opinion.
I opened the fridge door, peered inside, and sighed. We didn't have any eggs. There went all plans of making a dessert to entice Quinn out of his bedroom. I supposed I could go down to the local convenience store and buy a carton.
For now, dinner was priority. Lasagne, to keep something of our home in Canada alive. Plus, I had no ingredients for Asian cuisine.
Just as I started to heat up a pan on one of the elements, I heard Quinn's door open. There was a mutter, then footsteps hastily retreating, but before the door could be closed I called out.
"Since you're done with homework, I could really use your help." I grinned at his groan. He walked into the room, wearing only flannel pants decorated with musical notes. A present from Christmas.
Without me saying anything he opened one of the cupboards, pulled out a chopping board and got to work slicing up carrots.
"So, how was school?"
"Fine. Mayuki was very loud."
"Music class?"
"They weren't tone deaf."
"You know not everyone has your talent. Cut them some slack."
"It's not my fault they don't know what unforced vibrato is."
I rolled my eyes and went back to cooking. Between the two of us the meal was in a baking dish and in the oven by seven o'clock. It would be half an hour before it was fully cooked, which would give me plenty of time to go down to the convenience store and buy the eggs.
"You've done your homework, right?" I asked. Quinn nodded, placing the cooking utensils in the dishwasher. "I'm going to the store, do you need anything?"
"Nope."
"See you soon, then." I grabbed my jacket and bag, wallet and phone inside, and went into the elevator. The convenience store was only a ten minute walk from the complex – I'd researched where everything in the area was as soon as I knew we were coming here. A supermarket a block to the east, the convenience store down the street in the opposite direction to the school and a cram school in between where Quinn would start going in a week's time. For me, there wasn't really a point in going to a cram school when I only had half a year left.
The convenience store was right at the end of the busy road, where it split in two and travelled off into the shadier sides of Tokyo. There were still high school kids standing around, discussing trivial things like speed dating and the latest pop idol. One particularly loud boy was yelling at his mother for being late to pick him up from cram school.
I heard the sounds of motorcycles before I saw them. They approached from behind, great roaring engines that grated on my ears – even I, with only rudimentary machinery skills, could tell they needed a tune up.
Several of them passed by without so much as a glance but one slowed down until it cruised alongside me as I walked.
"Hey, pretty lady," the man on the bike said, leering at me. "You from out of town?" I tightened my grip on the strap of my satchel and ignored him. The biker scowled and leant towards me, an arm outstretched, when hooting and catcalls drew his attention. He growled and spat in my direction, which I ducked away to avoid, then took off down the road to the other bikers. I sighed in relief and released my white-knuckled grip on my bag. What a way to get a wake-up call to the darker side of Tokyo life.
Then I saw their other target.
"No! Please, someone help me!" the young woman screamed, struggling to get away from the men. I didn't even think – I just ran.
I sprinted towards the bikers, ignoring the painful thumping of my satchel on my hip and the shouts of people as I crashed into them.
I was within metres of the group when the young woman broke free and dashed across the road. The other bikers shouted and one of them kicked back his bike stand and sped after her.
That's when a truck came out of nowhere.
I could only watch, transfixed, as the semi rammed into the bike, glass and metal flying everywhere. Someone shouted "Takuo!" but it sounded like they were miles away.
Blood. There was so much blood. It dripped down the front of the truck, pooling on the road, splattered over the pavement. And – oh. The body.
I ripped my gaze away and closed my eyes, feeling rain start to fall on my shoulders.
Don't lose it. You can't afford to, I told myself. My breathing slowly evened out and eventually I could open my eyes without the fear of throwing up.
My eyes were drawn to the convenience store, where Light Yagami was staring back.
TOWRTA: Thank you to Defrali for the lovely review and those who followed this rather random story. Hope you guys enjoy it.
See you . . . soon?
Review if you wish.