Chapter Three
The moment she says goodbye to Sayuri, Michi rushes to her room.
The late afternoon sunlight dapples the white carpet. She kicks her uniform to a corner with sudden vehemence and yanks her oversized pajama shirt over her head. It takes her a minute to find her notebook, buried beneath a stack of homework and textbooks. She finally upends her backpack with a growl, scattering papers across the carpet. Her notebook lands on the bed with a thump. She grabs it, finds a pen, and plops down on her bed and starts to write.
The first one is simple.
Ichijo Sayuri:
· Lives across the hall
· Our families are friends
It was easier today. She found out that Sayuri has read all the same books, that they've seen the same movies and TV shows and love the same kind of music. She's easy to talk to, and she listens, too.
She's never had a best friend before. She's had a few friends in elementary school, mostly groups she was a part of, kids who liked the same stuff she did. She's never had someone who casually links arms while walking with her, or who already knows all the songs on her iPod and which ones are her favorites, or who notices when she's feeling uncomfortable. She's never had someone want to be around her before. Especially someone like Sayuri, who makes people stare as she walked past.
Michi pauses, and adds,
· Best friend?
· Known her for my whole life?
· Fake memories?
· Heroine?
She skips a few spaces, scribbles The Flower Princes, and hesitates.
Ryugazaki Nagisa. He had come over again today. He and Sayuri had traded class notes and talked about projects. They had made a point to include her in the conversation, even when she didn't have anything to say. She liked Nagisa. He was fun to talk to, and had a way of making her feel comfortable even in a crowded classroom.
But then, that made sense. He was supposed to be the likable deredere. And the only reason he had come over was because her seatmate, she's certain now, is the main character of this story.
Ryugazaki Nagisa
· Deredere
· Flower Prince
· Childhood friend of main love interest?
· Love interest?
Michi leaves a few spaces and moves on. The next one is easy.
Kirishima Jirou
· Most popular of the Flower Princes
· Tsundere
· Only son of CEO/wealthy family
· Academic rivals with Sayuri– main love interest?
She pauses again and taps her pen thoughtfully. The next two are harder.
Saito Tatsuya
· Kuudere?
· Flower Prince
· Doesn't talk much, even to the boys
· Hasn't spoken to Sayuri yet
· Must be rival love interest?
The last one has only a few scribbled lines.
Ichigo Kaname
· Class president
· Flower Prince
· Type?
· Love interest?
· Sayuri is friends with him?
Michi sets the pen down and sighs. It's not much information to go off of. She racks her brain for the plots of the shoujo anime she's seen. Of the three or four anime she's seen, none fit this situation exactly. Even the harem anime was different.
She turns the page, settles the notebook in her lap, and writes,
Shoujo anime?
Harem anime?
Fake memories?
Best friend of the heroine?
?
She stares at the list. Her head is starting to hurt.
With another sigh, she tosses the notebook onto the floor and rolls onto her stomach. None of this is making sense. Maybe it's just a dream, after all. A really long, really real dream.
I am in a shoujo anime. In a world where shoujo doesn't exist. Where shoujo clichés happen normally. And people have silver hair. And are ridiculously good-looking.
Maybe I died and reincarnated in some alternate universe. She closes her eyes. ...Like in a shoujo anime.
Except she is definitely not the heroine. She makes a face. She's seen it in all of the shoujos, of course. There's always that one girl that the heroine is best friends with. The heroine and her are inseparable- until the heroine falls madly in love with one of the love interests, and the plain, uninteresting best friend fades from view.
Michi rolls onto her back and stares up at the ceiling. Shadows are starting to stretch across it. It'll be time for dinner soon. Her stomach growls.
Alternate universe or not, Mom still makes the best miso soup ever.
Maybe she'll wake up tomorrow, and her uniform will be a navy sailor suit, and it will just be a weird dream.
And what if I don't? she thinks suddenly. What if every day is like this? What if I'm stuck as the boring side character in some shoujo anime for the rest of my life?
She sits up, swinging her legs off the side of the bed. Slowly, methodically, she picks up the papers off the floor and stacks them neatly on her desk. The textbooks are shelved on top of her dresser. She gathers up her crumpled uniform, carries it into the laundry room, and returns to her desk. Carefully, in bright blue pen, she writes on yesterday's date in her kitty-themed calendar.
Shoujo began today.
She straightens up again. One day at a time, she thinks, looking at the stack of homework beside her laptop. Until I wake up.