Everything belongs to me! Really! I swear! So you can give me lots and lots
of money! And presents! And choco . . . Eeep! ::runs away from Toei's
corporate lawyers::
I swear this story gets more contrived by the chapter. It's such fun to write. ^_^;;
DANCING LESSONS PART 7 TWO BOYS
"It's almost six. Our dates will be here soon," Hikari called, hoping Miyako could hear her above the water running in the bathroom. The older girl had been in there for almost an hour, doing . . . well, she didn't want to know what. She didn't understand how it could take anyone so long to take a shower. She herself had been ready for half-an-hour and was now sitting on Miyako's bed, trying to remain absolutely still so as not to wrinkle her silky skirt. Among other things, it had given her a lot of time to think that she would rather be at home, curled up in front of a DVD in her pyjamas with a bowl of popcorn.
"Get comfortable. She'll be at least another half-an-hour, if only to make the guys wait," Momoe said wryly. Miyako's older sister was lying on the other bed and flipping through an old fashion magazine. She was one of Jun's best friends, and Hikari knew her from the times she had been around the Motomiya apartment at the same time as the Chosen. She had kept on teasing poor Daisuke about his crush on her, "I've taught her too well."
She laughed politely, "Well, she might have to stall more than half-an-hour in that case. Takeru-kun's late for everything. He always gets extra homework from all our teachers, because he's never on time for classes."
"So tell me something," Momoe threw her magazine onto the floor and rolled over onto her side to look at Hikari, "How badly do you want to scratch Miyako's eyes out right now? I know she says she's doing it to keep him away from other girls, but . . . you got to know that she loves the idea of being seen on the arm of the so-called prince of Odaiba Middle School."
"Momoe-san!" Hikari exclaimed in horror. She knew she would never get used to how outspoken all the Inoues were, "We aren't . . . . I mean, Takeru and I are just friends. We don't see each other that way."
She trailed off, biting her bottom lip and tasting the powdery bitterness of the lipstick that she had borrowed from her friend. It was a lie that she knew she would have to get used to repeating, but it had not gotten any easier yet.
Momoe rolled her eyes expressively, "Come on. That's not what Miyako says. She says that you've had a crush on him since you were eight."
"Well, Miyako doesn't know everything," she snapped, "If she knew anything about anyone, she never, ever would have asked Takeru-kun to the dance tonight."
The instant the words left her mouth, she wished that she could take them back. It was bad enough that she had betrayed Takeru's confidence by looking through his private letters without telling anyone else what he had written in them! She still could see the hurt, angry expression in his eyes when he had come through to his bedroom and seen her holding his letter in her hands. It was the first time that she had felt a distance between them, so terrifyingly wide that no bridge could span it or words reach the other side.
Worse still, Daisuke said that Momoe was the biggest gossip in Jun's class, the last person he would have trusted with any secret. It would be all over Odaiba in a matter of days, passed through the invisible network of school friends and family members that connected the district as efficiently as the Internet did the world.
Hikari felt sick at the thought of how furious Takeru would be when he found out about it, and it wouldn't be long before he did. Even if it didn't reach him some other way, Yamato was in the same class as Momoe at Odaiba High, and he wouldn't be able to resist teasing his little brother about his crush. He would never speak to her again, and she couldn't blame him for it - she was the worst friend in the world.
Momoe sat up on her bed, her eyes bright, "You have to be kidding me!! Takeru's in love with Miyako!?"
"You can't tell anyone, Momoe-san," she pleaded, even though she knew it was futile, "I definitely shouldn't have told you."
"Yeah, yeah. My lips are sealed," she waved her hand airily, "So, tell me more about it . . . ."
The doorbell saved Hikari from the necessity of having to reply. Seeing that it was only ten-to-six by her watch, it had to be Wallace come to pick her up for the dance. Takeru was still probably sitting in front of his computer, typing away at a new story in blissful ignorance of the time. He was endlessly hopeful when it came to the time, thinking that he could get through half-an-hour's worth of eating, dressing, packing and walking to school in all of ten minutes.
"I'll get it. It's probably Wallace-kun."
She jumped off Miyako's bed, not caring about the damage she might have done to her silk skirt, and ran to the front door of the apartment. One of her sandals came off in the hall and she kicked it off impatiently, hopping the rest of the way.
"Coooming . . ." she called, turning the key in the lock. She had not seen Wallace for three years and she wondered what he looked like now. She remembered him as being handsome in the way that she had once imagined all American boys would be, with his corn-gold hair and prairie-sky eyes. There had been a sweetness about him too - a kind of childish mischievousness - that she had liked very much. If her luck held, she thought glumly, he would be one of those boys who turned ugly when they turned thirteen. She swung the door open, "Hi! Did you have a good trip?"
"Eh, yeah," Takeru rubbed the back of his neck, a puzzled expression on his face, "But I don't think I'd call walking up one flight of steps a trip, Hikari."
Hikari was too shocked to be embarrassed. She had always known that Takeru was good-looking, but the boy standing in front of her could have been something out of a magazine. He was dressed simply in a white, linen shirt and black trousers that suited him better than anything fancier would have. It made his skin look more golden and his eyes bluer. His normally messy hair was no less messy than usual, but there was a careful stylishness about it that suggested Yamato had been busy with the gel.
"You . . . uh . . . you're . . . early," she stammered, "I didn't think . . . it'd be . . . you."
"Nii-san," he sighed, "He said I shouldn't keep Miyako-san waiting. He said girls always liked to be the late ones."
Nervously adjusting her skirt, "Umm, no danger of that. She's not out of the shower yet."
"Oh well," she shrugged, "At least, I can hang out with you while I wait for her. It's not like I'm in a hurry to make an idiot of myself at that dance."
She gave him a slightly awkward smile, relieved that he seemed to have forgiven her. It was always easier to apologise to someone when you knew it would be accepted, "Nee, Takeru-kun, I'm sorry about the other day. It was very wrong of me to read that letter."
"And I shouldn't have gotten so mad at you. Stupid temper," he smiled back at her and it was like the sun coming out after a month of rain, "It wasn't like it was anything personal or private. I should have told you about it, actually. I could have used your help, because it was a pain to write . . . ."
"What do you mean?" she asked in confusion. She hadn't thought that Takeru would be so blasé about the love-letter that he had written to Miyako. After all, what could be more personal than telling someone how you felt about them? And why would he have found it a pain to do so? She remembered how he had rushed home after school every day to write long e-mails to Catherine, and that had just been a stupid, little crush. If she hadn't known better, she would have believed that he didn't care whether Miyako loved him back or not.
"Huh? Didn't you read the whole letter?"
"No, just the opening part where you . . . you told Miyako you loved her," she looked at her shoes, not trusting herself to meet his gaze. She could already feel the tears rising in her own eyes, and blinked them back before he could see. She was so tired of crying, so tired of the pain of knowing that he loved someone else. Sometimes, she wished that they were eight again and everything between them was simple, but life only ever led one way and it was not back into the past.
"What?" he laughed, "Hikari, I think you're . . . ."
"Hiii!" a cheerful voice called in English, cutting off whatever Takeru had been about to say. The two friends turned to see a boy walking down the corridor towards them. Tall, slim and handsome, he moved with the easy confidence of someone who knew that he was all those things and more. He was dressed in a pair of tight, black trousers beneath a sky-blue shirt cut in Chinese fashion. A silver earring flashed in his left ear.
When he reached them, he winked at Hikari, before taking her hand in his and kissing it, "Yeah, you were definitely worth making the trip from Kanagawa."
Wallace had arrived.
TO BE CONTINUED . . .
I swear this story gets more contrived by the chapter. It's such fun to write. ^_^;;
DANCING LESSONS PART 7 TWO BOYS
"It's almost six. Our dates will be here soon," Hikari called, hoping Miyako could hear her above the water running in the bathroom. The older girl had been in there for almost an hour, doing . . . well, she didn't want to know what. She didn't understand how it could take anyone so long to take a shower. She herself had been ready for half-an-hour and was now sitting on Miyako's bed, trying to remain absolutely still so as not to wrinkle her silky skirt. Among other things, it had given her a lot of time to think that she would rather be at home, curled up in front of a DVD in her pyjamas with a bowl of popcorn.
"Get comfortable. She'll be at least another half-an-hour, if only to make the guys wait," Momoe said wryly. Miyako's older sister was lying on the other bed and flipping through an old fashion magazine. She was one of Jun's best friends, and Hikari knew her from the times she had been around the Motomiya apartment at the same time as the Chosen. She had kept on teasing poor Daisuke about his crush on her, "I've taught her too well."
She laughed politely, "Well, she might have to stall more than half-an-hour in that case. Takeru-kun's late for everything. He always gets extra homework from all our teachers, because he's never on time for classes."
"So tell me something," Momoe threw her magazine onto the floor and rolled over onto her side to look at Hikari, "How badly do you want to scratch Miyako's eyes out right now? I know she says she's doing it to keep him away from other girls, but . . . you got to know that she loves the idea of being seen on the arm of the so-called prince of Odaiba Middle School."
"Momoe-san!" Hikari exclaimed in horror. She knew she would never get used to how outspoken all the Inoues were, "We aren't . . . . I mean, Takeru and I are just friends. We don't see each other that way."
She trailed off, biting her bottom lip and tasting the powdery bitterness of the lipstick that she had borrowed from her friend. It was a lie that she knew she would have to get used to repeating, but it had not gotten any easier yet.
Momoe rolled her eyes expressively, "Come on. That's not what Miyako says. She says that you've had a crush on him since you were eight."
"Well, Miyako doesn't know everything," she snapped, "If she knew anything about anyone, she never, ever would have asked Takeru-kun to the dance tonight."
The instant the words left her mouth, she wished that she could take them back. It was bad enough that she had betrayed Takeru's confidence by looking through his private letters without telling anyone else what he had written in them! She still could see the hurt, angry expression in his eyes when he had come through to his bedroom and seen her holding his letter in her hands. It was the first time that she had felt a distance between them, so terrifyingly wide that no bridge could span it or words reach the other side.
Worse still, Daisuke said that Momoe was the biggest gossip in Jun's class, the last person he would have trusted with any secret. It would be all over Odaiba in a matter of days, passed through the invisible network of school friends and family members that connected the district as efficiently as the Internet did the world.
Hikari felt sick at the thought of how furious Takeru would be when he found out about it, and it wouldn't be long before he did. Even if it didn't reach him some other way, Yamato was in the same class as Momoe at Odaiba High, and he wouldn't be able to resist teasing his little brother about his crush. He would never speak to her again, and she couldn't blame him for it - she was the worst friend in the world.
Momoe sat up on her bed, her eyes bright, "You have to be kidding me!! Takeru's in love with Miyako!?"
"You can't tell anyone, Momoe-san," she pleaded, even though she knew it was futile, "I definitely shouldn't have told you."
"Yeah, yeah. My lips are sealed," she waved her hand airily, "So, tell me more about it . . . ."
The doorbell saved Hikari from the necessity of having to reply. Seeing that it was only ten-to-six by her watch, it had to be Wallace come to pick her up for the dance. Takeru was still probably sitting in front of his computer, typing away at a new story in blissful ignorance of the time. He was endlessly hopeful when it came to the time, thinking that he could get through half-an-hour's worth of eating, dressing, packing and walking to school in all of ten minutes.
"I'll get it. It's probably Wallace-kun."
She jumped off Miyako's bed, not caring about the damage she might have done to her silk skirt, and ran to the front door of the apartment. One of her sandals came off in the hall and she kicked it off impatiently, hopping the rest of the way.
"Coooming . . ." she called, turning the key in the lock. She had not seen Wallace for three years and she wondered what he looked like now. She remembered him as being handsome in the way that she had once imagined all American boys would be, with his corn-gold hair and prairie-sky eyes. There had been a sweetness about him too - a kind of childish mischievousness - that she had liked very much. If her luck held, she thought glumly, he would be one of those boys who turned ugly when they turned thirteen. She swung the door open, "Hi! Did you have a good trip?"
"Eh, yeah," Takeru rubbed the back of his neck, a puzzled expression on his face, "But I don't think I'd call walking up one flight of steps a trip, Hikari."
Hikari was too shocked to be embarrassed. She had always known that Takeru was good-looking, but the boy standing in front of her could have been something out of a magazine. He was dressed simply in a white, linen shirt and black trousers that suited him better than anything fancier would have. It made his skin look more golden and his eyes bluer. His normally messy hair was no less messy than usual, but there was a careful stylishness about it that suggested Yamato had been busy with the gel.
"You . . . uh . . . you're . . . early," she stammered, "I didn't think . . . it'd be . . . you."
"Nii-san," he sighed, "He said I shouldn't keep Miyako-san waiting. He said girls always liked to be the late ones."
Nervously adjusting her skirt, "Umm, no danger of that. She's not out of the shower yet."
"Oh well," she shrugged, "At least, I can hang out with you while I wait for her. It's not like I'm in a hurry to make an idiot of myself at that dance."
She gave him a slightly awkward smile, relieved that he seemed to have forgiven her. It was always easier to apologise to someone when you knew it would be accepted, "Nee, Takeru-kun, I'm sorry about the other day. It was very wrong of me to read that letter."
"And I shouldn't have gotten so mad at you. Stupid temper," he smiled back at her and it was like the sun coming out after a month of rain, "It wasn't like it was anything personal or private. I should have told you about it, actually. I could have used your help, because it was a pain to write . . . ."
"What do you mean?" she asked in confusion. She hadn't thought that Takeru would be so blasé about the love-letter that he had written to Miyako. After all, what could be more personal than telling someone how you felt about them? And why would he have found it a pain to do so? She remembered how he had rushed home after school every day to write long e-mails to Catherine, and that had just been a stupid, little crush. If she hadn't known better, she would have believed that he didn't care whether Miyako loved him back or not.
"Huh? Didn't you read the whole letter?"
"No, just the opening part where you . . . you told Miyako you loved her," she looked at her shoes, not trusting herself to meet his gaze. She could already feel the tears rising in her own eyes, and blinked them back before he could see. She was so tired of crying, so tired of the pain of knowing that he loved someone else. Sometimes, she wished that they were eight again and everything between them was simple, but life only ever led one way and it was not back into the past.
"What?" he laughed, "Hikari, I think you're . . . ."
"Hiii!" a cheerful voice called in English, cutting off whatever Takeru had been about to say. The two friends turned to see a boy walking down the corridor towards them. Tall, slim and handsome, he moved with the easy confidence of someone who knew that he was all those things and more. He was dressed in a pair of tight, black trousers beneath a sky-blue shirt cut in Chinese fashion. A silver earring flashed in his left ear.
When he reached them, he winked at Hikari, before taking her hand in his and kissing it, "Yeah, you were definitely worth making the trip from Kanagawa."
Wallace had arrived.
TO BE CONTINUED . . .
