He was handsome even with that gangly mess of hair, even with the missing front teeth he'd lost in a fight. Despite being an exchange student, I knew a little about him. Everybody did, especially my 'sister', a sweet-looking petite girl named Michiko. She was obsessed with him.
"That's Mitsui-kun!"
she said to me, grabbing my arm in excitement. "He's so gorgeous, isn't
he?"
"What is he, some kind of a gangster?"
Michiko swatted my arm playfully, and replied, "Don't be so jaded! I think he was looking at you. You're so lucky! Did you notice?"
I scoffed. "More like looking past me." I glanced sideways at her as we weave through the crowded hallway of Shohoku High, heading for our classroom. "I didn't know you were into gangsters."
Michiko blushed. "I'm not really into gangsters, but there's just something about him..."
"Ha!" I laughed. "So he is a gangster!"
She stopped short and frowned. Then, realising what she'd just said, turned her face into a scowl. I couldn't stop laughing.
Just then, a chorus of piercing shrieks sliced through the air, deafening me. Some tall guy walked past me, or maybe it was the other way round, and following closely behind was a flock of screaming, crying girls.
"What the hell is this, a Backstreet Boys gig?"
When Michiko didn't reply, I turned to her, and immediately took a step back. She had a dazed look on her face, as if she'd just gone to heaven.
"Um, hello?" I waved my hand in her face. "Earth to Michiko!"
She didn't entirely snap out of it, but she did manage to say, "Allison, I think you just walked past Rukawa Kaede."
"Who?"
"Rukawa Kaede. The super rookie. The most popular guy in school."
"Oh," I said. "Okay. Where's the classroom?"
In Chemistry I wrote a poem. It was what I did all the time back home in Singapore. Chemistry lessons never failed to put me to sleep. I must say though it does inspire me, though in no ways the teacher would have liked.
I was attempting to revise the poem while sitting at the bus stop outside the school all by myself, with a pen in hand and my trusty notebook balanced on my lap. I didn't notice the figures approaching until a shadow fell across the page, smudging my words and darkening them.
"What are you doing?"
I looked up, and stared right into Mitsui Hisashi's icy eyes.
Unfazed, I replied, "Writing poetry. And you?"
He didn't answer. He stared at me, looking for something, or nothing at all, ignoring the impatient shuffles behind him. His eyes seemed to penetrate my defense, and for a while, I thought he was looking right into my soul.
A gust of wind swept across the landscape, causing a chill to run down my back. A lock of long hair got into Mitsui's face, and as he reached to brush it away, the connection broke.
The corner of his lips curled into a snivelling sneer. He nodded at the figures behind him and walked off without a word.
I stared at his retreating back, at the mane of hair that flapped about wildly in the wind. I saw something in his eyes during those brief few seconds. It was something he obviously tried to hide behind his tough, gangster facade, but not even a total makeover could change what lies in the heart.
It was sadness that I saw in his eyes. Deep, acute sadness that came from seemingly nowhere and sank into bitter infinity. It was a wonder he hadn't already drowned in it.
The bus arrived then, jolting me out of my reverie. I thought of Mitsui Hisashi all the way home.